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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

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Miles Between Us Chapter 6 ~A Wrinkle in Time~

Previously in The Tethered Ties ...

And when he finally glanced back down at the laptop, he nearly choked. Right there on the screen, peering up at him, was a cantankerous-looking, crocodile Dundee version of Harry. Same eyes, the same face, and though a handsome fellow, this man's skin looked weather-beaten, and he had a scary scowl on his face.

"Jamie," Claire giggled. "I'd like you to meet my uncle ...Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb."

Ah, holy fuck! Though uncle Lamb looked like Harry, Jamie knew this man was nothing like Harry. Harry was ...or had been a polite, refined and jolly ol' chap with a very posh accent. This man was far from the polished look Harry presented. This man looked like he'd seen the world and confronted danger and probably wrestled crocodiles as a hobby. Convincing uncle Lamb that he's good enough for Claire was not going to be a walk in a park. Jamie knew he had a long evening ahead as he gingerly sat down in front of Claire's laptop and braced himself.

Jamie cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Good evening, sir ..."

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Jamie had a dream. It was unlike any other dreams he had before.

He was cycling down a road, the cold wind stinging his cheeks, a plastic container of pastries in one hand. Excitement rose within as he followed the familiar route to Murtagh's house, huffing and puffing when he picked up speed. He was dropping off his ma's freshly baked treats to his godfather, hoping Murtagh would have time to go fishing.

An ear-splitting screech of brakes echoed in the air, along with mangling metal crashing and twisting.

He stopped. The plastic container dropped from his hand, and his bike collapsed to the ground. He began walking towards the crash site, sensing with every step, he was nearing a metamorphic truth that would change him forever.

Despite the trepidation mounting in his chest, he couldn't stop moving towards the wreck. He quickened his pace and then began to jog, and then he ran. Faster and faster.

He ran until the breath whooshed out from his lungs in burning gasps, and he slowed to a standstill in front of the harrowing scene that was before him.

The wind picked up, and the clouds dimmed the sun. The acrid stench of burnt rubber and engine oil filled his nostrils. A familiar face appeared through the cracked windshield, calling out his name in desperation. For a second, his heart ceased to beat, and his breath caught in his throat.

Harry?

"Save her ...please ..."

The plea struck his ears, and he tried to move, but he was stuck on the spot. He twisted his body and stretched out his arms, willing his feet to budge, straining and grunting and chanting a soundless prayer for strength. A piercing scream jolted him out from his struggle, unfettering him from the invisible force holding him in place, almost tumbling over from the abrupt release. He realised they were cries from a child.

He moved towards the car and wrenched the back door open, seemingly the only side still intact from the collision. A child, no more than the age of five with angry red blotches on her cheeks and wild curls, was restrained by the seatbelts. Her pudgy wee arms were outstretched as she screamed on top of her lungs, crying out for her mummy.

He stared in disbelief, immobilised by the uncertainty of his next course of action.

"Save her, Jamie ..." He glanced up to see Harry's face contorted in pain, eyes imploring. "There's not enough time."

"But ..."

"Go! Take her with you ...Now!"

Spurred by adrenaline and fear, heart pounding against his chest, he began to move. He unfastened the strap across the wean's body and grabbed her from the seat. Wee arms and legs wrapped around him as he spun around and headed for the moor. Holding tight to his bundle, one hand bracing the tiny head pressed against his neck, he ran as fast as he could. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Harry watching him through the window and then the car exploded.

Jamie woke up lurching upright to a sitting position, his top clinging to his clammy skin and his heart racing like a freight train. Swallowing air in big gulps, he yanked off the duvet and swung his legs out of bed, trying to even his breathing. Then he began to shake as he heard the distant roar from the deep recesses of his brain, and the floodgates of memories swung open in vivid hues. It came in massive waves, raising recollections and visions to the surface that had been submerged under the basement of time. A deluge of dispersed images merged into one, and a stream of realisation emerged. Suddenly everything was as clear as day. Everything that Murtagh had told him of Claire's parents earlier was now clicking into place. The child they'd rescued that fateful day was Claire! Except, in his dream, he'd been the only one to save her.

A cold shiver passed through him when a suppressed but very visual memory of Harry sprung into his head just before the car had exploded. Harry had just regained consciousness and had looked straight at Jamie with a sobbing wee Claire tight in his arms, the look on his face branding his consciousness forever. Though it had been relief carved out on the doomed man's face in knowing Claire would live, it had done nought to appease his soul. He glanced over at the woman beside him. She slept peacefully, her soft snores confirming she hadn't been affected by his fitful sleep.

Reliving the sequence of that event, he remembered now how the horror of that day had haunted him. It had been so bad, he'd been coerced to attend counselling by his mother. Too young to process Harry's demise, he'd literally felt on the edge of a nervous breakdown. After a year of refusing to talk about the ordeal, he'd shifted his focus elsewhere to stop the nightmares. There had been this unabating need to atone for Claire's parents' death, the urge to help and protect growing like a snowball, morphing into an avalanche to flatten and destroy any unpleasant memories and replace them with something good. He'd rescued animals and sheltered them in his father's barn. He'd defended kids against bullies at school. He'd volunteered for causes that involved helping the vulnerable. He'd enlisted to be part of the British Armed Forces, hoping to make a difference to the plights of those afflicted. He'd even gone as far as making a promise to his dying friend, killed in action during his SAS days. Jamie had felt so guilty for his inability to protect his best mate, Simon, he'd asked his friend's widow to marry him. Though thankful now the marriage had never taken place after having met Claire, his efforts to appease his guilt had been a struggle. All these years, he'd buried the horrors of war, the memory of losing Simon and images of Harry going up in flames with layers of what he'd thought were reparations. But what he hadn't known, his failings continued to fester below the surface. It was like a wound that refused to heal.

Had Murtagh's revelation triggered the suppressed memories to resurface? Or did it have something to do with his conversation with Claire's uncle Lamb? His mind wandered to their discussion earlier.

"Jamie," Claire giggled. "I'd like you to meet my uncle ...Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb. Uncle Lamb, this is Jamie, James Fraser ...my boyfriend. I'm staying with him for at least a week."

"Is that right?" the man on the screen harumphed with a growl as he stuck a thick cigar between his teeth. "Not what I was expecting."

Jamie disregarded the not so subtle dig. "Good evening, sir ..." he began.

Claire laughed. "Don't call him that, Jamie. It's too weird!" She glanced over her shoulder as she walked away. "If he's giving you "the look," don't worry. Uncle Lamb is all bluster."

"I heard that," uncle Lamb grumbled.

"Play nice, then!" she shouted from the kitchen.

Jamie eyed the man on the screen and squared his shoulders. He wished he'd been more prepared for this or at least looked presentable. Instead, he resembled a drowned cat after just having arrived home from work. Claire hadn't told him much about uncle Lamb and wondered if she'd said anything about him to the older man.

He stared at Harry's look alike. Does uncle Lamb ever smile? Or is that scowl permanently etched on his face? He wasn't sure. Maybe it had something to do with that cigar hanging loosely in his mouth.

Sizing him up, Jamie presumed they're roughly the same breadth, and if uncle Lamb was anything like Harry in stature, they should be the same height too. It's a good thing they were meeting via video conference. If they had been facing each other in person, he might be less inclined to shake hands, seeing how the older man looked like he was capable of committing murder.

An amused Claire came gliding out of the kitchen with a bottle of beer, seemingly unfazed by tension emanating from her laptop screen. "Don't mind his mood, Jamie," she chirped. "He's just grouchy because five of his men came down with food poisoning. And work is being delayed again."

Uncle Lamb growled. "Don't remind me."

Claire wagged a finger at her uncle before kissing Jamie on the forehead and handing him the bottle. "I'll go prepare dinner."

He took a deep breath as he watched her head back to the kitchen. Uncle Lamb could frown all he wanted. Ultimately, if need be, he would go through twenty uncle Lambs to show the world how serious he was about his relationship with Claire.

Jamie noticed the older man watching him very closely.

"So how are ye?"

"I don't like surprises," Quentin announced, obviously wanting to get straight to the point.

"Neither do I," he returned. Facing off each other for a few silent seconds, Jamie deliberately took a slow slug of his beer. He placed the bottle back down on the table and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "But surprises are nothing new to me. I was trained to be prepared against any surprises," he added, referring to his SAS past.

Quentin ignored the remark. "Claire told me ..." He leaned forward and rolled his khaki sleeves up, exposing tanned sinewy, muscular arms. "...you met just before Christmas."

"That's right, sir ...I mean unc ...I mean Quentin." The older man raised an eyebrow at him, and Jamie raised one back.

"Things seem to be moving along. Fast!"

"Claire and I have acknowledged that."

"She was there with you only a few weeks ago for her holidays. She's just got back to work. Did you persuade her to come back?"

"She's got a mind of her own."

"Are you serious about her?"

Jamie tried not to look rattled as the older man bombarded him with questions. It was only natural to be concerned about his niece. "Aye, I built her a shed." Ach shite, wrong answer ...what the fuck was that, ye clot-heid? He felt like kicking himself.

Quentin watched him in stony silence. "A shed?"

He inhaled deeply, careful not to show any signs of frustration. "Actually, it's a writing studio," he explained, feeling the heat crawling up his neck. "For when Claire comes over for a visit. She can work undisturbed there. I've even soundproofed the walls, and it's been comfortably furnished ."

Quentin said nothing. Instead, he slowly placed the cigar on the ashtray, raised his brandy snifter to his lips and drank.

Determined, Jamie pushed on. "Claire has handed her notice to her boss, and once her commitments in London are done, she'll be moving here ...to Broch Mordha." He tamped down the rising emotion from his throat as he thought of Claire preparing dinner for him in the kitchen. "Look, I may not look like the man ye hoped for, for yer niece, but ye dinnae ken me. I admit I come with a lot of baggage, but I'm working hard on it, and she's helped me tremendously in dealing with ..." He trailed off. He didn't want to pull the PTSD card out. This was about Claire, he reminded himself. "I ken her history. I ken she's moved a lot, lived in boarding schools, nae home to go to during the holidays, following ye half-way around the world when school's out. She told me she's never felt any sense of belonging anywhere ..." Quentin glanced away. "I want ye to know, I willnae be just another stopover for Claire. And even if she has to travel long distances to visit ye, she'll always have a place to return to. I have roots here, and I can give her..."

Quentin crossed his arms. "Give her what?"

Jamie cleared his throat. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm serious about taking our relationship further. As ye can see, she's staying here in my home until she goes back to London. Though there is this unspoken understanding between Claire and me, I dinnae want to be presumptuous ..." Jamie rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck. "...in thinking, she will move in with me when she relocates here to Broch Mordha. But I plan on asking her. And it would be verrae nice if ye could give yer blessing and ..."

He shook his head. "No!" His grin was more like a baring of his cigar-stained teeth. "Ask me again in a year."

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. "All due respect, I ken she will say yes when I ask. And I ken she's stubborn enough to make up her own decisions with or without yer blessing. But I'd rather I have it ...for all our sakes. I'm no' sure if ye are aware, but I have my own business that I share with my brother, I own a house, I have no mortgage, and I make enough to provide for both of us with enough left for savings. She can pursue her dream of writing to her heart's content without worrying about finances."

"You overlook the fact that she's a city girl. What if her writing career never takes off? What are her possibilities in the Highlands?"

"Oh, but it will take off. I have faith it will. She's very passionate about pursuing her dream, and rightly so, because she's a talented writer. I can attest to that because I've read one of her finished works."

Quentin's face softened just a tiny bit. "You have?"

"Aye, I have," he hedged. "Claire should have published her work ages ago, and I plan to encourage her to do just that. Her writing would be a wonderful gift to the world."

"You're doing a lot for someone you barely know."

"Quentin," Jamie sighed, swallowing his exasperation. "I'm in love with yer niece. I'm aware everything between us is happening fast, and I dinnae suppose there is a timeframe or formula to follow when it comes to relationships. I'm just winging this and going along with my guts. And my guts are telling me Claire is the one. I still cannae believe someone like her is even real and that she loves me back. I sometimes wonder if I'm dreaming. She brings the best out of me, and I want to do the same for her. So if helping her realise her dreams is all I have to do to keep her, that's what I'll do."

A few heartbeats of silence and watching each other closely passed before Quentin spoke again. "What did you say your last name was? I didn't quite catch it."

Ach, Christ, he's gonnae do a background check on me! "Fraser," Jamie replied.

The older man let out an impatient grunt. "Yes, yes, but which Fraser do you belong to? There are a lot of Frasers in the Highlands."

"My parents are Brian and Ellen Fraser," he replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Quentin's brows knitted together, and his stubbled jaw flexed twice. "You mean Brian and Ellen from Lallybroch?"

Jamie shifted in his seat. "Ye know them?"

"And you're Jamie?" Quentin asked, ignoring his question.

Confusion descended over Jamie as he saw the transformation in Quentin's face. "Aaaye," he said slowly and deliberately. Where in the bloody hell is this going to, now?

"And Claire wants to move in with you?"

"As I've said, I havenae asked her, but I think she would like the idea of us living together. It would make perfect sense since we do love each other."

He grabbed the cigar and pointed the tip in his direction. "You have my blessings." Ignoring Jamie's sharp intake of breath, he tipped back the rest of his brandy. "Conditions are, there should be once a week phone-calls. Video or facetime ones or whatever you call it. And when I'm on British soil ..."

Jamie suddenly straightened up on his seat. "We'll visit, or ye can come and stay with us."

Quentin shot up on his feet. "Very well then, welcome to the family, Fraser. Go and get your dinner ...you wouldn't want your wife ..." he coughed, his face turning red. "...I mean your girlfriend reheating what she's just lovingly made."

Jamie got up as well, ready to shut the laptop, relief and confusion at the sudden turn around washing over him in waves. What the fuck just happened? Too bewildered for words, "Of course," was all he could muster.

Quentin hesitated, as if in search of the right words, his throat working overtime. When he finally spoke, Jamie couldn't help but hear the emotion in the older man's voice. "If Claire's father was alive today, he would think his daughter has made a fine choice."

His jaw dropped involuntarily. "He would?"

There was no reply. Too shell shocked, Jamie stood there staring at the screen for a full minute, long after Quentin had signed off.

When Claire reappeared from the kitchen, she launched herself into his arms and whispered, "Hungry?"

His bewilderment evaporated, happiness shrouding around him in such a way he knew everything was going to be alright.

Puffing out a breath, Jamie shoved a hand through his hair and made his way to the bathroom. He knew he wouldn't be going back to sleep for a while, so he might as well washed off those vivid dreams of Harry and clear his thoughts of that conversation with uncle Lamb. He felt like he was living in the Twilight Zone and badly needed to get his equilibrium back.

The silence of the night closed in around him until the soothing spray of the shower hit his skin. He wondered if Claire would remember anything from her parents' accident. She'd mentioned a couple of times, she had been five when they passed away. Considering that Claire was now in a happy place, content and well-adjusted, it was probably not the brightest of ideas to conjure up her past. But then, on the other hand, he suspected she might want to know what had happened that day. After all, she did have the right to know her history, no matter how painful.

The image of Claire's bright amber eyes and husky laughter flashed in his mind.

Jamie sighed, turned off the shower, and quickly dried himself off. When he realised Claire wasn't in bed, he made his way to the kitchen. He quietened his pace when he found her dropping teabags into two mugs, wearing only his t-shirt and a pair of woollen socks. She didn't hear him approach at first, looking deep in thought as she waited for the kettle to boil.

Moonlight streamed in through the kitchen window, creating a halo out of the wisps of curls framing her face, the whole scene reminding him she was everything he wasn't, a shining light where he watched her in the shadows. Sorcha! A force within spurred him towards her, needing to touch that light, hoping it wouldn't fade with his damaged soul.

"It's late, Sassenach. What are ye doing up?" he asked, walking towards the fridge.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!" she jumped, hands flying to her chest. She tucked a loose curl behind her ears and faced him with a sigh, a small smile slowly forming her lips. "You weren't in bed, so I thought you probably had one of your nightmares. I'm making us some chamomile tea. It helps with sleep and relaxation."

He wasn't sure if this was the time to tell Claire about his dreams, so he dismissed it with a wave of a hand and smiled. "Just a strange dream. Is that one of yer herbal remedies?" he asked, stirring the subject to something neutral.

She lifted a shoulder. "Something like that."

He opened the fridge and found a rainbow of colours of fruits, vegetables, yoghurts and juices. Claire hadn't been kidding when she'd said she went food shopping today. Obviously, root vegetables, eggs, cheese and a container of hummus he'd bought wasn't enough. Smiling, he grabbed a pear and shut the fridge door. "Do pears go with chamomile tea?"

Her face lit up, making his heart expand. "I suppose so." She poured hot water into the mugs and brought their teas to the dining table, Jamie following close behind her. "And it's good for you. You ought to eat more fruits."

"But you bought enough pears to feed an entire village, Sassenach," he pointed out, biting into the succulent fruit.

Claire giggled as she sat down. "The other bag of pears are for the sticky toffee pear pudding I'm going to make. Uncle Lamb loves making it for me whenever he comes over for a visit. So I thought I'd make some for us. He told me the recipe he uses was from my mum."

The way she smiled fondly at the memory made him want to draw her into his arms, but he took a seat instead. "With pears? I've only ever had normal sticky toffee pudding," he said, sipping some tea. "My ma makes it sometimes."

Her eyes twinkled. "I was told my mum loved to bake. And apparently, according to uncle Lamb, my favourite was cream buns."

Curiosity started to niggle in his belly at the mention of Claire's mother, even though he rebelled against it. Is this the time to talk about the death of her parents? Before he could change his mind, he came straight out with it. "Sorry to change the subject, Sassenach, but I have something to ask. What made ye come to the Highlands every Christmas?" he asked. "Ye mentioned once, ye like coming here during the Holidays. I mean, it's a great place to spend Christmas and all, but is there a particular reason?"

For a long moment, she stared at him with a faraway look. He realised he was holding his breath, half of him already regretting asking the question. There was a possibility her answer could lead to resurrecting a tragic event and snuffing the light out of her. And he needed to bask in her light some more. What was he thinking? Leave the past in the past, Murtagh had told him. He didn't know what lay on the other side of bringing up her parents' death. Either way, Claire didn't need to be dragged down with a sad memory.

Feeling suddenly foolish, he put down the pear he was eating and reached out to touch her hand. "Ye know what. Dinnae answer that. It's getting late. The tea is working its magic already, and I think I'm ready to go to bed."

A delicate frown marred her brows. "Are you sure you don't want to know?"

Am I sure? No, not really. "Go on, tell me then."

She suddenly beamed like the light that she was. "The reason why I love coming back to the Highlands every year is, this is the place where my parents met and fell in love. I'm not quite sure where exactly, but it was somewhere around here. As far as I know, the Highlands was their happy place where they made loads of happy memories and great friends, and every time I come here, it makes me feel closer to them. You might find it odd, but I do feel most at peace here. There's something that draws me to come every year. Call it gravitational pull or whatever. But it feels like it's my parents' way of sharing their happiness with me. Am I making any sense?"

His breath of relief released in a slow rush, lightness invading his chest, as he realised she didn't remember anything of her parents' death. Or at least he presumed so. But, if it's his burden to carry the truth of Claire's parents' death alone, so be it. Why bring up something dark that has no place in their lives anymore? Maybe one day ...in the far future. Her hand still in his, he stood up, pulling her to her feet before lifting her into his arms. She squealed in surprise. "It doesnae matter if it makes sense or no', Sassenach. If it feels right to ye, then it must mean something. Who knows, maybe the reason ye're probably drawn to the Highlands is that ye were conceived here. Have ye ever thought of that?"

Claire slipped her arms around his neck and smiled. "Or maybe ..." she leaned in to nibble at his earlobe. "...because I was drawn to ye. Have you ever thought of that?"

Jamie laughed as he started to walk them towards the bedroom. "C'mon off to bed with ye ...I have an early start tomorrow."

Claire eyed him mischievously as she snuggled closer. "To bed or to sleep?"

With a guttural groan, he lowered his head, brushing their lips together as he gave his answer in kisses.

Dear Readers,

I hope this chapter made sense to you. As you might have noticed, I didn't write the events in this chapter in chronological order, and I hope you can understand why I wrote it the way I did. If it didn't make any sense, please, I'm all ears ...ask away, and I'll answer.

It was a challenge writing the dream part, so I hope I've done it justice. And mostly, I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed seeing the feedbacks in the previous chapter. So a big thank you for that!

Let me know what you thought about the latest instalment and until the next update, take care of your health and keep up the positive vibes. X 😀❤️

ADDED UPDATE - An explanation to this chapter

I was trying to be clever and do the first two part of this chapter in the reverse order that I may have left you confused than enlightened. I have copied and pasted an explanation to the question posted by one reader in AO3. I hope this will help clarify things. So here goes:

The dream was brought about by two triggers. First, was Jamie's conversation with Murtagh in Chapter five. Although in Jamie's dream he'd been the one to save Claire, in reality, it had been Murtagh. But it was Jamie who carried Claire to safety after Murtagh instructed him to. This was the conversation:

Murtagh puffed out a breath. "The last time ye saw Henry, he was in a car accident ...with his family."

"What?" he choked.

Murtagh turned tired-looking eyes on him, and there was a deep sadness in them that startled him. "It was the day they were coming back to Broch Mordha for the first time in years. I heard talks around the village that they've rented a wee cottage from Mrs Baird. And also heard words about a wean. I didnae want to stick around to find out. I thought I'd take a wee trip to Skye and stay there until Henry and his family were gone. I was just packing when ye came barging into my hoose tellin me that a car had smashed to a tree. I came running oot like a gudgeon with ye right behind me. Ye must have been nine or ten. It wasnae far from where I lived then. By the time I got there, Henry was still alive, and Jules was unconscious. He ordered me to get the bairn first and then Jules. My first thoughts were to save Jules, but the wee child was screaming, and Henry was begging me to save her. Between the two of us, we managed to get wee Claire oot, and I ordered ye to take her as far as possible from the site. And that ye did. But I couldnae save Harry and Jules because the car caught fire and Henry lost consciousness. When I smelt gasoline, I had to run, and that's when the car exploded."

The second trigger was brought about by seeing Uncle Lamb's similarity to Harry and also by their conversation via video conference. Towards the end of their conversation uncle Lamb realised Jamie was the young boy who'd carried Claire to safety before the car exploded. Uncle Lamb would have remembered this because he was the only living guardian of Claire and the story of his brothers' demise would have been passed on to him when he came to collect Claire. You will also notice that Jamie found it strange the sudden turn around in uncle Lamb's demeanour at the end of their talk. But Jamie hadn't known the reason for this until after the dream. The dream in a way brought back all the suppressed memories and everything clicked in place together.

Now Jamie is unsure of asking Claire what she knew about the crash and telling her his dreams. Seeing her happy and contented, he didn't want her to relive that past in case more grief than good comes out of it.

I hope I made more sense here. X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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hops-hunny · 3 years ago

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Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 7.5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: illegal shit, guns, mentions of murder, violence,

A/N: this chapter is dedicated to puff and s0up, ily guys so much <3

“Ah I can’t believe it! It’s finally here, the big day.” Seamus said, pumping his fist in the air as they all sat in the various seats of the van. Although no one had said anything verbally, all of them agreed with the excitement Seamus possessed. Hands itching, palms sweaty, and the determination of one thousand men, they were ready. All the hours spent scoping the place out, training relentlessly with Ginny, and the what if scenarios were finally being put to use. However the one scared the most wasn’t any of the men involved with the mission, it was the timid (Y/n) going along to see her boyfriend- er friend?- off.

Wiping her hands along her pants, she let out another shaky breath as she continued to look out the window. (Y/n) had tried looking at Neville, even holding his hand but she found that she couldn’t. Fear was consuming her. She knew she had no reason to be scared, her life wasn’t in danger and from the looks of their previous work, Neville’s wasn’t either. She had even been caught in one of their missions before and had escaped without a scratch! But there was a difference between being ambushed unexpectedly versus willingly sending someone you care for deeply straight into the jaws of potential danger. The van came to a jolting stop which pulled her from her thoughts, watching as the men filed out of the car. Climbing out, she placed herself into Neville’s awaiting arms. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a soft but passionate kiss.

“I’ll be fine darling, trust me. I’ve done this dozens of times.” she nodded, half assured as he stroked her cheek. ‘Adorable.’ he thought to himself. “Worst case scenario I come out with a few bullets in me which wouldn’t be the first time.” her eyes widened at that, giving him a shocked expression. He laughed some, ruffling her hair. He placed another peck on her soft lips before sighing happily. “That date of ours later is the perfect reward to a job well done. Until then, be good for me.” he winked at her before turning around, walking into the museum. She watched until his figure disappeared before climbing back into the car with Harrison and Twyla.

“Hey! Good news!” she said, turning around to look at the girl in the backseat. “Harrison said we can watch the mission from the cams. I feel like that would be good for you because you’re such a nervous wreck.” she said, patting the girl’s knee with a smile. (Y/n) nodded, smiling back at her weakly. Twyla bit the inside of her cheek as she picked at her own thoughts, looking for something. She checked the clock, eyes lighting up as she turned back to the girl. “We’ve got a bit before they initiate everything so how about we make some snacks to watch it with? I know you haven’t seen the kitchen yet and trust me, you’re gonna love it.” (Y/n) bounced her leg in excitement at the thought of the new kitchen that she had yet to see. “And who knows? Maybe if we have time you can even make something for the boys!”

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Harrison glared at the blonde agitated at the crumbs falling from her mouth and onto his shoulder. She let out another dramatic moan, licking her fingers clean of the chocolate from the brownies they had made. “Are you done yet? The mission will be commencing soon.” he said, irritation clear in his tone. She shrugged some, plopping down in the cushiony chair on the other side of him.

“Yeah, yeah. I mean if you had one of (Y/n)’s brownies, you’d be the same way.” he eyed her carefully, eye flickering from the plate of frosted brownies back to the girl. Twyla held the plate out to him, nudging him some. Harrison sighed before grabbing one, biting into it. His eyes widened as he made a noise of approval, both of them nodding in agreement as they laughed.

“ ‘S not fair you guys get to eat some of mini bosses treats while we risk our lives, but then you have to rub it in our faces? How cruel! Right George?” Fred’s voice sounded from the monitor.

“Right, how cruel!” he chimed, causing the (h/c) haired girl to giggle. Even on the monitor, their expressions matched the tone of what they were saying. Now that she had saw Harrison’s set up, a lot of the nerves had fled from her. There were numerous computer monitors along with flatscreens along the walls that had many different angles of the boys in their various different positions. The images on the screen were clear as day and in full color, live in action. Her eyes wandered to the monitor that had Neville on it who was with Ron, speaking of something she couldn’t quite hear. She gasped as his head turned, sending a wink into the camera. He lifted a finger to his ear, his voice sounding out as he did so.

“Hi petal, can you see me?” she nodded before realizing he couldn’t see her, pressing the unmute button on her own mic.

“Y-yes! I can see you, hi Nev.” she smiled some as his own smile grew, causing her chest to tighten. He waved some, sending a finger gun her way as they both began to giggle. Twyla watched fondly, smiling at the sight before her own eyes grew wide at the sight of a familiar lean blond man. She practically slammed the unmute button.

“Drayyy!” she screamed, causing the man to jump slightly at the loud noise in his ear. He muttered something before unmuting his ear piece.

“Ever heard of an inside voice, Dundee?” he hissed, causing the girl to cackle some. Even though his words said one thing, the small smile on his face said another. They were practically made for each other despite being total opposites.

“Where’s the fun in that? Anyways! I just wanted to wish you good luck. You guys have got this!” she cheered, causing the man to chuckle some as he shook his head, continuing to keep watch.

“I don’t need much luck today, I have the easiest job. All I have to do is sit and analyze, make sure no one is on our trail.” he replied, continuing to look around. Twyla rolled her eyes at his lack of enthusiasm about his job.

“You know Draco,” (Y/n) started, catching his attention, “Your job could be seen as the most important, if not the most important. If someone were to be onto you guys the whole thing could be ruined! Without you the mission would be a lot harder for everyone involved.” she encouraged, watching as he stood a bit straighter, dusting off his shoulders. Twyla giggled, muting her own mic once more.

“That little egocentric bastard. Of course that’d work!” she said, continuing to laugh before a bell sounded, causing her to give Harrison a confused look.

“It's time. The bell is signaling the start of the action.” the pair watched in awe as all the men straightened up, getting in formation. Although a lot of them were in different rooms, they were all pretty much in sync already. Right as Seamus opened the back door, Harry disabled the security system, causing a set of cameras in the room to fill with static. “Museum security cameras. I hacked them to make sure Harry had disabled them correctly. Harry, grab the tapes from the past few days we’ve been there and bring them to the back door. Seamus will be waiting to receive them to put them in one of the getaway vans out back. After that, return to the security room and disengage the power.” Harry nodded before grabbing the tapes, putting them in a sack beside him before making a brisk walk towards the back entrance. As the last of the men had snuck in, Seamus grabbed the sack from Harry before tossing it to the driver in the van.

“Excellent.” Harrison praised, looking down at the notes and plans Neville had given him to follow. Although Neville formed and created all of the plans, it was up to Harrison to make sure they flowed correctly and could work in the real world, not just paper. “George, Fred, begin trying to get people to clear the exhibit in the most subtle way possible.” he directed. They both nodded before turning to each other, smirking.

“Fire! Evacuate immediately! Everyone get out” they began to scream causing the visitors to scream as well, running and fleaing the building in hopes to escape the supposed fire.

“So much for subtle.” (Y/n) giggled out as the gingers high fived each other. As the last of people slid out, the lights in all of the museum went off, causing concern. However when the mob of people started to run screaming of a fire no one questioned the lights, joining the people and running. However, the museum curators knew something was up, sending security to be sent throughout the building. Many of Neville’s men began to appear from different corners of the museum, engaging in a fight with the museum staff, some of his men getting shot but mainly the museum staff dropping like flies.

“I’d hate to not join in on any of the fun. Ron? Let’s go.” Neville said, chuckling softly as he stomped his cigarette into the ground. They began to run, making their way to the exhibit in which the twins were waiting, already loading the objects they had marked into different cases and bags before handing them off to the cronies to take them to one of the awaiting vans. Neville high fived them before beginning to help.

Meanwhile in Draco’s hall, he was currently fighting off men. He kicked a man in the torso before lifting him, using him as a shield for oncoming bullets. Dropping the man to the ground he jumped into a split, kicking two men in the head before dusting himself off with a smirk. Blaise’s eyes widened from the vents as a man was currently sneaking up on the blond. Without another thought he hopped from the vent sending a kick to the back of the man’s head as he pulled out his dual guns, shooting two men on opposite sides.

“I could’ve gotten that.” Draco said, causing the taller man to roll his eyes.

“Right. Come on we’re done, let’s get to the van. Boss’s orders.” they both began to run, causing Twyla to cheer.

“This is awesome! Look at them go, amazing isn’t it?” she sighed dreamily, watching as they made their way into the van. Harry came out shortly after along with Seamus, leaving the three gingers and Neville in the building to finish things off. (Y/n) turned her eyes to the monitor with Neville on it as he growled, punching a man in the jaw angrily, turning around just in time to shoot the man on his oncoming left. Fred and George were trigger happy, as per usual. They were having a competition between each other to see who could do the coolest trick shot as Ron gathered the remaining things. However Neville started to walk a direction that hadn’t been in the game plan. She looked in confusion as he stopped in front of the necklace set she had been staring at the other day.

“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? I said you’d look gorgeous in it and I fucking meant it.” and before she could unmute to respond he punched the case, glass shards surrounding his feet as he reached in yanking out not only the necklace and earrings, but the tiara as well. “I know you didn’t ask but this is more so for my own pleasure. I wanna see my princess in a crown.” he tucked the objects into his suit jacket before running out, not even noticing the bleeding in his hand.

“Nev! Your hand is all bloody, you’ve gotta get home soon before it gets infected!” she wailed out, rubbing at her face nervously. The van door slammed as he climbed in, chuckling softly as he relaxed in his seat.

