#feel free to reblog and add onto this if you are sad about the bright sessions in 2023

[exhaustedwerewolf]

bright sessions moments I am thinking about at 4am having not listened to or read any bright sessions content for approx. a year (quotes from memory and certainly not 100% accurate)

• safe house (ii) when caleb feels mark’s emotions and says, realising for the first time: “god, you’re really angry. and like a million other things…”

• “Did you remember-“ // “Cornbread? I have met you. … What?” // “Nothing.”

• when rose dips into joan’s subconscious and finds the anxiety cacophony and the infinite loop of “you could be better”

• “I don’t feel right. Don’t leave.”

• “I would never hurt you.” // “You already have. That’s the whole fucking point.” and “I never meant to hurt you.” // “But you have.” God.

• the scene where adam quietly confesses to caleb that he used to hurt himself and that he still trusts caleb not to hurt him even after caleb hurt damien

• sam talking about how she can’t leave the city because she can feel herself losing her memories of her parents and she’s worried she’ll forget them completely

• “you’re their son. you were missing for years. they should have called.”

• that scene where sam has a panic attack and mark is holding her and they accidentally time travel together and you only know how horribly wrong it’s gone when you hear them reappear and now mark is mid-breakdown while sam tries uselessly to reassure him

• basically every line of the musical episode actually but especially “you broke it mark” / “you’re broken mark” // “stop, what are you talking about?” // “I have too many broken things already, I don’t need on more”

• “she felt real. but did I just make her up? hallucinate an amazing woman who would save me? that sounds like something I would do.” // “no, mark, I am real. I did save you.” but mark. can’t fucking hear her.

[christ0pher-evans]

Variety’s Actors on Actors

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader  Warnings: Slight Angst / Implied Smut Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This is my first time writing a Chris Evans fanfiction. It it loosely based off of Variety’s Actors on Actors interviews with Chris Evans and Paul Rudd / Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson. It is pure fluff, hope you guys like it!!! Please reblog and like🖤

 ♡

When Variety had approached you to be involved in the ‘Actors on Actors’ style interviews, you knew that it could be really fun, a great opportunity and you felt immediate excitement for who they might pair you with. 

It was only a day later when they had told you that they wanted you to do the interview with Chris Evans. Normally, any time that you got to spend with Chris, physically or virtually, was fun; however you had no idea how you could possibly interview the man when you knew all there was to know about his life and career, I mean you’d only know him 16 years, and been together for the past 6 years, leading to your past first year of blissful marriage. 

You had spent the last month away from Chris due to the filming of your latest movie, and was missing him so much that your heart hurt. The thought of getting to spend a full 45 minutes doing this interview with him was making you jump for joy, because usually neither of you have enough free time simultaneously to be able to spend this length of time together. It’s often a fleeting text of “I miss you”, or a 5 minute phone call between scenes. 

You had spent the past week since finding out about this interview trying to come up with interesting enough questions that the fans would want answers to. You were also thankful for Variety as they had sent you a pre-made list of questions in case you got stuck.

It was finally an hour before the interview, and you hadn’t seen Chris’ face for the past two weeks so you decided to make a bit of extra effort to look nice for him. 

You were sat in front of your dressing table in your apartment that had be rented out for you whilst you were filming. Make-up was spread all over the table and you could see the reflection, several outfits littered all over your bed where you had yet to make your mind up on what to wear. 

45 minutes later and you had a light brown and glittery smokey eye, a subtle winged liner with a gloss over your lips and had given yourself a bouncy blow-dry. After looking through all your outfits, you had decided on one of Chris’ oversized jumpers that you stole before you left and some jeans - even though you wanted to look really nice for him, you knew how much he would appreciate seeing you in his clothes more. 

You had made yourself a coffee and set yourself up at the breakfast bar for the interview. Checking everything was set up and ready for the interview, you waited patiently with butterflies in your stomach for it to start. You were bought out of your excited daze by the noise of your phone, a message from Chris popped up.. ‘Can’t wait to see your beautiful face’ Boy, did he still make you swoon after so long together. 

Not long had passed before the sound of a video call was coming through on your laptop, and as you answered, a member of the Variety team was on your screen. “Hi Y/N, it’s so lovely to speak to you and thank you so much for partaking in this interview. In a couple of minutes, we will connect you straight through to Chris and you can just start chatting and asking your questions. We will record everything from our end and then edit it together to be posted online.” “That all sounds perfect to me. Thank you so much for having me and letting me do this with my husband.” You couldn’t help but grin, it never got old getting to call Chris your husband. You absentmindedly twirled your engagement and wedding rings round your finger.  “Okay, we will connect you now. Have fun!” 

And then there he was, bright eyed and grinning at you through the screen.

“Hi Sweetheart.” His voice made your heart flutter and your stomach do flips.  "Hi Chris, how are you?” you reply sweetly.

You made some small talk for the sake of the interview, before starting to ask each other questions. “So I have a confession to make..” you paused briefly, “I could not think of any questions to ask you that I didn’t already know the answer to, so I thought I would ask questions that I think fans would want to know the answer to.” 

You grin, proud of yourself and proud of the big laugh you got out of Chris because you had come up with such a good idea. “My first question is when you first got into acting, how did you navigate the work/life balance?”

Chris took a swig of beer, pondering his answer before starting. “Well when I actually booked my first bigger film that had a busy schedule, was on the film we worked on together, so previous to that I didn’t have much of a social life” he chuckled, “But when you’re filming for maybe 12 hours a day, 6 days a week, you have to quickly find a routine that works for you where you can still show up to work every day and give 110%. I also remember we used to take naps on set in between our takes all the time.” You couldn’t help but smile as you fondly remembered the first time working with Chris. “No but seriously, when you find a script that you are passionate about, and get to work with people that are truly amazing at what they do, you are happy to dedicate as much time as you need to to get that perfect take, to eventually make that perfect film.” 

“Okay, well let’s talk about Defending Jacob, which for you, was a completely different style of character for you to become. How did you prepare for that role?” 

“Yeah, it was definitely a new type of role to encompass, especially off the back of playing Captain America for almost a decade, even though he was considered a serious character, it’s a completely different league to enter. I remember doing a lot of work with real life district attorneys to understand the pressure and seriousness of the job role and I remember going through lines with you every damn day.” 

You zone out as Chris carries on talking about Defending Jacob as you remember the nights fondly. 

————————

You had just finished clearing up dinner as Chris comes bounding back into the kitchen with his script for Defending Jacob. Placing it down on the dining room table, he turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.  “Sweetheart, pretty please can we run my lines again? I’ve been thinking about how I can add more passion into my character to really emphasise his emotions in those tough scenes.” 

You absolutely couldn’t say no to him. You was so proud of how much work he was putting into this show and how perfect he wanted it to be, but you also couldn’t say no to those gorgeous blue puppy eyes. 

It had been 45 minutes since you started running lines, you were now sitting on the dining room table swinging your legs back and forth and you couldn’t take your eyes off Chris pacing round the table, the anger and passion in his voice as he recalled his lines. You could feel the heat pooling towards the bottom of your stomach as he ran his hand through his hair, his chest flexing as he shouted his lines, the gruff tone of his voice only making your panties wetter. You were biting your lip gently as Chris pulled you out of your daydream. 

“Y/N are you alright, are you getting bored?” You shook your head quickly. 

“God no, course not babe. You’re doing great, I’m just slightly distracted.” 

Just like always, Chris could read your mind and knew exactly what you were thinking. He sauntered closer to you, placing himself in front of you and sliding your legs open so he could stand between them. Placing his script down, he used one finger to tilt your chin up to look him in the eyes. 

“Is there something you like baby?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as he called you baby and ran his finger across your bottom lip before ghosting a kiss on them. He leaned down towards you, one hand running down towards your panties as he kissed along your neck and up to your ear, before mumbling..”I think we can take a break”. 

————————

You chuckled to yourself, remembering so vividly on how you both broke the dining room table that night. 

“Oh, is something funny sweetheart?” Chris bought you out of your daydream. Clearing your throat, you mumbled an apology before changing the subject straight back to the interview. 

“Okay, let me ask you a question now Y/N. I want to know how it feels to be like a superwoman as you managed to film and promote your latest movie whilst we were planning our wedding?” 

You giggle lightly and smile broadly, remembering the chaos that was your life the six months leading up to your wedding. 

“Honestly, Chris, that feels like a blur these days. Planning our wedding was much more work than filming and doing press tours, but somehow we made it work. Don’t make it sound like I did it so elegantly though, I was an absolute bridezilla those six months and I don’t know how you put up with me.” You smile at each other through the screen, remembering the fond memories of your engagement. “But in all honesty, it was just quite a strict schedule with minimal sleep. I loved filming and the press tour for my film was so much fun, as was planning our wedding so even though at the time, it felt like an impossible task, looking back and seeing how well the film did and how perfect our wedding day was, it makes the hard work worth every second.” 

Your smile falters slightly at the thought of some of the more stressful times during that stretch, but quickly returns at the look of love in Chris’ eyes as he hangs onto your every word.

————————

You had spent the day at home trying to organise the seating plan for your wedding which was quickly approaching in 3 months, whilst Chris had been out all day filming. 

Unfortunately before Chris came home, you had pulled your heels on, ready to walk out the door to your awaiting car to take you to your latest movie press panel. A sad sigh was all you managed before you hauled yourself out the door for the 2 hour interview with your cast mates. 

The panel had finished at 9pm and you had jumped straight back in the car, so the driver could take you home to Chris, silently hoping you could catch him for a bit before he went to bed. You knew he would be calling it a night quite early as you had woken up to his side of the bed empty and cold that morning, meaning he had left the house before sunrise. You felt a sudden pang of sadness about how little time you’d spent with your fiancé over the past 3 months. It was no ones fault, you were both busy but it felt like you were actively avoiding one another. You shook your head as a few tears fell. 

As a welcome distraction on the way home, you had opted to start looking at flower arrangements for the bridesmaids bouquets, but you could feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling so tired and drained from months of final filming and wedding planning. 

It was just after 10:15pm as you stepped out the car, thanking the driver before heading up the path to your house. You could see the lights were off, bar the hallway light that Chris had left on for your arrival home. You sighed sadly as you stepped in the door to the quiet abyss. You removed your heels, not wanting to make any unnecessary noise, knowing that Chris was up just as early tomorrow.

Walking through to the kitchen, you could see Chris had left you some pizza takeout on the side but you didn’t have the energy to eat, just wanting to curl up in bed. 

Heading straight into the ensuite to your bedroom, you quietly took off your make-up and cleansed your face to hide your tear-stained cheeks. Creeping back into the bedroom, you stood looking in the mirror of your dresser as you put on one of Chris’ t-shirts; you looked defeated and utterly glum. As you stood there for a moment longer, trying to collect your emotions and bottle them away, you heard Chris stir. 

“Babe, come to bed.” 

You felt your shoulders relax at the rough sound of his sleepy voice. Quickly wiping under your eyes once more, you turned round to see him holding the duvet up so you could crawl under and into his waiting arms. 

Immediately relaxing into the mattress, goosebumps arose on your skin as Chris trailed his fingers up your side to pull you into him. You let yet another tear fall from your eye at the fact that this was the first time you’d actually seen him today, frustrated that work and wedding planning was taking up all your time. This didn’t go unnoticed by Chris as he caught the lone tear with his finger, wiping it away. 

“I just want our wedding to be perfect and my movie to do well without having to sacrifice all my time with you” you whimpered, hiding your face in Chris’ chest.

“Sweetheart, I’m marrying you, it will all be perfect. Get some sleep, I love you.” Chris gave you a kiss on your forehead before falling straight to sleep, you dozing off straight after him, with heart full of love. 

————————

The interview was coming to an end and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with happiness of getting to spend so much time talking to Chris but also dread of not knowing when you would get to see his face again before you finally got to go back home in a months time.

“Okay sweetheart, I have one last question and it is one that Variety suggested for both of us to answer. What is the best part about being married to someone in the same profession as you?” You smile at Chris through the screen, trying to think of only one thing to pick. 

“Well, it is difficult to pick one, because there are so many great reasons but also it is really hard being married to someone in the same profession as you. I always try to be honest with our fans and in interviews, so I don’t want to sugarcoat it. We have to go long periods of time not getting to see each other and always having such high pressured schedules doesn’t allow a lot of time for married life.” You sigh at the look of sadness that has washed over both your faces. “However I count my lucky stars every day for having such a supportive and understanding husband like you.” You notice Chris blush at your answer before nodding along with you, agreeing with what you’ve said. 

“I have to agree with you sweetheart. There is definitely some poetic justice in the fact that we met on set, both doing the job we love so fondly and here we are, 16 years later, married and getting to celebrate our achievements every single day together.” 

You have to told back the tears as the interview finishes and Chris disappears from your screen. Even though you have demanding jobs, you could not feel luckier to be married to a man like Chris and you couldn’t wait to go back home to him. 