“Don’t worry love. As long as we’re going on that date, I don’t give a shit about my bloody hand.”

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

As the boys made their way through the door, they all were panting, breathing hard from the heavy activity they had just done. However, despite their tired expressions, none of them seemed to be upset. In fact, they all were ecstatic at the success of the mission. Besides a few scratches, cuts, and wounds, everyone had made it out safely. All of them looked up, gasping at the sight in front of them.

All along the table and counters were various different baked goods of all sorts. Pies, four layer cakes, cupcakes, tarts, cheesecakes, anything they could’ve possibly thought of, all in front of them. Blaise chuckled at the large pitcher of butterfly pea tea, happy that the woman had remembered his deep enjoyment of it. (Y/n) made her way in front of them, smiling as she rubbed her arm sheepishly.

“I thought you guys might enjoy a little snack after your mission but I couldn’t decide what to make, so I just decided to make a bit of everything. I..I hope that’s okay.” she trailed off, noticing their silence. As many pairs of arms made their way around her, she stumbled trying to maintain her up right position, giggling at the many praises and thank yous. Out the corner of her eye she spotted a familiar figure trying to sneak off for a plate. “Not so fast! I’ve gotta take care of that hand!” (Y/n) grabbed Neville by his good hand, dragging him off towards the restroom. Once they got there she looked at his hand, examining the damage.

“I know you’re going to hate me for it but, that was worth it. I’d do it again if it was something that would make you happy.” he said, chuckling to hide the wince as she turned his wrist. A lot of the wounds were still open, bits of glass in them. Sighing she shook her head, grabbing a pair of tweezers from the cabinet.

“Hold still.” she huffed out, beginning to pick out the shards as gently as she could. He winced, swearing under his breath as he tried to keep a cool composure. It was less of it hurting, and more of the feeling of his hand pulsating combined with the quick movements of the tweezers. She looked at him before back at his hand, biting his lip. “I..I’m going to do something. Don’t mention this to anyone, okay?” he nodded, curious of what she was going to do. WIthout another word her (e/c) eyes fixated on his hand, squinting at it as if she was focusing hard. Before he could ask what she was doing, his own eyes widened as his cuts began to disappear, closing as if they had never been there.

“How did- you- what the hell was that?!” he asked, a mix of freaked out and amazed. Sure he was a wizard, he had seen many unbelievable things throughout his lifetime. But nothing even close to that. She grabbed his now healed hand, tangling their fingers together.

“It’s a gene that runs in my family. They thought it had died out with my grandmother but it got passed down to me, it just blossomed later in life than it should’ve. I’m still not too sure of what it is or the extent to it, but it’s a different form of magic that I can control with my eyes.” she leaned forward into him, yawning softly. “I don’t use it often though. Only when I really see fit.” he hummed, nodding along to her words. She never failed to make him amazed by her existence and yet just when he thought she couldn’t get any cooler once again was she proving him wrong. They sat in silence, holding one another before he remembered the crown in his coat pocket. Pulling it out, he placed it on top of her head before turning her to the mirror. Although she was only in sweats, he thought she looked like absolute royalty.

Placing a kiss to the top of her head where the crown was cut out he smiled. He bowed, kneeling before her as he grabbed her hand raising it to his lips.

“Your majesty.”

“You’re such a geek, Nev!”

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Chase the Shadows Away (Taywhora) - Juno

Summary: It’s April 2020, the UK is in lockdown, and Tayce gets a hand-delivered letter from her neighbour Aurora which may change her life.

A/N: So this is set during lockdown and does mention covid, so please bear this in mind when reading if this will be a worry, but otherwise I hope you enjoy. CWs in place for alcohol, mental health mentions, and non-adherence to lockdown rules at one point.

Otherwise it’s quite fluffy with some h/c. I hope you enjoy.

The first letter Tayce got was in early April.

She hadn’t had much post since the whole country had been locked down, no one allowed to move outside their front doors for more than once a day for threat of fines and penalties and even getting sick. Most of the letters she was getting this week had been birthday cards for her absent housemate. She’d put the various brightly-coloured cards and Amazon boxes in a pile outside Viv’s bedroom door, and gave the pile the middle finger every time she walked past it.

But today there was a plain, white envelope, with “Hi” written on it in glittery red pen, and when Tayce opened it, she found a piece of notebook paper that had been folded at least four times, and Tayce nearly threw it across the room with the effort it was taking to open.

This had better be worth it.

When she got it unfolded, she read the three lines in the same glitter pen, then again, and once more just in case.

‘Hi, I’m Aurora. I’m on my own in my flat 7D because my housemate moved home because of lockdown, and you seem to be alone too. Want to write to each other? X’

And Tayce couldn’t hold back the rush of emotion, as much as she tried - but she was alone, and she took comfort knowing only these four walls would see tears stream down her face.

——

Tayce was on her own in the flat.

In the day time she opened her work laptop, thanking god she was allowed to work from home; throwing a hoodie over her pyjama top just in time for the 9am meeting where her boss grinned at everyone and told them all to keep swimming and chin up and whatever other self-indulgent bullshit she had read in her How To Motivate Your Teammanual in the chapter about Managing Pandemics.

Tayce was still surprised at how much bullshit her workmates seemed to swallow; all of them with the same broad smiles and straightened hair and shaved chins and eyeliner, for fuck’s sake - but Tayce copied them, knowing that not painting her own smile and her own eyebrows on was damning herself for the inevitable call and the simpering It’s Good To Talk conversation, followed by u k hun xx to be flashing repeatedly in the work WhatsApp group from all the team.

In the evenings, the only noise was the clink of the glass bottle against the wine glass. One glass was enough to make her a little sleepy, two was enough to make her dance, and three was enough to make her post something cryptic on her insta story and see if anyone DMed her.

Sometimes they did.

Joe liked to crack a few morbid jokes about how it was the apocalypse and we were all going to be dead by 2021, which didn’t help Tayce in the slightest. Ginny would message “You alright, bab?” at three in the morning, but never reply to any other message. Tia would send Tayce a picture of the banana bread she’d baked as if that would cheer Tayce up.

And Cherry sent her a message one time, telling her to look after her mental health, and then Tayce felt bad because Cherry worked for the NHS and only seemed to work and sleep right now, her insta photos showing her looking more and more gaunt, with #ClapForHeroes and #ProtectTheNHS appearing at the bottom of all her posts.

Nothing curbed the gaping black hole in Tayce’s chest, sucking everything that was good from her body and leaving her a shell.

Until the letter arrived.

——

Two days after she’d posted her own letter back to 7D, another letter arrived, in the same glittery red pen, this time addressed to her, with Tayce written on the front of the envelope this time.

‘Hi Tayce (sp?) nice to meet you, don’t worry I don’t know what to say either! Where in Wales are you from? I’m from Nottingham but I came to London for uni and didn’t leave! Are you still working rn? I got furloughed which is a bit shit. And my housemate is staying with her boyfriend so she can’t move back. Have you been clapping for the NHS? Someone on my floor was banging a pan or something!! Hope your ok? WB Aurora xx’

“I’m making a new friend,” Tayce had said to her mum on the phone later that night.

“In lockdown?”

“She’s delivering me letters.”

“How?”

“By hand, mum.” Tayce forced a laugh. “You know. Through the letterbox like a normal letter.”

“I hope you’re washing your hands before and after you open them, are you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tayce grimaced as she said it.

“Good. Stay safe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

One of these days, Tayce thought as she disconnected the call, she might be able to say it without her voice breaking.

——

By mid-April, a full month since lockdown had started and two weeks after the first letters between them, Aurora had given Tayce her instagram handle, and Tayce had given hers in return. Tayce found herself spending all of her Good Friday skimming down the page on moreauroramore, looking through all of her new pen pal’s photos and trying desperately not to look like an idiot by accidentally double-tapping any that were obviously over a year old.

Tayce had pictured Aurora in her mind as being over-excitable, short, with dark hair and lots of dusty pinks and baby blues and other pastel colours as her aesthetic, maybe with pot plants and cat pictures and cutesy little slogans surrounded by hearts. Instead she’d found a smolderingly attractive woman with a ridiculously versatile and sophisticated sense of fashion; one photo in a rococo-inspired summer dress, and the next in a cerulean blazer, matching trousers, and stilettos. Her hair was platinum-blonde, but it was hard to tell her eye colour as she seemed to own a never-ending plethora of colour contacts; and the eyebrow ring in the early pictures was replaced by a silver septum ring in later ones.

Her own insta looked quite plain in comparison, Tayce thought to herself. The landscapes she liked to post were interesting to her but probably not to the magnificent person on Aurora’s insta. The last picture Tayce had taken was of herself with her brother and niece in red rugby shirts just before the Six Nations was on; the last selfie before the last time she’d gone home which was … only February, she realised.

February felt like years ago.

When Tayce had awoken the next morning, she was greeted by the doorbell, and an Amazon driver sprinting away the moment she opened the door. A letter was on the doormat, in the familiar red glittery pen, and a single chocolate Easter egg.

‘Happy Easter Tayce. Don’t know if you celebrate but lol thought you would like some chocolate anyway! Don’t eat it all at once. Aurora xx’

It made Tayce’s gut wrench with guilt that she hadn’t thought to get Aurora one.

But it made Tayce even more pained, once she had clicked onto her instagram, to see that moreauroramore had liked all thirteen of the pictures she’d posted this year.

——

The zoom call at the end of April with the others from her uni group, saw not just Cherry missing, but also Ellie and Veronica.

“Ellie’s moving this week,” Lawrence nodded at the screen, “but that was all she’d tell me. She didn’t say where. Or if she’s staying in Dundee or anything. I just know she’s still trying to get her internet set up and I think she’s a bit stuck.”

“What about Vee?” Ginny asked in a low voice.

They all recognised the somber tone. They’d all taken it up. A change in their voices that all of them recognised in a kind of collective telepathic awareness. A hush in the calls, as if someone were dying, or had just died. Whenever anyone was missing, it was always the same worry circling all of their minds: what if it’s covid what if it’s covid what if it’s -

Tia was shaking her head. “It’s not covid,” she said, reading the minds of everyone through the internet, but her voice was still solemn as she continued. “I spoke to her mum. She’s -“

“Say depressed, Tia, it’s fine.” Bimini spoke gently, but not all of them were as open as Bimini was. Especially when it came to Veronica, who was a brick wall when it came to showing what she was feeling.

“She’s - not in a good place.”

“Say mental health,” Bimini said, shaking their head. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna make her feel any better, Bim.” Tia rolled her eyes.

“We’re all feeling this,” Pip nodded. “We all need to talk to each other.”

“Veronica won’t. Not yet. We just need to be there for her when she does. Anyway, who’s done anything interesting? Anyone else been trying banana bread? Everyone managed to find bogroll from somewhere now? No one is having the same problem that Joe had when she -“

“I don’t think we need to go any further with that one, love,” Joe muttered.

“I’ve made a pen friend.”

Everyone sat in stunned silence at Tayce’s sentence, mouths open like fish at feeding time.

“A pen friend? What is this, 1986?”

“Shut up, Ginny. I think that’s kind of cute, actually,” Tia mused, tilting her head to one side.

Tayce nodded. “Something a bit different. She lives in my block of flats. Two floors up from me. Been nice, to talk to someone, ever since Viv buggered off to her boyfriend’s house. Seriously, as soon as Boris announced lockdown she was jumping in her car and off to Liverpool.”

“You said she was a bit flaky,” Tia said sympathetically. “What’s your new pen pal’s name?”

“Aurora.”

“A-what?” Ginny raised their eyebrows. “Can we just call her Rory?”

“No.”

“We should get her on a call with us when Veronica’s back. Ronni and Rory, sounds like Ant and Dec will have some stiff competition when they get wind of that.”

“Ginny -“ Tia began, but Tayce was trying to hold back a chuckle.

——

‘Someone is talking about a street party on the 8th of May. Are you gonna go? I was gonna stay indoors but if you’re gonna go outside i will too xx’

Tayce knew she shouldn’t be thinking of meeting strangers outside her flat while the pandemic was ongoing, but she hadn’t seen a familiar human since March other than on a zoom call screen.

‘Hi Aurora, yeah i will go outside for a little bit. Look forward to meeting you properly instead of over letters! Tayce’

And Tayce finally stopped hesitating, adding two kisses on the end for the first time.

The weather was meant to be lush for a May bank holiday, as Tayce knew because her colleagues wouldn’t shut up about it. Almost eight weeks of lockdown were beginning to show the cracks in all their faces - no more eyeliner, and even Linda in Accounts had stopped posting boomerang videos of her kids doing Joe Wicks workouts while she waved her arms behind them.

So Tayce was over the moon when Friday rolled around and she could slam the Dismiss button on her phone alarm, turn over and sleep in until noon. Once she woke up though, she sat up with a jolt in her bed and realised she’d have to get ready; somehow it was important that she looked right today.

It was a power play, she knew it. An armour. But there was just something about clothes that made her mood turn in an instant. Her favourite leather jacket was probably a bit too heavy for the warm sunshine - warm sunshine? In May? - so she opted for the black denim instead and a skirt that hugged her slender figure, leaving her hair loose and wishing she’d gone for a trim before the lockdown. Maybe she should take her scissors to it?

She held the only scissors she had to hand - a pair of craft scissors - and wondered what her hairdresser mum would say if she knew that her daughter had taken non-styling scissors to the 30-inches of hair that she had.

No - better not. Her mum could give her a go over once the lockdown period had ended.

Someone was playing tunes on a speaker already when Tayce came down the stairs, dragging the garden chair Viv had left behind and brushing the digestive crumbs off it. One of the neighbours she recognised from her floor handed her an ice-cold can of Fosters which she sipped, not really enjoying the taste but relishing the freedom of it all. She knew to keep two metres from everyone, and she knew Cherry would absolutely murder her if she disobeyed that rule.

As soon as Aurora came into view from the block of flats, Tayce knew that keeping to the two metre rule would prove a little harder than she had first thought.

Aurora’s insta pictures showed a fashion model trapped in a little box on a screen, striving to get out - but in the flesh, she looked as if she had just rolled out of the living room after a Tiger King marathon. The grey jogging bottoms paired with the crop top and zip-up hoodie were probably too warm for today - 23 degrees, the radio kept repeating - but she made them look so effortless and stylish that Tayce suddenly wanted to buy some. Her platinum hair was piled in a messy bun, dark brown roots showing but the lackadaisical nature made it seem like Aurora meant it that way.

On her insta page, Aurora was way out of Tayce’s league; but here in life, she seemed a lot more accessible, a lot calmer, a lot more real.

Maybe it’s armour for her too. All this perfection in the photos. God. Why did I wear this?

She dropped her own deck chair down a reasonable distance from Tayce, taking another can of Fosters from the same neighbour and cracking it open. She took a swig, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and waved.

“Hi, Tayce. Here we are, then!”

“Yeah,” was the only thing Tayce could think of in response. Really cool. Very clever.

But Aurora was talking animatedly about how much she’d missed the sun, as she pulled a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and leaned back against the deck chair, claiming “Tesco are having them on sale - two for £12, so I got two - what else am I gonna do on furlough other than sunbathe!”

And the more the Fosters flowed - their neighbour’s 24-pack almost completely gone before 5pm, he seemingly wanting to give a can to the whole block - the more Aurora opened up her life history to Tayce.

How much she wished she was still in Worksop and could go on the long walks into the forest. How she’d give anything to hug her mum, a care-worker, and how she FaceTimed her shielding grandad every Sunday at 6.30 just after he finished his tea.

But most of all, how lonely it was every single night being alone in a flat in a huge city. Aurora dabbed her watery eyes with her thumbs as she described how much she loved everything that London had to offer when it was full of people, not dead to the world like it was now - and in this hollow place that lockdown was, she’d discovered that a city - any city, however exciting - was just a built-up area if you had no one to share it with.

Tayce hadn’t expected to cry. She’d cried maybe once or twice this whole time in lockdown, still too numb to have taken everything in that was happening. But the moment she’d opened her mouth, suddenly the Fosters had started talking for her too, and she was spilling out her worries onto the pavement below them as Aurora rubbed her back.

How her mum was furloughed from the hairdresser and her dad was always out in the lorry up and down the country. Her brother and sister-in-law, and her niece, were all still fine in Newport, but Tayce had missed her niece’s birthday, having to settle for blowing her a kiss down FaceTime and promising her through gritted teeth and cold fear that she’d give her the biggest cwtch ever as soon as this was over.

But now Tayce was in tears again, this time on Aurora’s shoulder, releasing her sorrows onto this woman who she had only exchanged written words with; now seeing her true soul laid bare in emotions that just refused to stop once she started. Aurora’s gentle hands ghosted through her hair, but then gripped Tayce tightly to her chest, planting a long, tender kiss on her hairline.

How had this happened? How had social distancing become this? Two people, thinking they were islands, clinging to one another for dear life?

Tayce held her for too long.

Aurora’s hands froze as she realised what she had done at the same moment Tayce had.

Cherry is gonna kill me.

Aurora walked with Tayce back to her flat as the sun was setting. It was nine in the evening, the heat finally starting to break, and both of them were aching and tired, spent from their tears. Aurora gave Tayce’s hand a gentle squeeze but said nothing else, her eyes red underneath her sunglasses, and Tayce had felt herself harden once again, turning the key in the door and closing the outside world back to where it should be.

——

After two weeks had passed, both of them not developing any symptoms after their contact, Tayce had an idea.

She put the letter through the letterbox in 7D at midday when she broke for lunch, and had a reply by half past one, a new record for Aurora.

‘Tayce, I’d love to form a support bubble with you. I thought you would have one already thats why i didn’t ask! Want to put on a film tonight and just chill? Bubble bud? Aurora xx’

So Tayce saw inside Aurora’s flat for the first time that same evening. After work, she practically sprinted up the stairs, thankful to get away from more of u k hun xx and her still-simpering colleagues.

It was very clean, as if it had only just been cleaned that day - freshly-washed surfaces, hoovered carpets, a sparkling bathroom - and Tayce marvelled at how tidy and orderly things were, a stark contrast from her own living space which had evolved into a nest of mess by now. Aurora’s living room and kitchen space were one area, with a mismatched sofa and chair facing the tv screen, hooking up a PS4 - Tayce hadn’t counted Aurora as a Dishonoured player either. The wall opposite the window was filled with small pictures of past fashion models - Kate Moss, Agyness Deyn, Cara Delevigne - all with matte black frames which had obviously been painted in lockdown, as one was on the coffee table drying over a copy of Hello magazine.

“My housemate’s not coming back, I can see it happening now,” Aurora shrugged, “so why not make the house the way I like it while I look for someone else to live with?”

Aurora poured Tayce a huge glass of wine, and that was followed by another; while she topped up her own glass liberally and kept shifting on the sofa as if trying to get comfortable. Tayce, for her part, took the chair instead, while Aurora tapped on the PlayStation controller to try to get Netflix up. The more she drank, the more cumbersome the controller seemed to become in her hands, until Tayce leaned over and took it away from her, Aurora’s fingers lingering a little too long on it before relinquishing.

When Aurora got up, meaning to pour them both a fourth glass of wine, she slipped on something and tumbled into Tayce’s lap in the chair, tittering something that sounded like “god I’m clumsy” through the giggles that came from her, unable to stop. Tayce slapped her on the back as she started coughing, but as that died down, Aurora straightened up, picking up Tayce’s hand in hers and drawing her up and away to join her on the sofa.

Lockdown had been so fucking lonely.

Aurora’s hand in hers was all Tayce needed to dissolve every wall she was still rebuilding from May Bank Holiday.

Aurora’s eyes were on her, she knew; through her peripheral vision as she tried desperately to cling to her focus on whatever episode of Tiger King this was.

When Tayce finally met her gaze, she averted it, turning her face to the window opposite them. Almost … playfully.

So Tayce looked back at the TV screen, but Aurora’s hand squeezed at hers, thumb in her palm pressing right in the centre, the pressure somehow travelling all the way to her gut. Tayce turned back to her, and this time Aurora did not look away.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Aurora looked at her through her eyelashes, lips parted in a smirk, curiously searching Tayce with her gaze as if wondering what her next move would be.

Tayce blinked incredulously. “Me? Like this? What do you mean, I’m gorgeous? Have you seen yourself?”

“And that accent, oh my days -“

“Go to Newport, we all sound like this.”

But the wine was hitting hard now and oh god lockdown is so fucking lonely and Tayce’s feet on the floor suddenly felt unsteady and Aurora was so fucking close to her on the sofa -

——

Once the hangover was gone, the memory of rest of the night felt like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. Tayce wasn’t entirely sure when she’d gone back to her flat, but she had, long before night had fully fallen and long after she was sure the burgeoning friendship she was finally making with someone lay in tatters two floors up from her.

The wine had washed away the strength she’d had, leaving her raw and vulnerable, and all the affection that had been growing since Aurora had first held her bubbled and burst into life. And Aurora must have felt the same magnetic pull, drawing them together across the sofa, nail marks still present in Tayce’s back that she could see in the mirror, a bruise forming on Tayce’s collarbone as Aurora had dipped a little lower.

It had been Tayce who had halted it - not because she hadn’t wanted to, but because she couldn’t decipher how much of this was affection and how much of this was just two lonely people, starved of company, starved of normality, seeking and clinging to it in any form.

And now it was the following day, and Tayce still didn’t know.

The group call at the end of the day was interesting. She stretched over the back of the sofa in her living room to grab her water, and that must have been enough to flash a sliver of skin.

“What’s that?” Lawrence asked loudly, prompting everyone else to go quiet. “Tayce? What’s that on your chest, hmm?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re not wearing your glasses, Ginny, you can’t see shit. What’s that on your chest? Why d’you have a bruise there?”

“Hi!” Ellie’s voice as she joined the call unexpectedly saved Tayce any further embarrassment; everyone shrieked when she came on, having missed the last two zoom calls following her move. “Thank God my internet is working now, I’ve missed all your faces!”

Tayce silently thanked Ellie’s timing and contentedly listened to the rest of them as they chatted about everything and nothing that they’d all missed. All of them were there; even Cherry showed up about twenty minutes in to wave at them and blow them kisses, her face even more pallid than before; before ducking back out to go to bed.

Only Veronica was still missing.

“She’s been messaging me,” Tia explained, “and she said she’s feeling a bit better, but since she got furloughed, she’s feeling like there’s no point getting out of bed or getting ready because there’s nowhere to go.”

“Send her some love,” Tayce said, but Tia snorted.

“You send her it! She’s gonna feel better if she knows we all miss her.”

It was true though, Tayce realised after they all disconnected. They all seemed to be drifting apart, no more energy to continue with these online gatherings, even though there were so many virtual meetup groups and apps that there almost seemed to be no excuse now.

She looked back through her phone messages. She hadn’t messaged Veronica since early April, taking her silence as a sign that she wanted to be left alone; but what if it wasn’t? Veronica was a closed fist, everyone knew that. And Tayce’s brother? Again, early April, and a quick call the week after for her niece’s birthday.

Lockdown, and self-isolation, seemed to be one and the same.

So Tayce spent the rest of the afternoon sending messages to everyone she had neglected since then. Maybe they would reply, and maybe they wouldn’t - but there was no harm in reaching out, no negative consequences.

By the end of the day, she was fielding messages back and forth from everyone she thought she’d lost through lockdown, the grey cloud over her head starting to lift, the fuzzy feeling disappearing and clarity settling in. She felt light, lighter than she had in weeks; and warm as the summery days they were getting in this late-May spring.

Towards the end of the day, she got a message back from Veronica at last.

Veronica: I’m doing ok. I got up and went for a walk today just to the park and back. It’s really nice although my hay fever sucks. Thanks for checking in on me i appreciate it x Veronica: Oh also Tia said you had a hickey on the group call haha tell me what her name is x

Tayce was surprised to realise she was grinning at the phone as she read Veronica’s message, her fingers stroking the mark on her collarbone as if to savour the vivid image that it sparked in her head.

——

It was three days after their drunken kiss on the sofa that Tayce had another letter through the door. The same red glittery pen, the same scrawl, but the writing a little smaller as if Aurora wanted to diminish herself.

‘Hi Tayce. I’m really sorry if i came on too strong this week. Can we go back to friends? Want to hang out tonight, bubble bud? Aurora xx’

Tayce swallowed down the part of her that immediately rose up and cried that she … didn’t want to just be friends.

Then it hit her.

God. I only met this girl properly this month. What’s wrong with me?

But she replied and immediately started clearing the house.

She put the pile of Viv’s birthday cards and presents from the hallway floor into a cupboard under the sink, giving it the middle finger again; put the six-weeks worth of laundry on to wash; cleaned all the dishes; and dragged the hoover out of the tiny airing cupboard and got to work on the carpets. The hard floors she swept, and carried the bin bags out to the communal bins, all before midday.

“Who needs Joe Wicks workouts?” She muttered to herself, panting, as she tugged some marigolds over her hands to sort out the rest of the kitchen.

By the time it was six, and time for Aurora to arrive, Tayce thought the house looked much better, and honestly, she felt much better too. The little spring clean she’d given the place had cleared a little clutter from her head as well.

It’s nothing to worry about. She’d just coming over for food and -

Tayce grimaced as she realised she hadn’t thought of what to do for food. She thought back to the beans on toast she’d had at four and kicked herself for not thinking of that. Dominos was still delivering, so she brought up the app and busied herself looking through the list of pizzas.

Aurora hadn’t arrived by ten past six, and Tayce started to worry.

Maybe she’s changed her mind.

But Tayce refused to let that thought take any root. She looked at the clock, which of course seemed to slow down from having eyes on it, and firmly told herself that she would message Aurora at quarter past if she wasn’t here before.

With a minute to spare, Aurora turned up, grinning merrily and waving the bottle of rose in Tayce’s face.

“Hey bubble bud! Sorry I’m late, well I’m always late, sorry in advance if you expect me on time for anything!” Aurora took a step inside and her jaw dropped. “Wow, your place is well nice!”

“Thanks,” Tayce grinned, although she wasn’t sure what Aurora was looking at. Tayce wasn’t allowed anything on the walls from what her landlord said, but Aurora wouldn’t stay still - checking out the titles of the handful of CDs Tayce had brought down to London with her; scanning a nail along the books on the shelf above the TV.

“It’s nice to hold a book sometimes,” Tayce shrugged, “rather than just read it on the kindle app.”

When Aurora got to the kitchen, Tayce cringed. She’d have to confess.

“I haven’t got in anything to eat. Only - only some bread.”

“And pot noodles,” Aurora added, opening a cupboard and helping herself to the contents as if she’d lived here her whole life.

“And pot - oh, are you thinking, maybe …”

“No way!” Aurora slammed the cupboard door and grabbed her keys again. “Be right back!”

Ten minutes later and Tayce was at the hob over the oven with Aurora, dicing onions while she cut up a red pepper, mince that Aurora had grabbed from her own fridge was out and ready to go in too.

“I needed to use that up anyway,” she shrugged. “Please tell me you don’t just eat bread and pot noodles, Tayce, please. I need to give you a cooking crash course if you do! Didn’t you learn to cook at uni? Or didn’t you do much cooking before you went? Oh my days - no fry the onion off first, with the garlic - I’ll chop the mushrooms, Jesus Christ pot noodles …”

“I know how to cook, give me some credit!” Tayce murmured, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “I just haven’t been to the shop yet, it’s been a long week.”

Aurora closed her eyes and hummed in appreciation. “Just keep talking to me, please.”

“What about?”

“Anything! Your life, your family - I don’t know, house prices, I don’t care - but that accent, ugh -“ Aurora shivered.

“Yours is cute, too,” Tayce smirked.

Aurora looked at her reproachfully. “You’re lying.”

“Yeah, I am.”

It was no use. The air was full of electricity, static around them, and before Tayce knew what was happening, suddenly they were kissing again, this time stone-cold sober, while the onions burned shadows into the bottom of the pan.

——

Viv gave her notice on the flat at the start of June.

“I just can’t afford to live here anymore,” she explained, sighing, when she got back and started to pack up everything in her room. “I’m gonna see if I can get some work back home.”

Tayce was numb, although she knew Viv didn’t mean it personally. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been made redundant straight after the lockdown ended, and it made sense that she wanted to be near her family. It was now four months since Tayce had seen hers, and she missed them every day, although she had been sticking religiously to her new routine of calling her parents every Saturday night and her brother’s family every Sunday afternoon.

“I’m sorry that’s putting you in a tight spot, Tayce,” Viv muttered, hugging her, and Tayce hugged her back.

“Can’t be helped,” Tayce replied, which was all she could think to respond with that wasn’t an inarticulate growl in frustration.

Viv was adamant she would pay her final month’s rent, and pay her half the utilities even though she wasn’t there. But she had to go home.

“How was your move?” Tayce asked Ellie on the next group call on zoom.

“Shite,” Ellie replied, “but partly because we struggled finding someone to move us. There’s plenty of places around, plenty of places to rent and stuff, because everyone’s moved back to where they came from.”

“You’ll find somewhere else to live, bab,” Ginny murmured in a soothing voice to Tayce, stroking the side of the laptop screen as she liked to do to show affection now that she couldn’t hug anyone.

“I know,” Tayce sighed. “It’s just a pain in the arse.”

She wasted no time. One of the spare room websites was always open in the background, and she was refreshing, looking maybe a little further out from central London to see if anywhere was cheaper, but nowhere was.

Then she spotted the dot in her own block of flats, and clicked the advert.

That’s - that’s Aurora’s flat.

Now she remembered. Aurora had mentioned something about her housemate moving out! It must now be official.

She read through the advert - how was it £50 cheaper than what she was already paying? - and looked at the contact name for the housemate, and there it was in black and white pixels: Aurora Martin, use form below.

Grabbing a piece of notebook paper - one of the last bits left, she’d been ripping them all out to write to Aurora - she penned a letter, one of what might well be the last ones, and jogged upstairs to post it through her letterbox.

The response came back to her in less than an hour, a new record for Aurora.

‘Tayce! I’d love it if you wanted to move in here! OMG. My landlord will want references from yours, but if you can get them quick then he can approve you really fast, he’s working from home. OMG you made my day. Come up at 7pm xx’

“Work contacted me today too,” Aurora beamed as she settled with Tayce on the sofa. “They want me to start back next week! Can’t wait. Need to get that coin again now! I mean, I’m dead grateful, you know, that I still have my job and I was on furlough so the government paid most of my wages, but it will be nice to have the full package again!”

“What is it you do again?” Tayce asked.

“Oh - I work as a fashion buyer. But because fashion’s kind of stopped right now, most of the designers are shut. Reopening now, especially the ones in mainland Europe! Can’t wait to be on the phone to them all again.”

“Wait. You speak to designers in other countries?”

Aurora nodded. “I speak French and Spanish.”

“You -“ Tayce was dazed. “I didn’t know that!”

“Well why would you? I mean you’ve only known me a couple of months!” Aurora laughed, and leaned back closer to Tayce, her perfume overwhelmingly sweet in the air. “You’re not gonna know everything about me yet, bubble bud.”

“No,” Tayce purred, “but I can’t wait to find out.”

——

By the Monday after the move, early July, Tayce was all set up to go. She’d moved the bed into the corner as she liked it, arranged her books into a rainbow as she liked them, and unfurled the posters she’d been unable to hang in her last flat, mostly punk bands that she liked, Bimini’s band’s poster, and the noticeboard with all the tickets tacked to it of all the gigs she’d been to. The vanity with the mirror that she’d brought from home fitted perfectly next to the window so she could do her makeup with natural light; and it was large enough for her work setup, which was where she was now.

The flat layout was almost identical to the one she’d just left, and the room was the same one - Aurora having the slightly bigger room - but it felt a lot more comforting, knowing she wasn’t alone here any more, knowing she had a little more freedom in decorations, and knowing that the hollow feeling in her chest was starting to slow down for good.

She turned off her work laptop at five as normal, which was when Aurora came in. Tayce pulled her in, giving her a peck on the lips.

“They’re gonna love you, I promise.”

Aurora just made a moan in the back of her throat and put her face in her hands, shrinking away from the vanity.