[staticscreenwriting]

All you have to be is here - Part 11

Synopsis: Billy has fucked up and has to do 60 days of community service at a home for troubled kids and youth. Working with the kids there makes him learn a lot about himself. Also there’s a girl there his age who has a phenomenal smile and who is way too nice to him.

I guess I should mention there’s a lot of angst in this. Talk of substance abuse later on, physical abuse, emotional abuse. All that kind of gnarly real life stuff. It deals with kids and teens struggling with a a shitty family life so be aware of that.

Part 11 of ?

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 //

Please help a girl out by reblogging. Thank you ♥

Attention ! If you wanna be tagged pls send me a message or an ask it’s easier and faster for me than going through the tags of each part every time. Thank you :)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

I never really ever felt so adored before Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable Don’t have to hide, don’t have to fear All you have to be is here Never really ever felt so adored before And I said I wanna feel like this forever Even if forever’s just for now We’re on fire, let us burn As the outside world, it turns We are here and alive In our corner of time Forevermore

“ I’m excited”  Billy admits, as his eyes wander around the room trying to focus on anything but the words that have just left his mouth. It’s a weird situation, talking about his feelings to someone who’s basically a stranger. It starts to feel good though, right.

“ I don’t think I’ve been this excited in a long time. It’s uh — it feels good. “ 

Dr. K moves his glasses up his nose and looks at Billy in a way that feels familiar, comfortable. Sure, Billy is well aware that Dr. K gets paid to listen to him, but yet it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he actually cares and that makes one hell of a difference.

“ Yeah ? That’s good. Why do you think that is ? What makes you so excited about this ? “ 

He’s been asking himself this question ever since he first caught himself smiling at the thought of going back to California. Honestly, there’s no one answer to this. No answer that would put it all into words properly. 

“ Honestly ? “ 

“ Please. “ 

“ I don’t know. I mean, it’s home and I’m excited to go back. I have happy memories there, you know ? That’s a place I used to be happy. The idea of taking (Y/N) there makes me excited. It’s like bringing the two things together that mean something to me. “

Again, doctor K smiles. It’s one of those warm, understanding smiles that let you know your rambling makes sense even when it doesn’t feel like it. 

“ What about your mom ? “ Dr. K asks, “ have you decided whether or not you want to go see her ? “ 

“ I mean, that’s the best case scenario. I want to I just — it scares me. “ 

“ What about it scares you ? “ 

Billy bites his lip in uncertainty “ Look, from the moment she left I’ve been wondering why. Coming up with reasons and scenarios and what-ifs. Why did she leave ? What will happen if we ever meet again ? I came up with so many different ideas of how that could go. I’m scared it’s gonna be the bad scenarios that will end up coming true. Like, at this point I can still make myself believe in whatever I want to. Once I go see her and know the truth, I’ll have to live with it. Whether I like the outcome or not. “ 

“ Closure is good, Billy. I know it can be scary and that it might hurt to face an uncomfortable truth. But closure is good. It helps us leave behind the past and move onto a future free from the weight of it all. I think what you’re doing is the right thing. “ 

It feels good to hear those words, to have someone validate his choices. Someone who cares. Someone whose opinion Billy cares about. 

“ You think ? “ 

Dr. K nods. “ Listen, Billy. I know you still have a hard time opening up to me and that’s completely fine. I just want you to know that I see the effort you put into making a positive change for yourself. I am proud of you, Billy. While you’re away, I want you to remember this and if there’s ever a situation that you feel overwhelms you. When you just need someone to talk to, please do not hesitate to contact me. “ 

“ You sure they’re paying you enough for that ? “ Billy jokes, but really it’s just a way to not let on how much those words affect him. “ Call me if you need me” is not something he’s heard often in his life.

“ Contrary to what you believe I didn’t choose this career for the financial aspects of it. I care about everyone who comes to me for help. I think asking for help and accepting it, takes a great deal of bravery. Just call me if you need help, okay ? “ 

Billy nodds “ yeah, okay. “ and then adds a very quiet “thanks. “

Dr. K is right, accepting help is terrifying and takes a great deal of effort from Billy. But maybe, Billy thinks, maybe sometimes it’s worth it in the end.

                          It’s rainy and gloomy and gray as Billy steps out of the door of the therapist's office and into the chilly Hawkins’ air. 

God, Billy can not wait to get away from here. To get back into the warmth and feel the California sun burning on his skin. There’s nothing quite like it. Hawkins’ summers can’t compare. They don’t even come close to it. 

California sun comes with a warmth that seeps right into your bones, your veins, your heart. It gives you a warmth like nothing else does. And maybe, Billy thinks, maybe his memories of the sun are tainted by childhood nostalgia and images of a part where happy moments came plenty. But whatever it is, he doesn't really care. California sun is magical and he can’t wait to share it with his own personal ray of sunshine. 

When his eyes fall onto the figure leaning against the Camaro, her bright pink uniform shining through the gray like a beacon of light and hope and joy, Billy thinks it’s like god or whatever higher power people chose to believe in, has heard his thoughts just then. 

(Y/N) looks gorgeous, hair messy and apron hanging slightly lopsided around her waist. Billy’s very own denim jacket wrapped around her shoulders like a shield from the slowly approaching winds of an ever looming fall. 

She’s here and, like every time he catches sight if her, his heart does a little jump. He hopes this feeling never goes away. That she will always be able to make his heart beat faster and his fingertips tingle, just by being there. He hopes he makes her feel this way too. Forever.

Jeez, we’re thinking about forever now, huh ? 

It’s scary. So scary.

But oh so exciting.

She’s here but she’s not supposed to be. Not yet. She’s supposed to be at work. Billy’s supposed to pick her up. He’s supposed to come by a bit early and eat a piece of that delicious cherry pie they sell at the diner. Her cherry pie. Despite being a horrible cook, she’s actually quite the decent baker. Her pies are phenomenal.

As he gets closer he can make out the red hue around her eyes, the wet stains on her cheeks, can hear the sniffles.

“ Hey you. “ she says and manages to conjure up a tiny smile. It’s not reaching her eyes, not even close. Billy can tell it takes effort. He never wants her to have to put effort into her smiles. They should come naturally. He wants to put them on her face every single moment he possibly can. 

“ Hey. What’s up with you ? “ 

“ Nothing. “ 

“ Yeah okay, try again. I can see you’ve been crying. “ 

For a moment she just looks at Billy with her big, sad eyes. He’s never really cared about another person’s emotions. Except for maybe his mom’s but that was a long time ago. Seeing (Y/N) sad, hurting, it makes his heart construct in painful ways right inside his chest. 

If only he could take it all from her and put it on himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“ Can we just drive around for a bit. I need to calm down before I tell you. “ 

“ Sure.” Billy agrees then reaches out to hold her in place as she turns to get into the car “ Hey. Sad girl. Whatever it is, It’ll be alright. I’ll fix it. “ he says then places a soft, gentle kiss on her lips then another on her forehead.

And he means it. He’ll fix this, whatever it is. She’s help him fix so many things about himself without ever giving him the feeling that there was anything to be fixed in the first place. She never makes him feel broken and yet she puts him back together. If he can do even half as much for her he’s good with that. 

Driving around with nowhere to go feels weirdly liberating. Nothing matters then but them and the road and the music softly playing from the car radio. It’s as if for a moment all fears and problems melt away.

Of course life doesn’t stop then but it feels like it. It feels like it all slows down and gives you time to breathe. Time to sort your thoughts. Time to calm down and let life consume you with it’s open roads and beautiful songs and the touch of your lover’s hand on yours.

“ So — “ Billy starts, eyes still fixated on the road. There’s something about car rides that make it easier to have meaningful conversations. He hopes she’s comfortable enough to talk to him now. He wants to give her all the time she needs but it’s hard to sit here and know she’s hurting and not being able to help.

“ I uh — I got fired. “ 

“ Wait, what ? “ 

(Y/N) nods and bites her lower lip in anxiety “ yup. That’s why I was able to come meet you at the doctor’s office. “ 

“ Why the fuck would they fire you ? “ 

It makes no sense in Billy’s mind, why they would ever fire her. She’s dedicated and sweet and way too kind to more of the assholes coming by the diner.

“ Well, apparently asking for a day off on your birthday is reason enough to kick someone out. “ 

“ That’s bullshit “ 

“ Mmmh. The diner also belongs to Keith’s parents so — “ 

“ Ah fuck those guys. The Kinsellas are a bunch of assholes. You want me to go punch him in the face ? Because I will, dude’s been begging for it. “ 

(Y/N) places a hand gently on his. Her touch is warm and familiar and comfortable and it’s ridiculous to Billy how she’s the one comforting him. That’s his job right now. 

“ Nope, I don’t want you to do that because you’re already on thin ice with authorities and I can’t have them lock you up. Not before our trip. “

It’s nice to hear her laugh, even if it’s a joke at his expense. If it only makes her laugh she can make fun of him all she wants. 24-7.

“ It just sucks, you know ?! I need to pay rent. I mean I still have some savings that’ll keep me afloat for the next month and pretty sure it’s also enough for our California trip. But after than I’m broke. I need to find a new job asap. Otherwise they’ll make me move back into my grandparents’ place and I’m really not feeling that. I love ‘em but — I just don’t want that. “ 

“ I can throw in some cash. I mean I basically live with you most of the time anyway so — “ 

“ No. Absolutely not. I don’t want you to do that. “ 

The tone in her voice leaves no room to disagree. She means those words down to every letter and syllable. There’s no arguing here because the way her eyes look at him let him know he’s gonna lose anyway.

“ Okay. Okay fine. I’m gonna find a way to fix it though. I promise. “

“ You do that, pretty boy. You always do. “

She says it with a hopeful spark in her words. Like it’s not just something she’s saying to make him drop the topic. She really believes it.

She really believes in him.

“ Hey, how about a little detour ? “ 

“ What are you thinking ? “ (Y/N) asks, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“ Ah you’ll see. We’ll have to stop by a 7/11 on our way though. “

“ The way you’re saying this makes me think we shouldn’t be doing this. “ 

“ Oh babe, you have no idea. “ 

                          “ I can’t believe you’re making me do this “ (Y/N) says, a laugh lacing her words. It’s almost hidden but Billy can just about make it out.

They’re leaning against his camaro, a carton of eggs resting on the roof of the car. Night slowly creeps up on the two as the stand facing the pristine white house of one Jenna Richardson. 

There’s a shiny black porsche parked at the side of the road in front of her driveway. Too shiny. That’s gonna change.

“ I’m not making you do anything, “ Billy starts then takes an egg and places it in (Y/N)’s hand. “ but he deserves this. For cheating on you, for treating you like shit at that party. For making his parents fire you because his ego was cracked. Egg his car, babe. It’s gonna feel so good. “ 

She moves the egg around in her hand for a moment, contemplating her next moves. If there’s something Billy knows for sure, it’s that sometimes you need to break things, or at least mess them up a little, to calm your anger and frustrations.

(Y/N) glances up at him, before a smirk spreads on her lips. “ You really think I should do this ? “

“ Babe. Keith’s in there probably giving unsatisfactory head to a girl he cheated on you with just a few hours after his parents fired you. If anyone deserves to get their car egged it’s him. “ 

“ As if Keith goes down on a girl. “ 

“ No ? “ 

“ No. Told you, you were the first. But damn right he deserves those eggs “ and with that she throws the first one, watching it shatter against the car with a satisfying smash. The yolk and egg white drip down the side and it’s quite disgusting. (Y/N) loves it.

“ This feels good. “ 

“ Right ? I told you. “ 

They proceed to throw more eggs and in the matter of minutes the whole car is covered. Just how Billy has envisioned it. Just how Keith deserves. 

“ Hey, Billy. Guess what we are now ? “ (Y/N) asks between her laughs.

“ What are we ? “ 

“ Partners in crime “ 

Her joke isn’t half as funny as she makes it out to be but he’ll keep that to himself. Hearing her laugh is worth listening to all the horrible jokes.

“ Alright, little criminal. Let me take you home. You need to pack. “ 

“ That’s right. Pack for California. “ 

God, he can’t wait to take his girl to experience a California sunrise. 

                          Billy genuinely considers throwing himself out the dining room window that evening as they all sit down for dinner. It’s Susan’s birthday and Susan’s birthday is always an awkward affair. 

(Y/N) is at her place, packing her suitcase and probably singing along to the radio. What Billy wouldn’t give to be there with her right now.

Instead he’s sitting by the dining room table, dry meatloaf on his plate. While Neil pretends to be so deeply in love with this woman, showering her in compliments and gifts. Billy wants to throw up at the sheer hypocrisy of it all. As if they hadn’t spent the whole of yesterday yelling at each other.

Moments like these are what Billy hates the most. They’re so goddamn fake and it makes no sense. All the people sitting around the dinner table know the truth. They’re living it every single day. Where’s the need to pretend ? They all share the burden of knowing the truth. Knowing that gifts and compliments aren’t a usual part of the Hargrove-Mayfield household.