Tayce turned on her personal laptop, logging into zoom and connecting to the group chat. Her monthly uni call was set to half four today for some reason, and everyone else was already all there.

“Tayce! We wondered where you’d got to!”

It was Veronica’s voice, and Veronica’s face was in the top left. She still looked a little tired, and the shirt she was wearing looked suspiciously like a pyjama top, but she was here with them all, and this was a big step for her.

Tayce beamed at her. “So good to see you!”

“The move went alright then, bab?” Ginny asked.

Tayce nodded. “And there’s someone you should meet.” She pulled Aurora into frame, who still looked uncharacteristically shy for a moment before waving at the people on the screen. “This is Aurora.”

“Aurora!” Tia squeaked. “Like the princess!”

Aurora rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“So we’ve got Rory and Ronni here together at last!” Lawrence exclaimed, while Veronica gave the camera two fingers.

But Tayce just grinned at her friends on the screen, far apart but together in this strange way. Aurora’s nails dug into her shoulder, still a little nervous, but even that was fading as she got more comfortable.

Aurora had been right - the city was just a lot of bricks in intricate patterns without someone in it that made it a home.

And this just might be becoming one.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #tayce #a'whora #taywhora #ginny lemon #lawrence chaney #veronica green #tia kofi #ellie diamond #uk2 #lesbian au #fluff #hurt/comfort #juno #tw covid lockdown #tw mental health mentions #submission

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corpse--diem · 4 years ago

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Home Not So Sweet Home | Skylar & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @theskyeandsea & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Erin stops by to check in on Skylar but finds herself unwelcome in a place she once called home. CONTENT WARNINGS: Descriptions of drug use, addiction

It’d been nearly a month since Erin had stepped foot inside this home. For months, it’d been her home away from home, even when it wasn’t her temporary residence after the fire, and it was still more of a home to her than the apartment she was still breaking in. Nic’s departure had been abrupt and more painful than she was willing or even choosing to cope with on top of everything the past month had brought. There were things he needed to do, just as Erin had chiseling away at problems in her own life for sometime now. Respecting that hadn’t made walking out of this door or saying goodbye to him or the little life they’d been building any easier. But at least it had given her a good excuse to return when her gut wouldn’t stop worrying for the roommate still here. Skylar’s stubborn, continual insistence that she was “fine” and that Erin had no reason to worry only made the nagging in her gut intensify. Vivid flashes of the night she’d find her high out of her mind got her off the couch, past the hard, awkward barrier that had kept her from returning, and to the front door. Time to see how fine Skylar was with her own eyes.

With a deep breath, she turned the key in the door and made a point to knock loudly multiple times, half-slamming the door shut for extra noise assurance. “Hello? Anyone home?” She called out, her voice echoing through the large home. Little squeals came from the end of the hallway. Dundee’s nails clicked against the hardwood floor as he scurried her way. “Oh, hello to you too!” She greeted him in a cooing, baby-like voice, and scooped him up with one hand. For as dead-eyed and weird as he usually was, his little body shook with excitement as he immediately started licking her fingers. “Awww, I missed you too, buddy,” she laughed quietly, petting down the top of his head as she walked further into the home. Didn’t think about how it looked exactly the same or how comfortably familiar it still felt and just pushed on. “Skylar? Are you home?” She yelled, louder now.

Skylar looked up at the sky, watched the way the clouds shifted overhead as she lay on the grass of the backyard. It was cold outside; or, it should feel cold to her. But, her warmth had returned and she was much recovered from That Day, as Skylar had come to think of it. She didn’t like thinking about the specifics of it all, about the way that the dogs had chased after her, how their teeth had felt digging into her flesh-- No. Sitting upright, Skylar ran a hand through her tangled hair. She didn’t want to think about that right now and, pleasantly, the thoughts slipped through her mind like water. Stretching, the faint rumbling of her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in-- how long had it been? She couldn’t remember. Bliss got rid of pain, even the slight pangs of discomfort that came with hunger. Idly walking back inside, Skylar made her way to the kitchen, humming quietly to herself. She didn’t have her hearing aids in; she never wore them in the house anymore, not now that she was alone. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

Slipping into the kitchen, Skylar riffled through the shelves of the refrigerator, fingers gliding over the condiment bottles. When was the last time she’d gone to the store? Mmm. It didn’t really matter. Shutting the door without taking anything, Skylar began to wander towards the living room only to see Erin walking through her house, Dundee in her arms. Tilting her head, Skylar blinked. “Erin. Why are you here?” She asked, confused.

Regret seeped in the moment Erin realized that Skylar probably wasn’t pleasantly surprised to see her. It’d been a bold assumption to begin with, especially popping in over unannounced and letting herself in. Guess it didn’t have the same effect when her boyfriend wasn’t there waiting for her already, which was fair. “Hey, sorry! I tried to be as loud as I could when I came in,” she said, smiling brightly and apologetically, as if that would smooth over her mistake. She’d always known Skylar to be pretty kind and easy going though. “I left a few things here. Figured it was about time I came to get those. But I’m glad to run into you!” Running into her had been the entire plan, not coming back here for a few shirts. She could only hope that wasn’t obvious. “How are you? I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Scratching behind Dundee’s ears, she moved a little closer, eyes scanning Skylar for any tell-tale signs from the last time.

Shutting the door of the fridge with a frown, Skylar focused on Erin’s lips, doing her best to string together the words that were coming from the other woman’s mouth. But, lip reading was imprecise in the best of times and with the Bliss still flowing through her system, it was all the more difficult to parse out the words. But, why did she need to try so hard? Erin shouldn’t be here, she didn’t belong here. Not anymore. She’d been Nic’s girlfriend, never Skylar’s friend. They weren’t friends and the fact that she was here, holding Dundee, pretending like she had any kind of right to be here… Skylar’s fingers clenched at her side and she shook her head. “Get whatever you came for and leave.” She said shortly before folding her arms across her chest. As Erin stepped forward, Skylar took an automatic step back, her gaze distrustful. “Don’t come near me.”

Erin was stunned to her spot. Skylar’s demands were short, angry and so foreign coming from her lips that it didn’t feel immediately real. Like that wasn’t actually Skylar or Erin was suddenly an unwanted stranger traipsing through her home. An uncomfortable dread crept in. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know that I should’ve called and that wasn’t cool but--” she stopped when Skylar stepped back, eyeing her like a threat. Did her best to ignore the dull prick in her chest that followed it. She narrowed her eyes, setting the dog down so he could scurry off again. “Skylar, what in the hell is going on with you?” She asked after a bewildered pause, much of the friendliness in her voice replaced with sharp concern. Something wasn’t right and the longer she took in the general disarray of her appearance and the subtle patches that marred her skin, the more she was sure of it. A wave of something close to disappointment leveled her spirit and she took another step forward and spoke slowly. “Why can’t I come closer?”

Skylar watched as Dundee scampered away, his paws moving quickly as he ran off to another area of the house. Glancing back up at the other woman, she didn’t need to read her lips to tell from the woman’s body language that Erin was confused. That she was upset. Why did she care? What right did she have to be upset? Erin was the one who’d just come here, without a word, and was acting like that was okay. As she stepped forward, Skylar’s nails dug into the skin of her arm, the Bliss dulling the sensation. “Get out of my house. This is my home and I don’t want you here.” She said, ignoring Erin’s questions. She didn’t need to answer them, Erin didn’t deserve answers. She’d poked around in her business before, but Skylar wouldn’t let that happen again. She’d take it all way. And then Skylar would be left to face everything alone. Again. Always alone. “How did you even get in here?”

Some part of her knew that Skylar was intentionally lashing out, pushing her away to stop Erin from questioning her further. Then there were the other parts, the ones still raw and healing from all she’d lost, were made even more vulnerable as she stood in this house. For a brief time, it’d been her home away from home too, even before the fire. Her eyes dropped to the floor briefly as the rational side tried to take the wheel again. “I have a key,” she answered calmly and shook her head and tried this again with an approach. Because she wasn’t a stranger. Despite Skylar’s demands, Erin planted her feet, her hands on her hips, more determined than ever. “I’m not leaving. Not until you tell me what’s going on or why you want me gone.”

She had a key? That’s right, Nic had given her one, when she’d been living here. Skylar had thought that Erin would have given it back when things had ended, when he had left town. But, she was wrong. Lips pursed tightly together, she matched Erin’s gaze. She didn’t need to tell her anything because what would it do? The last time the woman had been here, she’d dumped a bottle of pills down the drain. Pills that Skylar hadn’t needed, hadn’t used. But, if Erin knew what she was doing, she’d take away the Bliss. She’d get rid of the one thing that dulled the demons that lurked outside the door. She’d take everything away and say that it was for the best. Because that’s what everyone said. Ricky left because he said it was what was best, Nic left because he needed to do what was best, Winston left, her parents left, even the ghost of her father-- everyone left. Everyone left and Skylar was stuck with a skin she hated and a body that had never felt like hers. “I want you to leave because you don’t belong here anymore. This is. My. Home. And I don’t want someone just randomly barging into my house and telling me what to do.” She said, trying to keep her voice calm and low, even as the desire to wrench the key from Erin’s hand welled up inside her. “Give me back the key.”

Erin knew she didn’t have any real right to key anymore. Amicable as it was, Nic and her and ended things when he left town. There was no reason for her to have it outside of any sentimentality it still held. Remembered almost perfectly the night at the carnival he’d given it to her, before her war with Roy, before the funeral home had burned down, before he left and before it’d all gone to shit. It’d been a good night. Solidly, heartwarmingly good. But he was gone and those were just memories. And memories didn’t mean she could hold onto something that wasn’t hers. “I’m not trying to barge in and I don’t mean to--I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” she said, shaking her head, taking another few steps forward. “You’re--” she paused, deflating a little, both from Skylar’s harshness and what she was about to admit. “You’re scaring me, okay? You’re not acting like yourself, and the last time--last time you were high out of your mind. This place is a mess, you’re a mess,” she gestured towards her disheveled appearance. “I can’t just leave you like this. I won’t.”

“You did and you are.” Skylar said, frustration growing. Why couldn’t Erin just understand that she didn’t want her here? She didn’t belong here, she had no right to be here, demanding things of Skylar. They weren’t anything to each other, they weren’t friends, and she didn’t need someone trying to watch over her. The frustration bubbled and churned with in her, but boiled over when she heard those words High out of your mind. “And that was last time! But I’m not anymore and you have no right to be here!” She spat through gritted teeth. For the first time since Erin had wandered into her house, Skylar realized that she didn’t have her veneers in. She didn’t wear them around the house anymore, not since Nic had left. And now, her jagged teeth clenched together, their partially-filed points apparent in the kitchen light. “Give me the key, Erin. And get out of my house.”

It was so difficult standing there knowing with every fiber of her being that someone wasn’t alright. That Erin was here, offering help, offering to talk, but she couldn’t make Skylar do anything she didn’t want to. She was younger than her but that didn’t make her any less of an adult. Knowing that didn’t help the way it made her heart sting or the dread that had been building in her stomach overwhelm her. At the sight of those teeth, a new feeling arose. Fear. One she’d never thought she’d feel around Skylar of all people. “Fine,” she replied curtly, moving only to grab her keys from her bag. Skylar was right in that regard and she knew she couldn’t fight her on it. She had no right to this home anymore, even if that thought burned at the back of her eyes. She held the key in her hand, fingering the smooth brass. Hesitant before slamming it down on the counter beside her, ripping that bandaid off. “There,” she said simply, not able to look Skylar in the eyes anymore. She didn’t move yet, simmering in her barely contained emotions, the hand that had slammed the key down closing and opening a small fist at her side. Finally, after a short, steadying exhale, she glanced up at her once more. “You don’t want to talk to me now, I get that. But if you want to--later, maybe. I’m still here if you need me, okay? And even if you don’t want to talk to me, I hope you talk to someone, Skylar. This isn’t--you’re not you. And you’re not okay.”

Skylar watched with narrowed eyes as Erin rummaged around in her bag, pulling out the keys. There was a moment of hesitation, a second where she thought Erin was going to fight her again. But then, the key was on the counter and the other woman remained standing in the kitchen. Why was she standing there, why was she just standing there, acting like she belonged here? She didn’t-- Erin had no reason to care about her, didn’t need to care about her and Skylar didn’t want her to. She wanted her to leave. She wanted her to get out of here and never come back. Skylar had finally found something good, finally found something that numbed the intensity of the world around her. And if Erin knew, she’d take it all away. She’d take it away and Skylar would be left to face the world with nothing to protect her from the dangers. She wouldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t. “I don’t want your help-- you’ve never helped me, no one in this town has. Everyone’s just doing damage control and no one actually gets the chance to heal. I’m trying to fix myself. Trying to make it better, for me. And you don’t-- I don’t-- get out.” She said, shaking her head. “Get out of my house.”

Erin scoffed, shaking her head. “Wow, okay.” Just because she knew Skylar was doing this on purpose, lashing out out of fear or whatever was going on inside that brain of hers, she was allowed to be annoyed right back at her. “No one can help you if you don’t let them, Skylar. I’m actively standing here trying to reach out to you and trying to be there for you, like I have many times before this, and again, you’re saying no.” She took one last glance at the other woman, her eyes falling to small, red pricks on the inside of her elbow. Track marks. Fuck. Erin was right after all. She didn’t want to be and her heart broke a little further. “I don’t know what happened to you Skylar, but you’re going down a very scary path. At some point you have to accept it from someone.” No part of her wanted to leave and her legs moved heavily as she started to back up away from the kitchen and from Skylar. More concerned and fearful than she had been when she first entered the home, and when she closed the door behind her with a heavy heart, she hoped it wouldn’t be her last.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: skylar #addiction tw #drug use tw

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theskyeandsea · 4 years ago

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Dark Waters || Leah & Skylar

Timing: January 4th, 2021

Location: Nic and Skylar’s Home

Tagging: @phoenixleah & @theskyeandsea

Description: Leah wants to understand why Skylar’s behaving this way. Skylar gives her a Lift

Warnings: Drug use, addiction, depression, chronic illness, drowning

Something had to be done about Skylar, and Leah would be damned if she wasn’t going to be a part in helping. Ever since the moment she healed her at the library, Skylar was different, isolated, and standoff-ish. And maybe it was true that Leah didn’t know her enough to care so much, but with the only experiences they ever had together being on all accounts pretty traumatic, there was a sort of invisible bond there. Skylar could claim all she wanted that they weren’t friends, but Leah knew better; it was as if they were closer to family. Skylar said she had a way to help Leah understand, which to her just meant she was finally willing to reach out and accept some help. It was a little unexpected, but it was definitely good news. She let out a breath as she walked the final steps to Skylar’s front door, remembering how disheveled and out of it the girl seemed the last time she dropped her off here. After shooting a quick text to Skylar that she was there, she knocked on the door gently to reiterate. As the door opened, she tried not to let herself react at what met her. Skylar looked like a shadow of her former self, and it brought back flashes of the bloodied, injured girl on her library’s reading table. “Skye”, she said, pressing her lips together. “How have you been?”

Gripping the side of the sink, Skylar splashed some water on her face. Her skin didn’t look right, it was dark and patchy and when she pressed it, she knew that she should probably feel some kind of pain but… Thanks to the Bliss, she didn’t. Thanks to the Bliss and the shavings of blue mushrooms that she’d carefully scraped, she was doing just fine. The world was a cloud of nothingness and everything at once. There was sensation without pain, thoughts without meaning, it was all just a blur and she was being pulled along, like a boat without a rudder. She’d been able to hide it from her new roommate, had written off her giggling fits as looking at something funny on her phone, and taken to holing up in her room to avoid Rio. He wouldn’t bother her in her room. And right now, he was… Well, she wasn’t sure where he was. Her phone buzzed against her leg and she pulled out the device, staring at the screen for a moment before comprehending what she was looking at. Someone… Leah? Leah was at the door?

Confused, Skylar grabbed her hearing aids from where they sat on the bathroom counter and slipped them in. She made her way to the door, Dundee trailing behind her as she padded barefoot across the cold floor. Pulling the door open a crack, Skylar blinked for a moment before shaking her head. “Why are you here? Leave me alone, Leah.”

In just a few weeks, Skylar had managed to collapse into herself, leaving a pale, sunken, and bruised mess behind. The more Leah looked at her, the more disheartening it became. She got a small glimpse of an animal behind her, and a small smirk grace her features for a moment. At the very least, Skylar wasn’t completely alone all the time here. The thought barely offered relief, though. “I’m here because I care about you”, she said, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. I’m here because I wanted to make sure you were still alive. She blinked, looking to the side. “And because, well…”, she let out a breath, unsure as to why she felt nervous. She was here to help her friend, rejection be damned, so why was that feeling in the pit of her stomach so gnawing and distraction. “You implied that there are ways you could make me understand what you’re feeling, Skylar. So make me understand.” Once Skylar knew she understood, she had to accept help, right? That was why she hadn’t been accepting help so far. This had to be the solution, whatever it was.

Blinking at Leah’s words, Skylar did her best to process what was happening. She still didn’t know how to react to the woman’s presence, here, at her doorstep. The words she said, they were words, but they didn’t make sense. Why would she be here? Why would she care? At Leah’s mention of ways to understand, Skylar remembered what she’d typed in a fit of hasty rage. Gabe had slipped a rolled cigarette into her pocket one night, when she’d broken down in tears. He’d said that it was on the house, that she should use it when someone wanted to understand. She’d thought it was just weed, that his words hadn’t meant anything at all. But the scent of the lightly wrapped cigarette was different and she had a feeling that there was something else about it. Which is why she’d said that. That’s why she’d written that, right? She didn’t really know, didn’t understand. It was hard for her to keep track of much of anything these days.

“You don’t really want to understand. But, I can show you.” Skylar said quietly. How could Leah possibly understand? How could this… Lift, how could Lift ever make her understand? But, she wanted to try. Because maybe then, Leah would finally leave her alone. Maybe then, she’d know just how much this place had broken her.

“I do want to understand”, Leah insisted, shaking her head slowly. “Especially if it’ll get you to accept some help.” Maybe Skylar would resent that part, but whether she liked it or not, she needed help. It was clear just by looking at her that she wouldn’t last on this path much longer. “Can I come in?” she asked, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She’d never even set foot in Skylar’s house, when she really thought about it. The only time she’d been here was to drop the woman off a few times. Was Skylar right, then, in her insistence that they weren’t friends? She couldn’t be. Friendships were more than a length of time or how often you saw someone. The two of them had been through a great deal of trauma together, and it made them connected whether Skylar liked it or not. Still, she was curious about this change of heart that her friend seemed to be having. “How do you want to show me?” she wondered, looking around as if the something that Skylar had might appear in front of her.

Backing away from the door, Skylar let Leah follow her inside. The house was neat and tidy, kept that way out of necessity now that Rio was living with her. She didn’t want him asking questions, wondering why she was around the house more often. She didn’t need to have that conversation, just as long as she could make sure that the lights stayed on. “You… should stay here.” She said, gesturing to the couch for the other woman to sit down. She didn’t want Leah to see where she kept her things, where she stashed the needles and the empty vials of Bliss. Dundee hopped up onto the couch, expression unblinking as Skylar made her way back to her room.

Pulling open the drawer, Skylar took the box that she’d taped to the underside of the drawer, rummaging around through the pills and the vials and the small baggie of dried mushrooms until her fingers brushed against the small rolled cigarette. She quickly replaced everything, tucking it away before returning to Leah. “This is called… Lift. It’s supposed to help people understand. Understand what’s going on with each other.” She said as she sat next to the other woman, wincing slightly at the way the sores on her back rubbed against the material of her shirt. “If you really want to know, I can show you. But only if you want to.” She said.

Leah couldn’t help but glance around the house as she walked in, trying to find any other signs of distress that might pop out at her; any clues that might help to make this easier for Skye. She nodded at Skylar’s words, sitting on the couch she was offered, but not at all relaxing. She looked over and stared at the dog, pressing her lips together to offer it a tight smile. “You protecting her?”, she asked it, holding her hand out for it to sniff as she spoke. She hoped it was at the very least offering Skye some semblance of companionship, especially when she seemed so keen lately to push the people who cared about her away.

Skye’s entrance back to the room broke Leah out of her thoughts, and she turned to look at her, searching. Lift. She’d heard of it, briefly, or at least rumors of it, but never enough to know that it was really a real thing. “Where did you get this?”, she asked, itching to take it out of Skylar’s hand to study it further. “Is that what you’ve been… what that creep gave you that day?” she asked, her eyes finding her friend’s. “What does it… Is it addicting, Skylar? I won’t be able to help you if…-i-if I become addicted, too.” Maybe the implication that Skylar had an addiction would be too forward, but Leah was not going to mince words about the truth of the situation Skylar was putting herself in. It was too dangerous to lie to her about it.

At Leah’s words, Skylar’s eyes narrowed slightly. She didn’t want the questions, didn’t want to think about what her words meant. She didn’t have a problem, she didn’t need these things. They just made things easier. They made life more bearable, numbed her to the things that only ever hurt her. “It’s not.” She said, thinking back to what Gabe had told her. “People don’t buy this often because it’s not… a high, not really. It’s just so people can get what’s going on with someone else. A shared experience. That’s it. If you don’t want to, you don’t need to. But,” Skylar paused, her voice calm and even as her bones ached with pain, “if you decide you don’t want to do this, you’re leaving my house. And you’re not going to talk to me again.” She said. Skylar stared at the other woman with a level, unwavering gaze. “Do you want to understand or not?”

Leah’s eyes didn’t stray much from the cigarette as Skylar explained, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. She really needed to weigh her options here. She didn’t come here to do drugs with Skylar. In fact, that was the opposite point of her trip. The goal was to get Skylar to stop what she was doing. But the younger woman was so insistent that nobody could understand. If she believed that Leah understood, would that make her more inclined to accept her advice? She claimed it wasn’t addicting, surely she’d tell the truth about something as serious. She let out a heavy breath, her eyes traveling back to Skylar’s swiftly. “I’m not giving up on you, Skylar”, she said sternly, despite the tears filling her eyes. “I want to understand, because I want to help, because I care about you. And if this is the only way you feel that can be achieved, then let’s get to it.”

All Skylar needed to hear was Leah’s agreement. Once she had that, Skylar produced a small lighter from her pocket and lit the end of the rolled cigarette. Without hesitation, Skylar took a long inhale from the end, letting the smoke rush into her lungs. It washed over her-- it didn’t provide the relief that Bliss or blue mushrooms did, but that wasn’t why she wanted it. She just hoped the Leah would understand, that someone would finally understand. Holding the cigarette out to Leah, Skylar waited for the other woman to inhale as the world began to swim and twist and shudder around her. The room began to waver in her vision, the walls seeming to fall away one by one, until they two of them remained in a void, the contents of the living room the only thing that remained with them. Skylar let out a deep exhale and curling plumes of dark blue smoke flowed from her lips, splashing onto the carpet like water until it filled the void around them into a churning ocean of deep, endless blue. It was everything she hated, everything she feared, and it roiled around them both.

Leah was taken aback by how quickly Skylar moved forward with what they were doing. She would have protested that she didn’t need the lighter, that Leah could have taken care of that for them, but maybe telling her how amazing being anything but human could be wasn’t appropriate, given their current situation. Was she enabling Skylar by doing this? Would it help at all? She didn’t have much time to think about it before she took the cigarette from Skye, taking a deep inhale herself. And then, everything was warping and morphing and melting all at once, the floor beneath them disappearing before her eyes. As a blanket of blue surrounded them, her focus fell on Skylar, a mix of awe and cautiousness filling her up. “How does this work?”, she wondered, her voice sounding distant and far away.

Even though Skylar had her hearing aids in, Leah’s voice sounded crystal clear in her mind, closer and sharper than anyone else had ever felt. There was no mechanical distortion from the receptors, no slight hum to her words. Was this how Leah always sounded, to hearing people? Shrugging, Skylar reached her hand out to touch the water that pulled around them. “I don’t know. It’s… magic.” As her fingertips pressed against the surface, a shudder went through the moving waves, a sharp ripple. It spread across the sea, calming it. But as the ripple spread from her fingers, Skylar watched as the ocean turned into a glassy sheet of black. Every ounce of pain, of sadness, of loneliness she’d ever felt in her entire life, it filled this endless ocean. It was the color of tar, of pitch, dark and all consuming. Sadness, grief, loss, pain, every awful thing she’d ever felt was in this sea and she could feel it pulling her down, down down. And she wanted to give in. She wanted to let it consume her. But, her eyes shifted up as a glimmer of light glinted at the edge of the glassy sea. A sunset, weak and dying but peeking over the horizon line. Rays of light crystalized around them, bright sunbeams of… happiness. Fleeting moments, memories.

The appearance of so much water made a panic rise in Leah, especially when it appeared in such an unruly, untamed way. But as the water danced around them, so too did a certain sense of calmness, too. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t hurt her. It was a release to accept that- was anything real? Perfectionism and pride seeped from her, a pool of lava somehow seamlessly mixing with the ocean’s waves. But then Skylar was touching it, changing it, and suddenly everything was so much more. Despite their weightlessness, everything felt heavy, like she was falling through thick sludges of pain that were all too intense to identify. Her parents, discovering she was something other- different. A monster. Had she ever really been enough if she was so easy to throw away? But they weren’t her parents, right? That had never happened. Still everything she felt was all encompassing, there was no achievable exit. She was drowning in it. Even the light in the distance felt too small to fix what was here now. She looked at Skylar, at a loss. How did they escape this?

As they sat their, floating above the expanse of darkness, Skylar looked up to the sky. What had once been a serene cloudless landscape shifted and stormed until dark clouds hung around them. The constant storms that ran through her life-- flashes of lighting struck around them, striking against the black surface of the water. But, the water remained unmoved by the brilliant flashes of crackling ozone that crashed around them. Spasms, sharp stabs of pain, the lightning reminded her of every month she’d spent in agony-- she could see the moments, when she’d been consumed by pain, too tired to move, body aching too much for her to do anything other than curl up in her bed. That was the life her parents had chosen for her. And now, thunder broke with a reverberating roar. Water, rain drops began to drip down on them, pitter-pattering against their skin. Each droplet that hit her skin, Skylar could feel the memories pouring over her. The bones of a boy’s wrist breaking under her teeth. Her father emerging from the water with a bloodied chest, blown apart by shotgun fire. Her mother telling her to never return. Remmy, lying on the floor, ripped in half and sobbing. The rain clouds above them poured and poured.

Everything hurt. Everything. Leah could feel all the bones she’d ever broken, snapping and cracking under circumstances that any human would be able to uphold. And there was Skylar’s pain too, shooting and spurting through her, determined and yet slow and miserable. As tiny droplets began to fall on them, Leah looked up, the sensation being completely foreign to her. Was this what rain felt like, then? She gazed at the skin of her arm, utterly fascinated by the water droplets dripping clean off, like her skin were made of rubber instead of ash. Memories surrounded her conscious, both good and bad- training with her grandparents, meeting Beatrice for the first time, surpassing her older brother in control of her fire, striving and trying and working and still failing to meet the expectations placed upon her by her parents, shame, shame, shame, a phone call from Nell that still rang in her ear everytime her cellphone rang, even months later, when everything was okay again. But her memories were mixed and muddled with Skylar’s. Like oil and vinegar, never quite combining, but slinking by each other time and time again. But she felt them like they were her own- the heartbreak and the hurt encompassing her before she had the chance to process what was happening. Her hand, distant and far away, reached down to squeeze Skylar’s as she took it all in. Somehow, she felt the squeeze in her free hand as well.

Memories that weren’t her own filtered in on the warm breeze the drifted through the scene, the wind curling through Skylar’s hair as she let it wash over her. The warmth of fire, something that should have scared her, felt like home. A deep friendship with a woman she’d seen in passing in town-- Beatrice? And pain, pain and shock and sadness over what had befallen her. But, there was still warmth to the memories that filtered by, a glow about them. Meanwhile, the rain continued to fall. They continued to fall and the dark water around them continued to rise. Skylar looked down at the glassy reflection and saw her reflection waver and split. Ricky, staring at her with disgust and pain on his face, before turning his back on her, washing his hands clean. Dave, pityingly staring back at her, stunned by her incompetence before fading with a ripple. Lucky, chasing after her with hope and dismay on his face, gone with the move of the current. And then her father, his blood broken form staring at her. He looked like her, so much like her. This isn’t the life I wanted for you. His words echoed in her ears. This wasn’t the life she wanted for herself either. As she stared at the reflection in the ocean of black, the water continued to rise.

Water sputtered and rose around them, violent and threatening to consume them with each added inch. Leah feared it would overtake them any second, and there’d be nowhere left to turn. She needed a way out. A way out from the pain and the shame. A way away from the dread that filled her with each passing memory that didn’t quite belong to her. Every feeling felt like hers, though. Every disappointed gaze, all the heaviness of abandonment, the questions of if she was enough, as she was. The self-hatred, the longing for a life that no longer existed. Skylar’s feelings swam through Leah, hitting every violent twist and turn until nothing felt enjoyable at all. The bonedoggles, ripping at her shoulder, and then lying on the table at the library, her own face looking down at her in concern. Then nothing. No memory of the trauma she just endured. The water hadn’t covered them yet, so why did she feel like she was drowning?

The dark water continued to flow around Skylar simultaneously pushing higher and dragging her down into the depths. It churned around her, ever present, ever growing. She continued to stare at the ripples in the water, the people who had touched her life. Nic, promising her a home and then leaving the house they’d shared for who knows how long. Winston, drunken and smiling as they exalted over the ball of fire they’d conjured up, disappearing without a trace. Remmy, holding her, helping her, leaving because this town asked for too much of everyone. And they needed more. People she loved, people she’d lost, they joined the stream of faces that flowed through the water. Her mother, reproving and hateful. Her father, spineless and cowering. Her brother and sister, so perfect, so good, everything that Skylar wished she could be. And the water flowed higher and higher, beyond her shoulders. Looking over at Leah, Skylar stared at her with dry, dull eyes. She had no more tears left to shed. This was her life, this was all she’d known since coming to this cursed place. “Do you understand?” She asked, as the water began to trickle over her chin, “Do you know?”

It was a strange sensation, to feel a deep disdain for the town that Leah loved so much. Like oil on her hands, she couldn’t escape the feeling no matter how hard she tried. All the awful things that had happened there that she’d witnessed there lay present in her mind. Bea’s death, the Chen family’s disappearance, all the lives she lost before she ever turned 18. But there was good, too, sprinkled throughout. So much good and so much to learn about. Her gaze fell to Skylar at her question. She’d never had a chance to experience the good, yet. All of her memories up until now, they were laced with pain and loss and grief and injury and abandonment. It was really no wonder why she couldn’t feel the wonderful of White Crest. Leah could barely feel it herself, now, with all the heaviness of Skye’s time here weighing on her chest. The water rose above their noses, but in her moment of clarity, Leah could finally breathe again. “Yes”, she answered through the water, tears escaping her eyes and contributing to its massive volume. “Yes, Skye. I can see, now.” She wanted so much to reach out- to wrap Skylar in love and take it all away, but she was still stuck, staring off at a bright horizon that seemed just out of reach. “I see you. I feel it, too.” She was breathing again, somehow. Was it over? “I’m here.”

The water was over Skylar’s mouth, black and all-consuming. Like tar, it clung to her and dragged her further down into the depths of her own despair. She could have lifted her head to talk to Leah, to say that it was okay, that having the other woman understand was enough. But, it wasn’t. And she didn’t want to talk anymore. Leah may be here, but it wasn’t enough. This town had taken too much from her and Skylar was tired of fighting the tides of change. She was too tired to say anything more. And so, she let the water rise over her eyes until the sea of darkness had swallowed her whole.

For a moment, Skylar remained submerged and surrounded by every ounce of pain that this town had drawn out of her. Sadness, longing, hatred, fear, self-loathing, confusion, and a deep, undeniable sense of loss. This town had broken her. She’d lost herself here. And Skylar didn’t know if she’d ever be able to find that girl again.

The haze of Lift broke, dark water dissipating into thick clouds of smoke that cleared and the two were once again sitting on the couch. Skylar could see glittering tears running down Leah’s cheeks and she looked away. This wasn’t-- she didn’t want pity. She’d thought that Leah would understand. That if Leah could feel what she felt, understand the weight that Skylar cared with her every day, she would understand. “You said that… you see. But seeing, it’s not the same as understanding. Do you understand now?” Skylar repeated.

It was over. Just as quickly as it started, the haze had worn off, the water had dissipated, and they were back in Skylar’s living room. Everything was real again. Leah wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, composing herself. All that she had just felt was swimming, processing in her mind, and Skylar was already talking to her, asking her questions. It was over, but her voice still felt distant and far away. Did she understand now? She turned to Skylar, her eyebrows furrowed, and reached out to grab her hand. “I understand, Skylar. I understand e-everything you’ve been feeling. The pain, the shame, the abandonment and loss… I absolutely understand why you would feel the need to turn to the means you have to cope with it all.” She blinked, turning her head forward and squeezing her hand again. Everything that had happened to Skye even before she arrived in White Crest was muddled and painful. But the drugs- what Skylar was doing to destroy herself? That was only going to make it worse. “I understand why you feel like you need to, but you must understand, too. Why I know this isn’t the best choice for you. Why I know there are other ways to handle… all this hurt you’re holding inside, Skye. We can find another way… together.”

At Leah’s touch, a hand that was impossibly warmer than her own, Skylar wished that she could believe what the other woman was saying. But she’d seen the writing on the wall all those months and months ago. That day she’d gone to the carnival with Morgan, she’d seen her fate etched in the glass of the Hall of Mirrors. She’d seen herself, curled up and wasting away, her skin peeling and pelt rotting. Her body destroyed, spirit long, long gone. And she didn’t have it in her to fight fate any more. “There’s nothing that can be done. This is… it. This is all there is for me. All there ever was.” She said quietly. “This town takes and takes from everyone. And I’m running out of pieces of myself to give.” Swallowing, she looked at Leah through tired eyes. “You should go.”

Starring ahead, Leah shook her head back and forth. Skylar was wrong. This wasn’t it. This was barely half of it. For every tragedy this town had to spill, every heartbreak and loss and broken promise, it had that much more to offer. Wonders you could never dream of if you’d never been there. How unjust it was of White Crest to only offer the worst of itself to Skye upfront. She shouldn’t go. She should stay here and help-... Help with what, though? The place was essentially spotless, not the disheveled mess she expected to show up to. She stood up awkwardly, her gaze locked on Skylar’s. More tears sprung to her eyes at the broken girl who stared back at her. “I’ll be back”, she promised, swallowing. “Please call me next time you feel like… we can talk instead, okay?” Skylar wouldn’t, she knew, but the offer was there, ready for the taking. If this experience taught Leah anything, it was that she couldn’t go about getting Skylar better on her own. It was time to bring in reinforcements.

#wickedswriting #drug use tw #addiction tw #depression tw #chronic illness tw #drowning tw #//as always if youd like a tw free recap just let me know!

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ifindus · 4 years ago

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Know that you are wanted and adored

- my final written piece for the sixth day of @nordicrareshipsweek about two weeks too late, but at last I am finished.

Pairing: Norway/Scotland Wordcount: 765 words Summary: They have finally reached the city of Aberdeen and it’s time to say goodbye. Historical context: In october of 1940 the British established what would later be a force fully under Norwgian control stationed on the isles of Shetland in Scotland that lead several missions over to coastal Norway during the war, smuggling in weapons and rations to the resistance and bringing wanted people back over to Britain. Several of the ships would be sunk by the German forces, yet they would not stop their efforts until the war ended. Many Norwegian sailors and voluenteers participated in this.

The smell of the ocean wafted towards them as the door of the train swung open and they stepped down onto the platform. In the end, they had caught a ride to Dundee and jumped on the train up from there. The city of Aberdeen appeared far from welcoming with its endless streets, grey sky and grey buildings. Pulling his coat tighter around him, Norway hoisted the strap of his bag further up his shoulder. The docks only lay a couple of hundred meters away from the train station, so they didn’t have to walk far this time. Still there was about an hour before the ferry was scheduled to depart and so both countries had slowed their pace considerably as they strolled down the lane.

Out on the docks, seagulls flocked to the fishing boats that had just returned from the sea, filling the air with their hoarse screams. The familiar smell of fish and salt produced an even stronger sense of longing in Norway. If he just got to place his feet on the deck of a boat, he was sure he would feel calmer and more reassured. Reassured that everything would be all right in the end, even if the sky was covered with grey clouds right now. He felt his hand twitch where it gripped the bag strap.

“And what’s your plan now?”

Norway blinked himself back to the moment and turned his head towards the nation beside him. Scotland had a worried crease between his large eyebrows, eyes pinned on a point far ahead of them.

“I suspect you already know.”

“Have you talked to England about it?”

Norway sighed.

“Yes. I have.” He tucked away a lock of hair that had fell into his eyes. “Shetland is a good location for a base of operations. England will send up any Norwegian refugee willing to join… along with weapons and boats.”

“And you’ll be what? Leading?”

“Of course not.” Norway furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at the ground. “I will be… assisting. I will go with the first boat and then… we’ll just have to see how it goes I suppose.”

“Smuggling weapons and information over and bringing people back?”

“That’s the general idea of it, yes.”

They came to a stop as they reached the gangway up to the ferry. It would take almost a whole day to arrive in Lerwick, yet Norway was eager to begin the journey. Still, in a way it felt wrong to leave like this. He knew he was disappointing his generous host. However, these were feelings none of them could afford to have at the moment. There was a war going on.

“Scotland.” Norway turned to his friend with a serious look in his eyes. “I cannot express how much I appreciate what you have done for me. Thank you for letting me stay. And thank you for letting me go.”

Scotland chuckled. It was sad, yet… he still looked happy. A hand reached up and tousled the dark curls as he once again focused on Norway. They were at last facing each other fully.

“We twa hae paidl’d in the burn Frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar’s, Sin auld lang syne.”

Scotland smiled at him, green eyes stirring something deep inside him and Norway remembered why he really had to leave. It burned. It burned as Scotland continued.

“And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere And gie’s a hand o’thine,” he reached out and took Norway’s free hand in his own. It was calloused and rough, spreading warmth between them. “And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught For auld lang syne.”

It felt as if something was stuck in his throat and it was only after blinking away what might have been tears that he did manage to speak.

“You’re quoting Burns now?” If Scotland noticed the quiver in his voice, he didn’t mention it.

“Well, love burns sometimes.” There it was. The word neither of them had mentioned until now. Avoided. Love. Love burns. And Norway truly felt it burn.

“Yes. It does.” Strangely, their handholding right now seemed like the most intimate thing they had ever done. And he really did not want to let it go. But now was not the time and they both knew that. He gave the warm hand a squeeze before he released his grip.

“We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.” He smiled warmly as he took the first step up onto the gangway. “I’ll see you soon, Scotland.”

“See you soon, Norway.”

#nordicrareshipsweek #hetalia #scotnor #norscot #aph norway #hws norway #aph scotland #hws scotland #omg just kill me now #end my endless load of uni work and let me focus on hetalia again #pls

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secretsantasides · 5 years ago

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Gift #14: Colorblind

Gift for @forestwulf

Prompt: Intrulogical Soulmate AU.

Logan massaged his temples as the nightclub music pounded in his ears, “I don’t know why you insist on coming here.”

“It’s twinks drink free night,” Patton said, sipping his appletini.

“You stopped being a twink ten years ago,” Logan muttered.

Patton sighed, “I’m going to ignore that because you’re my brother and I love you. Speaking of love-”

“Don’t,” Logan said. “Not this again.”

“Listen to me,” Patton said. “I’m worried about you, Logan. I know you’re a little robot and you don’t need romance in your life or any friends but-”

“I have friends,” Logan said.

“But,” Patton said. “You’re thirty years old and it’s starting to make mom sad on the holidays. When I met Ethan, it wasn’t sitting around at home and moping. I mean how long has it been since you were touched by another human being?”

“Soulmates,” Logan sighed. “Don’t start, Pat. I’ll gouge my eye out with this tiny umbrella.”

Patton rolled his eyes, “Logan it’s not just nonsense; it’s science! Just because you think you’re some kind of lone wolf doesn’t mean you don’t have a soulmate. Your eyes wouldn’t be grey if you weren’t still waiting for your person. So you can deny it all you want. It won’t change the fact that they’re waiting.”

“I don’t have time for a soulmate, Pat. You and Ethan just work better; you have time to be in love and he’s patient enough to deal with… you.”

Patton faked an offended gasp, “Just for that I’m not getting you a free drink next round! But you’re right, Ethan is perfect. However-”

“There is no however.”

”However,” Patton continued. “It doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone out there who’s just as patient with your bullshit as Ethan is with mine. Now look you made me swear. I hope you’re happy.”

“I think the three appletinis made you swear,” Logan said. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“Actually I’m going out of town in two days with the girls so they gave me time off.”

“Out of town? That’s this week?” Logan asked.

Patton finished his drink, “I love how much you listen when I talk. The pandas are being moved to the zoo in Atlanta so their enclosure can be remodeled and we’re hoping to get some breeding done while we’re out there. That’s why I told you that you have to take mom to the optometrist on Monday. If you forget that, Logan-”

“Right right,” Logan said. “No I’ll remember it’s… it’s in my phone.” He looked at his empty glass of whiskey but pushed it aside, deciding he’d better stay sober, “So what’s Ethan thinking about this longterm separation?”

Patton snorted, “One of his retics laid a ton of eggs and she bit his face when he was pulling the clutch. Now he’s walking around like Crocodile Dundee. Plus the whole clutch is viable so we’re looking at a lot of new snakes to add to the national program. He’s in talks with a zoo in Taiwan too about some bloodline trades. It’s really annoying sometimes. He gets dozens of babies a season and I’m lucky if I’ll see more than two or three in my career.”

“Well you chose the pandas,” Logan said.

“I’ll have you know the pandas chose me,” Patton said. “You want another drink?”

“Nah, I’ll drive you home,” Logan said. “Go flirt with the bartender and see if he’ll pretend to think you’re young some more.”

Patton laughed as he slid out of his seat, walking over to the bar. On the dancefloor Logan saw a small group of students, a few of which he recognized—one in particular a large pain in his ass. Remus Prince, Quarterback of the university football team and well-known idiot. Logan wished Remus was the typical jock idiot, uncaring and arrogant, one he could easily fail without a second thought, but Remus was bound and determined to make up for his own shortcomings with hard work and extra credit. It meant that half of Logan’s office hours were spent patiently explaining things to Remus again and again, and accepting an outlandish amount of extra credit work.

And—even more annoyingly—through it all Remus was cheerful, friendly and actually interested in what Logan had to say. Worse still, Remus was a senior, only four years younger than Logan who was the baby of the science department and didn’t he just hate that little nickname? Remus was like a peer, but worse, a jock, the kind of person that would have made Logan’s life miserable if they’d ever walked the same halls together as students. The revelation that Remus was gay was… interesting? No, not interesting. He’s a student and you don’t care. Logan rubbed his eyes and sighed, jumping when Patton returned with two appletinis. He sat down and stared at his brother matter-of-factly, “Guess how much these cost me?”

Logan raised an eyebrow and couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, “How are we related?”

Patton was a lot heavier than he looked when he needed to be carried, and Logan struggled up the stairs to the door of the apartment, knocking on the door. It was a cute place, all brick and right on the street, divided in half horizontally to make a duplex, but it was roomy and it was nice for two people on zookeeper salary; it was inexpensive—for Florida. Ethan opened the door and Logan gasped, “Ethan, your face!”

Ethan did smile, and there was more than a little pride in it, “Don’t worry. She hit above and below my eye but the doc said to keep a full dressing on it at night so I don’t rub anything off. He cool?”

“Vodka drunk,” Logan said, hauling Patton inside and laying him on the couch. “Not too bad but I told him I’d stay sober and I think he needed to drink off some stress.”

“The move, yeah,” Ethan said, following Logan back to the door. “And my face. He’s not really loving how many times I take the bandage off to show people but it’s my first big tag! You wanna see the pictures from the ER?”

“Gosh I’d love to but I have class in the morning so-”

“Ethan!” Patton called from the livingroom, “Come sex me up, Mr. Snake Whisperer!”

“Good luck with that,” Logan said. “Tell him to call me when he’s less obnoxious.”

“Will do,” Ethan said. “Bye Logan.”

Logan snorted when Patton called again and started down the stairs, “Good luck!”

Logan looked at himself in the mirror after taking out his contacts and smiled at his grey eyes; grey was distinguished, and he didn’t mind having a constant reminder—for himself and others—that he was beyond all of this soulmate nonsense. He was a lone wolf, just like Patton said, and his true love was forensic anthropology—or biology, as he was currently teaching. His application was top in line for the anthropology department, however, and he had consulted a time or two on actual cases. So, despite Patton’s—and his mother’s—insistence that his life was somehow incomplete, Logan couldn’t be happier. He turned off the bathroom light and crawled into bed, thinking back over his tasks for the day, all of which he’d completed before he ever set foot inside the gay bar with his brother. It was the same way he lulled himself to sleep every night, assured of all of his accomplishments, large and small, and how every day was a blank slate.

Sleep came quick for him, thanks to the single glass of whiskey and the exhaustion of dealing with his drunk brother—and his sober brother-in-law. His dreams were blurry and immemorable until suddenly his vision was filled with green. There were calloused hands on his skin, warm lips on his cheek and breath in his ear, and he was held against a solid body with a grip that was surprisingly strong. He closed his eyes and still all he could see was green.

Logan gasped and sat up, checking the clock and scowling; it was still the middle of the night and he was baffled by the strange dream and irredeemably hard. He sighed heavily and climbed out of bed, heading back into the bathroom and turning the shower to cold, stripping off his pajamas. Who the hell did he know that was associated with green, anyway? He didn’t even like the color green, his favorite color was indigo, far from the blinding lime he’d been accosted with in his dream. Any thoughts of the dream went screaming from his mind when he stepped into the water; his chest tightened and he exhaled involuntarily, “F-fuck!”

He tightened his hands into fists and endured the water, somehow preferring cold-induced heart palpitations to ward off an unwanted erection than perhaps the more obvious—and less miserable—solution. It was easier to be stubborn and miserable than to admit—and revel in—the fact that something had gotten him going, and that it had to be the dream. Whiskey wasn’t exactly known for facilitating physical arousal, and he’d barely had enough to taste in the first place.

“Morning!” Remus announced as he knocked on the open office door.

“Good morning,” Logan said, “Come in, Mr. Prince.” He cleared away the end of his desk where Remus usually worked and stacked up the papers elsewhere. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Remus laughed, his cheeks a bit pink; Logan wondered if he was getting a cold—and how much that would panic the other professors about the state of the football team. He took a sip of his coffee as he sat down. Remus scratched the back of his neck, “Well I have the three essays to turn in, and I did the makeup dissection test with Professor Picane’s Zoological Anatomy class… the uh… feral pig?”

“Fetal pig,” Logan said, putting his coffee cup aside. “He sent your scores up to me. Good work. You got everything right except for the microscope work. We’re still struggling with cellular identification. I spoke with Emile and he said you actually seemed to have issues where things were similarly colored, so I took the liberty of emailing you some color-blind tests. I’m also inviting you to come in during my freshman course tomorrow. I use different dyes in my slides and I think you’ll benefit from it.”

“Great!” Remus said. “You really go above and beyond to help me, Professor Heart. I um… well, thank you so much.”

Logan crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, “You know, Remus, I think you’ve got a lot of potential, and I think you’ve been pushed through classes due to your athletic prowess—to your detriment. I really want to help you understand that you’re not lacking in intelligence, you understand. You’ve got the answers, we’ve just had to learn how to get to them, right?”

“Right,” Remus said, ducking his head shyly. “You’re always right.”

“Now, with these three essays and with you making up the microscope work tomorrow, there’s no need for anymore extra credit work. You’ve got this, Mr. Prince. All you have to do is attend all of the lectures and you’ll be on track for a strong grade in this class. Do you feel like you need any more help?”

Remus hesitated, “I mean… you’ve done so much. I know you’ve basically changed my life, and how I feel about science—school in general! I um… I guess if I need anything I’ll just schedule a day before finals. If you think I can do it, I think I can do it.”

Logan smiled, “Very good, Remus. You’ve got this.”

Remus set the three essays down on the empty part of the desk and looked over them, “I can’t believe this is it, you know? I’m going to graduate in less than a month.”

“Another year on the books,” Logan said. “Wait until you’re my age.”

“You’re not old,” Remus said. “You’re still in your twenties too. Oh!” He picked up his backpack and dug through it, pulling out a small cardboard box. He set it on the desk. “I know your real interest is anthropology, like the cop kind, and I um… well, my dad works in the big museum uptown. They got a few of these and they gave my dad two of them.”

Logan took the box and opened it, raising an eyebrow as he took out a human skull, obviously prepared and preserved professionally. “This is a nicely intact specimen. You’re certain this is alright?”

“Yeah my dad said he’d rather it go to somebody who wants it than just gather dust in our basement or the museum’s basement. Oh they said it had uh… crouton disease?”

“Crouzon Disease,” Logan said, standing up. “Hyperostosis Frontalis Interna, very interesting. Thank you Remus this is incredibly thoughtful.”

Remus watched Logan put the skull in a central place on his shelf of books and specimens; it looked good, but Remus wasn’t really paying attention to the skull, especially when Logan turned and gave him a smile, extending his hand. Remus jumped up and shook it eagerly, “Thank you again, professor. You’re my hero. You’re especially my parents’ hero.”

Logan chuckled, and the touch was mildly electric, probably static, but it made Logan shiver, “You’re the hero, Mr. Prince. Remember that, hard work got you this far, and it’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

Remus nodded, slowly releasing Logan’s hand and stepping back to grab his backpack. “Well, see you in class tomorrow! Eight, right?”

“Right,” Logan said. “And don’t forget the possibility of a pop quiz tomorrow in your actual class.”

“Possibility,” Remus chuckled. “Good one, Professor Heart. See you then.”

Logan watched him go and sighed, turning to admire the skull, a warmth blooming in his chest he’d never really felt before. It really was a nice skull, he supposed.

Logan drove home with that feeling intact, almost floating into the elevator and riding it up to his floor. After making it down the hallway, and the obligatory avoidance of his neighbor’s eyes, he stepped into his apartment and locked the door behind him. He felt bone-deep exhausted—probably from the dream-cursed night before—and he went straight to the bathroom to take out his contacts. Once his contacts were safely back in their saline baths, he brushed his teeth, grabbing his glasses off of the vanity and putting them on. He admired his eyes—his green eyes. Logan gasped and squeezed his eyes closed, opening them again, still green. He took off his glasses, and his reflection was blurry, but clearly green eyes stared back at him. The warmth in his chest suddenly became a sharp icicle, and he realized. Green, Remus Prince. “Fuck!” Logan shouted, turning off the light and rushing out to his bedroom. He sat on the bed and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, dialing his brother.

The phone rang several times, and went to voicemail; Logan swore again and dialed the home phone, “Come on Pat come on.”

“Hey Logan! What’s up?”

“Ethan? Oh, is Pat… oh shit.”

“Alabama,” Ethan said. “Yeah. You ok?”

“No, not at all… oh god. Can we talk? Like do you have time?” Logan stood up, pacing around the bed. “I have… an awkward situation.”

“You? I don’t believe it.”

Logan sighed and Ethan laughed, “I’d like to be serious with you for a moment.”

“Of course,” Ethan said. “Go ahead.”

“When you realized you were Patton’s soulmate, was there a feeling?”

“Hm,” Ethan said. “Actually, yes. I thought I had heartburn, actually. Just like this warmth in my chest? It sounds a bit stereotypical but yeah. I felt warm. That night when I was washing my face I realized my eyes had changed. You doing a study?”

“Um… no,” Logan admitted. “My eyes are green.”

“Oh! Oh my god! Did you tell your mom?”

“Please, Ethan. I have only told you.”

“Do you know who it is?” Ethan asked. “Any clue?”

“One of my students,” Logan said. “The… football player.”

“Oh yeah I remember Patton mentioning him, the stupid one right?”

Logan bristled, “He isn’t stupid. He’s…” He sighed, rubbing his temple, “Well, thank you Ethan. You’ve answered my question.”

“Text Pat,” Ethan said. “He’ll lose his shit.”

“Goodnight, Ethan,” Logan said.

Logan hung up and set his phone on the nightstand before undressing, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and climbing into bed. He turned off the lamp and pulled the blanket over his head, willing himself to sink into the earth.

The following morning’s class was a blur of barely-controlled panic and dread, but luckily Remus barely even spared him a glance, intent on taking and passing his cellular identification exam. Logan pretended to grade papers when Remus came up to his desk, and his heart surged like it had, warming to Remus like a rock in the sun, “See you in class.”

Logan gave a noncommittal sound, and Remus left the classroom, allowing Logan to finally breathe. Ignoring this wasn’t going to be easy, and Logan was already getting frantic texts from his brother demanding an explanation. Logan briefly wondered how hard it would be to vanish without changing universities. The worst part, without question, was how badly he wanted Remus to touch him, even just a brush of his hand. His body was like a magnet and his hands were shaking even though their closeness had been brief. At least his upcoming class was taking a pop quiz, and they were to clear out as soon as answers were submitted.

Logan remained more or less glued to the desk during the hour between classes, grading the microscope work—Remus hadn’t missed a single slide, so Picane’s catch on the colorblindness had been spot on. Logan had felt a stab of jealousy, absurd as it was, that he hadn’t realized it sooner, first, because Remus was his soulmate—his.

“Mine,” Logan muttered to himself, then his face heated up when he realized what he’d said, and he looked down to realize he’d written it on Remus’ exam answers. Quickly scratching it out he pushed the test aside and lowered his face to the desk. “What a nightmare.”

“What’s a nightmare, Mr. Heart?”

Logan looked up to see his first student sliding into her desk, and he forced a chuckle, “The state of the economy in nineteenth century Luxembourg.” He stood up and began writing on the board.

“Will that be on the final?” another student asked. The classroom had started filling up.

“Not unless I’ve ever written it on this board,” Logan said. “We start final prep next week, don’t forget.”

He finished filling out the board as the rest of his students filed in, and once his watch beeped cheerily that class had started, he heard a voice pick up behind him, the same girl from before, “Is that your favorite tie, Mr. Heart? You wear it a lot.”

“It’s my favorite color,” Logan said without turning around. “As charming as the distraction is, I haven’t forgotten the pop quiz.” He turned around and Remus was staring at him, mouth open in shock. On either side of him, his linebacker buddies were looking at one another, and Logan realized his mistake in revealing his favorite color—because he knew better than anyone what color Remus’ eyes must be now. Wincing, he adjusted his glasses, “Alright, please take out a clean sheet of paper and answer the questions I’ve written on the board. When you’re finished please leave them up here and you may go.”

Logan sat at his desk and pretended to be working, jumping when the first student turned in their quiz, but calmed and kept his eyes down as the steady stream of quizzes landed on his desk. He was starting to feel safe when most of his students had gone, and he made the mistake of looking up when a loud pair of sneakers stopped at his desk. The room was empty, and Remus Prince was standing at his desk, quiz in his hand. He set it down with the others and shoved his hands in his pockets, “Your eyes are green. I never noticed.”

Logan paled and stared up at Remus, “I um… it’s recent.”

Remus nodded, “Me too, indigo, right? It’s a weird blue for eyes. My brother said they look like Liz Taylor whoever that is.”

Logan let out a nervous little laugh, looking down at the paper he’d been doodling on only to realize he’d been writing the word mine over and over, “Yeah. She had um… dark eyes. So I suppose you’ve met your soulmate then, congratulations, Mr. Prince.”

Remus looked around and then back at Logan, “You’re going to pretend it isn’t you?”

Logan was feeling very much like a deer in the headlights, but at the same time heat was playing in his chest. He pushed his chair back and stood up, tensing when Remus reached to grab his wrist, “I’m not-” Logan tried to pull away but Remus shook his head, “I’m not pretending anything I… damn it. Damn it I’m afraid, ok? You’re a student!”

“Not for long! Like two weeks from now I’m taking the final, and unless I stop showing up entirely, there’s no way I’m failing. I did the math which I know will impress you because I’m such an idiot.”

“Mr. Prince,” Logan said, then sighed. “Remus�� is this even something you want? A relationship dictated by some… some system we don’t even understand? By colors and chance and… what, fate? You want to let the universe stick you with someone… someone like me?”

Remus laughed and released Logan, covering his face with his hands, “You don’t fucking get it, do you? You really don’t.”

Logan wrapped his arms around himself, blushing and adjusting his glasses, “Don’t get what?”

“I have wanted you since before I started in this class!” Remus said. “My brother, the attention whore? He had me come here last semester to pick up a paper for him, remember? If it was just fate shoving us together it would have happened then… but it didn’t. I thought you were hot, so I signed up for your class because I figured I’d cheat my way through and have a hot prof to stare at right?”

“Hot?”

“Just let me finish,” Remus said. “When I came in here and sat down at that desk and I listened to you read the syllabus… and all of your weird bone jokes and that thing about the swamp mummy?”

“Bog bodies, the Tollund Man, yes,” Logan said. “You remember that?”

“Yeah because you cared, like you actually cared about it. You’re not just here because you couldn’t get a career and you’re not just here to waste time. You really care about what you’re teaching us, and I know you’re trying to switch departments but whatever, you know what I mean… there’s a lot of passion there and it made me give a shit. It took me forty-five minutes to fall in love with your stupid class, and maybe two or three classes to fall in love with you… but still it didn’t happen. Because it didn’t happen until you fell in love with me.”

Logan was silent as he stared at Remus, his mouth hanging open; he took a sharp breath, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Jesus.”

“Well? Am I right?” Remus said, tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s the mustache right? My friends told me that’s the reason you didn’t tell me. Because you hate it. I don’t even care. I’ll shave it off, ok? I don’t care if it’s good luck I-”

Logan crossed the short distance between them and kissed Remus, cutting him off. Remus grabbed Logan’s collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Logan’s mind spun, and his knees went weak. Remus had no trouble holding him up, and when they finally broke the kiss, Logan smiled sheepishly. “I don’t hate the mustache, as much as I wish I did. I really don’t.”

Remus buried his face against Logan’s shoulder and laughed, “Great because I really need to keep it if I’m going to get drafted. Three of the NFL scouts commented on it.”

“Yes I’m sure you’ll bring back the seventies mustache. Your parents will be ecstatic.”

“Yeah… so um… are we dating?”

“No,” Logan said, then off Remus’ look he hurried to elaborate. “Not until you pass this class of your own merit. Like you said, it’s no big deal and then, the second your final grade is logged in the university database… we can date.”

Remus smiled, smoothing down Logan’s shirt as he stepped back, “Right, cool um… hey I should probably go then, right? Got studying to do. Bye teach.”

“Mr. Prince,” Logan said, sinking back down into his seat once Remus was gone.

It was going to be a long couple of weeks.

#fanfic #soulmate au #secretsantasides #intrulogical #logan sanders #ts logan #remus sanders #ts remus

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esbarnes · 4 years ago

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Distance

Part 6.

I could feel my control over Red starting to slip. I was tired of being so close to him and not really being with him. I was angry at whoever was behind all of this and more than anything I wanted things to be back to normal. But something told me that wasn’t going to happen. Red was ready to take over and finish this with tooth and claw, and I was just about ready to let her.

Eilene’s pov

It had been weeks since the night they got their memories back from Alyssa and since Lilith came up with a potion to protect us all from having our memories messed with in the future. There was a small part of me that hoped that this potion would help restore Hamish’s memory of us, but it didn’t. Alyssa and I had brought them up to speed about everything going on. I told them about what I had found out from being away and about the bonds. Randall was thrilled with this “So basically we have internal walkies talkies with each other!” he said excitedly. “Yeah kinda, while you were all still memory wiped I started practicing. I was able to reach all of you although you probably didn’t realize it at the time.” I replied. This caught everyone’s attention and Lilith said “That was you in the Library!” “Guilty.” I replied. I showed each of them how to feel for and use the bonds. It was easy for Randall, Lilith it took a few tries but she finally got it. Jack took to it pretty easily as well and then he and Alyssa got a text that said “Temple NOW.” from the Grand Magus and left.

That left Hamish and I in the living room as Randall and Lilith took off to their bedrooms. He seemed nervous to be alone with me and then said “how about a drink, I promise I wont bite, unless you want me to.” He was smiling and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Hamish’s pov

- My god her laugh - he thought and then shook his head to concentrate. After they had taken sips of the drink he made, she went on to explain the bonds and how to use them. He focused his breathing and thought of her. But nothing happened. He huffed and took another drink while he sat down at one of the bar stools, which she noticed. Hamish couldn’t help but look at her deep green eyes and think about his dream. He had to look away, none of this made sense and then Tundra started shifting under his skin again. Hamish could tell that Tundra wanted to be near her, to touch her and protect her. But he still couldn’t figure out why. It was just Eilene after all. Eliene saw his pause and looked concerned. She walked up to him and placed and hand on his shoulder. “Just close your eyes, take a deep breath in and then out. Now think of me. See me in your mind and the bond will do the rest.” said. He did just as she instructed and just then his dream came back to him. She gasped at the images he was sending to her through the bond and in return he just felt hope and warmth. He pulled her toward him and rested his forehead against hers. Breathing her in like he hadn't seen her in months, like he missed her. Both of their wolves were scratching at the surface and their breathing had gone heavy when both of their phones went off breaking the moment entirely. She stepped away from him to fish her’s out of her back pocket while he grabbed his as well. They both had gotten the same text, “Temple NOW.” From the Grand Magus herself.

Eilene’s pov

They both arrived to the temple and were given various assignments. The Order was under attack yet again. Even though Hamish seemed to be aware of their connection, I couldn’t help but notice the strange pull he had to Vera Stone. I would be lying if is said it didn’t bother me. It set my wolf on edge even more so. Hamish was ours. There was a small part of me that thought maybe this was for the best, maybe this would gave him a second chance at being with someone who wasn’t a werewolf, someone he wouldn’t loose like he had Cassie. But Red said a resounding “No!” I had to stop having thoughts like that or I was going to lose what control I had left.

I had already been filled in on the magic heist, which for the record I thought was a bad idea and also why the others had left me out of it. When we arrived at the temple we all understood why. Everyone was on edge and The Grand Magus was telling us about how an emperor Demon Rogwan was going to break through to this realm and destroy us all. I then heard Hamish mutter something about Vera, being smart for not mentioning that the reliquary had been emptied - By us - I thought. Then Randall piped up next to him and asked “Dude are you hot for teacher?” Hamish blushed a bit and then looked over at me “I just admire good leadership.” he said and then looked away. That was a lie.

After a bit of initial panic we all came up with a patchwork plan that involved summoning Rogwan early to surprise him and hold him, while Jack and Lilith tried to find the sickles that the Demon Zecchia had stolen for them and then stolen from them. Hamish, Randall and I would stay at the temple to do our best to keep everyone safe. This meant I had to finally explain to Vera what I was and to some degree who I was. There was no way I could trust her but I needed her to trust me, just enough to get closer to her. “Wonderful, we have more werewolf muscle in case things get out of hand, which they most likely will. Rogwan is a demon who eats your fear, which makes you reckless and completely removes any self preservation you may have. We will all need to be careful. if you mutts hadn’t stolen my reliquary to begin with this wouldn't be an issue.” she said. Something about her tone made Red Snap. I could feel her move up to my eyes and that they were glowing bright yellow, when I took a step toward her. This caught her attention as well as Hamish’s, since he took a step toward me. Randall hung back behind us ready to jump in if he was needed. I looked Vera Stone straight in the eyes and said. “Regardless of the mistakes that have been made, if anything and I mean anything happens to these “mutts” I will personally hold you responsible.” I could see her square her shoulders as I continued “And there is nothing in this realm or any other that will keep me from you.” Hamish reached a hand out to touch my arm and the whole room felt tense waiting for the Grand Magus to respond. She looked at me with what almost looked like respect when she nodded and said “Understood. First let’s live through the day and then we can discuss your issue with authority Ms. Danvers.” With that settled we prepared for the worst.