Max sends him a look over the edge of her mug. There’s no words needed. It’s a silent understanding. A quiet reassurance that she too is pissed off at this situation. He almost smiles at that. Almost.

Billy lets the conversation move along, only listening with one ear. He’s no active part of this family and there’s no reasons to get involved in any dialogue here. He does listen though, he always does.

Listening is mandatory in a household where everything that you don’t hear can be used against you in painful ways. So you listen and you absorb and at night you try to filter out the important information and hope for the best.

His ears only perk up when Susan places a small cheesecake on the table and starts talking about the specific bakery she’s got it from. It belongs to one of her friends and it’s new in town. An inheritance of sorts. 

“ Can you believe she did this all on her own ? “ Susan asks a very uninterested Neil “ she really needs to hire some more employees. “ 

Neil sends her a fake smile her way, nods, then goes back to his food and his newspapers. It’s a rinse and repeat kind of ordeal. He doesn’t give a shit about anything Susan says. Sometimes Billy wonders why the two of them got married in the first place. There’s never really been any love and all the empty compliments and gifts that he shoves at her this one day in a year surely can’t be enough to make up for how he treats her the rest of the year.

No, Neil doesn’t care. Billy does though. Not because he particularly gives a shit about what Susan has to say. But this one specific information could be just the thing he needs to fix things for (Y/N). 

So he waits. Max is the first to finish dinner and leave the table, she throws him a confused glance as she passes him. Usually Billy gulps down his food and leaves as soon as he possibly can. Every moment spent with this fake image of what a family is supposed to be, sickens him. Today he’s got ulterior motives though. Motives so important he even asks for another serving of dry meatloaf in order to gain some time.

It’s 20 minutes later that Neil finally drops his fork onto the plate with a loud clunk and moves from the dining room towards the living room in big thundering steps. There’s a certain aura about his dad, Billy thinks, it’s been there ever since he can remember. He’s not excessively tall or burly but there’s something about him that demands respect. He’s mean and he doesn’t leave any doubts about it. 

Billy’s always felt this way about his dad. He knows that isn’t how it should be but it is and he’s come to terms with it a while ago.

“ Hey, Susan ? “ Billy asks as she hurries around the kitchen collecting the dishes. It’s then Billy realizes that Neil never puts his plates in the sink. Never. And, until recently, Billy didn’t either. Living with (Y/N) has changed him. It’s little things she expects from him that seep into his everyday life. He cleans up his messes. People should just clean up their own fucking messes.

“ I uh — yes, Billy ? “ 

Susan regards him with this look in her eyes that makes a jolt surge through his system right to his bones. It shivers him because he’s seen it so many times only it’s usually when she looks at Neil. It’s laced with fear. The fear of doing something wrong. Of messing up. Of having to face the consequences.

Susan is scared of him and he hates this. Sure he’s been mean to her before and obviously she’s not his favorite person. That doesn’t mean he wants her to fear him. He’s not his father and he never ever wants anyone to mistake him for being even slightly similar to Neil. Especially not someone who has to suffer under the aforementioned.

“ Um, well. Earlier when you talked about your friend at the bakery looking for people to hire, did you mean that or was it just a — “ 

“ You listened ! “ It’s not accusatory but it’s something. Surprise mostly. Shock. Gratitude.

“ Uh yeah. “

I always listen. He wants to say. He doesn’t though. That only asks for unnecessary conversation he doesn't want to have. Not with Susan at least.

“ Well, yes. She’s looking for help. Why ? Did you get fired ? “ 

He wants to be angry, his entire system tells him to be. Of course that’s where her thoughts go immediately. Billy fucked up again. Billy’s got fired. 

He wants to be angry but really, he’s so used to it by now. He just takes it and moves on. What the hell does Susan know anyway.

“ No. My friend (Y/N) did. She’s been working at a diner for quite a long time but it belongs to her ex boyfriends parents and he’s an asshole and so are his parents so they kicked her out and I — I kinda feel like it’s because they don’t like the fact that she’s my — friend. So I feel responsible and I was thinking since your friend needs someone and (Y/N) needs a job maybe you could, I don’t know, put in a good word. She’s sweet and dedicated and she makes great pies. “ 

Susan says nothing for a while, just looks at him as if trying to find something in his face, his eyes. She seems to find it eventually because a smile pulls at the corner of her lips. It would seem almost motherly if it didn’t come from Susan.

“ Of course I can do that. Of course. (Y/N), she’s the girl you’re going to California with. Right ? “ 

It should come as no surprise to Billy, the fact that Susan listens too. In the same way he does. Susan too is caught in a house where everything and anything can be used against you. Where listening is essential to your survival. 

“ Yeah, she is. She’s uh — she’s my girlfriend. “ 

“ That’s wonderful. Look, Billy. I know that your dad isn’t convinced about you going to see your mom but I think it’s a good idea. I think it’s something you should be doing for yourself. “ 

It’s nice. The sentiment. In fact, it’s good to know someone in this house is on his side in this debate. The fact is though, that Susan would never repeat those words in Neil’s presence. Never. She’s got the backbone of a jellyfish.

“ Thanks, Susan. “ 

“ I’ll talk to Colette first thing in the morning. If (Y/N) is as sweet and dedicated as you say, I don’t think there’s any reason not to hire her. “ 

That’s all he wants really. He can just imagine his girl in a cute little apron, making pies and serving coffee. Can imagine cuddling into her after they’re both home from work and burying his face into her hair that smells like freshly baked bread and warmth.

It’s a stupid little fantasy but it’s so dometic and homely and it’s all he wants, really. 

“ I appreciate it. “ 

He really does. Susan has no reason to help him, to help (Y/N). She does anyway. And if it is because she actually cares or because it’s a way for her to try and easy her guilty conscience, it doesn’t matter in this moment. 

Billy takes a can of beer from the fridge and is about to move towards his room, when Susan speaks up again.

“ Billy. I’m glad you came to me about this. I — I want us to be able to talk about stuff. I want to to confide in me. To trust me. We’re family. “ 

He doesn’t trust her. He will never fully trust her. Not even if she’s part of his family. Family don’t mean shit in this household anyway, does it ?! Billy will never truly trust this woman, no matter how nice she’s being right now. This is the same woman that stands by and watches when Neil unleashes his wrath on Billy. The same woman putting up with it every day. The same woman who knowingly and willingly brought her own daughter into this environment. 

He doesn’t say any of this though, just nods and moves on. He thinks she knows it anyway.

                          Through the windows of the bakery, a golden glow shines  out into the dark Hawins’ evening. There’s a window decal telling people that this is Colette’s bakery and it’s selling homemade baked goods. 

Billy catches a glimpse of (Y/N) standing behind the counter, slightly swaying to the music that is undoubtedly playing in the background. There’s a smile on her face. One of those rare, unbothered smiles that come when she’s effortlessly happy. He’s glad to see her smile again. Glad to know her first day here is going well.

As he enters the shop, the smell of pies and cakes and warm croissants hit him. It smells homely and comfortable and he can’t wait to try a piece of cherry pie. 

“ Hey baby. Come sit down, I’m about to close the shop for tonight. Let me give you a piece of pie real quick. “ 

She serves him with a smile, wipes the counters with a smile. It’s like it’s permanently etched there. Billy almost forgets to eat, he’s that transfixed by her. Just her. (Y/N) being her normal happy self. 

Other people’s happiness is not something Billy cared about before he met (Y/N). But the world has shifted in weird un inexplicable ways. Maybe sometimes it just takes the right person to make a change in you. To make you want to change.

“ Hey, pretty boy ? “ (Y/N) approaches him after locking the front door, and softly takes his face in between her hands.

“ Hmm ? “ 

“ Thank you. For finding me this job. I have so much fun here. I genuinely love it. “ 

“ I’m glad you do. “ 

“ No, Billy. I don’t think you are aware just how thankful I am. If I didn’t get this job, the California trip really would’ve been on thin ice for me. I wasn’t sure I could actually afford to go. Now I definitely can. I am so excited. I can not wait. I can’t wait to see you happy. “ 

He doesn’t say the words out loud, mainly because it’s hard for him to admit it even to himself. But in order to be happy, Billy doesn’t need California anymore. All he needs is her.

That night he stays at her place and he cuddles into her on the couch and buries his face in her hair. She smells like freshly baked bread and warmth. And for the first time in his entire life, Billy thinks that if his forever looks like this very moment, he’s one happy guy.

                          taglist:

@babygal-babygal / @anxiousamandapanda / @imjusthereforsupernatural / @chhhcherybomb / @tomarisela / @noodlenerd101 / @xxcxrolinexx / @bippity-boppity-boopa / @mcrmarvelloki / @silver-winter-wolf / @thecrowclubsmanager / @theroyalbrownbarbie / @salemlysi / @asheseiler / @stra-vage/ @ssstutteringbbbill / @biliyonce / @addictofsupernatural / @angelophany / @charmed-asylum / @xxemoluverxx / @killer-queen-xo / @1lluminaticonfirmed / @rebel-broken-angel / @ayybtch / @dean-jace-doctor / @sarai-ibn-la-ahad / @amesishappy

[deepdisireslonging]

Last of the Season

Sam drags Team Free Will to a farmer’s market. The reader finds a way to keep Dean from complaining the whole day, teasing him until she gets rewarded for it.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings/Promises: smutty food puns, SMUT, oral (female receiving), another bad vegetable reference, implied further smut

Word Count: 1509

Note: I wrote a fall aesthetic fic earlier and felt like doing another… with a smutty twist. I hope you guys like it. Comments and reblogs super appreciated. Enjoy!

Dean was grumbling before he pulled into the parking lot. Not only had Sam made everyone come out for some fresh air (“We’re all going stir crazy, Dean! Come on.”) but Dean had to drive too. That was partially his fault. “Keep your grubby-organic hands off my steering wheel,” is what you’re pretty sure you heard.

You, on the other hand, were almost as excited as Sam. It was getting to be the best part of the year for autumn produce. Cute pumpkins, cider, blackberries, apples, and the last of the summer delights. As much as you wanted to keep stride with Sam, you hung back with Dean. An idea had been brewing in your mind on the way over. And there was no way in heaven, hell, or purgatory that Dean wasn’t going to enjoy it. Or eventually take it further.

“Why are we here again?” Dean asked for the dozenth time.

“Because you were grumpy and dragging us all down with you.” You linked your arm with his. “Not everything in the world has to be for you, ya know.” With a smile, you bumped your body against his.

The frown dispersed a little. Not by much, but a little.

Up ahead there was another vegetable stand. One of dozens. But the purple plant on the front table caught your eye.

Time to enact your plan.

Pacing ahead, you went straight for it. “How much are the eggplants?” As the woman told you the amount, you weighed the plant in your hand. It had a healthy heft. Nice natural curve. And with the way you eyed Dean, he knew you were up to something. “I’ll take this one. Thank you.”

He caught up within a few steps. “Y/N-“

“Hmm…”

“What are you doing?”

“Making the day interesting.” You stood on your tiptoes so you could whisper in his ear. “I’m pretty sure you’re grumpy because you’re horny. Why not put your patience to the test.” Before he could grab for you, you’d passed him the bag and were headed down the row.

Again you easily outpaced him. Between a stand of squashes and a rare berries-only set-up, you saw a delectable array of fruit. Several caught your eye. One, in particular, would work perfectly with your plan. You’d save it for last. To keep Dean from seeing them, you loaded up his arms with apples.

He held onto them. Confused, his eyes flitted between the fruit and your chest. “Am I supposed to be comparing them to… something?”

“Head out of the gutter, dear. No. I was considering making you a pie, but if you’re not interested-“

Several more apples joined your selection. He paid for them himself. Then he almost dropped the bag as you held two plums in the palm of your hand. They bobbled between your fingers. Something in his throat constricted. The movements he was seeing looked familiar. Like something he was used to feeling lower on his body- Dean shuffled. It was difficult to adjust with two hands full of fruit.

You gave them to the man to add to your sale. A small gasp passed your lips. “Those look good.”

The farmer looked over the booth and smiled. “Ah, yes. Just picked them yesterday. Kind of sad lookin’, this late in the season. But sweet as can be. You can have one if you’d like.”

Eagerly you picked the reddest cherry you could see. You closed your mouth over it, stem and all. How did that trick go again?

Dean nearly dropped the bags. The concentration on your face could only mean one trick. And he personally knew what your mouth could do once you’d set your mind to a goal. He puffed out a strangled breath as you triumphantly pulled out the stem. It had a perfect knot in the center.

“That was good. I’ll take whatever two dollars can get me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He started bagging the cherries, mumbling to himself. “Haven’t seen that in years.”

At the far end of the booth was one basket of bright fuzzy fruit. You brought a peach close to your nose and inhaled its sweet scent. Such a small selection could only mean they were the last of the season. And hard to find in this climate. There were only about a dozen or so left. Mentally you calculated how many you’d need for the team.

“How many of those, ma’am?”

“Just two,” Dean said, coming up behind you.

“But what about Sam-“

“Sam can get his own peaches,” he growled into the spot behind your ear.

Mission accomplished.

“Pay the man so I can take you home.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

Luckily Sam and Cas were done just as you’d made it back to the Impala, or they would have been walking home. They had to unpack the load themselves. Dean dragged you out of your seat before the there’d been a chance to beg otherwise.

He pinned you to the inside of his door, fumbling with the lock until it clicked, and then fumbling with your clothes until there wasn’t a stitch on your body.

“Do you know what you do to me, woman?” He nipped at the underside of your jaw, making you gasp. “That was quite the tease today. If I had any idea what you could suggest with a bunch of produce, I might have come along sooner.”

You giggled. “Just be glad they didn’t have pineapple. Then I’d have been too sweet to handle.” With a squeal, you fell on the bed as Dean spun you around.

“Never. You’re never too much for me. Now the other way around-“ Dean pulled you to the end of the bed and kneeled. You could only see the top half of his face over the top f your body. Those green eyes glowed with wild-like hunger. “Let me know if I become too much for you.”

As much as you wanted to poke “unlikely” at him, you were soon too busy fisting the sheets to sass back. You clamped your hand over your mouth. By now, Sam and Cas had to be done with the food. And there was a risk they could hear you. A sharp nip to the inside of your thigh changed your mind.

“Nah-ah, sweetheart. I don’t care if all of Kansas can hear you. You know what to do.” He groaned as you fisted your hand in his hair instead.

The obscene sounds that came from between your legs made you quake. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Dean was ravenous for you every hour of the day. He made good on that lust by devouring your peach like it was the last time he’d ever taste it. Wrecked, you bucked towards his face. Dean let you, only pinning you down when he realized you were getting close.

Whimpers, soft cries, loud shouts of his name, you gave it all. Then he clamped one arm down over your stomach. And he added slow curling fingers to his feasting. Your body dripped for him. He lapped and sucked up every drop loudly.

“So good, Dean. Please… so close-“

“Love tasting you like this sweetheart,” he replied while you writhed. “I might do this all night. Keep going until you can’t stand tomorrow. Then fuck you hard on my cock.”

You moaned loudly. Weakly, you tried to fight against the arm across your body.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? Drenching my face until you can’t see straight.” He sucked hard on your clit, almost making you cum right then. “Or would you like cumming on my cock more? How hard do you think you made me, baby, and the market today? Hmm? Cucumbers to eggplants, how much?”

“Dean!” You laughed. Nothing like a vegetable reference to kill the mood. You swatted at the back of his head as he chuckled into your heat. “Don’t do that. I was so close.”

He crawled up your body just long enough to give you a searing kiss. “Sorry, baby. Had to get my revenge for that cherry trick somehow. I think we’re even now.” He sucked your nipples between his teeth before settling back between your legs.

The edge hadn’t disappeared. It had been waiting. Waiting for Dean to add another finger to the working your slit. And for him to work his tongue faster over your clit. Your toes cramped and seized as you called out his name. It sounded hoarse in the air, but that only sent him further into turning your bones to jello. The wave hit. Desperately you clawed at the sheets and his hand and the back of his head. Dean kept going. He kept going until your whimpers had mangled into whispers and your eyes were crossed under your eyelids. The world was fuzzy around the edges.

Dean’s warm body slid alongside yours on the bed. He placed sticky, sloppy kisses over your collarbone. Up your neck. Over your breasts.

“Still with me?”

“Mhmm. Still hungry?”

“For you? Always. Want my cock now?”

“Yes, please.”

*****

Masterlist

Forever Tags: @blondekel77​ @chwehansol98​ @desstehhnee​  @hallemichelles @laochbaineann​ @ramblingsofabourbondrinker​ @savmontreal​ @shieldgirl18 @southsidebucky​ @tinyelfperson​

Supernatural Tags: @emoryhemsworth​ @quixoticcat​ @smandrews3​  @supernatural-jackles​ @tamtamlov​ @vvinch3st3r​

Dean Tags: @19mmallory​ @akshi8278​ @ashmonet​ @bits-n-bowz​  @bringmesomepie56​ @castielsbecky​ @cookie-dough-lova​ @dancingalone21​  @eve05glee  @gabbyrogers094​ @idontknow-canyou​ @its--killing--me​ @juanitadiann​  @justtryingtogosomewhere @kaemarie23​ @kittenofdoomage​  @lauriz67​  @mein1928 @millie67​ @mylostsoul28​  @mysteriouslyme81 @peaceloveandplumbots​  @sassy-losechester​ @sissysalvatore​ @supernatural-jackles-reads​ @theriumking​ @uzum4k1-uch1h4​  @vutdidyousay​ @windeango67​

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts] Write What You Know

Summary: In which Xion tries to find writing inspiration from around Twilight Town. [sequel-ish to I Won't (Let Her) Be Forgotten][oneshot][post KH3]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,605 words

If you like this story, please give it a reblog or donate to my ko-fi!

- - -

"Xion, these are great!"

Xion could face heat up as she started to blush. "You're just saying that." she told Olette, sounding just as embarrassed as she looked. But Olette adamantly shook her head.

"I'm serious." she assured her friend. "You have some serious talent for this stuff."

"She's not wrong," Roxas added in, "And it's great seeing you smile while you write too! When you get into this serious groove, it's like you're in this really weird trance- but when you come out, you've written down this awesome story!"

Well, if the blush on her face wasn't evident yet, it was now. Xion even had to look away from her first friend. Of anyone, Roxas was the most excited that Xion liked writing. He never really said why, but Xion had a good feeling on the reason; they had both started their life as Nobodies. Almost in every sense of the word, really. Xion finding that she liked and was good at writing was her first branch of becoming Somebody.

Almost four months ago, Xion decided to become a writer. Nothing special, of course, just as a little thing to do in her spare time. Today was the first day she was letting her friends read through what she had written so far. None of her little stories really connected to each other; at first, she was writing from experience, using an author avatar to mask that it was truly her. But then she started to experiment a bit more. Sometimes her avatar knew more than Xion did. Other times she had someone else in story teach her avatar something Xion knew quite a bit about.

A lot of the time, Xion felt embarrassed by her avatar. She was almost too idyllic. But a part of her really... enjoyed that perfect version. A world where no one was really hurt, or was lost, or forgotten. Especially not forgotten.

"You should absolutely look into joining the school paper." Pence even encouraged. "One of the main column writers graduated last year- your stories about Ebba would be a great replacement."

Now her ears were starting to glow a bright red as well. "N-no... I don't think I should..."

But that was when Olette and Roxas started to eagerly agree with the idea. Hayner was the one who silenced them with a small, disapproving scoff.

"Well, I don't like them." he told them all. "There's no way a girl can do all of that stuff on her own. It's totally unrealistic."

"What are you talking about?" Roxas then wondered with a defensive raise of his eyebrow. "I've seen Xion do all of that stuff, and more."

"Besides, no one asked you." Olette agreed before chucking a pebble at Hayner's face. The boy was just barely able to protect his face from the attack. The pebble bounced off his arms and down to the ground below. A faint reminder -if any- of the danger in sitting so high up on the Central Station clock tower.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" Hayner whined. "That's a long way down, you know!"

"Then you better stop being mean to Xion." Olette informed him with a grin.

"I don't have to take this." came the return huff. Hayner carefully started to get up and crossed his arms in defiance. "I'm going home. Maybe in my absence you'll learn to stop bullying me when I'm only joking."

"We should all get ready to leave, actually." Pence decided as he got up as well. "It's getting close to dinner."

At the agreed nods from Olette and Roxas, the four of them started to make their leave. But Xion wasn't ready to leave yet.

"Are you coming back with us?" Roxas asked her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and giving a wide smile.

"Not yet." she told him- meeting his grin with one of her own. "I wanted to write a bit more before heading back. It can get pretty loud with Isa and Lea when they're arguing about chores. I don't think Lea's done the dishes in a full week."

To this, Roxas laughed. "Fair enough." he agreed. "See you at dinner then!"

Xion smiled and waved him goodbye. Alone at last, Xion opened up her notebook. She reread a lot of what she had written down earlier. A smile crossed her lips as a sense of pride welled in her chest. It felt so great being able to create something that didn't exist before. Over time, she had developed bits and pieces of her author avatar, Ebba, that both reflected and deviated from herself. Now came time to do so again. But what was she going to write?

As she lightly brushed the end of her feather pen against her lips, Xion gave a thoughtful hum. Maybe this time she'd have Ebba on the clock tower as well? Yes, that sounded like a great idea. Write what you know was such a common writing suggestion, after all, and what did Xion know better than sitting here?

. . .

The breeze coming up the clock tower lightly tousled the bangs of Ebba's short black hair as the sun set in Twilight Town. The rest of her hair was pulled into two low pigtails that also danced a little in the wind. Ebba trained her blue eyes over the view from the train station with a curious tilt of her head. She wondered how many people were out there in this world she had decided to call home. A hundred? Maybe thousands? They surely didn't have the start on life that she had, that's for sure. Ebba's early life started without free will. For the longest time, she didn't make many of the choices that she thought were her own. But not any more.

For as long as Ebba had a free will of her own, she had decided that everyone deserved a second chance. Where would she had been without the second chance she was given? Today she was going to make it her mission to give him a second chance. Who was he, you may ask? Well, Ebba wasn't sure yet. Her contact had given so little description of her target that they might as well have said she was going to fight the air. Wouldn't have been the first time.

Regardless of who her target was for this mission, she was going to find them. If at all possible she was going to talk to them too. Ebba had seen enough violence and sadness to last a lifetime- it wasn't going to happen again for as long as she could breathe. But it still led the question; where was she going to start first?

. . .

Okay, so that last sentence was more to Xion than to her personification. Where was she going to take Ebba this time? The girl lulled her head from side to side in thought. But then she had it. Xion quickly put her notebook and pen away and started to hurry off of the clock tower. Once she took a back exit out of the train station, she made an immediate right to head into the underground concourse. Xion walked around for a bit- mostly to make sure no one else was there, and to also see if this was where she wanted to take Ebba.

A grin etched itself onto Xion's face. Yes, this place would do. She could see the scene play out before her with pinpoint accuracy too.

. . .

Someone had blown Ebba's cover. Getting into the concourse had been easy- but it had been too quiet for Ebba's liking. Someone knew she was coming. That someone also sent some creature after her as well. This creature looked a lot like a dragon with mostly dark red scales. Ebba barely had time to completely note its three toed feet, poised with deadly talons, and its wings that looked tattered the closer you got to the ends.

It had taken Ebba quite a bit of effort to distance herself from this creature in this rather cramped space. She found refuge behind one of the many pillars stabilizing the concourse. The young woman steeled herself, preparing her weapon to fight back, before leaning over the side of the pillar to aim and take the shot.

. . .

Wait. Was it even possible for someone to move that way? Curious, Xion got up and walked over to the pillar she had Ebba at in her story. She pressed her back against its cool stone, sighing a little as she moved her pen in her hand so it was roughly in the same position as a gun. Xion held the pen up near her face, then turned her body to lean over the side of the pillar. Her arm was outstretched- the fuzzy end of the pen faced toward where the enemy in story would be standing. Xion pumped her arm as if she had taken a shot.

"Pow." she mumbled under her breath. Xion unceremoniously dropped her arm after this. She looked down at her pen before giving it an amused half smile. The thing was so ridiculous, Xion wondered that if it was a weapon, it's accompanying sound would have been 'chu' not 'pow.' Too bad Ebba was more of a spy in this story, not a magical girl. Xion gave herself a bemused little chuckle before pressing her back against the pillar once more to sit and write again.

. . .

Sweat was starting to beat down on Ebba's brow. This enemy was a tougher one. It couldn't be reasoned with, and it surely wasn't going to listen, so she had no choice but to take it down. When she succeeded, the wyvern gave a departing screech before bursting into nothing more than smoke. Ebba noticed that a large, glowing heart came out from the creature at about the same time- the heart hovered for a moment before floating higher up into the air. She lost track of it when it phased through the ceiling, but she knew where it was going.

Ebba dusted herself off a bit before heading out of the concourse. Her work here was done. She was no closer to finding out what her real target was, however. This was going to take some time.

. . .

Heading home sounded rather tempting now. Xion wanted to add one more scene before retiring for the day, though. Where would she do it? She wondered rather aimlessly around Twilight Town as she thought it over. Where else did she want Ebba to go? The sandlot, while wide enough in area for a good fight or two, didn't seem like the place for a secret rendezvous. Le Grand Bistrot also seemed like a good place to meet someone, but there would be too many people.

Then the idea clicked. She knew where to go now- she just hoped that it wasn't closed off for the night.

. . .

Ebba took a deep breath in as she leaned over the railings that surrounded Sunset Hill. A train horn snapped her out of her thoughts for only a moment- she waved to it as it went under the tunnel and smiled a bit to herself.