Of course, our plan fell apart at the seams. Rogwan seemed particularly fond of the fear of werewolves and had already gotten to Hamish and Randall. Jack and Lilith had had zero luck getting the Sickles back nor could they remember where the stolen reliquary was. Alyssa was also down for the count and was working with the Grand Magus on one last plan. At some point in the chaos I remembered that I had found a random chest that seemed to have nothing but an assortment of information in it and a book on the demon realm. It also had some kind of spear in it that if I remembered correctly could hurt demons. It was a long shot but I had to give it a try before anyone else lost their fear. I had to get back to the den, get the book, the spear and make it back to the Temple before Vera set off a magical bomb.

Hamish’s pov

Having no fear didn’t seem all that bad, especially when you were a werewolf that could heal. It was like being immortal. Randall and I had to get the others to Rogwan so that he could take their fear to! Jack and Lilith were already headed back to the temple when he and Randall had arrived. It seemed as though Rogwan had saved some of the other members of the order as well since they were all hanging around and doing all kinds of fun things. A few of them were even trying to learn hand to hand combat with a knife that looked a lot like the one he had been stabbed with a while ago and another huge knife that reminded him of Crocodile Dundee. As he passed bybthem he said “Now that’s a knife.” in his best Australian accent. They just nodded and kept trying to stab each other. Just then Vera Stone walked passed him with Alyssa Drake behind her. They were headed to one of the more private temples toward the back. - I should say something to Vera - he thought, but she was already out of sight. Shortly after Eilene came in, she looked like she was on a mission, she had some things in her arms and her eyes were still a bright golden hue - God she’s beautiful, I should make love to her right now - He thought. But before he could get to her the two acolytes playing with knives saw her and stepped in front of her. “Hey, I’m no longer afraid of werewolves, watch this.” and as he finished speaking he stabbed her.

Watching the knife slide into her stomach. Seeing the mix of surprise and pain on her face caused something in him to break completely. The sound that came from him seemed to be a combination of both him and Tundra “Noooooo.” It was more of a growl than actual words. He was on his way toward her when she dropped what she was holding, gripped the boys shirt and tossed him across the room. The only problem with this was that she threw him into Hamish and they both fell to the ground. Hamish was pushing the kid off him when he noticed the knife he had used to stab HIS Eilene with WAS same knife that was deadly to werewolves. The same knife that had stabbed him. She wouldn’t have long if she kept fighting these fearless acolytes and if he didn’t get her to the Grand Magus soon.

Part 7. coming soon!

#hamish duke #randall carpio #lilith bathory #jack morton #alyssa drake #vera stone #the order

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years ago

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the last house at the end of the street {Daniel Webber}

A/N: 2871 words. This is for @rogerandhishair and also batnon, both of whom I love, but especially Gabs for helping me along the way and inspiring me, and yelling about Daniel a lot. Was this meant to be cabin!Daniel? Yes. But it’s lakehouse!daniel now! So part of my family is originally from Wangi Wangi, and I used to go there a lot when I was a kid, esp. around Christmas/Summer time. It’s a very chill, picturesque place. God I hope this is coherent to anyone who’s not Australian. Feedback would be great!! Fluffy As Hell and AGGRESSIVELY Australian.

“This is where horror movies happen.” You tell Daniel, the two of you stopped for lunch at a spot you’re told is only a five minute walk from the property he’d bought once he’d had the means. It’s in a place called Wangi Wangi, which you’d never heard of before, but you’d been assured that you’d love it, and, alright, looking over the sparkling water of the Lake, seeing the little boats bobbing their way across the water, the smell of the gentle breeze as it whistles softly past the native trees, you’re actually rather charmed by it. But you still can’t help yourself. “Seriously, this is where Crocodile Dundee himself crawls out of the lake to kill his helpless victims, which probably includes us.”

“Crocodile Dundee isn’t a horror movie,” Daniel tells you flatly, his lips quirked in the barest smirk, and your expression turns to a frown as you consider it. “You’re thinking of Friday the Thirteenth.”

“No, I’m thinking of... - Wolf Creek!” It’s like a eureka moment, your eyes lighting up, and oh, somehow it’s just so endearing, the light of the sun glinting off the water to highlight your smile. “I’m thinking of Wolf Creek,” you tell him with a self-satisfied conviction, going on to half-jokingly explain that ‘wolf is going to crawl out of the creek and kill us, just like in the movie’. You’re fully aware that that’s not what Wolf Creek is about, but it doesn’t really matter, because it makes Daniel laugh.

The property is the last house on the street, a dark gravel driveway leading to a spacious garage next to a handsome, red brick home. The windows are large, filling the rooms with air and light, looking out over the Lake, a view you know you could really get used to.

It’s empty, bare walls and plush, clean carpets, linoleum you’d replace with actual tiles when you get a chance. He’d always said he wanted a house by the lake, always told you how much he’d adored coming out here as a kid, and now, seeing him lean against the balcony out the back, smiling like everything was right in the world at this very moment, you can’t blame him. Wrapped your arms around him, you press a kiss to his back, between his shoulder blades, before perching your chin on his shoulder.

It’s so serene.

It’s going to end up as a holiday home, but you’re both between projects, so you’ve got the time to fix it up, to make it perfect. But for now, tonight, the first time you’ll ever sleep in this quiet little dream you’ve picked out for yourselves, you sleep on a blow-up mattress in the main bedroom, talking and laughing and dreaming up schematics in the Summer air. The window is open, and if you’re quiet, you can hear the lake lapping at the shore.

Tomorrow, you can start the process of making it perfect, but for tonight, it sort of feels like it already is.

It’s not easy work, it’s the tail-end of Summer, though February is still painful at the best of times. You’re covered in grime and grout and paint, and retiling a bathroom and a kitchen is far more involved than you’d realised. Painting room after room hurts your back, and you know that when you’re done, you still have to do the skirting boards, and replace the counter tops and furnish the whole house. You’ve got the basics, a refrigerator, and wifi, and deck chairs, though they’re uncomfortable metal fold out ones, but you get through the day, jamming out to Spotify playlists that keep your spirit up.

Naps become common, as does having at least three water bottles in the fridge at all times. Each. You’re sweaty more than you’re not, but it’s worth it, it has to be.

One particularly hot afternoon, Daniel wraps his arms around you where you’re reaching into the fridge for some cold water, and you squawk at it. You’d just been taking a break from painting the main bedroom, giving yourself a rest before powering through to the marginally-cooler night.

“I’m so gross right now,” you protest, feeling every point where your shirt is sticking to you, but he doesn’t release you from his loose grip.

“So am I,” he laughs, pressing his face to your back, wiping his grubby forehead on your back, covered in sweat and grim from where he’d been replacing the wood of the back porch. You wriggle, yelping at that, though you don’t protest, and when you shut the fridge, you turn to him with two bottles in hand. He takes the one you offer, finally letting you go, grinning from ear to ear.

“You wanna head down to the lake for a swim?” He offers, and it’s almost four in the afternoon, still feeling hotter than hell, and the lake sounds so enticing right now.

“Absolutely.”

Daniel always seems to know when your mood is dipping, he takes the paintbrush or tool that you’re working with, and you want to protest, because you’ve still got some of the wall to do but -

“Tomorrow, there’s always tomorrow.” He’ll assure, and something about the way he says it eases the tense set of your shoulders. Tired and covered in paint, he’ll grab a drink for the both of you, so cold it feels like a godsend, and you’ll walk down to the shore. There’s a little, stone pier that’s a ten minute walk from your house, with other people’s overturned canoes resting in the grass nearby, and something about the sight is so full of implicit trust. You sit, side by side, on the pier, feet in the water, watching boats cross the skyline. Some days it’s clear enough that you can see Swansea on the other side.

The stress washes away with the water, leaning against Daniel, your head on his shoulder.

“I was thinking of getting, like, a dinghy or something,” he muses one evening, sunset having painted the sky lilac. You yawn, having spent the day finishing off painting the skirting boards; it meant you’d officially finished painting the house, and all that was left to do was replace the linoleum countertops in the kitchen. It had thoroughly sapped the energy from you. “Maybe not a dinghy, maybe something bigger; we could go out on the lake and swim, maybe fish, just have a time of it.” He sounded tired too, and he takes a swig of his beer before resting his head against yours. The moment hangs in the air, warm and gentle like the last rays of sunshine, and you tuck your arm into his, basking in it.

You’re rather wrapped up in refurbishing the home for the stretch of time that you spend there, you’d missed Christmas and Australia Day, and before you know it, the house is done. It smells like fresh paint and plastic from your new furniture and appliances, and you find yourself burning candles everywhere to make it smell like home.

You get used to the comforting sound of the lake, the rustle of the wind through the trees, and it becomes routine to walk through the park that borders the left of your house, going out to the picnic spot where you’d stopped that first day, overlooking the whole town and it’s surrounds. Daniel takes comfort here like you’ve never really seen him before. Seemingly stress free, he finds himself enjoying afternoons exploring the Conservation Park nearby; sometimes you join him, sometimes you take a nap, and wake up when the sun’s setting, the air’s cooling, and you find yourself with a blanket over you, and a little bunch of wild flowers on the coffee table. Daniel, you can hear, is cooking dinner in the next room, listening to music and humming along. Something about it makes your heart melt, just a little.

It seems like it’s all too soon before you’re both off again, to work on new projects, the real world calling you back, but at least now you know you’ve got this refuge when you need it.

The year drags on, and for all it’s filled with fun and achievements, you find yourself longing to go back to the little lake house.

You return just after New Year’s. It’s the middle of Summer, and this time you buy a barbecue for the back yard, and a tent, because you’ve got a beautiful park right next door, it would be a shame to under utilize it. You get to know your neighbors, the people around the street, and it’s surprising how friendly they are. You suppose you do live at the end of the road, no-one further down apart from the animals in the park, and the vacationing families in the holiday homes a few kilometers away.

Johnno, who lives four doors down, baulks when you call him Johnothan, and in the same breath invites you and Daniel to his Australia Day get-together that’s happening next week. You tentatively accept, but he seems to sense your hesitation.

“Listen, it’s just a little thing, get all the neighbors round and have a splash in the pool, get the barbie runnin’ and listen to Triple-J’s Hottest 100,” he pauses, shrugging, not even giving you time to process everything he’s said, “I don’t really go in for all that patriotism stuff, but it’s a good excuse to get everyone together, you know?” Daniel accepts with a bright smile, and Johnno’s on his merry way.

“Please tell me you understood anything he said,” you half laughed, and Daniel grins, nodding, explaining that you’d essentially been invited to a very casual lunch.

Personally, you think having a pool while living so close to a lake seems like overkill, but you wouldn’t turn down a kind invite.

“I feel like I’ve seen your face before,” Johnno’s expression is thoughtful as you and Daniel hover by the barbecue, feeling a little out of place in the spacious backyard, surrounded by people and their families. There’s kids splashing about in the pool, older women sitting on the porch under an umbrella holding glasses of champagne, and men scattered about, talking to each other like old friends. Johnno, for his part, is diligently sweating away, cooking enough sausages to feed a small army, with plates piled high of more food to be added when there’s room. He’s not even wearing an apron, just a pair of board shorts, wielding a pair of tongs with one hand, a beer in the other.

Daniel laughs a little at that, the sound warm and good natured, and a woman comes out of the house holding a bowl of freshly tossed salad.

“Jen, babe, where have we seen him before, he’s got a face I recognise,” Johnno asks, and the woman, Jen, joins him after putting the salad on the fold out table that had been set-up beside the barbecue. She frowns for a little, but it’s not unkind, and Daniel beats them to it.

“I was on Home and Away a couple of years ago.”

And both their faces light up, talking over each other with their own realisations as they nod, agreeing that that’s where he’d seen them. It’s slow at first, once Jen leaves to head back inside, a few of the people who come out after her, carrying drinks of their own, or more food for the table, they give you and Daniel an appraising look. As time passes, it seems the news of a celebrity in their midst spreads to the rest of the gathered neighbors, though it just means that everyone’s more excited to talk to them, well Daniel, than they were before.

“He’s the cute one from Teenage Kicks,” a teenage girl whispers a little too loudly to her friend, maybe her sister, while they’re all lining up for food. Daniel tries to hide his smile and pretend like he didn’t hear them, stepping up, grabbing himself a paper plate, and collecting food.

“I feel like they’re too young to have seen that,” he mutters to you, though he’s grinning a little, and you can’t help your own smile at his amusement.

Soon enough, just like you’d watched earlier, the others start to talk to the two of you like you’re old friends, but Daniel never leaves your side. You’re a little bit surprised at how much you find you’re enjoying yourself. You and Daniel take up residence on a set of banana lounges beneath an umbrella. At one point, he goes to get the both of you new drinks, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before he goes, and you’re pretty sure you actually hear the two teenage girls give a dreamy sigh from where they’d been trying to inconspicuously watch the two of you. While you found it a little strange, they obviously meant no harm by it, and when you smiled at them, they both averted their gazes quickly, embarrassed at getting caught.

The whole day feels surreal, like a moment from someone else’s life, where the sky is always blue, and grilled pineapple is a delicacy, and it feels like a home away from home.

You don’t stay long; his shooting schedule for his next project has him in America in late February, and your own project is set to enter pre-production only a few weeks after; you’re sad to leave the haven of the lake house, but excited to say goodbye to the heat of the Australian Summer.

Every so often, you get invited to neighborhood events, usually by Johnno or Jen, though you’ve actually kept up communications with a few people from around the neighborhood, having enjoyed that Summer afternoon too much to let the people you’d met go completely.

You return sooner than anticipated, at the start of July, the two of you having a few weeks off and wanting to see what the property was like in the Winter, out of sheer curiosity.

It’s absolutely freezing. The wind cools as it crosses the lake, and chills you to the bone. It’s only made bearable when you and Daniel wrap yourselves in various duvets, curled up on the sofa you’d bought for the porch, drinking hot drinks and enjoying the view as much as you could. You think you prefer the view in the Summer, everything seems that little bit more gold around the edges, but here, now, he wraps his arm around you, lets you wrap yourself up against him.

“We should bring people out here,” he muses, breath warm against your cheek, a small comfort on this overcast evening, “like friends and stuff, ‘nd family. In Summer of course.”

“Spring,” you suggest, “before it gets too hot.” He nods, but doesn’t answer for the crack of thunder that rumbles ahead of you, and the two of head inside quickly before being pelted with rain. The rain itself sets the atmosphere nicely when you head back inside, curling up on the sofa, planning on who you could invite to your little lakeside paradise.

Bit by bit, as you collect memories in the house, you collect knicknacks, and then there’s photos on the wall, and props from projects on display, and you have friends and family around, you invite the neighbors for a barbecue of your own, and then there’s little scratches and knocks along the walls, and someone spilled something on the carpet that didn’t manage to come out entirely, but you find that you sort of love it. It feels lovely.

There’s a little yacht docked to the bigger pier that’s only about a twenty minute walk from your home, but it’s yours. The guest room is always neat when a friend comes to stay. In 2019, you politely decline the invite to ‘Johnno and Jen’s annual Australia Day Shindig’, you tell them you have family plans. In a sense, you’re not lying; you have the other three stars of The Dirt over for Australia Day, and they make themselves at home on your sofa, on your spare bed, on a blow-up mattress. There’s something freeing about the lake house, about being away from prying eyes, and while you watch the boys toss themselves into the water from the yacht, you feel contentment spreading from the warmth in your chest to the tips of your fingers.

You have your own little barbecue that evening, everyone still in board shorts, hair curling from the salt water and sitting around the back porch. Colson’s singing along to half of the Hottest 100 as it plays from your bluetooth speaker, and later, you’ll all watch the fireworks over the water. Daniel seems in his element, grinning from ear to ear as you’re all discussing your upcoming projects, how they’re all looking forward to the The Dirt premiere in only a few months. Iwan’s got a few television opportunities, Douglas is going to be doing some philanthropy, and Colson’s got his album coming out soon. Both you and Daniel have films going into production in the near future, and you can see him regarding his friends with a quiet pride.

This is what had been missing, you realise.

The house was finally perfect.

#daniel webber #the dirt #daniel webber imagine #daniel webber x reader #the dirt imagine #colson baker #douglas booth #iwan rheon #vince neil #motley crue #the dirt cast #the dirt cast imagine #the angry lizard writes

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kelyon · 5 years ago

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Nephila

My contribution to the Rumbelle Monsterfucker’s ball!!

Belle French is a naturalist called in to find out what’s been killing--but not eating--local sheep. What she finds will change her life.

Read on AO3

"Nephila is a genus of araneomorph spiders noted for the impressive webs they weave. Nephila consists of numerous species found in warmer regions around the world. They are commonly called golden silk orb-weavers, golden orb-weavers, giant wood spiders, or banana spiders.

"The genus name Nephila is derived from Ancient Greek, meaning "fond of spinning.""

****

Even for late August, it was stupidly hot. Belle French trudged across the stupidly designed quad of the University of Maine’s Storybrooke Campus. The cardigan she had stupidly worn as part of her “first day of school as an adjunct professor” outfit stuck to her back. The sweater was further pressed against her body by the leather strap of the bag she had stupidly slung over her shoulder. And the bag was heavy with five classes worth of “getting to know you” one-page essays she had stupidly assigned her undergraduates and--most stupidly of all--promised to return for credit next class.

She was the professor, goddamit, why was she the one with homework?

“Belle! Belle!”

Belle heard the running almost before she heard the voice calling after her. She stopped and turned and saw Ruby Lucas sprinting towards her. In the years she’d known Ruby, Belle had seen her run in everything from sneakers to stilettos to those “barefoot running” foot gloves, but she had never seen her friend look as winded as she did right now.

“What’s going on?” Belle asked as Ruby got closer. “Is there an emergency? Is your grandmother okay?”

Ruby shook her head and gulped down air before she started talking. “Wheren.... Aus... la...ufrum?”

Belle blinked at her friend. “You want to run that by me again?”

With her hands on her knees, Ruby took another deep breath, which only improved things by a fraction. “Where in... Australia… are... you from?

“Melbourne,” Belle answered, then added, “Did you run all the way from the Bio Building just to ask me that?”

“No,” Ruby panted, her mind clearly going faster than her breath would allow. “The next thing I wanna know is, how far is Melbourne from Queensland?”

Belle gaped at her friend. What was going on? “What part of Queensland? It’s a big state.”

“I don’t know what part. But if you go to Queensland, can you crash with your parents?”

“I--No?” Belle gathered herself and squashed down her incredulity. “Ruby, that’s like asking if my parents can stay with me here in Maine while they stop down and go to Disney World! Now will you tell me what’s going on? Why do we need emergency trivia about Australian geography?”

“Bio department got a call,” Ruby huffed. “The University of Brisbane is looking for field agents for a job, but they don’t want any specialists.”

Belle’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Ruby nodded. “I know! It’s weird. It sounds like they’re looking for general zoologists.” She put her hand meaningfully on Belle’s shoulder. “Like someone who still hasn’t picked out a specific branch of study even though she’s well into her doctoral process!”

Unlike Ruby--who had decided in middle school that lupine biology was her passion and had never strayed from that course--Belle had yet to find a specialization that she could stick with. All animals were equally fascinating to her--from bison to crocodiles to arachnids--and she had spent countless credit hours in one field, only to find her enthusiasm building for another subject. She had gotten through her bachelor’s and master’s degrees by taking basic classes and calling herself a generalist. After all, zoology was a legitimate discipline all by itself. Even if specialization was more likely to offer job prospects.

But… this was a job prospect. Wasn’t it?

“Why does the University of Brisbane want an unspecialized naturalist?”

Ruby handed Belle a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. “I guess you’ll have to ask them when you get there.”

****

Four weeks, three interviews, and one extended leave of absence later, Belle got off the plane at the Mount Isa Airport. She was met by a short, gruff-looking man from the university. He took her bags and threw them in the back of a dust-covered Jeep.

“This is the real outback, isn’t it?” Belle shouted as they drove along a bumpy road. The loud Jeep pulled up clouds of red dust as it went.

“Not really,” the man yelled over the noise. He hadn’t introduced himself, but he wore an ID badge that said Leroy. “But it’s close enough that tourists can’t tell the difference!”

“I’m really not a tourist!” Belle grabbed onto the dashboard as the Jeep jolted over some unidentifiable obstacle in the road. “I’m with the university!”

“I know! You’re gonna find what’s killing the sheep!”

“Is that what this is about?” In all her briefings on this assignment, Belle still hadn’t been told why they needed someone who had no specialty.

Leroy pulled off the road and onto a paved driveway that eventually led up to a massive house.

“This property belongs to Mary Margaret and David Nolan,” he said when he cut the engine. “They’re sheep graziers, and they’ve noticed a diminishing return on their flock. Usually, they’d call it dingos and move on. But the shepherds aren’t finding bones or carcasses. They’re finding bodies, but they haven’t been eaten. There are only ever two bites on a sheep.”

Leroy hadn’t looked at Belle much on their ride to the Nolan station, but now as he sat in the parked Jeep with his hands on the steering wheel, he turned and looked her dead in the eyes. “They look like fang marks.”

“Well, God knows there are enough venomous animals on this continent. We have a list of usual suspects. What kind of snakes live in this area?”

“Sister,” Leroy opened his door. “I’ve lived in these parts for twenty years, I’ve never seen anything do damage like this.”

He took her bag out of the Jeep and lead her to an outbuilding off the side of the main house. The edge of a folded-over blue tarp flapped in the wind on the ground outside, though most of the material was weighed down by an object hidden inside the fold.

Leroy stood over the tarp, but looked at her before he lifted it. “Are you ready to look at this?”

Belle swallowed her fear and squared her jaw. “Of course I’m ready. I’m a professional.”

“Okay.”

It was definitely a sheep, that thing on the tarp. And it was definitely dead. Belle couldn’t help but feel sorry for the animal’s untimely demise. Her heart and stomach both wrenched at the sight of its lifeless eyes, its stiff limbs and unnaturally twisted neck.

The condition of the animal was as Leroy had described: it wasn’t eaten or dismembered. The sheep didn’t even look as though it had been attacked--at least, not by anything with ripping claws or crushing mandibles.

But there were marks on the sheep. On the neck, about ten centimeters apart, there were two deep incisions. Belle got a pair of rubber gloves out of her bag and examined the marks. The whole of her hand fit in the space between the holes. She could fit two fingers inside of the wounds, they were deep enough to go up to her second knuckle.

“That’s definitely not a snake,” Belle said. She turned to Leroy. “Are you sure this was an animal? Do the Nolans have enemies? This could just be the work of some really sick human.”

A new voice entered the conversation. “You really think a person is capable of that kind of torture to a helpless animal?”

Belle straightened up and looked at the new speaker. He was a tall man in khakis and a bush hat, an outfit that should have been practical, but just made him look like he was dressing up as Crocodile Dundee. He had spoken with an American accent, so it was entirely possible that he had, in fact, bought a new wardrobe in order to appear “authentic” for his trip “down under.”

Folding her arms over her chest, Belle gave the man a look of incredulous disdain. “It can’t be a controversial opinion that in most conflicts between men and beasts, humans are the aggressors.”

The tall man laughed, an obnoxiously boisterous sound. He clapped Leroy on the back, as though he were a pint-sized sidekick. Leroy glared at him and shook off his hand.

“Miss French, this is your expedition partner.”

“Clay Gaston,” the man extended his hand. He had a very white smile “I knew I was the braun to your brain, but no one mentioned your beauty!”

Belle shook his hand for just long enough to be polite and then pulled away. She decided to ignore the remark about her looks. “I’m Belle French, one-woman co-oprative between the Universities of Maine and Brisbane. Are you associated with an institute?”

Mr. Gaston shook his head. “I’m a big game hunter, the Nolans hired me to kill whatever you find. No beast alive stands a chance against me. And no girl for that matter!” He gave another smile that Belle officially classified as ‘shit-eating.’

This was going to be a long, stupid, trip.

****

The next morning, after breakfasting with the Nolans and getting a few more answers than she’d had before, Belle set out to find her sheep attacker. The couple said that all the sheep with fang marks had been found within a hundred meters of an abandoned mine. Of course, the entire area was littered with old mine shafts, so that only sort of narrowed down the possibilities. But it was something to go on, at least.

Squinting in the merciless sun as she left the main house, Belle couldn’t quite believe that Gaston was sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep.

“Isn’t Leroy the driver around here?”

“Three’s a crowd,” Gaston said. “I drove around this ranch for a few days before you got here, I can get you where you need to go.”

“It’s called a station,” Belle muttered as she walked around the Jeep to get in the passenger side.

When she climbed in, Belle saw a long rifle laying across the back seat. How had Gaston gotten that through customs? She gaped at it, then turned to Gaston. “Tell me that’s a tranquilizer gun.”

The man scoffed and started the Jeep before Belle had her seatbelt on. “The Nolans hired us to get rid of the thing that’s killing their sheep. Your part is to tell me what to shoot at. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The sight of the gun and Gaston’s cavalier attitude about this whole expedition gave Belle a stomach ache. But she shook her head and tried to focus on their mission.

“So what’s your plan, Mr. Gaston?”

“Follow the mine shafts,” he said. At least he kept his eyes on the road. “If we find a body, we can try to track whatever killed it. If all goes well, we’ll find the thing, kill it, and bring the body back to the Nolans tonight. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go back and try something else tomorrow.”

In the vast catalogue of “bad plans,” that wasn’t the worst. Belle reminded herself that Gaston was a professional hunter and tracker. And the same people who had hired her had also hired him. He couldn’t be as much of an idiot as he seemed.

After an hour in the dusty wasteland, Belle spotted a white lump in the distance. Gaston drove the Jeep off the dirt road and pulled up to the animal. With her rubber gloves covering her to the wrist, Belle examined the carcass. Like the one on the tarp back at the station, this sheep was uninjured except for two red puncture wounds.

Unlike the sheep at the station, this one was still warm.

“It’s close,” Belle said. The sheep’s blood was still wet and tacky on her gloves. She hastily removed them. “You think it’s in the mine?”

Gaston made a show of looking around the flat expanse around them. “Something this big can’t just hide behind a bush. If we don’t see it, it’s not on the surface.”

Belle exhaled slowly through her nose. He wasn’t wrong. There was a hole in the ground only a few meters away from where they stood, where the sheep had been attacked. They were right on top of a mine. Something could have very easily come up from the ground, attacked the sheep, and run back home.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Belle muttered. “Why would an animal kill a sheep and not eat it?”

Gaston shrugged. “Maybe it thought the sheep was something else? Like, sharks think that people are seals when they bite them.”

“Maybe,” Belle said. “But what does it want instead? And how would it know that there was prey but not know what it was?”

Her brow furrowed in against the sunlight, Belle squinted down at the sheep. There was something glinting beside the carcass. Belle crouched down to get a closer look. The sparkling thing was gold against the red dirt.

“Is that jewelry?” A dropped necklace would be evidence that this senseless slaughter was in fact the work of people--maybe some cruel teenagers or the Nolan’s cutthroat rivals.

But when Belle examined the thing, she saw that it wasn’t any kind of chain. It was thin as a hair, at risk of blowing away in the wind. It almost looked like some kind of golden thread.

“Are we going to the mine or what?” Gaston said.

Still squinting, Belle followed the line of the thread as it wove around the sheep and over the brush and into the hole in the ground. She stood up and slapped the dust off her shorts.

“I think we have to,” Belle said. Though the animal’s access point was right in front of them, Belle had no interest in rappelling from a hole in the ground down into the unknown. She turned to look down the dirt road, and then back at Gaston. “Where’s the entrance?”

****

The mine was dark and cavernous. The entrance had been at ground level, a few hundred meters away from where they had found the sheep. As they went on, the path sloped steeply downwards into the earth. The only light came from their battery-operated torches. Belle held her light in one hand and left the other hand free as she walked. Gaston had an LED light mounted on his shoulder and used both hands to hold his rifle. The LEDs gave off a cold, bluish light that gave Belle a headache. She’d had her torch since she was a kid, and it gave off a warm yellow glow that made it easier to trace the gold-colored threads that hung all around the stone mine walls.

“I can’t tell if I’m Orpheus or Theseus,” Belle remarked. “Descending into the underworld, but following a golden thread so I don’t get lost in the maze.”

“Is that from a movie or something?”

Belle opened her mouth, but then decided it wasn’t worth it.

There was nothing alive in the mines. In the light of her torch, Belle didn’t see any signs of animals--no bones or scat or likely habitats. There was nothing here but dust and rocks and strands of golden thread. As they went deeper into the mines, the threads became more frequent, the spacing of them denser and harder to avoid. Weaving around each other over and over, the threads almost seemed to form a narrow tunnel.

Gaston ducked, but couldn’t avoid scraping his head against the threads. He pulled the gold out of his black hair and grimaced at the sticky strands. “This isn’t real gold, is it? We’re not literally walking through a gold mine?”

“No,” Belle said. “Honestly, these look like cobwebs more than anything else.”

Giving up the subtle approach, Gaston used the butt of his rifle to clear away the rest of the tunnel. “You think a spider did all this?”

They emerged into a vast space, like a cathedral in the middle of the mine. There were a few boarded-up mine shafts above their heads, letting in narrow beams of sunlight. Looking up, Belle realized just how far under the ground they were.

Then the beam of her torch caught the golden threads again. But the threads were no longer sparse trails, or even the dense mass of the tunnel. Now they formed a sprawling, asymmetrical web that covered the entire space of the cavern. Belle and Gaston both looked up at it, gaping.

“Yeah,” Belle said. “I think that’s a spider’s work.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gaston swallow. “A spider that’s big enough to kill sheep but not hungry enough to eat them.”

Belle nodded. “I wonder what it really wants.”

She didn’t see what happened next. Her first sensation was of motion beside her, of Gaston falling over and shouting out, “Oof!” Then a hard crunch and half the light went out. All the illumination from the LEDs vanished.

A man screamed. Gaston! Belle swept her yellow beam over the ground, frantically searching for him.

But he wasn’t on the ground.

She saw him, five meters up in the air, his body already wrapped up like a mummy and dangling by a golden thread. He was struggling to break free, but with every second, Belle could see his movements become weaker and more disjointed. In no time at all, he was still.

When Gaston’s wrapped-up body spun around, Belle saw two large fang marks on his shoulder. She screamed.

“Shhhh,” a raspy voice came from the dimness. “Don’t make noise.”

Belle swung her torch all over the room. “Who’s there? Where are you?”

“My home,” the voice said. “You trespassed.”

Heart pounding, Belle tried to stay calm. “Your home?” she asked, still looking for the source of the voice. “You live here? With that spider around?”

“Not a spider,” was the only answer. “Spiders are small.”

Belle worked very hard to keep her panting from becoming hyperventilating. “Then what killed Mr. Gaston?”

“Not killed,” came the sound of the voice. A voice Belle could no longer swear was human. “Not yet. You should go before I eat him.”

Gason wasn’t dead? And the thing in the mine with her was going to eat him? “Wait!” Belle thrust a pleading hand into the darkness. “Take me instead!”

In the dim light, she saw the outline of a creature. It stayed in the shadows, but she could make out a head cocking to one side. It was looking at her.

“You?” the inhuman voice asked “You would… take his place?”

Belle fought to keep the fear out of her voice. “If I did, would you let him go? Could you let him go?”

An appendage came from out of the shadows and prodded at Gaston’s limp body. Then it discarded him, and turned to Belle. She could hear many legs moving in the darkness, coming closer to her.

“Why?” The creature’s voice was high and low at the same time. It was a chirp with deep and menacing echoes.

“I can’t go back without him. He’s my responsibility. I have to protect him.”

“You?” it said again. “You so small, so weak? He should protect you.”

“He tried and you see where that got us.” Belle nodded to Gaston’s rifle. It had been knocked out of his hands before they had even seen the creature.