She still had yet to find her target. Every time she thought she had found him, he once more slipped through her fingers like string. He must have known her, or perhaps even following her; they were the only conclusions that made sense. She didn't have to tell her supervisor about this. They were not going to take it very well either.

But then someone said her name. Ebba turned around and was shocked to find a rather handsome man standing there. The two locked gazes, and with a horrible pit in her stomach, Ebba knew that this was her target.

. . .

For a moment, Xion frowned. A handsome guy just waiting there for Ebba? That sounded completely ridiculous, even if he was the villain. It was cliche in and of itself that he was handsome too. Xion grimaced as she scratched out the last paragraph with an extreme prejudice. There was no way on earth that she was going to let her author avatar have a secret infatuation with the villain. No way at all. She decided long ago that Ebba wasn't going to fall in love with any one ever- period.

Flexing her hand a little to ease some of her cramping muscles, Xion started over again.

. . .

She could deal with the loss- for disappointing her supervisors once more. They wouldn't like it, but one some days it just had to be done. She did fear what they would do to her once she got back though. There were rumors in their group that if someone messed up enough, they'd turn them into husks of their former selves. Ebba shuddered at the thought; she had her own free will now, and she was going to keep it, but when her target didn't show up? What else could she do? She could argue about that with her supervisors all she wanted. One of them had to listen to her. At least one.

Ebba's thoughts were broken when she heard the sound of a dog bark next to her. She turned and immediately smiled at what she saw. It was the king's yellow and black dog, Mercury. Ebba greeted the mutt with a grin before bending down to give him a good scratch behind his ears. Mercury was a good old mutt. He liked Ebba too- sometimes finding her when she had once thought herself lost.

Well, even if her mission had been a bust, at least she still had the comfort of a few good friends when she got back. Mercury would put a good woof in for her if her supervisors complained. And if that still didn't satisfy them, then the king himself would have given Ebba a pardon. He may even help her find her target next time, or put them on a special list to keep on eye on. All in all, this hadn't been a bad day. After such a long day, Ebba told Mercury that it was time to go, and so they did.

. . .

Xion held her notebook out as she reviewed her handiwork. She had a rather productive day too, come to think of it. She'd get Ienzo to copy her written words digitally so she could see how much she had written today. By the way her hand hurt, it must have been over 500. Xion once more stretched her hand and wrist muscles before getting off the bench to head on home. Maybe she'd show Roxas what she wrote- Lea and Isa too. Who else could she let read her new short story? Olette, Hayner, and Pence would have to wait until tomorrow. Maybe if she could digitize her work tonight, she could see if Kairi or Namine could get a copy? Would they even like Ebba? Xion couldn't remember if she's actually given them anything about her yet.

She may have to take a day of writing tomorrow though, or maybe just not use her writing hand at all; it really was starting to hurt now that she wasn't concentrating on writing everything. Roxas was right- once she started going, it was hard to stop. She absolutely believed the adage that the pen was mightier than the sword- writing felt more painful after finishing than taking down a Darkside. The only difference was the lack of bruises, really.

Even if Xion didn't write about Ebba tomorrow, she could still daydream about it. A writer never sleeps, after all, and Xion was just getting started.

[siebenschoen]

longing for daylight Ivan x Reader

Ivan sometimes wanders through the manor during the day, you know that by now. Still it never fails to surprise you, when you see him around.

Fair warning: this takes place during Beliath’s route (for extra drama), but the only thing I watched of his new chapter 5 so far is the conversation with Ivan, so spoilers, I guess? And also this is absolutely un-beta-ed. I’ll probably come back soon and correct any mistakes, I’ll find.

Also this whole thing will probably turn out to be incredible ooc, once we know more about Ivan. But we know so little right now and this wouldn’t let me alone, until I wrote it.

reblogs and likes are very much appreciated!

Faint sunbeams fall through the big window and you pry your eyes open to see that last bits of daylight are still desperately clinging on. It’s not night, not yet. But it will be soon, sooner than you would like.

Your body and mind are a mess, confused by the sudden changes from night to day and day to night. They feel the same to you. Sometimes you will wake at the break of dawn, to see the sun rise over the forest in lovely, pastel colours. Sometimes it will be midday with brilliant blue skies or evenings with clouds painted in orange and red. At other times it will be night and then you can sometimes hear the others moving through the manor.

Vampires are unnaturally silent in their movement, but you are able to pick out one or two signs to show that you are not alone (no matter how empty this manor feels) - a swishing curtain, the air moving with a body that had been there just a second ago…

But for now, it’s still day. Still time to roam the halls, that rightfully belong to you, in peace and quite. If you’re fast enough, you might even be able to sneak back up to your room before night time falls and force yourself back to sleep, before the first vampire wakes - before Beliath wakes.

You slip into your dress, which is beginning to look worn. You didn’t bring much with you from the orphanage. And clothes have been the least of your worries for the past few months, but maybe… maybe you will be able to go back to villages tomorrow. Beliath’s powers have never stopped you from going there before and you do not plan on making a run for it. Blindly running away will not work, you have figured that much out by now.

With a sigh you let yourself out of the Rose Room - it is still strange, to think of it as your room - and into the hallway. You think about getting yourself something to eat from the kitchen, when you are able to make out a hodded figure at the bottom of the stairs. Your breath hitches, before you remember, Ivan.

You have met him once before during daylight and kept his secret like he asked. It is weird to think about it. A vampire out and about during the day, still clinging to everything that had made him human once. But it also helps to take away the shudder that used to go through you, everytime you so much as looked in his direction.

It did nothing to change the fact that he was the one responsible for your situation, but knowing that he as well is stuck in a similar situation, helps to ease your bitterness. He is miserable and so young compared to the others - you can’t help but feel for him.

“Ivan”, you call after him and he spins around, surprised. The others would have heard you coming as soon as you left your room. Even Ivan should have. You never managed to catch one of them by surprise before. “You did not notice me”, you say as you walk down the stairs. Tone light, teasing.

Ivan seems to shrink back into his hood. His pale face hidden in the shadows. No daylight falls into the entrance hall - all the curtains have been carefully drawn close -, but still he hids himself. Well, better safe then sorry, you guess. Or maybe he was outside. But this whole hood situation doesn’t exactly make him blend in… anywhere, really, surely it is much easier to spot him this wa- “I told you.” Ivan shrugs, but it’s too forced to seem natural. “Our powers are weaker during the day.”

“Oh… yeah…”, you mumble. It’s not that you completely forgot, in fact you had stored that information away quite nicely, hoping to might get some use out of it. But it’s still weird to think of a vampire as anything but an all-defeating force, that could overpower you in an instance.

You walk past Ivan at the bottom of the staircase, when you come to an abrupt halt. You don’t know what to say to him, but it feels wrong to just leave him there. He looks lonely.

He’s a monster!, a voice, at the back of your head, screams. A monster that can’t control himself! You know that, of course you do. But it’s hard to connect that to the man - no, boy, really - standing in front of you. Maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but he seems younger in daylight. Thin, almost fragile, with dark circles under his eyes.

You’re being naive, probably. And this might be a huge mistake, but you feel like you might understand him - freshly turned, overwhelmed with everything and everyone - and he might understand you.

“I wanted to go to the kitchen.”, you say, before the rational part of your brain, can catch up with you. The statement hangs loosely, awkwardly in the air. “To get something to eat, I mean.”, you add quickly and then cringe inwardly. This might not be the best topic to breech, considering you are what Ivan would consider something to eat.

You take a deep breath and steady yourself. “What I’m trying to say is, that I wouldn’t mind company, if you would like to come along.”

Ivan looks confused for a moment, before he slowly nods and follows you into the kitchen.

Ever since  you had to realize that your living situation in the manor might be more permanent than you would like it to be, you had put some effort into cleaning the abondend kitchen. Your life is not the best at the moment, but you still refuse to eat something that has been prepared on a surface covered in layers of dust. As you scurry through the kitchen, trying to find something edible, Ivan hovers awkwardly next to the door.

You’re sniffing at the bread that you found in the far corner of one of the cupboards, debating if you would survive eating it, when he speaks up. “I didn’t know that we had food down here”, he pauses, “Well, normal food”

“You didn’t. I bought somethings in town.”, you can’t help the dry laugh that escapes your lips, “Beliath tends to keep a loose lash when it comes to things like this.” Ivan scowls, but you ignore him in favour of weighing the bread in your hand, deciding to give it a try. You think there might even be some cheese leftovers still left in the fridge. Old bread and cheese crumbs - a meal worthy of a king. It seems you have to make a quick trip to the town soon anyway.

"You shouldn't talk about him like that.", Ivan looks a bit helpless in the way he stands there, still close to the door, as if he is unwilling to enter the room. You have to think about the legend that vampires can't enter a house, unless you bid them in and you wonder if there is any truth to it. You never thought that you would be able to get an actual answer to that question from a reliable source.

"I didn't know that you were that invested in keeping Beliath's image clean.", you smile to yourself - only slightly cynical. "You'd have your work cut out for you, that's for sure."

Ivan shakes his head. "That's not it. It's just...", he trails off, as you spread the cheese over your bread in a way to make it look at least slightly appetizing. "You're is chalice. And he saved your life. After I nearly killed you." Ivan glances around the nervously - is he afraid that you'll freak out as soon as he mentiones what happend to you? Until a few days ago he had every reason to, but now you feel a weird calmness overcome you. You haven't come to terms with your situation - you don't know, if you ever will -, but you know that yelling at Ivan won't change that.

You take a bite from your bread and chew slowly, giving you enough time to think about what you could possibly reply to that. "That's true, Ivan, but... how should I put it?" You sigh. "Oh well, if someone can relate to dramatic life changes, it's probably you. You told me once that you don't take joy from your vampire abilities in the same way that Ethan or Beliath do. Well, I don't take well to my role as a chalice either."

You look him straight in the eyes. They are yellow and unnaturally bright. Like sunflowers. "You said that you are awake during the days, because you cling to the things that you once had. And I feel that too." You take another bite. Ivan doesn't say a word, but he seems deeply focussed on you. "I grew up in an orphanage. It's not excactly the best place for a child, but I think I did alright. I had friends, not many, but still. There was just one thing that I always missed. The orphanage was strict. It felt like a cage. And I always wanted to be free. Free to do what I wanted, to go where I wanted. I had that freedom for maybe three days." You put your plate in the empty sink, your back turned to Ivan, but you can feel his eyes follow you. A dry laugh escapes you and you have to pull yourself together to not let your eyes grow wet. Fuck, you're getting emotional. "And now I'm trapped in another big, empty house."

"I'm sorry", Ivan's voice is soft and you turn around to see his face twisted in a guilty expression. "Thank you" You shake your head. "But you don't have to apologise. I'm not mad at you, not anymore."

"This is just a guess", you say, "But the way you cling onto the days... It feels like you might miss your freedom too."

Ivan's arms are crossed over his chest. His head is turned down, the large hood hiding his expression. He looks up and you are once again struck by how young he looks. Young and lonely and sad. "I guess so. A part of me at least." He glances past you to the tall windows with the curtains drawn shut. "I miss being able to leave whenever I feel like it. I miss seeing tree leaves against a blue sky. I miss walking through crowds, just minding my own buisness, but somehow being part of the masses. Fuck, I miss being alive."

Without noticing, you stepped closer to him. Your hand on his arm. Wanting to comfort... to be comforted. Ivan twichtes at the sudden contact. His sunflower eyes wide open. The air seems to be burning and you can hardly breath. He glances down to your neck and your breath hitches. Somehow this feels more intimated than anytime Beliath bit you. Fuck.

"I...", Ivan's voice is raspy. "I have to go. Aaron will be waiting for me." And with that he is out of the kitchen in a blink of an eye.

Your heart is beating heavyly against your ribcage. You glance to the clock. There is at least another hour of daylight left. Fuck. This is so not good.

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

The Price to be Paid

Hey gang! 

This is my very first Tumblr fanfiction. I used to write waaaay back but it’s been awhile. Just finished my first playthrough of Red Dead Redemption 2 and of course needed to write something about my story with it. 

Feel free to message me with feedback or thoughts, like I said it’s been a few years so I’ll post this to Ao3 after awhile. Please like and reblog only, no reposting. 

Chapter 1 

“See that one? Easy. Go nick his watch.”

You laughed and smiled over your shoulder at Abigail as you walked over towards the cart that had stopped from one of the nearby farms selling apples in the middle of town, red and bursting to be eaten. A man who was picking out which ones looked best out of the pile didn’t seem flustered by your sudden appearance which was good. It made the next part easier. 

“Oof! Excuse me sir, I didn’t see you there. Are you okay? Oh, let me help wipe that off your shirt.” 

Coffee bled a dark brown down the man’s white shirt as he hastily moved to grab something to stop the spread, and you were ready with your handkerchief. While he snatched it out of your hands, you removed his pocket watch without him knowing, the pressure of your hands on his torso masking the motion. The cold coffee had been sitting on the edge of the cart as if someone had forgotten it in their haste to leave for the center of town. He huffed and hawed and made a bigger fuss than you could have hoped for, but the nearby prying eyes only saw a silly girl who managed to spill coffee onto the boy buying apples. 