“So,” it hissed, “to save your male, you would feed me? Let me bite you?”

“You wouldn’t even need to use your venom.” Belle ignored the urge to vomit as she discussed her own slaughter. “I’m small enough that I think you could just eat me. If your physiology is the same as the smaller species in your genus.”

“That’s personal information,” the monster said stiffly.

“I wouldn’t even fight you, at least I’d try not to. I--” It took a moment for Belle to make sense of what the thing had just said. “Was that a joke?”

“Hmm?”

“W-when I mentioned your genus, you said that was personal. Was that humor?”

It made a sound then, a high-pitched twitter that repeated a few times. After a moment, Belle realized it was laughter. This monster could speak English. It could hold a conversation. It could make a joke.

This thing in the cave was more intelligent than most of her undergraduates.

With a bizarre sense of relief--even though the danger was far from over--Belle began to laugh as well. This was just one of those days, wasn’t it? Like her favorite comedian said, adult life is already so goddamned weird, this might as well happen.

The creature stopped laughing and Belle became aware of it looking at her again.

“I don’t have to eat,” it said. “Not if other needs are met.”

“Really?” Belle asked. “Will you let us both go? Will you stop killing the sheep?”

“Other needs,” it repeated. “Must be met.”

Belle gulped. “Okay. Um.”

“Pretty human.” Was she nuts or did the creature sound thoughtful? “Pretty human wants her male to go free.”

“Yes,” Belle whispered. “No matter what, don’t eat Gaston.”

“No,” it agreed. “Ugly human stinks. No good for anything.”

“But,” she made herself say it. “You can eat me.”

“Yes,” the creature hissed. “I can. Or.” It didn’t finish the sentence.

“Or?” Belle asked. “Or what?”

“Or you can choose, pretty human.”

Belle’s hands clenched into fists. “Tell me what I can choose.”

“Choose,” it said, “what you will be. Will you be meal? Or.” It waited again, waited an eternity before it gave Belle the second option. “Will you be mate?”

For a very, very long moment, Belle didn’t remember to breathe. She stood in the dark cave, in the beam of her torch, surrounded by golden webs, every bit as paralyzed as Gaston. Her mouth opened and closed. Her lips tried to form words but no sound would come out of them.

“W-w-what do you mean by ‘mate’?”

The sound the monster made was simultaneously amused and lustful. “Females should be bigger,” it said. “Ten times bigger than males! I should be afraid of you. Instead, you are afraid of me.”

“I am,” Belle admitted. “I’m afraid of things I don’t know, things I don’t understand.” She took a deep breath. “But I’ve found a pretty easy way to get over those fears.”

“Oh?” She could hear the creature scuttling in the darkness. It seemed to be all around her, examining her from every angle.

“Yes,” she gulped. “Usually, I stop being afraid once I know more about the thing that scares me.”

Research had long been her weapon against a world that didn’t make sense. If she knew enough about a danger, then she knew how to avoid it, or how to survive it. It was an attitude she found common in doctors and economists, and naturalists like herself. All the good ones, anyway. They believed that forewarned is forearmed.

Of course, the other side of that coin was someone had to have the first-hand experience that went into the books that future generations used for research. It was all well and good to arm yourself with knowledge, but at a certain point, if you were really serious about advancing science, you had to do something no one else had ever done. You had to do the brave thing, even if only so future generations could look at your work and see what not to do.

It was pretty clearly documented what happened to the prey of nephila. Belle herself could confirm the process of paralyzing a victim through venom and wrapping it in silk for later consumption. The creature had already done all of that to Gaston. If she agreed to be the creature’s meal, it would do that to her, and she would also get a first-hand view of its devouring behavior and digestive processes, though any notes she might make on such matters would surely be lost to science forever.

But did anyone know what happened to a human body in the process of arachnid copulation? What could happen, under those circumstances? Science had never found a specimen as large as the one that had made the webs in this cave. Science had never come across an invertebrate that expressed a sexual interest in humans.

Now, Belle had both.

Besides, she had been hired specifically to find the thing that had been killing the Nolan’s sheep and to get it to stop. This creature seemed to be killing without feeding out of misplaced sexual energy. Surely, the most logical method of saving the sheep was to get the creature to expend that sexual energy. On her.

This was the discovery of a lifetime. This would provide groundbreaking data for twenty different fields of study. This was literally her job. Who else would ever have this chance? Who else would ever take it? She had to do it. For the sake of the Nolans’ sheep, for the sake of Gaston’s life, for the sake of her own intellectual integrity, she had to fuck this monster.

“Well?” the voice came from the shadows, even more hushed than before. “Choice?”

Belle swallowed. It was one thing to see the rightness in doing something, but it was another thing entirely to actually do it. Besides, there was one more thing she had to know before she gave it her answer.

“Step into the light.”

It did as she asked. One leg emerged from the shadows, then another, and another. The legs rested on thin points that gradually tapered up to joints and grew thicker from there. From the way it teetered on its points, Belle could tell that this creature didn’t usually stand on the ground. It was a weaver, after all. It was most comfortable in its web.

The points of the legs were dark brown, but halfway up the colors changed to include a band of yellowish gold before it turned dark again. Every leg had that coloration, it was a sign to evoke fear in potential predators. A warning, that this thing was venomous.

A warning Belle and Gaston would have done well to heed.

Belle looked up the height of the creature, at the legs that just kept going, until high above her head, she saw the rest of it. It had an oblong abdomen, as long as she was tall. At the cephalothorax, where a regular spider would have had a head, this thing kept going. It looked like it had a waist--not an abdomen, a waist that developed into a chest. It had shoulders and arms and five-fingered hands. It had a neck and a head and a face that looked like a man.

It was grinning at her.

She had been afraid before, when she hadn’t known the true nature of this beast. Now that she knew, now that she saw it… “afraid” didn’t even begin to describe the feeling.

Black eyes clustered around the creature’s face, two large main eyes and then multiple smaller ones. Intellectually, Belle knew there were six more eyes than she was used to looking at on one face, but right now she was far too overwhelmed to count them. It looked at her, the gleam of her torch reflecting in all of its shiny black eyes.

“Choice?” it repeated. The mouth looked human, but with stubby chelicerae protruding out from the sides like an old-time moustache. That was where the creature had its fangs. “Meal or mate?”

Shaking, Belle took a step closer to it. “Mate.”

Instantly, two legs came from behind her and scooped her up. As she was lifted up into the air, Belle couldn’t fight her body’s instinct to wiggle and squirm. But then, another leg pressed itself onto her chest.

“Stop,” the creature said. “You look yummy when you do that. Remember, you are mate.”

Chest heaving, Belle tried to think. Of course her frantic motions would look like some small animal fighting for its life! She couldn’t act like that, or it might spur on a feeding instinct instead of a sexual one. She had to stay calm. She had to think like a spider.

“What does a mate do?”

The legs that held her lifted her up even higher, setting her in the center of the asymmetrical golden web. The creature let her go and Belle grabbed onto the silk threads, bracing herself for a fall.

But she didn’t fall. Belle looked at her arms and saw that they were sticking to the web, without her having to hold on to anything. About half of the threads were coated with droplets that looked like dew. She could reach one hand out to the droplets, and as soon as she touched them she found that she couldn’t move her hand away from the thread. She was stuck.

In a spirit of having nothing to lose, Belle reached her other hand out to a thread that had no sticky droplets. That one she could touch freely, she could run her hand back and forth over the impossibly thin golden thread.

She plucked at the thread, like a harp string, and felt the vibrations emanate all around her. The creature was below her, balancing delicately on eight thin legs. It only walked on the threads that had no droplets, safe from the traps it had laid for others. When she touched the thread, it reacted, perking its head up to register the vibrations.

It was coming closer to her, approaching her from below. Black, lifeless eyes looked up at her. Eyes like that shouldn’t be so expressive. Belle shouldn’t have been able to discern curiosity and wonder in eyes that were nothing but eight round voids.

“You are mate,” it whispered. Its strange voice sounded almost awed. “Mate is queen.”

Climbing up the thread on all its legs, the creature came and looked Belle in the face. Even the human parts of him--it, Belle corrected her thoughts, even the parts of the spider that looked like a human--were colored for camouflage on the forest floor. The hands were green-brown and ended in sharp black points that looked like filed fingernails.

He--it--brushed away the strands of hair that had escaped from Belle’s ponytail. It touched her face and cocked its head to look at her.

“Pretty mate,” it said.

“Thank you,” Belle said. Maybe that was stupid, but good manners never hurt.

The creature’s skin was mottled into a tortise-shell mixture of green and brown and black, with flecks of iridescent gold shining through. And it was skin, Belle was pretty sure. This wasn’t an exoskeleton. How was it possible that this thing was both an arachnid and a vertebrate?

He seemed as fascinated with her as she was with him. His hands slowly trailed down from her cheek to her neck. But it got confused when it reached her khaki jacket and the blouse underneath.

“Wrong,” it said. The thing had eight eyes, but only two eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

“I’m wearing clothes,” Belle explained. “It’s… kind of like fur? That I can take off?”

That did not seem to help him understand. “Wrong,” he said again.

“You know how sheep have that wooly white stuff on the outside? Have you ever seen it come off?”

Realization dawned. All eight eyes widened in delight and his fanged mouth cracked into a smile. “Sheer!” it squeaked. “I can sheer human mate!”

“Gently!” Belle cried before he could get carried away. “Please be careful with me.”

It looked into her eyes and spoke softly in its inhuman voice: “Mate is small. Mate is weak. I will be gentle.”

Belle swallowed. “Thank you.”

His five-fingered hands were clumsy, but Belle was impressed that he was even trying to undo her buttons. She’d had human dates who would just rip her blouse open when they’d started making out.

While his hands slowly exposed more of her skin, his pointed legs caressed her body. It was a strange and not entirely pleasant touch--like being softly stroked with a pool cue--but she appreciated the effort. He was being very gentle.

Once he had undone the buttons on her jacket, her blouse, and her khakis, the creature only had to push her sports bra up and her underwear down to get access to everything he wanted.

It looked her up and down and Belle had never had so many eyes on her body at once.

“Mate,” it whispered. His voice was thick and heavy. “Perfect mate.”

A shiver went up Belle’s spine. God help her, she had never felt so sexy. The mine was surprisingly warm and she felt herself opening up to this creature. She wanted to let him in to her body, and not just for the pursuit of scientific endeavors. Her nipples hardened and she twisted her body on the web, trying to get closer to him.

He saw what she was doing. With his long, thin legs holding him onto the web, the creature drew nearer to Belle. They were face to face, torso to torso. Her legs were spread, she waited for him to mount her or skewer her or rub up against her in an animalistic passion.

But he didn’t.

He touched her face again, gently, all eight of his eyes looking into hers. There was something about him, something about his eyes and his soft touch. He looked at her like he adored her. But how could a spider be capable of adoration? And how could Belle possibly be worthy of it?

With a strong but tender jerk, he pulled her stuck hand away from the web. Her arms were still stuck, they held her up in the middle of these golden threads. But now both her hands were free.

“Thank you,” Belle said.

The creature didn’t say anything. It lowered itself a little, so he was looking up at her again. He raised his chin, exposing his neck in front of Belle’s free hands. A few eyes looked at her expectantly.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Please?” it hissed. “Mate touch?”

Belle’s heart fluttered. It sounded so sad. How long had it been alone? There couldn’t be any females of this species. If there were, her creature would have mated already and there would have been spiderlings and in short order the entire continent of Australia (if not the entire world) would have been covered in golden webs and all life would be prey to this apex predator.

She reached out her open palm to his cheek. With a sigh, he closed most of his eyes and leaned into her touch. His skin was warm and only slightly rough. She touched his cheek, his jaw, but when her fingers brushed against the flesh that sheathed his fangs, he jerked back.

“No!” he said in a fervent whisper. “Not there!”

Belle swallowed. “Does it hurt you?”

“Hurt you!” he said. He tilted his head in the dim light, showing off the venom dripping from his fangs. “Hurt sheep, hurt prey, hurt smelly male human. Not hurt you.” His two largest eyes bore into her. “Never hurt mate!”

Again, Belle felt her soul soften at this gentle monster. He was so intense, so insistent, so aware of his strength and her weakness.

“Do you know what names are?” She wanted to give him something, something more than just the physical release they had initially dealt for.

He cocked his head at her. “Name?”

She nodded. “It’s something you can call me, to separate me from other humans, so you don’t have to keep calling me ‘mate,’ unless you want to.”

“Mate is separate,” he said reverently. “Mate is nothing like other humans. Mate has name?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded. “My name is Belle.”

“Belle,” he said in his strange voice. The multiple tones gave her name a musical quality. It was clear that he had never said the word before, and Belle felt that she had never before heard anyone really say her name.

She never wanted anyone else to say it again.

“Do you have a name?” she asked him. “Do others of your kind call you anything?”

With a series of strange clicks and grunts, he made a long poly-syllabic sound that started with an R and ended with “in.”

“I don’t think I can say that,” Belle said apologetically. “I’m not as good with my mouth as you are.”

“Belle,” he said again, dismissing her shortcomings in his adoration. “Belle, you are perfect.”

He put his hands on her again, on her neck and her chest. He ran his palms over her breasts and rubbed her nipples with his thumbs.

Belle moaned and he stopped at once, his black eyes wide.

“No,” she explained. “No, that feels good. I like it when you touch me. I really like it when you touch me there.”

Nodding slowly, he put his hands on her again. His pointed legs kept him suspended over her on the web. Gently, he trailed his fingers over the curve of her waist, his eyes looking down between her legs.

“Taste,” he whispered. His largest eyes looked at her face, the rest of them looked down below her waist “Want to taste.”

“Okay,” Belle said without hesitation. “But what about your venom?”

He was already climbing down the web and he looked up at her as he answered. “Careful!” he said brightly. “Feels good!”

Whenever anybody went down on her, the only thing Belle didn’t like was how she had no idea what was going on. That wasn’t so bad if the person knew what they were doing--if all Belle was aware of was electric bliss then it didn’t matter what technique they were using. But when guys didn’t know what they were doing and all Belle felt was a mildly pleasant warmth, then she would have liked to know what they were trying and hope that they would listen to her suggestions.

But the spider, the monster with a name she couldn’t pronounce, did not need her help. The shock of his first touch burst up her spine and made her shriek.

“I’m okay!” she cried before he could stop. “That was good!”

“Yes,” he said, lifting his head up from between her legs. “I know. I smell. Belle feels good.”

Fuck, Belle thought. How did he know what he was doing? How did this animal know how well he was mating her? Just by smell? Just by reading her body and sensing the animal in her? How much of an animal was she that she could accept him into her?

Probing and licking, his tongue explored her everywhere. Belle was so wet she couldn’t feel anything but pleasure, a steadily-mounting glow that rose higher out of her with every move he made. He pressed down against her heat, pushing his face into her, flicking his tongue over and over, everywhere around her cunt.

“I’m going to orgasm,” she gasped, more as an explanation than anything else. He was working her up so perfectly, but would he know what would come of his efforts? “I’m going to shake and scream, but it’s good. It’s very good. You’re not hurting me. Fuck!”

The sticky web behind her held her down, kept her from writhing and jerking like she would have if she were free. God, if someone was doing this to her on her bed in her crappy apartment she’d be thrashing on the mattress and covering her mouth with her hand so she wouldn’t wake the neighbors.

But Belle didn’t have to worry about that here. They were in a cavern, kilometers away from any settlements. They only person who could hear her moans and wails was Gaston, and he was still knocked out cold.

She would have to get him to a hospital when this was all over.

For now, Belle let loose her cries. She shouted and screamed and pressed herself as close as she could to the creature that was dedicating himself to her pleasure.

He didn’t stop, didn’t seem aware that she had climaxed. He kept his mouth on her--did he even use it to breathe?--and plunged her into another wave of ecstasy.

Belle whimpered and moaned as a second orgasm built up and then released. Her body hung limp against the sticky threads, but her legs were still open and the spider still had his mouth on her, relentless and hungry.

After her third orgasm in a row, Belle weakly tried to close her legs. She couldn’t even feel her pussy anymore. “Please stop,” she gasped. “Just let me catch my breath.”

The creature pulled away from her with a squelching sound. Ribbons of fluids hung and dripped between their connected bodies. When he looked at her, somehow his eyes seemed even wider and darker than they had been before.

“Belle is pleased?” He rested his hands on her waist.

“Oh God, yes,” she answered. “You were--that was amazing!”

“Belle is happy?”

She looked down at him. Her hands were free enough that she could reach down and touch his face the way he liked so much. His cheeks were moist and sticky and Belle felt her body clench.

“I’m happy,” she said. Why did it matter so much to him? “You made me happy.”

Under her hands, she felt him swallow. “Now,” he gulped. “May I mate with you?”

Belle let out a chuckle and leaned her head against the threads. “Of course! You know, in human mating what you did isn’t even necessary. It’s just polite. Extremely polite to do it three times.”

He didn’t answer. He crawled up the web to face her, to press his body against hers. One hand touched her face, stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His other hand stayed in the space between their bodies. Belle looked down to see what he was doing, but he tilted her chin up to hold her gaze.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” Belle answered. “I’m curious.”

His wide mouth broke into a smile. Now his fangs dripped with more fluids than just venom. The smell of her completion on his face only made her wetter.

She felt his hand against her, felt some strange new wetness sliding against her pleasure. Slowly, the creature pushed his fingers into her cunt.

The fingers didn’t move. He wasn’t, well, fingering her. She couldn’t quite tell what he was doing. She had never been fisted--was that what this was? He was so slow as he entered her. His hand felt so much bigger than any cock she’d ever taken, bigger than even her most adventurous sex toys. Thank God he’d already given her three orgasms!

Belle panted as he pushed himself deeper into her. Her hips rocked with a needful motion. Was he going to thrust? Was he going to fuck her properly or just fill her with his hand?

When she looked at the creature, he had half of his eyes closed in bliss. The other half gazed down at her. “Belle is good?”

“Can you move your arm?” Belle gasped as her body undulated back and forth. “Can you match the way I’m moving?”

It took a moment, but he figured out what she wanted. They rocked together, as tightly joined as any two lovers in the history of the world. Belle’s body shook the entire web and the creature pushed himself against her for stability. She cried and moaned with deep, guttural noises and she had to hastily tell him that this was good, he was good, she was feeling so good.

The orgasm rose out of her belly, deeper and stronger than the three she’d had from his mouth. Vaginal orgasm, Belle thought, categorising the experience even as she lived it. Biologically, she knew, there was no difference between a vaginal orgasm and a clitoral one--but this sure as hell felt different.

She came apart with a mad rush, every inch of her jerking and thrusting against the creature’s hand. Her body clenched around it with so much force she almost thought she heard a crack. Had she broken his wrist in her passion? It wouldn’t have surprised her. Fuck, but she had never been fucked this well!

The creature moved with her, thrust for thrust and jerk for jerk. He clung to her with one hand and fucked her with the other. He made strange, chittering, animal noises and Belle knew that he was voicing his pleasure. He grunted out his desire, his passion, his burning need that only Belle could satisfy. Pushing into her again and again, the creature trembled and shook on its web, all eyes closed in ecstasy.

When she couldn’t come anymore, she lay back on the web loosely. The creature delicately pried her away from the sticky golden threads and wrapped her in his arms. Belle sighed and rested in his embrace. Had she ever before felt so exhausted? So sated? So full?

For a while, she dozed in the creature’s arms. He seemed to have no interest in letting her go and she wasn’t exactly ready to walk back to the Jeep. The two of them spoke together, pillow talk without pillows, exchanging questions and compliments, both of them coming down from a wonderful high.

All too soon, another noise entered their conversation--a harsh groan of pain from the cave floor.

“Gaston!” Belle all but leaped away from the creature. How could she have forgotten about Gaston? The venom must be wearing off. He was waking up. He probably still had head trauma. She needed to get him back to the Nolan’s!

Grabbing onto the smooth threads--not the ones covered in a sticky dew that trapped prey--Belle slid down the web and jumped the remaining distance to the ground.

“Could have carried you,” the creature said, still in the center of the web.

Belle smiled up at him and began to put her clothes to rights. “I’m sorry I have to leave,” she said. “But he really should go to a hospital.”

The creature looked down at Gaston, who was making a valiant effort to roll over in his golden cocoon. “Deal’s a deal,” he shrugged, his arms pulled tightly across his chest. “You may go.”

“I, uh, I had a good time,” Belle said lamely.

But the spider was already retreating into the darkness.

She wanted to shout after it, but what could she say? Stay, wait, let’s have dinner? It was ridiculous. She couldn’t pursue a romantic relationship with a spider! Why would she even want to? And she couldn’t even come back to this godforsaken cave for another round of the best sex she’d ever had in her life!

If the only reason it had been attacking sheep was out of misplaced sexual energy, then when Belle had relived that energy, she had negated any possibility of it happening again. The Nolans would be happy, but she would never have a reason to come back here.

And--Belle just now realized--all of her scientific justifications for this little experiment came up to nothing because her results could not be replicated and no one in the scientific community would ever believe her!

“Fuck!” Belle shouted as she kicked a rock with her hiking boot. What a stupid waste of time! The only thing she gotten from walking into this stupid cave was the ability to walk back out again with stupid Gaston!

Belle sighed. Right. Gaston. Hospital.

She took out her pocket knife and cut the golden silk away from his body. After she helped him sit up, she rubbed some feeling back into his hands. The bitemarks in his shoulder were the size of American quarters. His skin was cold, maybe numb. Would he be able to walk?

“How you feeling, buddy?”

Her expedition partner rubbed his head. “The hell happened?”

“We found the sheep killer, don’t you remember? It was a giant spider.”

“How big, like a foot?”

Belle laughed. “Close enough. It bit you, and then I picked up the rifle and shot it. The pieces are too small to put into specimen bags, but at least we know it won’t be a problem anymore.”

Gaston nodded, still too zoned out to point out any holes in that story. “Told you,” he slurred a little as he spoke. “Told you it was a good idea to bring a real gun.”

“Yep,” Belle said as she helped him stand. Step by step, she helped him out of the cave. “You really saved the day.”

****

On the walk back to the Jeep and the drive back to camp, Belle was able to refine her story. The caves held nothing new, no groundbreaking discoveries in biology. Just a larger-than-average golden orb weaver that had been biting local sheep and injecting them with venom. Belle told the Nolans that the thing probably hadn’t even known what to do with prey that large. But the most important part was that it wouldn’t bother anyone again.

She tried to apply that mentality to her own experiences in the cave. It had happened, but it wasn’t that big a deal. It wasn’t going to change her life. As soon as she got back to the station, she had taken the longest, hottest shower of her life. Warm water ran over her and she tried her best to wash away the memory of the creature.

A few days later she was back in the states, lecturing to dead-eyed teenagers and expanding her knowledge in the library instead of on the field. She tried to focus on her research, tried not to think of it as a cop-out that she was back inside, reading about other people’s adventures instead of having one of her own.

Belle found herself getting restless and moody, snapping at her undergrads and crying at commercials on TV. It was mid-October and everywhere she went there were Halloween decorations. Every cartoon spider and every fake web stuck out to Belle, leaving her in a curious emotional state, a mixture of depression and horniness.

“Honestly, Ruby, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Belle said one night when she’d been so distraught she’d actually picked up the phone to call her best friend. “I’ve never felt this weird before in my life.”

“Are you sure it’s not just PMS?” Ruby said over the sound of club music. “When are you gonna start your period?”

“Oh my God, Rubes! That’s it!” Belle fumbled in her purse for her day planner. “I’m supposed to have my period…” She didn’t finish the sentence.

Her last period had been in August. She was more than a month late.

“Oh my God, Rubes,” Belle said, in an entirely different tone than the last time she had said it. “I have to go back to Austraila.”

“The fuck for?” Ruby shouted into the phone.

Belle found herself staring at a blank space in the middle distance. She hardly believed herself as she said the words:

“I think I’m pregnant.”

#spider #rumbelle monsters ball #rumbelle fic #spiders #happy halloween

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scotianostra · 5 years ago

Photo

September 11th 1297 saw the Battle of Stirling Bridge.

If you follow my history posts through the years you will know I try to change them around, rather post the same old thing every year, in this post I will concentrate a wee bit more on the man usually forgotten, Andrew de Moray and his struggle in the North. Just a month ago I argued with a friend in a pub about the importance of Andrew de Moray in the struggle against the English.

Andrew de Moray had been captured after fighting for King John at the Battle of Dunbar but had escaped only to find his family's lands in Avoch on the Black Isle under English control.

There can be no doubt that de Moray got his patriotism and fighting zeal from his father, Sir Andrew de Moray, who was also captured at Dunbar and incarcerated in the Tower of London, where he died in 1298.

The young de Moray was imprisoned in Chester and promptly escaped and made his way back to the highlands and the family seat, Avoch Castle near Inverness.

He is sometimes portrayed as Wallace's lieutenant but Moray was entirely his own man and a very capable leader in his own right.

The English having travelled as far as Elgin at one stage, were beaten back by de Moray and his rag-tag bunch of local freedom fighters. The northern troops’ activities mirrored much of what was going on in the south, with guerrilla tactics widely used to unsettle Edward’s army and score small but psychologically significant victories. The uprising gathered pace and it was in the early months of 1297 that Wallace and de Moray were said to have met, although historical documents of the period are imprecise. The meeting apparently took place in Perth, where both armies met to expel the English occupiers and create a base for an attack to liberate Dundee. Wallace, at this stage, is said to have returned south with his army and the preparations for the battle at Stirling began. De Moray, held in high regard by Wallace and, according to some, the senior partner of the two, is credited with creating the tactical plan that won the day for the Scots.

Unfortunately de Moray was fatally injured at Stirling, when a stray arrow is said to have pierced him and, after a period of around a month, finally took his life. The Scots would go on to some heavy defeats in the future and, it is argued, were unable to function as well without the tactical nous de Moray brought to what was, in effect, a peasants' revolt. De Moray’s son, also called Andrew, followed in the family tradition and rallied behind Robert the Bruce, even marrying his sister, Christina, at one stage. The relationship between de Moray and Wallace has fascinated historians, although the former has failed to gain the widespread appeal of his partner despite some evidence suggesting it may have been he who was the dominant one in the relationship.

Both men were conferred with the title of ‘leader of the army of the realm of Scotland’ and both received Knighthoods at roughly the same time – suggesting that, during the period they were held in equal regard.

Both men co-signed a letter to the mayors of Lubeck and Hamburg asking for trade routes with Scotland to be re-opened with, interestingly, de Moray’s name above that of his more celebrated colleague. Where Wallace has, like so many other Scots historical figures, been romanticised; his story pulled to the boundaries of what is actually true in print, poem, song and more recently Hollywood, it is no surprise that de Moray, who shamefully, failed to get a single mention by Mel Gibson, has been purged from the nation’s psyche.

For the Battle buffs, who want to know what happened, here is an amusing account, amusing because it is by an English chronicler, you really have to read this to believe it, in it there is a claim that one English knight actually took the bridge for the English, it's a bit long but very funny in my opinion.

.....In the month of May in the same year, the perfidious nation of the Scots began to rebel in this way. The Earl of Warenne to whom our King [Edward I] had entrusted the whole of the kingdom of Scotland on his behalf and in his name, giving as his reason the debasement of money, said that it was not sensible for him to stay there and he remained in England but in the North, and half-heartedly pursued the enemy who were living in exile, which was the source and origin of evil for us in the future. And the King's treasurer the lord Hugh de Cressingham, a solemn and lofty man, loved money exceedingly and failed to construct the stone wall which the lord the king himself had ordered to be constructed upon the new fortifications at Berwick; which turned out to be a scandal to our men as will be clear below. Now the King's justiciar, William Ormsby, prosecuting the King's command, began to send into exile all those without distinction of persons who had refused to make firm fealty to the King of England.

There was also a certain brigand, William Wallace by name, who had been in exile many times. Since this man was wandering and fugitive, he assembled about himself all those who were living in exile, and became something of a chief to them, and they grew into a large people. To him also was joined the soldier James Douglas who in the capture of the castle of Berwick had given himself together with his men to the King, saving his life and limb, as has been said above. Although the King had restored him to everything he became forgetful of his goods, and a robber allied to a robber, pursued his liberator to death, at least in his subjects . . .

[Sir William Douglas and the Bishop of Glasgow started an abortive rising. Warenne moved against them and both were soon handed over to him.] When that robber William Wallace had heard this [the imprisonment of the Bishop of Glasgow] he became angry in his mind and proceeded to the Bishop's house and drew to himself all his furniture, arms and horses, and the sons who were called by name of the bishop's nephews. And he was increased by an immense number of Scots to the point where the community of the realm began to follow him as their leader and prince. And entire households [retainers] of the nobles began to adhere to him and even though the nobles themselves were with our King [Edward I] in body, their hearts were a long way from him. Indeed our men having become so irritated, since they did not wish to put up with such things any longer, marched forward in arms to the town of Stirling where the Steward of Scotland and the Earl of Lennox and certain others of the nobles of Scotland came and asked our men to hold off for a short time in case they might be able to pacify their men and the people of the Scots in whatever way.

Although this was granted to them, they came back, that is to say on the 11th of September, and replied precisely that they could not answer for them, promising however that they would come to the aid of our men the next day with forty armed horse.

[The English army headed towards Stirling Bridge. Meanwhile, de Cressingham was given the offer of reinforcements under Sir Henry Percy.]

. . . he [Sir Henry] received in the commands from the lord Hugh de Cressingham the King's treasurer that he should send the same people back with his thanks, saying that the army that they had could be enough and that it was not useful to trouble them for nothing or to consume the King's treasury more than was necessary. He did this, and the people were mightily angered, wishing as if to stone him, and so with various people reckoning various things, some began shouting aloud that they should cross the bridge and some on the contrary that they should not. Amongst them the King's treasurer, a pompous man and a son of death, added,'It is not fitting my Lord Earl to prolong the matter further and to expend our King's treasury in vain. But let us go up and pay our debt, rather than hold ourselves back.' And so the Earl, moved by those words, commanded that they should go up to the bridge and cross it. It was astonishing to say, and terrible in its consequence, that such a large number of individual men, though they knew the enemy was at hand, should go up to a narrow bridge which a pair of horsemen could scarcely and with difficulty cross at the same time. Since, as some who had been in the same conflict were saying, if they had crossed over from earliest morning until the eleventh hour, without any interruption or hindrance, the last part of the army would have remained in great part until then.

Nor was there a more appropriate place in the kingdom of Scotland for shutting the English into the hands of the Scots, and the many into the hands of the few. So there crossed over the King's and the Earl's standard-bearers and amongst the first that most vigorous soldier, the lord Marmaduke Tweng, and when the enemy had seen that as many had come forth as they could overcome, as they believed, they then came down from the mountain [high ground], and sent the spearmen to occupy the foot of the bridge, such that from then no passage or retreat remained open, but in turning back, as also in making haste over the bridge, many were thrown headlong and were drowned. And so as the Scots were descending from the mountain, the lord Marmaduke said to his allies, 'Is it the time brothers for us to ride at them?' And with them answering that it was, they then spurred their horses and engaged together. And whilst some of the Scots were falling together, the rest of the horsemen, almost all, were turned to flight. Whilst those who were fleeing followed after them, one of our men said to the lord Marmaduke, 'My Lord, we have been cheated, for our men are not pursuing and the King's and the Earl's standards are not present.' Looking back to these things, they saw that many of our men, and the King's and the Earl's standard-bearers had fallen to the ground, and they said 'The way to the bridge is already cut off from us and we have been cut off from our people. It is therefore better that we put ourselves at risk of danger, in case we may cross over, than that we should fall, as if for nothing, whilst penetrating into the enemy's troops.