You smiled one last time at him and batted your eyes then flounced down the street and around the alley to meet Abigail. She laughed and grabbed your shoulder while you showed her the watch; no engraving or photo slipped inside which made you relax at the fact it wasn’t overly sentimental. 

“Now see, this here is exactly what you can pawn off. A good 8 dollars for this, plus whatever else you can grab adds up fast. Then maybe...a way out?” her eyes were kind as her mouth twisted into a coy smile. 

You smiled back at Abigail. The past few months while she and her gang were in town you had grown close. She hadn’t divulged too much about the people she ran with and that you could understand. The world was dangerous and full of opportunities and you couldn’t judge her for the choices she had made to keep her and those she cared about safe. You had never really left the town you were raised in and your family was your ‘gang’, but their secrets would never haunt others that you choose to surround yourself with. You knew she had a man, maybe not a husband but someone she loved. And a son that she loved more than anything in the world. Although she’s never told you outright about him, you’ve seen her buy (or steal) little trinkets and toys that no grown man would want. That’s when Abigail taught you the same tricks. How to divert the attention of shop owners so your hands could dart into your pockets with stolen food, or how to nab items to pawn to build up your own funds when you bump into folks and cause a scene. You had been eyeing the mountains outside of town a lot more lately, and thinking how great of an escape you could make. 

“Where would I even pawn these? Do I walk in with everything at once?” you asked her. She contemplated for a moment. “You don’t want to walk in with arm loads of stolen things, but a few here and there should be okay...maybe clerks will let you trade them for goods! Like for food or clothes and such. There’s a good pawn shop in Rhodes, but that’s a long ways from here in Blackwater.”

Your hometown, or at least the place you had been raised in, was hot, dry, and desert like most of the year. The people were kind and you liked being situated by the river. On particularly hot nights you would sneak out and sit by the slow and lazy moving water, imagining it was carrying you someplace new and far away, where no one would know you and you could start over. But you knew that idea was just that and there was no escaping. Small fantasies were all you had. Some nights you yearned for your life that began in Boston, but Blackwater was the only home you had ever known.

Abigail brought you back to the present with her hand on your arm. “Y/N, I might have to leave soon. I don’t want to but there are things I can’t change that are set in motion by the people I’m with. You’re...well I guess my friend and I wanted to let you know.” You laughed at her hesitation to call you a friend. Knowing her it isn’t an insult. If anything, she means it as a way to say she doesn’t get close to many people and has somehow chosen you. 

“Abigail I appreciate you telling me, but I’ll see you again! I am not worried.” Sometimes your blind optimism got the better of you. Damn those novels that you got lost in. Few things brought you pleasure like the chapters of a book. 

The two of you clasped hands and parted for the day as the sun set behind you. Slowly but surely you were building a collection of items that had been lifted off the residents of Blackwater and were going towards your future pawn trips. As much as you loved the town and its dusty, dirty humbleness there was a darkness that lived there. 

You neared your house and felt your heart drop to your stomach as the parlor light flickered on meaning your mother was not home, but your father was. Dad had a mean drinking problem, and as the man in charge of  some government organization had power which mixed terribly with his vanity. He wanted everyone to know that he and he alone was in charge. 

Climbing up the steps quietly you hoped to sneak by. That damn fourth step gave you away, and you silently swore as your father barked for you to come back down. 

“Y/N! Get down here. How dare you walk by and not say hello to your father?” You mumble an apology and kissed him on the cheek, the smugness in him as strong as the whiskey on his breath. As you turned to head to the kitchen for dinner he grabbed your elbow hard enough to make you wince. “Were you in town today,” he asked, but it was more of a statement than a question. He must have seen you, or heard about Abigail somehow. “Y-yes father, I spent the day in town. At the market, there was a wagon from a nearby farm…” you drifted off and tried to walk to the other room. Your father stood abruptly, but was distracted by your mother opening the kitchen door. She was a force of pure good and the only thing that could tame your father’s wild ways. Her face beamed and invited you both for dinner. 

“How was town today, Y/N? The apples look delicious.” You mother winked at you and motioned to the three red apples sitting on the counter waiting to be baked into a pie for dessert. While in town you didn’t even notice her so she must have moved quietly. The roast chicken and potatoes were delicious and you couldn't eat fast enough. After dinner, your father went out to the back porch to smoke while your mother sat and played cards with you. 

“Mother, why don’t we just leave?” you whispered. This was a conversation you had had many times in the past. “If we packed and left at midnight he couldn’t track us. We could go to the mountains, move west or even north again! A new city with no one following us and we could make a new life. Work in an art gallery or a farm or...just some place nice and safe. Where no one could hurt us.” The darting of your eyes was not missed by your mother who had never known about your father and how his rage manifested late at night. He always did have a knack for hitting you in places that no one else would ever see.  

Her hand was soft as it wrapped around your own. You knew this fantasy would never happen but you always hoped someday she would finally agree. 

“My dear, we musnt run away from those things that we fear. Fear only increases when we turn our backs to escape rather than face it head on.” 

********************************************************

The next day in town you met up with Abigail again. You knew the time was coming for her to leave from the way she clung to you a little tighter and laughed more forced and often. It made you sad to think that this bright light in your life lately would just be gone due to...whatever it was that would drag her away. Loyalty and family all meant something to you of course. But it was still upsetting to think that this exciting time would soon be over. 

“The last thing I’ll teach you as a thief is this. In order to pull off a good heist, you have to believe. With everything you have. A poor orphan left to die on the side of the road? Believe. Someone who just got robbed and needs a ride to town? Believe. Someone who isn’t being abused by a man somewhere in town? Believe.”

She stared you down hard during this last line. You flinched and moved to cover the bruise that had been exposed when you rolled your sleeves up from the heat. A soft expression met you when you looked up to her blue eyes. 

“I...It’s nothing I promise.”

“And that, hon, is exactly what I was talking about. You have to believe. Make it out of this town, safe. Please. If not for me, maybe just for you.” You watery eyes meet hers and you realized that it’s obvious to everyone but you that leaving may just be your last hope to being happy. The only issue you have is leaving your mother behind with the monster that hides behind the eyes of your father. His rage wasn’t always there. Mother said as a child you lived happily in Boston just the three of you. It was supposed to be four, and that’s where the trouble began. When your brother was lost a few days after his birth your father couldn't stand it. The whiskey was his crutch, and it soon became more of a constant burden. Every day it seemed he stumbled in from work already drowning in the vile stuff. Even the thought of its scent brought you gagging now. Your mother says that’s the reason you had to leave the northern city and move to the nowhere town of Blackwater and start all over again. That drink and the havoc it caused. 

While you had the time the two of you decided to celebrate. Sitting in the saloon you clinked your drinks and cheersed to seeing each other soon someday. Abigail loved hometown whiskey and your poison of choice was gin. Many drinks later and the two of you stumbled out to the main road, needing fresh air after leading the whole bar in a great rendition of a popular song. You swayed in the heat that met you outside of the doors. A huge commotion down by the water caused half the town out to come bursting out to the roads behind you. Galloping horses, screaming, and gunshots were all you could make out. Damn those drinks and whatever was in them! You couldn't see more than four feet in front of you, and everything beyond that was a big old blur. 

“Y/N! We need to move. Now!” Abigail somehow sobered up and was in charge of the whole situation. “Get behind that building and pretend you don’t know me-” but her words were cut short by a man grabbing her arm and yanking her down the road. 

“Abigail!! Hey! Let her go!” You chased, well, more like stumbled after, the pair and beat his arm with your fists. He released Abigail and grabbed your hands, shoving them down by your sides and forcing you to stare into his eyes. 

“Now what in the hell are you doing?” You stare dumbstruck into his face thinking that you might have landed yourself right into one of your novels. Beautiful blue eyes searched your drunken face and you couldn’t even speak. His eyebrows pulled together and crows feet showed around the edges of his eyes, years of the open sun and road changing the landscape of his face. Stringing coherent thoughts together was a struggle when Abigail shoved the man. “Arthur! Let her go she’s my...she’s my friend.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, “Abigail I have to get you back to John-”

Three men raced around the street corner on horseback and shouted in your direction. “Those three! Stop them! They’re linked with them gangs from the riverboat!” 

You swung around to face Arthur and Abigail. “What have you done. Your gang! What did you do!” 

Arthur swore and grabbed you by your waist. “Abigail, get on that grey horse there. The bay is mine.” She nodded and took off down the road. You cursed and swung as hard as you could but it was no use, this man had you captive as he put you on the horse and followed Abigail. The lawmen were not too far behind and you heard the bullets they fired whisk by you and hit the buildings down the street. From the back of a horse you watched the faces of people you knew zip by faster and faster, and with them the memory of who you were confined to be quickly slipped away. What a strange turn of events in the past few months. Abigail had taught you how to pickpocket and thief your way hopefully to a new life, but instead of taking that route here one was riding you off on a horse. It scared you, but you couldn't look back. 

A sharp and terrible pain grabbed you suddenly as a bullet met your left side below your ribs. Screaming, you almost fell off the horse but managed to clutch onto Arthur’s shirt with weak fingers. He turned around at the noise and seemed upset as his face filled with worry when looking at the blood spilling onto your shirt. The pain proved too much and the last thing you remember was landing on a hill of grass with dust swirling all around as the sound of pounding hooves raging your ears from all directions.

[just-alittle-deactivated]

Dirty bean water, if you will

An AU where Jack opens a coffee shop instead.

The reader is litterly me

REBLOG > LIKE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was this coffee shop down the road from you. The coffee was great, the staff was all wonderful, and there's free WiFi. What could be better?

Well, the coffee shop named Dirty Bean Water (you have no clue why) started off as a smaller version of Starbucks. There was only one shop at first, as most local businesses start out, but then it grew in popularity. Soon, Dirty Bean Water spread throughout the UK, and even started to show up in America!

Luckily for you, the coffee shop down the street was the orignal. The man who started it all still works there with some of his family. You were a regular there, so naturally you knew them all.

The shop was cozy, like a cabin in the woods. It always smelled a bit like cinnamon and vanilla and was just so aesthetically pleasing. Not to mention everything wasn't overpriced. How could it not be your favorite place of all time?

You'd be lying if you said your entire life didn't revolve the aesthetic of things. "I do it for the aesthetic" is essentially your life motto. You dressed in sweaters, shorts, and converse. Occasionally a beanie if you wanted.

Today it snowed, so there was nothing better than going down to your favorite coffee shop and getting something nice.

You threw on a nice blue sweater and some black jeans, slipping on some blue converse. You tucked your phone in your back pocket and put in your ear buds (playing the new GOW soundtrack) and heading out into the snow.

The coldness hit your face like a smack with a ruler. You could see your breath as it clouded around your face. You were pretty sure your ears and cheeks were already pinking up. You took a deep breath, the coldness harshly entering your body before you were used to it. It made you shiver. But whatever. Do it for the aesthetic.

You walked down the sidewalk, smiling at the people who passed you. You lived in a very tight community, almost everyone knew everyone. You moved here a year or two ago and it didn't take long to get you settled in because of your nice neighbors. They helped you unpack and get all of the things in place. They were good people.

You tuned the corner and onto the road where Dirty Bean Water resided. You felt (slightly) more cozy already. It looked so pretty here in the snow.

You open the door of the coffee shop, the bell above it ringing and letting everyone know of your presence.

"Good morning, (Y/N)," Malcolm, one of Jack's brothers (but you knew him as a writer who occasionally help out around here) greeted you.

"Good morning, Malcolm," you greeted back, giving him a warm smile.

You walked up to the counter, looking up at the menus just to make sure you knew what you wanted.

"Ah, good morning (Y/N)! How am I not surprised seeing you here on a day like this?"

You chuckle. "Hello, Jack. You know me so well. I do it for the aesthetic." You smile at him and he beams back.

"So what can I get 'cha?" He asks, shifting his weight onto one foot and resting a hand on his hip.

"Just a chocolate raspberry latte, please."

"Aww, weak! Get something with caffeine in it, you coward!"

"I will one day, but today is not that day, Jack. Not today."

Jack chuckles typing in your order on the screen in front of him. "Anything else?"

"I could really go for one of your cookies. They're the best." You sigh to exaggerate the best. "They're always so warm too."

Jack grins, typing out size of your order and your cookie. "Thank you, we take much pride in our cookies here at Dirty Bean Water." He says without looking up. "We'll call you when your coffee is ready."

You nodded, payed, and then headed over to a table near the fireplace and the window. Perfect to stay warm and perfect to look out and daydream. You thought a bit about Jack. He was quite the unique fellow, radiating happiness and positivity where ever he goes. When you first met him you refred to him by his actual name, Séan, but his insisted on you calling him Jack. It was hard to feel down around him. Maybe that's what you liked so much about coming here. You were never sad when you came here. This was a nice place with nice things. It was wonderful.