Crossing through the middle of the Scots has already become difficult - or rather - impossible for us.' In reply to this Marmaduke, that most vigorous man, said, 'My dearest friends, may it certainly never be said of me that I willingly drowned myself. And far be it from you, but follow me, and I will make you a way through them as far as the bridge.' And after goading his war-horse he then rushed into the enemy, and submitting now these, now those to his sword, he crossed over through the middle of them unharmed; and a great way opened up to those who followed him. For he was powerful in strength and of tall stature, and when he was fighting strenuously, his own nephew, wounded and stunned but standing on his feet, his horse having been killed, called out to him, 'My Lord, save me,' but he said, 'Climb up behind me,' he said, 'I cannot, for my strength has failed me.' Then his comrade, the same lord Marmaduke's shield-bearer, got down from his own horse and made him mount and said to his lord, 'I will follow you my Lord wherever you shall go' and he followed him as far as the bridge and each of them was saved. So with the bridge captured through the bravery of that vigorous fighter, as many as stayed there fell to the number of about 100 men-at-arms and about 5,000 foot-soldiers, amongst whom were 300 Welshmen, although they had deprived many of life. At length some from amongst those who were left crossed the water by swimming. Also one soldier from our men crossed the water with difficulty on an armed horse.

On the same day amongst the Scottish spearmen fell the above-named treasurer of the lord King, the lord Hugh de Cressingham, rector of the church of Ruddeby, and chief judge at the assizes of York. Although he was a prebendary of many churches and had the cure of many souls, yet he never put on spiritual arms or the chasuble, but helmet and cuirass, in which he fell. And he who had previously terrified many by the sword of his tongue in many court trials, was eventually slain by the sword of evil men. The Scots stripped him of his skin and divided it amongst themselves in small parts, not indeed for relics but for insults, for he was a handsome and exceedingly fat man and they called him not the King's treasurer but the King's 'Treacherer' and this was truer than they believed. For he led many astray that day, but he too, who was smooth and slippery, exalted with pride and given over to avarice, was himself led astray.

At the first encounter of our men with the Scots, the Steward of Scotland and the Earl of Lennox, who previously had come in peace, when they saw that our men had fallen, immediately retreated to their own men who were lying hidden in the woods near the pows [slow-running streams feeding into the Forth]. Seeing the outcome of the abominable thing they came out in front of our men and killed many, particularly those who were running away in the same area, carrying off much plunder and leading away loaded waggons to the pows, for the waggons could not be easily be led away by those fleeing in lochs and marshes. Indeed our Earl, remaining throughout on this side of the bridge when the lord Marmaduke had returned with his men, ordered that the bridge be broken and burned, and entrusting the custody of the same castle of Stirling to the aforesaid lord Marmaduke, promised him faithfully with granted pledge that within the first ten weeks he would come to his help with a strong band of men; however he did not carry out what he had promised, and forgetting his own old age, he set out for Berwick with such haste, that the war-horse on which he had sat, which had been placed in the stable of the Friars Minor, nowhere tasted its fodder. From there he proceeded into southern parts to the King's son and left his fatherland entirely abandoned. This ruin was brought about on the third day before the Ides of September, namely the Wednesday in the year of grace above-stated.

Translated by J. Russell from Chronicle of Walter of Guisborough, ed. H. Rothwell, Camden Society, 1957.

#Scotland #scottisih #Scottish Battle #english #History

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inahazzze · 6 years ago

Text

Wayfaring Stranger

⭐ Please enjoy this fluffy meet cute one shot featuring AU poet dad!Harry and a bisexual singer OFC! It’s roughly 7.7k words. ⭐

***A/N: I’ve been working on this for a while and I’m really proud of it so I would super appreciate any likes/reblogs/asks/feedback about it!! Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think :) x ***

Sav’s eyes are mostly shut against the blinding sun when she slows to a stop to catch a breath with her hands on her knees. After 45 straight minutes of running, the sound of her own heartbeat has started to compete with the electronic rock pumping through her headphones. She makes sure that she’s out of anyone’s way on the sidewalk and leans against a boarded in shop front to relieve her aching legs. She drinks deeply from her water bottle and holds one finger against her wrist in concentration. After a minute, she starts counting under her breath so that she doesn’t keep losing track of what she’s up to. Sav can usually complete this routine on autopilot, but this morning she can’t stop thinking about the text she received from Erin about two hours ago. Which is saying something that it’s taking up all her brainpower, as she hasn’t even read the text yet. She could only see the first line, which was enough to lead her brain to comprise every possible follow up to I’ve been thinking about sending this text for days. Sav wasn’t even meant to go for a run this morning, but it seemed like a better idea than walking circles around her apartment until she had to leave for the afternoon shift at work. Who texts their ex at 8am on a Friday morning?

It’s already been two hours since the text came in, so Sav decides to get it over with and finally read it before she chickens out. She pulls her phone out from her bra, cleans the screen against her leggings, and reluctantly opens the message.

I’ve been thinking about sending this text for days. I’m sorry for what I did. And for everything I said. I miss you.

It feels like her heart has been ripped out again. Right when she feels like she’s finally starting to move on and heal, Erin has to go and do this. All she can do is stare at the screen and try not to cry. Erin was the one who broke up with her two months ago and now she thinks she can just text and Sav will come running?

It’s at this point that Sav realises that there’s a man sitting only about a metre away, watching her with a slightly concerned expression. He’s wearing a grey newsboy cap and a striped white button up that’s undone to the length of a hanging cross necklace. Countless tattoos peek out from his pushed-up sleeves and his hands are adorned with large silver rings that reflect the sunlight. The man is leaning back against his chair, one hand around his phone and the other wrapped around a steaming cup of black coffee. Sav hadn’t even realised that she’d stopped next to a bustling cafe.

“Can I help you?” She asks him, only realising that she sounds a bit aggressive after she’s spoken. She hadn’t even registered that he was there, so she’s just a bit taken aback to notice that someone had been watching her.

When he smiles at her, it’s genuine and kind. “Are you alright?” He asks.

Sav immediately feels bad that she snapped at him and took her frustration about Erin out on this stranger.

“Yeah, um. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Don’t sound too convinced, if ‘m honest,” he says.

Sav doesn’t know what to say back, so she just looks back down at her phone as if it will give her any answers on what to do. She’s thinking about what to respond to Erin when she hears the man speak again.

“Are you Aussie?”

“Um… yeah. Why?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I get it, I’m just a random guy on the street.”

“No, it’s all good. I’m just… I’m having a shit morning,” she says.

“I only ask ‘cause my daughter’s Aussie. Well, technically.”

“Oh,” Sav says with eyebrows raised. She didn’t think he looked old enough to have any children. “What do you mean technically?”

“Her mum’s Aussie. And she lives with her mum, so she’s been picking up all sorts of things from her.” Sav doesn’t miss that he casually slips in a comment about his daughter’s mother living separately to him. “She’s only visited Australia twice, but already fancies herself a real Aussie Sheila,” he says, badly mimicking a Crocodile Dundee sounding accent for the slang term.

Sav laughs and loosens up a bit, feeling slightly better about talking to this stranger. He’s nice, and their casual friendly chat is taking her mind off of Erin – even if only just a little. He seems harmless, and isn’t asking her anything inappropriate or invasive like men on the street usually do when they try to talk to her.

“I’m sure your daughter is a real Sheila if she sounds like… that.”

“Hey!” he says, drawing out the word. “Are you saying that my incredible impression of a very standard Australian accent isn’t a realistic one?”

“No, you’re right, it’s absolutely perfect.”

“That it is,” he says, clearly trying to keep a straight face. The subtle beginnings of dimples begin to peek out the sides of his mouth from under his blushing cheeks. You smile lightly and let your tense shoulders relax a little more.

“Um… do you wanna talk about it?” He asks after a moment in a slow drawl.

Sav hesitates a moment, unsure of whether she should open up to this virtual stranger. It usually takes her a while to trust people but for some reason she finds herself answering him honestly. Gesturing at her phone, Sav releases an unnecessarily dramatic shrug. “It’s just my ex, s’all.”

“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “Recent break-up?”

“Yeah, but I’m okay,” Sav says, unsure if she’s trying to convince him or herself. He waits patiently as she gathers her thoughts. “Been a few months. This morning she texted me out of nowhere.”

“Tough one, that,” he says with sincerity. Sav’s relieved that he didn’t make a comment or seem to react in any way to the she pronoun that she let slip. London’s a progressive city, but she always tries to be careful just in case. Sometimes people make a big deal about it and start to ask invasive questions, and other times people will very clearly show their surprise or disgust or arousal. The fact that he didn’t do any of those things makes her immediately more comfortable around him.

Sav is shocked out of her thoughts when a nearby bus honks at a passing car. She meets his eyes dead on, and notices how light they are. In overcast London, most people’s eyes look a standard brown until you really look. Today is sunny enough to show off how his are tinted a mossy green, like a dull blade of grass after a really hot day. She finds herself wondering how the colour changes based on the light. She wants to see him again solely to know if the green in his eyes will become brighter, or softer, or bluer.

“Did you want a coffee?” He asks, and she notices how smooth and soothing his northern accent is.

“Oh, I…” Sav looks down at her watch to see if she even has time before work to sit and have a coffee with him. She hadn’t realised how long she’d been running and it’s later than she meant to be out for. She’s considering saying yes, even if she’ll be forced to rush into work a bit late. He’s nice, cute and funny, and maybe this is exactly what Sav needs. But on the other hand, he is a complete stranger that she met on the street. He seems completely harmless and even told her about his daughter, but she can’t help but feel weird because she doesn’t know him. They’ve only had a short conversation, after all. And to top it all off, Sav is now more confused than ever since Erin’s text this morning, so she just wants to be alone to process and think. On a better day, she might have agreed.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, by the way,” he cuts in to her thoughts.

“I do, I just really ought to be getting home,” she says with her best attempt at a genuine smile. She tries to convey her thoughts to him but he breaks their eye contact.

“No worries, have a wonderful day, then,” he says with a finality that Sav doesn’t like. His voice isn’t cold, but it’s definitely more distant and polite than a minute before.

“You too,” Sav says as she starts to walk away.

“Wait,” she hears and spins around. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, right. It’s Sav.” She hadn’t even realised that they hadn’t introduced themselves.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Sav. I’m Harry.” His warm smile returns for the briefest moment.

“Have a good one, Harry.”

Even though a part of her regrets rejecting his offer of coffee, Sav leaves feeling like her Friday morning has already drastically improved.

TWO WEEKS LATER

The Thursday afternoon set at the Barwon Lounge Club is never the most exciting one, but Sav still feels grateful that there are a handful of people here to listen to her music. She often prefers days like this to the busier weekend shows, even though she doesn’t get as many tips, because at least some people listen to her when it’s not so busy. It’s not that she blames people for talking over her - they came here to eat, drink and have music in the background. They didn’t come here specifically to see her. She accepted that a long time ago and considers it a part of the job. At least she can still do what she loves, unlike her bartending job where she pours beer for grumpy old men for hours.

It’s just Sav and her guitar on the tiny stage in the corner of the dining room, playing to a large open space filled with tables and couches. She plays Thursdays to Sundays, doing an alternating set of all the slow, low-key songs she knows. Her boss likes to remind her regularly how it’s most important that she blend into the background. She’s not there to entertain, but to fill silence.

She’s almost halfway through her standard set when she’s pulled out of her trance. Her eyes go wide in surprise when she sees Harry enter from across the room. Harry, who she’d met almost two weeks ago and has thought about countless times since. She doesn’t normally talk to strangers on the street and she definitely doesn’t usually think about them after their interaction. There was just something about him - he stuck in her head like a catchy song on the radio.

She’s frozen in place, forgetting to immediately transition to the next song. A few people eating lunch look over towards her, because nothing is as noticeable as absolute silence. When Harry meets Sav’s eyes, he breaks out into a wide smile. He’s wearing loose blue jeans and a black t-shirt, with his hair held back in the same newsboy cap she’d seen him wear on the day they met. He moves closer towards the stage to find a table to sit at, and once he’s closer Sav can see that he’s not alone. He’s holding the hand of a young girl, maybe four or five years old, with beautiful dark olive skin and rich chocolate curls atop her head. She’s hiding behind a chair that’s taller than her and looking up at her father with a furrowed brow, communicating something to him. He sighs and smiles at her, bending down on his knees to speak softly to her face-to-face. Sav can’t hear what he’s saying but notices the child nodding her head before pushing her curls into her father’s chest. Harry wraps his arms tightly around his daughter and peppers her with multiple quick kisses to her cheek.

At this point, Sav’s boss peeks his head around the corner and raises his eyebrows at her. She knows that he’ll tell her off if she doesn’t restart soon, so she gathers herself with a deep breath and tries not to think about Harry now being here. She clears her throat and spontaneously decides to play a song that she wasn’t planning on doing today. Eva Cassidy’s Wayfaring Stranger is one of her favourites, plus it’s one of her most polished songs vocally. It wasn’t necessarily for Harry, but it was a little bit because of him. When she sang the song in a set last week, she was thinking about him as her wayfaring stranger, who she’d probably never see again. In a city as big as London, it didn’t seem all that likely. The lyrics of the song aren’t at all reminiscent of their first run-in a few weeks ago, but for some reason the song is now connected to him. It was a passing thought that has been growing in her mind like a vine since.

As she gets into the song, Sav closes her eyes and forgets she has an audience. That often happens when she sings her favourite songs; the ones she knows like the back of her hand and doesn’t need to think about while singing them. It takes her somewhere that she can’t explain, and the music flows through her as if it’s yearning to be heard of its own accord. When she sings, she goes to a place that she can’t get to while doing anything else. It’s a place somewhere outside of herself – somewhere peaceful and powerful all at the same time. When she sings, she feels free and like the truest version of herself.

As the song comes to a close, she slowly opens her eyes to a smattering of applause that brings her back into the real world. The most enthusiastic applause is coming from Harry and his daughter, which makes her smile. It’s the most applause she’s gotten by far today, and it makes all the difference in the world. Sav’s boss peeks his head back into her view and holds up one outstretched hand at her to signal that she has a 5 minute-break now. She usually gets one roughly halfway through her set so that she can go to the bathroom, or get some fresh air. Sav nods at her boss as she places her guitar into its stand and reaches for her water bottle with the other hand.

Glancing back up, she notices that Harry’s staring at her with a focused intensity. Even as his daughter bounces up and down in her seat and tugs at his sleeve, he’s watching Sav with a look she didn’t see when they first met. The look is strangely intimate and vulnerable, and she feels like in this moment he can see straight through her. See everything that she is, has been, and wants to be. She doesn’t know what look she’s giving back to him, but she knows that she certainly wouldn’t say no if he asked her to have coffee with him again.

Harry gets up from his seat and holds his daughter’s hand securely as he helps her jump out of the chair like it’s a game. They start walking towards Sav, leaving their things at the table because it’s that kind of venue.

“That was amazing!” The young girl says enthusiastically, drawing out the word amazing for as long as she can hold her breath.

Sav smiles widely at the bouncing child. “Thank you very much young lady. What’s your name?”

She pokes Harry’s leg incessantly. “Daddy, she sounds like Mummy.”

“That’s right, sweets. She’s Australian too,” he says to her in a gentle voice.

“Ooh!” She says while jumping up and down. “What’s your favourite animal?”

Sav giggles a little and Harry emits something in between a sigh and a laugh. “Love, the nice woman asked you what your name is, will you tell her?”

“I’m Asha,” she sounds out proudly.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Asha, I’m Sav. And my favourite animal is definitely dogs.”

Harry shows off his dimples when she responds to his daughter with ease. She clearly knows how to speak to children without talking down to them, and this fact warms Harry’s heart even more than her singing did.

“I love dogs.” Asha beams. “My favourite animals are elephants.” She says the word like ewephants, and Sav has to restrain herself from vocalising how cute the gorgeous girl in front of her is.

“I bet they’re like this big,” Asha continues, stretching her arms to her sides as far as they’ll go and throwing her head back.

Harry and Sav chuckle and share a quick look of adoration for the child.

“Would you believe that they’re even bigger than that!” He says to her, eliciting a gasp.

“Even bigger than-“ She nudges Harry’s arms up until he plays along and stretches his arms out to his sides too. “-That?” He nods seriously and she drops her jaw open in dramatic shock. They all giggle, and Sav is reminded of why she loves children.

“By the way, Asha’s right.” Harry says after a moment. “That was really incredible, Sav.”

“You remember my name,” she reflexively voices her first thought.

“Course I do,” he says with a furrowed brow. She likes how he displays his emotions clearly on his face. “Couldn’t forget you,” he says a little softer.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Asha says with a masterful pout.

“I’m gonna go order now for you, sweets. Chicken fingers?” He asks her with raised eyebrows, clearly unsurprised by the animated response he gets from his daughter.

“I need to go finish my set anyway,” Sav tells him, shifting a bit to pick up her guitar.

“I’ll see you again after, yeah?” He says. She nods, and he takes Asha back to their table.

For the rest of her set, Sav has to force herself to not keep staring at Harry. He’s also trying to avoid looking over at her too much, but is grateful that he can always hear her voice even if he can’t watch her. He cuts up his daughter’s food and asks her about this morning’s lessons at school, but has one ear trained on Sav’s music all the while. He’s entranced by her voice, even just her presence, and wants to take up this opportunity to make sure that he gets to see her again.

At the end of her set, she slowly packs up her things and thinks about whether she should go over to speak to Harry again or see if he comes to her. Luckily, he waves her over before she loses her nerve and heads home.

“Again, that was amazing,” he says as soon as she walks up. He stands and takes a step away from the table, where Asha is engrossed in colouring an ocean landscape with crayons.

“Thanks,” she says, not knowing what else to say.

“Did you- um. Did you want to grab coffee?” Harry asks.

“Now?”

“No, uh. I’ve got Asha today, so it’ll have to be another time. What are you doing tomorrow? Oh wait- you didn’t even say yes yet, did you-”

“I’d love to get coffee with you, Harry,” Sav cuts into his anxious rambling with a smile. “I’ve got another set here tomorrow though, then I bartend afterwards, so I can’t in the day.” His face begins to drop until she quickly clarifies what she was insinuating. “But I’m not working the night shift.”

She’s rewarded with the brightest smile he’s shown her yet. “Can I- I know we don’t really know each other, but I’d love for that to change. Can I make you dinner?”

A smile creeps on to Sav’s face. “It’s a date.”

Harry heaves an audible sigh of relief and puts his hands into his pockets. “It’s supposed to be a nice evening tomorrow night, so how do you feel about a picnic in the park?” He looks down and blushes. “I’d really like to cook for you.”

“That sounds really lovely,” She replies softly, silently relieved that he doesn’t want to take her to a fancy restaurant. She never feels like she belongs in really upscale places and always manages to embarrass herself somehow.

“It’s a date,” he repeats her phrasing with a broad grin. She can’t believe this is happening. She’s not just going on a date – she’s going on one with a man she’s been thinking about for weeks but thought she’d never see again.

They agree to meet at a park nearby at 6pm the next evening, and Harry gives her his phone number in case she’s running late from work or has any issues finding him. He then needs to take Asha home for a nap, so he gives her one last bright smile before saying goodbye and leaving.

Sav makes her way to the bathroom to hide from her boss and jumps up and down with giddy, childlike joy at what just happened. She’s going on a date with a cute boy and she couldn’t be happier. She knows that there’s no guarantee for how it will go, but something inside of her says that it will go well. She just has a good feeling about it. And about him.

She sits down on the closed toilet seat, thinking about how long it’s been since she’s been on a date. That’s when she remembers that she never responded to Erin’s text from two weeks ago. She kept putting it off but never knew what to say, so she just said nothing.

Sav takes out her phone and decides that seeing Harry again was a sign. She texts Erin one last time, and it feels so good.

I’m moving on, Erin. And so should you.

There’s a larger audience for Sav’s set the next day, but it feels like something’s missing without Harry in the audience. After she saw him again yesterday, he became all she could think about. She felt a bit silly about it as she’d only met him twice, but truthfully she was just relieved that she was no longer thinking about Erin. She replayed all their interactions, thought about his smile and his kind eyes, and how he looked at her when he watched her sing. She thought about his gorgeous daughter and how he looked like such a good dad even though he must’ve had her at a fairly young age. She thought about how he remembered her name and said that he could never forget her, and how excited he looked when she agreed to go out with him.

It’s lucky that Sav knows the music of her set so well, because she’s so distracted thinking about the date that she’s mostly running on autopilot. Her brain is so jam-packed with thoughts about tonight’s date that she almost misses Harry in the back of the room, watching her set.

“How long have you been here?” She asks when she’s finished and able to approach him.

“Not that long. Didn’t know when you started so I thought I’d try a bit earlier than I was here yesterday.”

She’s absolutely dumbfounded that he’s standing before her. “You came back.”

“I did.” He’s blushing a little. “I wanted to hear you sing again.”

“Oh,” she lets out in a heavy breath. “That’s… no one’s ever done something like that before.”

“Really?” She thinks he might be sarcastic at first, but he’s genuinely surprised. “Your voice is… it blew me away. Plus, I like you,” he says, his cheeks reddening even more.

He’s laying it on thick and Sav doesn’t know how to react. No one has ever been this forthcoming and complimentary to her before. She opens her mouth to respond but can’t think of a single thing to say.

“I hope this is okay- me coming back. It’s only just occurring to me that it might look a little creepy,” he says, holding his bottom lip between his forefinger and thumb.

“No, it’s not creepy,” she says quickly to ease his mind. Her mind is still spinning that he just said plus, I like you. He added it on so casually. “Um. Tonight- do you still want to…?”

“Yeah, course I still want to go out with you tonight, that very much has not changed – uh, has it for you?” A dash of panic flickers over his previously confident expression.

“I still want to,” she assures him.

“Plus, I realised that I forgot to ask you – do you have any allergies or food preferences?” He says, slightly startled when Sav laughs at him instead of responding.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing, that’s just – you’re really thoughtful. It’s a good laugh, I promise.” He smiles sheepishly, and the expression shows off just how much his daughter looks like him. “I’m vegetarian, actually. Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s great, I’m glad I checked!” His enthusiasm also mirrors his daughter’s, even though he’s obviously a fully-grown man. “Alright then!” He claps his hands a little too loudly, and a few patrons look at them. Sav pretends that she doesn’t see her boss watching them from behind the bar.

“I should really be getting back to work.” She says, unsure of how to say goodbye when they’re meeting again in a few hours.

“Course, just – should I pick you up? Want to be a perfect gentleman,” he says with a cheeky smirk and a comical gesture as if he’s tipping his hat at her. “But we can meet there if you’d rather.”

Sav blinks up at him in disbelief. He’s really thought of everything, and impressed her more than she thought a man could at this point in her life, and the date hasn’t even started yet.

“Meeting there is good,” she manages to say. “Six still fine?” That gives her enough time to get ready after work and still enjoy a few good hours of sunlight with Harry in the park. She’s more excited than she’s been for something in a long time, and her ex is out of her mind completely for the first time since their split. It couldn’t be better.

“Perfect.”

Even though Sav had thought about it all day, she hadn’t managed to decide on what to wear to the date by the time she got back to her apartment. She didn’t have time to dawdle, but still managed to try on eight outfits before settling on skinny jeans and a flowery blouse. She wanted to strike a delicate balance between casual and dressed up to look good on her first date in a while. Even though Harry’s already seen her today, Sav feels pressure to leave a positive first impression tonight.

She doesn’t live too far from the park they’d arranged to meet at, so she decides to walk the half hour to ease her nerves. Fingers dancing in her pockets to let out some anxious energy, her mind fills with every possible scenario of how the date might go. She’s excited but worried that she’ll somehow ruin it or do something to scare Harry away. It’s a good thing she arrives when she does, because her worries start to spiral and lead her to the assumption that the date’s going to go wrong for one reason or another. She enters the park a few minutes early to find Harry standing next to a small fountain in the centre of the green. He’s doing something on his phone but puts it away as soon as he sees her.

“You look beautiful,” He says with a genuine smile once she’s within hearing distance. She mumbles a thank you and stumbles over her words until she tells him that he looks nice as well. She has a feeling that he’d look nice no matter what he wore, but finds him particularly attractive tonight. He’s changed his outfit from earlier today too, and is now wearing tight-fitted black trousers with a slightly unbuttoned silken white blouse. The shirt is a bit see-through, so she can tell that he’s inked much more than she thought. She hadn’t previously noticed what look like two birds on his chest, and all she wants to do is brush his silken shirt aside so that she can properly admire them. A small tuft of chest hair peeks out at her from between a few parted buttons, and she has to tear her mind away from thinking too much about what he’d look like without any buttons done up.

“Great, shall we find somewhere to sit then?” He asks, reaching down to pick up a picnic basket and blanket that Sav hadn’t noticed. As he leans down, she’s suddenly extremely grateful to whoever perfectly tailored his trousers. She doesn’t know what’s gotten into her, and desperately wills her mind and body to behave.

“Over by that tree looks nice, don’t you think?” He suggests and begins to lead them through the park. He sets up the blanket in an unoccupied shaded area and offers her the first choice of seating.

“I cut up some fruit and made some vegetarian quiche for us,” he says. “Hope that’s alright.”

She raises her eyebrows, already impressed by the effort he’s put into their evening. “Quiche? Damn, sounds fancy.”

“What, have you never had it before?” He’s clearly shocked.

“Should I have?”

“Well I guess there’s a first time for everything,” bringing out the smirk she’d seen glimpses of before. Harry serves her a piece of quiche on a plastic plate and leaves a small platter of fruit in between for them to pick at. She takes a bite, only a little self-conscious that he’s watching her intently.

“So?”

“It’s… terrible. Inedible. I think I’m getting food poisoning, actually.”

His face drops for only the slightest moment before he rolls his eyes and bites his bottom lip with a smile. He tries to act annoyed but Sav can tell that he’s trying not to laugh. “Very funny.”

“I think you might have to take me to the hospital, now that I think of it.” Sav presses both arms across her stomach in a dramatic gesture and almost loses her composure in the process.

“Oh, stop it,” he laughs, trying to swat at her folded arms as she pulls away giggling.

When their laugher dies down, she takes another bite of the quiche and reassures him. “Being serious, though? It’s delicious. Thank you for making it, it’s really sweet of you.”

Harry looks down at his lap and blushes, clearly pleased that his effort has paid off with both banter and a genuine compliment. As they eat, Sav asks Harry about Asha and mentions how sweet and well mannered she was yesterday. He brightens up immediately at the sound of her name and Sav feels her heart flutter in her chest. He tells her about how his daughter is joyous, funny, loveable, cheeky and thoughtful.

He tells her a story about one time that Asha broke out into Man, I Feel Like A Woman at the top of her lungs in a supermarket even though she didn’t know any words beside the title line. This somehow morphs into Harry telling her another story about how Asha believed she could speak Italian by merely putting on an imitation of the accent when they travelled to Italy for a holiday last summer.

“Sounds like you already have plenty of material to embarrass her with when she’s older,” Sav says, grinning ear to ear.

“Gotta collect ‘em early, I hear,” he says. “To blackmail her as a teenager.” They both devolve into a fit of giggles and exchange blushing smiles back at the other. A few moments of comfortable silence pass with mouths full of watermelon and berries before Harry speaks with a completely different tone of voice.

“You know…” He’s a little hesitant and takes his time. “Sometimes I think that Asha’s the one true love of my life.” Sav just about melts.

Before long, their natural rapport eases her completely into Harry’s company. She unconsciously leans against the scratchy picnic blanket with one wrist and gives Harry her full, undivided attention. He asks her about how she started working at the Barwon Lounge Club, and compliments her again on her voice and guitar skills. She doesn’t know how to react to the repeated compliment and instead changes the subject to ask how he found himself in her workplace with his daughter on a weekday afternoon.

“So, were you stalking me or something?” Sav playfully asks, trying her hand at initiating some light flirtation.

He laughs but answers seriously. “Just a happy accident, m’afraid.”

“Happy indeed,” Sav says, looking down at her empty plate. She thinks about how this is going so much better than she’d even let herself hope.

“She’s usually in reception at that time on a Thursday, but I had to take her for a dentist appointment next door. And then she was suddenly hungry, and I wanted to hear where the beautiful voice was coming from.”

She wants to tell him off again for his sneaky compliment but lets it slide because she’s secretly enjoying it. Then she realises that he’d mentioned a word she’s unfamiliar with. “Sorry, what’s reception?”

“Oh, it’s like kindergarten, or kindy I think it’s called in Australia, right?”

“Course, I should’a guessed that.” She says. “Yeah, it’s kindy. We basically call everything a shortened nickname of the actual word.”

“Yeah, I’ve certainly noticed that. Asha likes to pick up some of them that her mum says, like ‘footy’ instead of football, and she’s started asking for a ‘biccy’ when she wants a biscuit.”

Sav laughs. “Now that’s someone who speaks my language.”

“It’s pretty cute, I’ll admit,” he says with a grin.

“I’ve been in London long enough that I should really know all the lingo by now, but I keep finding that I obviously know nothing.”

“How long’ve you been here?” He asks.

“Two years. Was living in Scotland for a few years before that, though.”

He whistles in response as if he’s impressed. “I love a worldly woman,” he says, and somehow makes it sound sweet instead of weird or creepy.

They spend the next hour talking about the places they’ve lived and travelled, and all of the places that they want to go to next. Sav tells Harry about how she hiked through Spain and stayed in strangers’ homes each night before continuing on. Harry tells her about the time that he got drunk in France and woke up in Belgium. They talk about how much they both love Japan and how they’d both love to do a coast-to-coast road trip of the US. They each manage to eat two pieces of quiche and a sizable amount of fruit while they chat. He’s so enamoured by her presence that he almost misses her pre-emptively, even though the date hasn’t ended.

“Wait,” Sav says suddenly. “I don’t even know what you do, how have I not asked you that yet?”

“Oh, well, I’m a writer.”

“What kind?” She’s not surprised – he seems like the type.

“I write poetry,” he says with a blush. “’And I teach at a college a few days a week.” Sav is about to respond when he continues. “’Ve got a few poetry collections out.”

“Harry!” She says, lightly hitting the side of his arm. “That’s amazing!” His cheeks redden even more but she can tell that he’s pleased by her reaction. “Would you… could you read some of your poems to me?”

He thinks on this request for a moment before coming up with an idea. “I will if you’ll sing to me again.”

“What? Now?” She’s sure it’s a joke, but he looks deadly serious.

“One sec, I’ll be right back.” Harry pushes himself up hurriedly, running back towards the street and leaving Sav confused and unsure of what to do or think. What’s he up to?

A few minutes later, he comes back in sight with a large case slung over his shoulder. He sits down and opens it to remove an old wooden acoustic guitar. There are a few handwritten notes and stickers along the body, including a haphazardly stuck-on rainbow and the words Black Lives Matter.

“Where did that come from?” Sav asks, taken aback. He only smirks at her, placing the guitar in his lap and making sure it’s in tune.

“Would it make you feel better if I sang with you?”

“You can sing?”

“I… yeah.”

Sav agrees only because she wants to hear what his voice sounds like. “You’ve got a deal.” She reaches out for his hand to shake on it, mostly as an excuse to touch him. He’s very warm to the touch, and his skin is soft as butter. Only his fingertips are rough against her skin, and their hands feel instantly comfortable and right together.

He clears his throat and regretfully draws his hand away from hers and instead towards the resting guitar. “Can we do a Fleetwood Mac song?” He asks, already knowing that she’s familiar as he’d heard her play three of their songs during her set at work. He thinks on it for a moment and she waits patiently. “Do you know the lyrics to Gold Dust Woman?”

“Course I do,” she says. “Who do you think I am?” He chuckles and holds his hands up in front of him as if to plead his innocence. She takes a sip from her water bottle and is suddenly nervous. It was one thing when she was doing her job and on a stage – it was only a small stage, but still. This is intimate and personal.

Harry begins to play, and Sav quickly looks around them to check that there’s no one too close by. There are two or three lingering passers-by who may be able to hear but none of them seem to care about Harry’s playing. One has headphones in and the other two are distracted on their phones. It’s nerve-wracking to unexpectedly sing in a public park, on a first date no less, but Sav also finds it kind of exhilarating.

She misses her initial cue because she’s so nervous, so Harry loops the intro chords until she’s ready. Closing her eyes, she focuses on the pleasantly hypnotising lyrics and music. Harry lets her get comfortable in the song and joins for the harmony in the chorus. And Sav isn’t ready.