Your thoughts continued down a stream of endless threads. In a few minuets you'll be on a completely different topic than what you started on. Accompanied by your music it was so easy to get lost in time you did until a tap on your shoulder brought you back. It was Jack, standing there with a patient smile, your coffee, and your cookie.

You were quick to apologize, saying you zoned out and lost track of time but Jack cut you off saying it was fine. He actually sat down next to you and asked what you were listening to. You shyly smiled and told him the God of War 4 soundtrack.

"Whoah really? That game had an amazing soundtrack! I've been trying to get it on vinyl but it hasn't worked out too much."

You laugh. "Do you even have a vinyl player?"

He goes quiet, pursing his lips. "Maybe."

You laugh a little more, taking your coffee and sipping on it. "You should come over some time, I have a vinyl player that you can play all your music on."

Jack grins at you. "I'd love to! Can I have your phone number?"

You nod, pulling out your phone and handing it to him. He adds himself to your contacts and you send a tester text just to make sure everything was good. After that Jack smiled and got up.

"Welp. I've got to go back to work, but shoot me a text later." He grinned and placed a soft kiss on your cheek, whispering: "I can't wait for our date."

He then walks back to the counter, greeting the next customer with a bright smile. You touch your cheek, feeling that heat up as you stared at your coffee.

Oh that son of a bitch. He took a bite out of your cookie.

[latinavelma]

Writing Practice Assignment #1 June 8, 2022

Starting a writing prompt series in an attempt to start writing again. I've fallen out of love with words. It's time to rekindle that flame. Reblog and add your take if you would like to participate. I pulled a random picture from Pinterest for this one.

Instructions: Write the context for the image below. 700 minimum word count.

The storm raged outside his apartment. He lay there on his secondhand couch with his jacket balled up into a pillow and stared out the balcony’s sliding doors as the rain came in waves. Lightning flashed across the gray sky and thunder boomed, starting a mini-reaction of rattling in the kitchen dish rack. It had been four days, seven hours, and about seventeen minutes since Chloe called it off.

Zach, we need to talk.

The storms started about two hours after it happened. He thought that maybe it was a sign — good or bad was still unclear — about his life and their relationship. At this point, the only relationship he kept up with was the one with Raul down at the liquor store. The empty bottles littering his living room was substantial proof of that.

I’m not sure if this is good for us. 

He glanced up at the ceiling. There were yellowish stains from past leaks and the typical popcorn stucco that accompanied most cheap residences. The ceiling fan gave out months ago so he had been using a standing fan when he had friends over. Now it was only good for the weak, flickering light it provided. 

It’s just that we’re moving so fast — and in opposite directions. 

He stood up so fast that his head was spinning. He had cottonmouth, and there was a bottle on the kitchen counter that could solve that. His foot hit a tipped over ashtray and sent ash scattering into the sad and stained beige carpet he got for free from some graduating fraternity boys. It was time for it to go anyway. 

I’m transferring to that school I talked to you about. You know. The one in Virginia? 

He shuffled into the kitchen and grabbed the near-empty bottle of whatever the hell it was. He took a swig and winced. Yeah, it was the cheap shit alright. 

He carried the bottle out of the kitchen and set it down on the scuffed up coffee table. It took a second to find a spot among the other bottles and the overflowing ashtray. The rain had calmed. Now would be the time to have a smoke. He snatched up his crumpled pack of cigarettes and signed at the sight of the one left. He stuck it in his mouth and threw the empty pack on the floor. After snatching his jacket off the couch and throwing it on, he picked up the bottle and went over to the balcony. It took a minute to slide the doors open since the ends were rusted to shit, and they had the landlord special — thick, white paint caked on. He finally slipped out onto the balcony and was met with a mist in his face. 

 He set the bottle on the balcony and dug in his pocket. He pulled out his shitty Zippo lighter with the faded skull drawn in permanent marker. He brought it up to the cigarette in his mouth. It took four clicks before the flame came to life. He lit his cigarette and shoved the lighter back into his pocket. He took a few drags to get it going and watched the smoke float weakly into the mist. 

I have to do what’s best for me, Zach. Please don’t fight me on this. 

He stood at the edge of the balcony and gripped the bottle in his left hand. The cigarette hung loosely in the other. 

I can’t just push aside what I want. You can’t expect me to drop my entire life plans for you. 

He let out another sigh and brought the bottle to his lips. He tilted it up as he gulped the alcohol down, making sure to get every last drop. The wind picked up, and he could feel his hair flying wildly. 

I’m sure you had life plans before we met too, and I’ve been telling you about the possibility of transferring since the beginning. It’s not like I’m betraying you. 

He brought the bottle down and glanced at the label. He looked up into the rainy fog of the night. The stormy weather made it look bright outside, and there was an eeriness to it — a sadness he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He wondered how long it would take for the storm to take his away. 

It was a funny thought. The idea of the fogginess of his own decisions floating away into the fog of the night. There was a brief tightness in his chest. 

I’m transferring to that school I talked to you about. 

He watched the windows of nearby apartment buildings darken. 

I’m transferring to that school. 

The rain began to pick up again. 

I’m transferring. 

He felt his hair getting damp and his coat growing heavy. The cigarette in his hand was going out. 

I’m betraying you. 

He closed his eyes. The bottle sailed over the balcony’s edge. 

[lilacflamesss]

Shattered (Chapter 4.5)

Smutty Ayahina College AU

Summary: Hinami tries to deal with her sorrows through seeking Ayato out. Ayato can never turn away the girl he loves far more than he should. Two people with unrequited feelings, dealing with them in very different ways. Human AU. (3.1k words)

Warning: This fic contains unhealthy copic mechanisms, heavy sexual content, and plenty of problematic/ dubious things which I absolutely do not condone at all. This is a work of fiction that takes on a more mature, physical take on Ayahina’s relationship as opposed to the typical conventional one. Please feel free not to read this fic if it’s not your cup of tea! Additional trigger warning for stillbirth since this is an add-on to the previous chapter. 

A/N: This Touka segment seemed a little out of place so I couldn’t fit it into the previous chapter, nor can I fit it into the next once since we jump back a little in time to the night before for that. This really was supposed to be a mini chapter, around a few hundred words but wow. Spare my soul for anything that might seem :/// to you. I’m not really that good a Touken writer... not that I’m a good Ayahina writer but you get what I mean. 

There isn’t Ayato again and I’m sorry about that. I’m surprised by the number of comments I got saying they’re sad that he’s not in this chapter. Chapter 5 is a full Ayato-centric chapter. We’re jumping back to the Ayahina feels from there onwards.  Please do reblog this and feel free to leave some comments!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 4.5 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Preview

“I’m glad. I’m worried about whether he’s eating properly,” Touka sighs. Ayato is about as good a cook as she is. Left to their own, the siblings had always opted for convenience store food rather than even attempt to cook something. She gets proper food after being married to Kaneki but she doubts Ayato bothers with that now that he’s living alone.

“Hinami seems to be cooking for him usually,” he replies. “I don’t think you have to worry about that but… She kinda goes a little too far for someone who’s just a friend, don’t you think? Even though she said he’s the one who likes her, I can’t help but wonder…”

“She never really said that Ayato’s just a friend, not that I remember,” Touka admits.

“She said it when you went to get Arata…”

“She could be lying after she saw how you’re against it.”  

Ken grimaces and he puts the plates back down from where he had just picked them up from. He turns to her, a solemn expression forming on his face— the same look he had when he said the words that pushed Ayato away from them in the first place. “So they are together,” Ken almost spits out.

“No, I think that’s unlikely as well,” Touka sighs. A look of confusion crosses his face and Touka smirks. “Hinami is clearly in love with you.”

It feels like she’s just going with the flow. She isn’t taking control of her life; it’s taking control of her. She goes to the cafe because she has to. She eats and drinks because she has to. She meets Yoriko for lunch and coffee because she has to. She kisses her husband to sleep every night because she has to. She takes her daughter to playgroup because she has to. She does everything simply because she has to. It’s like moving on after losing someone has become a norm to her.

Ken is trying his best to improve things. It’s clear to her. He brings home her favourite flowers every day. They have too many vases of hydrangeas now. He cooks dishes she likes and brings her out to her favourite restaurants. He wakes Ichika up early on Sundays to make bunny-shaped pancakes for her. “Mama! We made breakfast for you!” the small girl would scream when they’re done, jumping onto her bed to wake her up as Ken watches with a smile from the doorway.

Aren’t you sad, Ken? She wants to ask him but the words die on her lips every time. Of course he’s sad. He must be dying inside just like she is. But she doesn’t know how to support him. She doesn’t know what she can do for him. She makes him coffee with pretty latte arts sometimes and he smiles and thanks her. But that feels like nothing. He always smiles and thanks her whenever she makes coffee for him.

There’s really only one thing Touka can do to cheer him up. She smiles. At everything he does for her, she smiles. Even if she’s crying and breaking inside, Kirishima Touka smiles. She knows her husband. Nothing makes him happier than her happiness. It’s why he did everything he did for her— supporting her through the toughest times after her father’s death, dealing with all her brother’s high school delinquency even when he hates him and moving into her place which holds too many memories for her to leave.

Ken has made mistakes along the way. He’s probably done things that can never be undone, even things that have hurt her more than helped. But she’s always been his priority, both her and Ichika. He’ll never do anything to consciously hurt them. He’ll always be there for them. He’ll always love them. More than anything, she wants to have faith in him. She’s lost too many things in life to lose him too. Even if she has to turn a blind eye to things, Touka would. 

Because even in the darkness that she is now, a spark of light refuses to be put out, not as long as Ken and Ichika are here.

Touka watches in silence and Ken based farewell to the girl at their door, seeing her off. From the moment Ken had introduced her as Fueguchi Hinami, a weird feeling of familiarity had set in on her. Touka feels like she knows this girl, or at least her name. It’s been bothering her ever since that day outside the pet store, but she’s never thought much about it. Her problems with Ayato had immediately taken centre stage in her mind. But now, having the time to sit and talk to her, it finally dawns on her just who this girl is. Though that’s not all Touka sees. She seems something that bothers her even more than that— the way Hinami looks at Ken, the way she reddens when she’s close to him, the way she gets defensive over her relationship history and the intonation of her speech when she talks to him.

Hinami likes him. Touka doesn’t think it’s love. It seems to flippant and superficial for that. She isn’t even bothered if the person this girl is crushing on is her husband. She trusts Ken. He’d never do anything with anyone else, especially not someone who he sees as a younger sister more than anything else. Hinami has no chance.

But even then, her crush bothers Touka, especially since the girl who has her eyes on her husband is the same girl who Ayato has been in love with since the start of his three years in high school.

Ken closes the door and walks over to the table, picking up the plates as Touka watches him for a moment.

“She’s a nice girl, isn’t she?” he muses. “She said she’ll take the food to your brother. His apartment is on the way to her college apparently.”

So Ayato lived pretty close by. It’s surprising she’s never seen him around before.

“I’m glad. I’m worried about whether he’s eating properly,” Touka sighs. Ayato is about as good a cook as she is. Left to their own, the siblings had always opted for convenience store food rather than even attempt to cook something. She gets proper food after being married to Kaneki but she doubts Ayato bothers with that now that he’s living alone.

“Hinami seems to be cooking for him usually,” he replies. “I don’t think you have to worry about that but… She kinda goes a little too far for someone who’s just a friend, don’t you think? Even though she said he’s the one who likes her, I can’t help but wonder…”

“She never really said that Ayato’s just a friend, not that I remember,” Touka admits.

“She said it when you went to get Ichika…”

“She could be lying after she saw how you’re against it.”  

Ken grimaces and he puts the plates back down from where he had just picked them up from. He turns to her, a solemn expression forming on his face— the same look he had when he said the words that pushed Ayato away from them in the first place. “So they are together,” Ken almost spits out.

“No, I think that’s unlikely as well,” Touka sighs. A look of confusion crosses his face and Touka smirks. “Hinami is clearly in love with you.”

She doubts she’s seen her husband so confused and horrified in her life. His eyes shoot open wide and his mouth parts slight, a bright red blush tinting his cheeks. The sight is ridiculous and Touka can’t help the laugh that bursts out from her mouth.

Oh. She’s laughing— a real laugh, not a feigned one.

“B-But… Hinami is… Hinami is like a sister! Touka! Don’t joke around like that!” he cries out. There’s something about the way he pouts in response to her that makes her laugh even more. Kaneki Ken is a pretty good-looking man, but he’s never been the hottest person out there. But he has his charms and this certainly is one of the things that drew her to him in the first place. He’s too irresistibly cute.

“I’m not joking,” she says, choking between her laughter. “Well, love might be an exaggeration but she surely has feelings for you.”

“I… I didn’t even do anything…” Ken grimaces at this and lets out a soft sigh. “So? Are you jealous?”

“Of course not. I know you better than that,” Touka scoffs.

“But… You don’t seem happy with this at all.”