His voice is like soft leather, or dark chocolate melting on your tongue. It’s like the feeling of someone’s hands playing with your hair, right at the moment when it sends tingles down your spine. It’s like dripping silver, or a feather on skin, or a fresh breath of wintry air after a long summer.

She stutters to a stop in shock but he continues, and she’s grateful because all she wants to do is listen to him endlessly. She can see his hesitation and his reddened ears, so she jumps back into the song as soon as she can gather herself together. She leaves him to tackle the second verse alone as she sung the first, and she’s entranced by how beautiful it is. She’s truly enamoured with his voice and this date and… him.

When they finish, they share a long look before Sav suddenly speaks. “Um, excuse me?”

“What?” He’s surprised by her slightly aggressive tone after what just happened.

“You were complimenting my voice when you can sing like that?”

“Well thanks, but I’m nowhere near as good as you-“

“You’re delusional then.” She puts on an exaggerated pout. “You’re next-level good. I bet you’re one of those people that’s just naturally great at everything.” She picks up her water bottle again and hides behind it by taking a long sip.

“That’s not true,” he shakes his head. “I’m not good at asking you out for another date.” Sav almost chokes on the water. “I’ve been meaning to for a little while and haven’t had the guts.”

She’s now fighting a huge smile, not wanting to give away just how much she wants to squeal in delight at the shameless flirting.

“Smooth,” she says, trying to play it as cool as she can. “But you haven’t held up your part of the bargain yet.” He scrunches up his eyebrows before remembering that he agreed to read some of his poetry in exchange for the song.

“I better get to it then,” he says with a smirk and rummages through his backpack. He pulls out a very worn brown leather notebook, held closed by two long strings that have been wrapped loosely around the book and tucked into itself. It’s covered in what Sav assumes is his own doodling and graffiti – it doesn’t look like the kind drawn by a young child Asha’s age. The words one and only are scribbled carelessly along most of the spine.

Harry takes a minute to decide which poem to share with Sav. He eventually decides on one and she curls her knees into her body, getting comfortable to give Harry her full attention as he reads. He takes a deep breath and slips right back into the gossamer tone of his singing voice to read his poetry.

“This one’s called Woman,” he mumbles, and then begins.

I’m selfish, I know. but I don’t ever want to see

you with him.

I’m selfish, I know. I told you but I know

you’ll never listen.

I hope you can see the shape that I’m in, while he’s touching

your skin.

he’s right where I should- (where I should be)

but you’re making me bleed. woman

I’m tempted, you know. apologies

are never going to fix this.

I’m empty, I know.

promises are broken like the stitches

I hope you can see the shape I’ve been in. while he’s touching

your skin

this thing upon me, it howls

like a beast.

you flower you feast. woman

When he finishes, something new and palpable hangs between them. It’s not that anything has changed – but an unspoken bond settles into place between them. They’ve shared parts of each other that are unreachable through mere conversation and rarely exchanged on a first date. Either could comfortably say that it’s the best first date they’ve ever had, and possibly would ever have.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Sav whispers. It seems appropriate to only whisper after that. She looks into his light green eyes, trying to convey to him how his poem made her feel. How she can’t quite put it into words but she can put it into feelings. He stares back at her just as intensely, sensing her warmth and gratitude and understanding.

“So would you like to go on a second date with me, then?” Harry says, resting his palm on the picnic blanket close to her knee. He leans his body forward and she unconsciously mirrors him.

“I’d like that,” Sav breathes out. She’s staring at his lips, and wondering how they’re naturally almost the colour of raspberries. She’s slowly leaning towards him with quickening breath, unable to stop the magnetising pull of her body to his. He’s leaning into her too, and moves his hand even closer until he brushes her knee with the back of his thumb. Her whole body erupts in tingles at the unexpected touch – and she’s certain that her goosebumps are visible – but she doesn’t dare look away from him. Harry licks his lips under her gaze and they’re left parted and slightly glistening. She’s now close enough to see every line, pore, and stubble hair on his face, and she wishes she could study him from this distance for hours. Maybe she’ll get to one day, but for now, there’s only one thing on her mind.

The moment their mouths meet, they seem to melt into each other entirely. She’s immediately overwhelmed with how he tastes sweet like watermelon along with something musky and deep that she can’t describe. He can’t believe how soft she feels against his lips, like he’s brushing up against pure silk. He moves his hand up to rest against her cheek, and caresses his pinky finger against the sensitive underside of her jawbone. She lets out a light moan at the feeling, widening her lips to allow Harry to deepen the kiss. She feels entirely lost in her senses and the feeling of him everywhere.

Their tongues touch and set both Sav and Harry’s skin alight. They both forget where they are and become utterly lost in one another. He’s dizzy with her scent of jasmine and taste of berries, and wishes he could bottle it up and take it with him everywhere. He’s never felt so worked up from just a kiss, no less a first kiss – not to mention they’re in public. It’s like he can feel every nerve ending screaming out for her.

She’s so desperate to feel him as close as can be that she finds herself cupping his cheeks as well, pressing her mouth into him passionately. It’s definitely too lewd for a public park, but neither of them care anymore. She can feel the hard muscles of his jaw flex under her palms and her back arches a bit at the thought of everywhere she wants him to kiss her. She starts emitting light moans that only he can hear, and she can feel the vibration of a growl wanting to form in the back of his throat.

Eventually, they break apart to come up for air, but still remain almost touching. They’re both breathless and eyeing the other with heavy lids that suggest their arousal. Harry takes in her state and is pleased that she’s just as worked up as him.

He smirks, showing off his dimples. “Can the second date be now?”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x ofc #ofc #writing #my writing #wayfaring stranger #harry styles fic #one direction fic

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Maybe You're My Enemy (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

a/n: hey, hi, hello! welcome to the first canon compliant thing i have written since 2017, i am *~ petrified! ~* . i had to write something to fix these two though after the events of episode 8 because i just love them dearly (and the fact in the subsequent episode Lawrence just dropped in the fact they’d shared a bed didn’t help this at all). thank you so much to @purecamp for reading it over and reassuring me it’s not a heap of shit (so if it turns out that it is then just blame her xo). also the song it’s set to is enemy by Charli XCX in case u want to get the immersive vibes!

fic summary: On one side of Scotland, Lawrence disappears from social media. On the other, Ellie reflects.

***

They say, “Keep your friends close”

But you’re closer, I love when you’re here

I’m so far away sometimes, I’m distant, yeah

The sky is grey. The clouds are grey. The stagnant water of the quay is grey, and so’s the metal rail that Ellie’s holding on to as he narrows his eyes, tries to stop the wind from hitting them and making him tear up.

As if the wind would be the only reason.

He brings his gaze into focus on the HMS Unicorn, sat in the water in front of him like some massive whale that’s been planted in a bathtub. It’s a fucking ugly ship; a glorified tugboat on steroids with a big bowsprit sticking out at the front all out of place, but he likes the little bust of the once-white unicorn that sticks out from under it. Ellie remembers getting brought here for a school trip in Primary 3, pointing to the unicorn all excited and getting laughed at by the boys in his class that he knew were going to grow up to be the ones that gave the teachers lip and got suspended in high school.

He remembers that Bryce made up the fact that one of the boys had “said the f word” in the gift shop later that day, just so Ellie could have the satisfaction of watching them get screamed at by their teacher. Ellie still fucking loves him for that.

Ellie thinks the unicorn is out of place in all this grey. He remembers the time he did his unicorn mix when he opened for Willam, how nervous he’d been and messaging Lawrence about it and getting a “this you coming out to me as a furry?” in return which made him laugh and forget why he’d even been nervous in the first place. He can’t help the smile the memory brings to his face even if he wants to.

And he wants to.

Lawrence always could make him smile, get a laugh from him even when he didn’t feel like it. He remembers with a blow to his heart what Lawrence had said on the show- “you’re not terribly funny? Like you don’t have…zinger-y punchlines?” - and how Tia had laughed and Ellie had wanted so much to bite back but didn’t.

Because he always could draw a laugh out of Lawrence. Granted he was usually laughing at him rather than with him, but Ellie could still put a smile on his face by acting dumb, saying things that Lawrence would subsequently repeat in a screech of disbelief that would always make Ellie laugh harder anyway. He’d always self-impose ridiculous dares on himself in front of him: in Hive, “here, what if I did the entire shot rainbow?”, in Nandos, “d’you think I could do the wing roulette by myself?”, in Glasgow on the Subway on the way to a gig, “dare me to get off at Ibrox and I’ll go to the Louden Tavern dressed like this?”. Ellie had been used to being the class clown for Lawrence, the jester for the queen.

Or maybe just a fool.

Ellie’s always hated the colour grey.

You might help me, intimacy

I’ll admit, I’m scared

Maybe, maybe you can reach me, yeah

His surroundings turn to silver as he shoves his hands in his pockets, heads towards the V&A museum that’s still glinting despite the lack of sunlight. He’s stopped by two teenage girls that are polite and shy and squeaky-voiced as they ask for a photo- he supposes that’s what he gets when he goes out wearing the pink and purple fur coat with the hearts on it. Ellie forces a smile and thanks them for supporting him and they tell him he’s their favourite in return.

After they walk away he thinks they must have been lying, but then he feels the frown etch itself onto his face as he shakes his head. The self-doubt is a hangover from filming that he needs to shake off.

He squints at the museum as he walks past, fleetingly thinks about going in and looking at some of the old fashion to cheer him up. A’whora’s promised to go with him when he’s eventually allowed to come up to visit, and Ellie snorts at the idea of the fashion queen of the London scene in Dundee. The thought of A’whora’s reaction to the Wellgate shopping centre- the Credit Union, the B&M, the Jobcentre Plus- puts the first smile on his face he’s had in days.

Lawrence had gone round the museum with him too, when Ellie had dropped him off at the train station the day after a gig and they’d been killing time. It had been weird to just dick about like that together the first few times. Weird the fact there was no makeup, glue and wigs, no alcohol or gay anthems to yell over. Just two boys walking around a museum together. Like a date.

Ellie makes a face before he even realises. Not this.

The first time they did all of it together was weird. Just like everything Lawrence had written. Nandos, cinema, staying at his. That last one especially. Ellie can still remember the way he’d stared up at the bumpy ceiling from his position on Lawrence’s couch in the pitch dark, street lamps from outside casting shadows through the blinds. The room was too cold and the blanket was too small and he hadn’t slept a wink but he’d still do it all over again.

The first time they’d both lain on Lawrence’s bed the morning after the night before, cracking up at Scottish You Laugh You Lose compilations on Youtube and Ellie being unable to help the tears that streamed down his face at Lawrence imitating “big shoe, big shoeeee!”. The way they’d been close and the way their arms had touched and the way Ellie had felt ridiculous for the way his heart was hammering. Just a friend.

The first time they’d found each other under the dark lights of CCs when they’d both been through in Edinburgh to support Alice by chance. The way Ellie’s heart had lit up like a firework when he saw him. The way they’d laced their fingers together without even having to ask permission first, the way everything just seemed to be as simple as tequila rose shots and pink lights and leaning against the wall as they smoked outside.

The way everything else had just happened so easily.

Ellie squeezes his eyes shut before he can realise what he’s doing. The memories have forced their way in, kicked down a door in his head that he’d been sure he’d bolted shut.

He needs to change the locks.

Maybe you’re my enemy

Now I’ve finally let you come a little close to me,

Maybe you’re my enemy

You’re the only one who knows the way I’m really feelin’

Ellie is in the same Stitch onesie he’s been shrugging on since the last episode aired. It stinks. He’s joked to A'whora that he can probably smell him through the phone, and A'whora’s asked if he just sweats out Mango Loco Monster. Ellie makes some joke about wringing out his clothes into a pint glass if he did, which makes A'whora retch on camera.

He’s glad they made up at least. They didn’t have too much of a choice, to be fair. Apart from the way they get on so well, their bond and their friendship, A'whora’s the only other one who knows what it’s like to be in Ellie’s situation.

Except A'whora never stabbed Tayce in the back.

“You should talk to him,” A'whora insists, bringing the whole sorry situation up in a pause where Ellie must have looked as if he was about to make a vodka bleach mixer.

Ellie looks pointedly back at him through the screen. “I’ve been telling you to talk to Tayce for months.”

He watches A'whora pull an awkward face and he’s satisfied he’s hit a nerve. “That’s different though. You and Lawrence don’t live together.”

“Yeah. Least I wasn’t stupid enough to move in with someone I fancied, how’s that going for you?”

A'whora splutters a laugh that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Ellie feels guilty all over again. He feels like that’s his default these days. “Sorry, chick, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, I mean. It’s fine. Just have to act as if I’m not in love with the bitch every time I’m around her, it’s not hard,” A'whora deadpans.

Ellie frowns. “You know Tayce feels the same. Everyone knows it.”

“No I don’t,” A'whora says instantly back to him, shaking his head and dissolving momentarily into pixels. “Besides, even if she did, like…it’s easier if she didn’t, y'know? All this…publicity, every move getting analysed. It’s easier to just…not.”

Ellie narrows his eyes. “You’re doing a smashing job making the case for me and Lawrence.”

“You know what I mean! You don’t get people asking where Lawrence is in every live you do. You don’t get people going through the show fucking…frame by frame and then editing every time you breathe around each other together and setting it to a bloody Little Mix song.”

Ellie bursts out laughing and starts singing Black Magic down the phone to him, which makes A'whora look pointedly at him before clearly being unable to hold it for long and instead laughing with him.

Both their laughter dies down and Ellie watches as A'whora smiles sadly, sincerely. “He’s worth the risk, Els.”

“Oh my God, prison. Who the fuck are you, Nicholas Sparks?”

The reference flies over A'whora's head and Ellie starts explaining the plot of the A Walk to Remember, steering the conversation out of the waters it had become marooned in, the captain of his very own HMS Unicorn.

He feels more like he’s aboard the Titanic with every message that goes unread.

Now it’s really clear to me

You could do a little damage, you could cut me deeper

“It didn’t get you a badge though, was it worth it?”

Ellie’s asked himself that every day since the episode aired. Since he made the decision, pretty much. Financially? Yes it was. It’s pretty well-known at this point in the grand scheme of Drag Race that with each week you’re on the likelihood of securing more bookings is increased, and now with his slot at Drag Fest he feels as if he’s hit the jackpot.

Everything else? Not so much.

Ellie still feels his stomach drop if he thinks enough about that untucked, which he does all the time. Too much, in fact. The aggression in Lawrence’s voice which Ellie knew all too well was a manifestation of hurt on so many levels. The way Lawrence chose the conflict that Ellie wished he could have avoided. The way Lawrence left his feelings bare while Ellie couldn’t trust himself to do the same in case he said something he might regret.

The fact Lawrence had thought Ellie had set him up to fail was maybe what hurt the most, though. Ellie had wanted to ask him how he thought he’d be able to do that after everything they’d been through together. He’d tried to tell him he didn’t think it was possible for him to fail at something he shines at. He’d wanted to grab Lawrence’s pink fucking headpiece and bash him over the head with it until he realised that he’s Lawrence fucking Chaney, he is the Scottish drag queen. Lawrence is the one who will say something at a gig one week and it’ll be common drag parlance across the country by the next. Lawrence is the one getting booked by the BBC Social to make educational videos. Lawrence is the one on posters across Glasgow, for fuck’s sake.

Ellie might not have been thinking about the worst case scenario in that moment, but only because he genuinely didn’t think there could be one.

After all, he’d had his opportunity to sabotage Lawrence. Ellie remembers the first day when the producers had wanted to set up the Scottish queen rivalry, asked for something shady they could use as a soundbite. The way he’d sought out Lawrence on a smoke break and told him about the situation and reassured him that he hadn’t given them anything, and the way Lawrence had just smiled back at him, softly and genuinely, and told Ellie he’d done the same. The way they’d minutely linked pinkies together before breaking them and walking back inside as if they’d barely shared so much as a glance, neither of them wanting to draw any suspicion their way.

And he could’ve been harsher in that untucked if he’d wanted. Could’ve said how for someone that was meant to care so much about friendship and sisterhood, Lawrence had been doing a great job shitting on him from a great height about his lack of challenge wins and his run on the show.

But he didn’t, because…well. He knows why.

Because the knowledge that he’d hurt Lawrence and lost his trust had done more damage than any joke Lawrence made at his expense could ever do.

Ellie goes live on the Tuesday afternoon. A comment on the chat reads, “are u A’whora and Lawrence still friends???”

“Yeah, me and A’whora are still friends!” Ellie bats the comment away with a fake smile.

He’ll blame his lack of comprehension skills if he’s asked about it.

I feel guilty, I feel nervous, I feel certain now

Maybe, maybe you can reach me

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it.

Maybe it’s when he wakes up on Friday and Lawrence’s Twitter isn’t loading. Maybe it’s when he reads the other Scottish girls condemning the fans, the word fatphobia leaping out, grabbing Ellie’s heart and wrenching it tight.

Surely not this?

Ellie searches Twitter and what he finds makes him feel ill. He doesn’t know what he had expected- he’d known the frantic tweet urging the fans to be kind that he’d typed out before he went to sleep hadn’t exactly been going to create world peace overnight- but he hadn’t expected any of this. Everyone loves Lawrence, surely.

Although perhaps he’s just talking from experience.

Maybe it’s when he shoots Lawrence a message that goes unopened. In all honesty Ellie doesn’t blame him. A flimsy sentiment about hoping he’s okay that clocks in at under 250 characters isn’t going to cut it, and he’s grateful when Bimini, with all their empathy and ability to read a situation as clear as day, texts him and tells him that Lawrence has replied to them and he’s…well, he’s managing.

Maybe it’s when Ellie goes live with A’whora and he manages to mention Lawrence entirely too many times. A cry for attention or an old habit that’s dying hard? He can’t tell. Perhaps it’s both.

It’s definitely got something to do with the Facebook post.

Whatever it is, Ellie finds himself stuffing any old random items of clothing in a backpack and hoping it makes an outfit, shoving the spare key into the soil of the plant pot outside his front door and texting Anne to tell her where it is in case…fuck knows, the flat goes on fire while he’s away or something. He looks up the train times as he’s on his way to the station; a terrible decision, really, as when he’s still fifteen minutes away he discovers there’s one in ten. Somehow he manages to make it to the station with just a minute to spare and his heart lifts to find that the ticket barriers are open, so he dashes through them and hurtles onto the train that’s waiting at the platform. He catches his breath as he slumps into a table seat, having to take his mask off for a couple of seconds just so he can breathe properly. The way his heart is going at the rate the train’s about to isn’t helping.

The chimes of the train announcement cut through his attempts at slowing his heart down, and the little robotic woman’s voice confirms that his ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decision is actually happening.

“This is Dundee. This train is for Glasgow Queen Street.”

Because this is all so last minute, but he needs to see Lawrence. He’s apologised probably ten times by now but he knows he needs to make it eleven. He knows (he hopes) that Lawrence needs that eleventh time too. He knows that Lawrence needs Ellie’s persistence, knows that it’s all just an attempt at self-preservation. Lawrence’s attempts at shutting Ellie out are just inviting him to bring a battering ram. At least, he hopes. But like A’whora had said…he’s worth the risk.

The train starts moving, and even if he wanted to back out now he couldn’t.

So cold at the surface, I’m scared of nothin’

Underneath, I’m nervous

Can you reach me?

Ellie waits for the subway at Buchanan Street and his glazed-over eyes focus on a massive poster of Lawrence on the platform opposite. He briefly considers throwing himself under the next train.

The journey down had passed somehow in the blink of an eye and also agonisingly slowly. Too much time to sit and stare out of the window but not enough time to figure out what he’s going to say. He still doesn’t know. He’d said it all those months ago, he’s said it through texts and DMs. This time feels different, though. This time is different. This time there’s no cameras or runners or pink tables, or distance between them or tension at the fact nothing had aired yet.

It’s going to be the pair of them and Lawrence’s flat. Just like it’s been so many times before.

Ellie thinks he’ll probably just open his mouth, say whatever gets there first and hope it hits the right notes; a terrible decision arrived upon as a result of the lack of any other option. His mind is a messed up ball of television static, a knotted yarn of white noise that he can’t find the end of. He feels as if it’s made of the noise the train makes as it screams into the station, metal on metal and the low whoosh of the wind through the tunnel and the rickety shaking of the doors as they slide open and people stream off.

He picks up his bag and sinks down into the horrifically patterned upholstery of the seats, settling himself in for the journey. The little metal tin can of a train doesn’t take long to fire through the seven stops before Govan and with each one that passes Ellie can feel his nerves spiking and his mouth growing dry.

What if Lawrence isn’t even in? What if it’s all got too much and he’s gone back to Helensburgh for the foreseeable? Ellie could get a train up there, he supposes; he’s already on this side of the country, although he doesn’t know if Lawrence would appreciate the gesture or call the police on him.

Ellie concludes it would be worth it anyway.

He emerges from the Subway and the grey seems to hit him all over again, seeping into his clothes and forcing him to fight through the sadness that hits him like a wave. There’s a little beam of sunshine fighting to escape the clouds though, and Ellie hopes it’s some form of pathetic fallacy. Or whatever that one about the weather matching your feelings was. Fucked if he ever paid attention in Nat 5 English.

The streets of red brick tenements feel like pens of hostility as he passes windows that serve as frames for Union Jacks and Red Hand of Ulster flags. Even being raised in a Christian household doesn’t equip him to identify with this form of religion; where the disciples are football players and the gods are flags and the hymns are about killing Catholics. Ellie has always worried about Lawrence living here, told him as much, but he’s always been met with a bark of a laugh back and some comment about how he’s only saying that because he’s lived such a sheltered little life in Dundee and wouldn’t last five minutes trying to inhabit Glasgow and all its cheerful sectarianism. Lawrence has always had a very blythe attitude to the whole thing, and Ellie remembers when he’d held his hand on the way back from the Subway in full drag after a gig like it was nothing, the way some dick in an orange and blue scarf had shouted at them from across the street and Lawrence had just yelled back with an “awrite, babes?” as if he had a death wish.

Which is what makes this whole thing so grim. The Lawrence who drunkenly and sarcastically greets bigots at three in the morning from across the street doesn’t marry up with the Lawrence that’s holed up in his flat in the face of negativity. Ellie supposes that one homophobic Rangers fan is one homophobic Rangers fan, but Twitter can seem like the whole world’s population, and if Lawrence thinks the world hates him just because he’s reacted to something that was Ellie’s fault…

He feels his gut wrench.

Ellie turns into Lawrence’s street and feels ill. He could always go home. Turn and walk back to the Subway, train back to Queen Street, back to Dundee, back to the flat. Like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t even consciously made the decision, like it was all a dream.

He sleepwalks to Lawrence’s close door anyway, just like he knew he would.

His hand shakes as he presses the buzzer too hard, and the panic rises in his throat as the seconds pass agonisingly slowly. When there’s a crackle from the intercom, he freezes in fear.

“Hello?”

It’s Kiko’s voice. Of course his flatmate had to be the one to answer, drag out the humiliation of the whole thing. Ellie can hear the shake to his voice as he replies.

“Hey, it’s Ellie.”

“…Ellie?”

He chooses to ignore the disbelief, acts as if it’s normal for him to have travelled across the country to turn up on Lawrence’s doorstep in the middle of a pandemic when there’s a travel ban in place. He’s considering this essential travel anyway.

“Is Lawrence in at all?”

Kiko, for her part, seems to pick up on the way the whole visit is masquerading as routine. In the split second before she replies, Ellie finds himself holding his breath. He steels himself, prepares for a “no, he’s actually…”, to send him back to Dundee like a crumpled sheet of paper tossed into a bin.

So Ellie feels like his throat’s going to close up when Kiko replies down the intercom. “Yeah, two secs. I’ll buzz you up.”

The dread settles in his gut like a weight as the buzzer rings out into the street, harsh and loud and doing nothing for Ellie’s derailed train of thought. He pushes on the door, takes his first step into the close and the echo seems to hit him deep in his chest. He finds himself wishing Lawrence lives four up but he’s only on the first floor, and as Ellie puts his foot on the first step of the staircase he keeps his eyes trained on the stairs because he knows the moment he looks up he’s going to see somebody standing there holding the door open and even though he’s had hours to prepare himself, weeks even, he’s not ready for that in the slightest.

And when he finally brings his gaze onto the front door with four steps to go, he’s not ready for the way the sight of Lawrence almost knocks him straight back down again. He’s slumped against the doorframe and has very clearly not slept- since when, Ellie couldn’t guess. A black hoodie is swamping him and a pair of navy sweatpants are doing the same, making him seem smaller than he already is. The sight of his hair up in that tiny bun hurts Ellie’s heart because it makes him want to smile, reminds him of the Lawrence he’d dick about in the workroom and the smoking area and the hotel corridors with before it all went so wrong. His arms are folded and he’s looking at the tiles on the landing floor until Ellie reaches the doorway, shifts awkwardly.

“Hi.”

Lawrence doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s a minute detail that hurts Ellie more than he would have expected. He doesn’t reply for a second, then seems to relent. “Hey.”

Another pause. The atmosphere makes Ellie wish he’d worn a thicker jacket.

“You’re not meant to be here, you know. Wee Nicky’s probably had snipers trained on you since you got off the train,” Lawrence says, delivering the quip with a bitter, barbed edge that makes Ellie think it’s less of a joke and more wishful thinking.

“Wouldn’t be any less than I deserve, I’m sure,” Ellie smiles sadly, unable to make it meet his eyes. Lawrence’s expression remains unimpressed.

“So why are you here, then,” he not so much as demands an answer but disinterestedly inquires. Ellie bites his bottom lip before he replies, as if he’s forcing himself to make sure his words are perfect.

“I just came down because…well, I wanted to see how you were. I know the past week must have been shit for you.”

Lawrence raises his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as if to really drive home to Ellie how much of an understatement he already knows he’s made. “Yeah.”

Ellie sighs, wanting desperately to get the next part right. “And I felt like I needed to say I’m sorry. Y’know, in front of you.”

“You said sorry back when we filmed. We’re over it, it’s fine,” Lawrence says flatly, conveying that everything is not fine.

“It’s not fine, though. I wouldn’t have come down if it was fine. Things haven’t been fine since that day, and like…I miss you, Lawrence, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, or as a sister, or as…” Ellie stumbles, looking to the floor as he tries to articulate the other facet of their relationship. “…whatever else we are. Whatever else we were. I’m sorry for fucking everything up.”

There’s a silence in which the pair of them freeze and hold their breath. Time could very well be standing still for all Ellie knows. He immediately regrets bringing up all of…that. He should’ve kept it to friendship, shouldn’t have added anything on. Before he can overthink any more or begin to backtrack, a small sigh from Lawrence makes him look up.

“I thought you hated me,” he says. His voice is small and the words are unexpected. There’s so much Ellie could say in response. He settles on a joke.

“No, I think you’re a cunt. There’s a difference,” Ellie smiles tightly, the joke tentative. The snort it gets from Lawrence makes his smile grow without him being able to help it. “Was that a good one? Thought I was the unfunniest person on the planet?”

“We weren’t talking about your Bake Off improv,” Lawrence raises his eyebrows as he smirks, and Ellie fakes a wounded laugh.

“Shady cow.”

“I’m sorry,” Lawrence says out of nowhere, his smile gone all of a sudden.

Ellie tries to drag the joke out a little longer, hold onto the sparks they’ve just created. “Nah, it was shit, you’re right.”

“No, Ellie…” Lawrence shakes his head, worrying his lip between his teeth a little. “I am sorry.”

Ellie feels the panic wash over him when he clocks the glisten in his eyes. “It’s fine, girl.”

“It’s not fine. I was a dick to you so many times, no fuckin’ wonder I thought you’d set me up. I would too if I had somebody talking down to me like I did to you,” Lawrence says gravely. His gaze is fixed on his floor and just as Ellie is about to speak he catches sight of two tears that fall onto the red carpet, the darkness akin to blood. His horror grows as Lawrence finally snaps his head up, tears shining in his eyes as he sighs helplessly in a shaky voice. “You’re amazing, Ellie, you’re such a talent, and…fuck, I missed you.”

His words mean more to him that Ellie had expected them to. He doesn’t want to let that show, though, because that’s too much, that means too much for the situation just now and he can deal with that realisation at a later date. For now, Ellie points at him in mock-accusation. “Hey listen, I’m the one that got the train down to come and make a big speech to you and say sorry. Buy your own damn train ticket for that.”

Lawrence’s voice is thick with tears as he lets out a short laugh. “Sorry.”

“Wee bitch. Always have to make everything about you,” Ellie rolls his eyes, getting another teary laugh out of Lawrence and raising his hopes that maybe they’ll be okay.

And then the banks break and Lawrence makes a little choked-up noise, a sob that’s not fully a sob. His eyes meet Ellie’s and they’re full of so much sadness and regret that just looking at them creates a crack in Ellie’s heart, one that matches the crack in Lawrence’s voice as he speaks again.

“This has all been shit to do without you.”

Ellie doesn’t think before opening his arms out, shaking his head affectionately. “Don’t be silly. C’mere.”

When Lawrence immediately opens out his own and they meet each other in the middle and hug tightly, Ellie feels like a balloon that’s been let go and is floating up to the sky.

The clouds aren’t grey.

The way they’re holding each other brings back too many memories. Seeing each other at gigs and feeling butterflies take hold of his stomach. Coming off stage after a number and conveying his pride in him without even having to say a word. Saying goodbye at train stations with disappointment lodging itself in his heart. All the nostalgia makes Ellie want to cry, but he can’t start now. Instead, he breaths a shaky sigh, shakes his head before he speaks.

“You’ve always had me, okay? You’ve always got me. We’ve said sorry now, that’s the end of it. Periodt,” Ellie murmurs against his shoulder, adding on his trademark at the end. The laugh he gets muffled against his chest in return makes him feel lighter.

“I’ve not showered. I definitely stink. You don’t have to keep hugging me, you know.”

“You don’t. I want to,” Ellie says back. He means it.

It’s Lawrence that slides out of the hug first but he’s still standing close as he quickly wipes away his tears, looks Ellie up and down with a smirk on his face. “So where’s your Travelodge, hen?”

Ellie’s sheepish when he makes eye contact with him again, shrugs one strap of the rucksack off before replying. “You know damn well I’ve not booked anywhere.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Right, come on,” Lawrence shakes his head affectionately, stepping back into his hallway and letting Ellie finally cross the threshold to drop his bag like an anchor in the flat. It’s the physical manifestation of the burden finally being lifted off of him, the guilt and the regret melting away in favour of the flutter of his heart and a few small sparks that he wants to put in resin. “I get to choose the film later as reparations. Don’t trust you since you made us watch Cat In The Hat.”

Ellie gives a shocked gasp, genuinely offended. “It’s good!”

“Is it fuck. In fact, just for that I’m going to make you sit through something sci-fi and geeky and you’re gonna hate it,” Lawrence smiles with genuine glee, and Ellie can’t even bring himself to be mad about it. As the pair of them walk through to the living room, Lawrence jumps onto the sofa and fixes Ellie with a look that is clearly meant to be serious but that simultaneously Lawrence can’t commit to and Ellie can’t believe. “You’re sleeping here tonight, by the way.”

Ellie raises his eyebrows as he fakes his agreement, going along with the charade Lawrence is beginning. They both know they’ll end up curled up together on the sofa with neither of them having an explanation for how it’s happened, but at the same time knowing they don’t have to explain themselves. They know that Ellie will end up falling asleep slumped against Lawrence and that he’ll have to gently shake him awake, that he’ll wordlessly offer Ellie a hand to drag him off the couch with and that they’ll go through to Lawrence’s room like always. They know that they’ll wake up tangled together like the sheets and that Ellie will be there for him, that he’ll help Lawrence piece himself back together and they’ll go back to the start. Well, maybe not the start. Perhaps somewhere better.

Ellie keeps his friends close, but Lawrence is something a little bit more. Something a little bit closer.

Baby, you’re my enemy.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #a'whora #uk2 #canon compliant #angst #hurt/comfort #song fic #maybe you're my enemy #ortega

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