“I have no reason to be happy when someone else has a thing for my fucking husband.”

“What I mean is… Touka, you seem… upset. More upset than you’d be if you really aren’t jealous.”

Touka hesitates. She knows they’re going to disagree on this entirely. Maybe it’ll be better to leave things as it is and let Ken continue to think she’s jealous. But he continues to look at her with a curious expression and Touka doesn’t want to change the topic. She wants to confide in him. She doesn’t want him to feel like she’s been keeping things from him. It’s times like this where they have to be strong together and rely on one another, right?

“I’m just… worried about Ayato,” she admits. Ken’s eyes harden but he manages to keep a stoic expression, mauling over her words for a while.

“You’re always worried about him.”

“What I mean is… He and Hinami…” She trails off. How should she phrase it? What should she say? She can’t just tell him “I don’t like that girl being around my brother if she’s just using him,” because Ken seems to really dote on her.

“I don’t support of that, even if you do,” Ken admits.

“I’m not too… fond of it myself,” she says slowly, carefully choosing her words as she speaks.

“Strange. I thought you were really happy about it.”

She considers his words, nibbling her lip as she thinks. She will be happy, but only if Ayato’s in a fulfilling relationship with someone that cares about him as well. She doesn’t know enough about Hinami, but if she really does like Ken, won’t that hurt Ayato?

“Ken, what do you think their relationship is like?”

“Just friends?” he suggested. “You said she likes me, so that means she doesn’t like him, right?”

“Didn’t you notice her reactions when you were talking to her just now? I was watching the two of you before I stepped in,” Touka says. Ken’s frown at her words is evident enough that he didn’t and she’s not too surprised by that. He’s as oblivious as ever. This is the same guy who missed her many hints back when they weren’t dating yet after all. Sometimes things just had to be shoved into his face before he noticed it. “They’re sleeping together.”

He makes no visible reaction to her comment and that’s enough of a reaction to tell her what is going through his mind. Ha ha Touka, that’s really funny. He doesn’t believe her, or maybe he doesn’t want to believe her.

“I’m serious, Ken. She got more flustered when you implied they’re sleeping together than when you mentioned marriage and engagement.”

“That’s impossible, Touka. Hinami is not that kind of person,” he says with a soft sigh. “She’s… like a kid, you know?”

“Ken, she’s in college. She’s old enough to make her own decisions and face the consequences for her own actions. Isn’t that what you say about Ayato?”

“Ayato’s different.”

“How? They’re the same age…”

Ken falls silent at her words and sighs. He picks up the plates again and enters the kitchen, still without saying anything. Touka doesn’t know how to take this. He still seems to be in disbelief, but it’s also possible that he’s just upset at the turn of events. She waits in silence, listening to the sound of running water as he does the dishes. She thinks over what she’s just said, not really wanting to believe it as well.

Touka honestly does like Hinami. She seems like a really sweet girl. From what Ken had told her, it seems like Hinami and him had each other at a point in time where they were both alone and had no one else. Hinami was a very young girl back then and Ken had been a little older. It’s not that surprising that Hinami did end up developing romantic feelings for him while Ken did not. He’s always seen her as little girl and Touka supposes it’s still the same. Ken would never reciprocate Hinami’s feelings and from Hinami’s eyes, Touka knows that she realises this. Maybe that’s what pushed her to Ayato in the first place.

“So you’re telling me that Hinami likes me but for some reason, she’s sleeping with Ayato.” Deep in her thoughts, Touka hadn’t noticed him walking out of the kitchen. As he speaks, he pulls out a chair and takes a seat close to her.

“I think she realises she has no chance with you and since Ayato does like her…”

“Touka, Hinami isn’t that kind of a person,” Ken sighs, crossing his arms. “Maybe Ayato got into her head.”

“Ayato isn’t that kind of person, come on. He’s an idiot and he does a lot of things wrong but even he’s not that low to trick a girl into sleeping with him,” Touka snaps back in annoyance. “Besides, he’s hot enough. If he wants sex, he can get it easily.”

“Sure he can,” Ken snorts, completely sarcastically.

“You’re not really someone to talk, considering you only lost your virginity to me way after college.” Ken scowls at her words but he can’t really argue back, not when Touka is actually right. She has to wonder if there’s any way to settle things between Ken and Ayato or if they’re going to continue hating each other even when the world is ending. She feels like the latter seems more likely. Enemies even till the bitter end.

“She uses him like some kind of replacement then,” Ken murmurs. “It’s hard imagining Hinami doing something like that.”

“I find it hard imagining Ayato letting himself be used like that,” Touka admits. “The two of them must be really lonely.”

Ken murmurs a soft agreement, much to her surprise. But he has a point. Ayato might have been the one who chose to leave home, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to be alone; it simply meant he doesn’t want to be with them in that house which probably brought him a lot of pain. She’s never blamed him for leaving and she never will, though that doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss and think about him every single day since he did.

“Hey, Ken.”

Her husband looks up at her. “Yeah.”

“Thank you for calling Hinami over. I know you did it to make me feel better.”

Ken smiles weakly at this, shaking his head. He reaches for her hand, taking it in his. “I’m sorry. I know it’s Ayato you wanted.”

She mimics the smile, tightening the grip on his hand. “I… don’t expect you to do the impossible. You’re already going out of the way for me so much…”

“Making you happy… also makes me happy. It makes me… you know… forget…” He laughs a little and looks up at her, now reaching for her face from her hand. “When I see the beautiful smile from my beautiful wife, I feel like I can fight anything. You give me a reason to always look towards the future.”

Oh god. She hates it when he talks like that. She hates it so much that she loves it. It’s so cringy. She’d never be caught dead saying something like that, even to him. She’s sure she’s all red as he speaks and looks at her in that way, like she’s some kind of goddess and he’s a mere mortal blinded by her beauty. She’s never been treated like that by anyone and no matter how long she’s together with him, she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to it.

She pushes his hands away lightly and gets up, turning away to head towards Arata’s playroom. “You’re so cheesy it makes me cringe sometimes,”

she grumbles.

“You really don’t change, do you?” he sighs. “I love you, Touka.”

That stops her for a while and she turns to him slightly. “I love you too, idiot.”

Ken beams. “Of course you do.”

“Aren’t you running late for work? You should start getting ready.”

She spends the rest of the time playing with her daughter. Ichika has a holiday from playgroup that day and Touka had also taken a day off since Ken had called Hinami over. Ken had managed to get some time off as well, but he had to go to work after lunch. He is working on a serious case or something after all.

Touka usually has her phone with her wherever she goes in case anything urgent comes up. But on that day, it was far too relaxing that she hadn’t bothered to keep it with her. When she finally does go to the room to pick it up after putting Ichika into bed for her nap, her eyes widen immediately. One missed call is nothing much. She isn’t too surprised that she missed a call. But what is surprising is the name she sees on her phone.

Ayato.

She’s never scrambled to redial a number this far before. Her brother had called her. He might have misdialled, but he still called her. He called her.

She’s pacing to and fro in the bedroom as she listens to the phone ring, her heart racing. It’s getting hard to breathe as well. She doesn’t know what to expect. What should she do if he doesn’t pick up? What should she do if he hangs up instead? She’s have gotten excited for nothing.

The ringing stops. But she doesn’t hear the beep of a cut line, nor does she end up in his voicemail as she usually does. The line is silent but as she strains her ears, she hears deep breathing.

“A-Ayato…?”

There’s silence for a short while again, and then, in a soft and weak voice, she hears him. “Sis…”

“Ayato! What happened? Why did you—”

“Sis, I’m sorry!” he cries out, cutting into her words. His voice sounds choked and strained. God is he crying?

“Ayato, what happened? Talk to me.”

“I… I… That thing... I didn’t think...” He doesn’t seem to be able to say anything coherent; he sounds like he’s struggling to even form words.

“Tell me where you are. I’m coming—”

She hears a beep. The line gets cut. Touka’s speechless for a moment. He just hung up on her after all that. She’s redialling in a matter of seconds but try as she might, his phone doesn’t even ring. He probably turned off his phone and once again, she’s left hanging, stranded and useless as things fall apart. She doesn’t know where he is or where he lives. She doesn’t have any way to contact him. She didn’t even ask Hinami for her number just now.

Touka doesn’t like bothering Ken when he’s at work but she doesn’t really see another option. With shaky hands and a heavy heart, while internally debating whether to bother him with some issue over Ayato, she starts typing out a text. The last time she had called Ken out of work because Ayato got into trouble, it had ended up terribly— Ayato’s broken bones and dreams and their family torn apart. She doesn’t think she can tear them any further now, can she? She notices the tears in her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry but she doesn’t know what she can do except cry as she hits the send button.

I’m sorry to bother you at work. Ayato called and he sounds like he’s crying. I need to find him. Please. I need to know he’s okay.

She’s being washed over and over again with Deja vu. Things can’t get any worse. She has to have faith.

[znationfanfiction]

New Orleans, Pt. 2

Chapter four of my fanfic!! I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it. Feel free to message me and reblog it!! (Just no stealing it please). Trigger Warnings: panic attack, some violence, a make-out scene (I'm a thirsty bitch, what can I say?), mature language. ------------------- "Alright, well it seems like we still have a little time before that zunami gets to us, so we'll split up and look for supplies. Addy's with Doc, Murphy will go with me and Vasquez, and Tally and 10k will go together. Search stores and houses and we'll meet back here", Warren orders. "Aye-aye, cap'n", I drawl. Murphy snorts and I wink at him. 10k and I start toward some of the houses in a small neighborhood off the main street, searching for anything we can find. As we meander down the side streets, I sing quietly to myself. It's a tendency that seemed to carry over from pre-Z. I did it when I was nervous. The combination of being alone with 10k is enough to make my palms sweat and my mouth feel stuffed with cotton...add jump-scares from Zs into that mix, and you get a very nervous Tally. "Little black submarines, operator please, patch me back to my mind...", I sing quietly to myself. We go up the stairs onto a small, cramped porch. He opens the door cautiously for me, and take a deep breath before I step around it into the eerie house. "Oh , can it be, the voices calling me, they get lost and out of time", I sing as loud as I dare, trying to draw any Zs out. Two loud snarls echo through the foyer and the zombies they came from lurch from the living room at us. We each grab one and pike them. "4106", 10k murmurs, looking to me. I shrug. "Guess they didn't like my voice". He lets out a soft, short laugh at that. "Well, I think you sound amazing". Ugh, so cute and sweet and I just want him to kiss me so bad... I smile and our bodies unconsciously inch toward each other, as if they are magnetic. Becoming too aware of this, I take a step back. Whew, that was close. Too close. Don't go fucking this up, Tally. He probably doesn't even like you like that. He just doesn't have many other choices in females. Just focus. I send him a soft smile. "We should hurry up and get those supplies before we get overrun", I manage to get out. He nods, looking...disappointed? We manage to scrape up a couple gallons of water stored in old bleach containers. "Smart", nods 10k as he hoists one into his pack. Too bad the kitchen was completely empty otherwise. Someone tried to leave in a hurry, for certain. Too bad they didn't seem to get very far. "I'm gonna look for some clothes up in the bedrooms. We are starting to look pretty ratty, even for us." "I'll go with you". He throws the pack on his back and we quickly ascend the stairs, weapons ready in case we missed a particularly sneaky Z. We both huff a sigh of relief when we encounter no other zombies. "Let's check out that master bedroom, see if we can find any clothes that fit", he whispered. It's hard to break the habit of whispering to keep under the radar of anyone listening, like Zs. I nod and we walk to the bedroom, immediately going through drawers and the closet for anything practical. We hit a huge jackpot. The men's clothes seem to fit 10k pretty well, and we find some old fatigue pants in a couple different sizes. "They must have both been military", I say. A small sadness washes over me at the thought of so many lives, just snuffed out. Lost. Gone. I shake my head to clear the thoughts. We quickly change in separate rooms and meet back in the bedroom to stuff another few clothing articles in our bags. We can ditch the clothes later if we run out of room for supplies. We both dress in the fatigue pants and stuff them into our boots. I dress in a tank top that fits close to the skin so I don't get grabbed as easily, and we start to head out the door. Not paying attention is a huge mistake in the zombie apocalypse. I know that, and so does everyone else. So when I bumble out the front door and straight into a cool, rotting body, it's entirely my fault. 10k rips the Z from me, piking in the head. Yet another reason to thank God every day for 10k. I take in gasping breaths, stunned by almost being zombie food. 10k checks me for bites, hands smoothing over my arms and neck to ensure I am okay. Surprising us both, I grab his face and plant a big kiss right on his cheek. Oooh fuck. What did you just do, you absolute DUMBASS?! You've gone and screwed up everything! "I-I'm sorry...just, thank you so much for saving me. What a dumbass mistake to make, just waltzing out the door like that...", I stammer out as I try to fix this whole awkward mess of a situation. The look on his bright red face worries me, so when he breaks into a grin, my heart finally starts beating again. "No, it's...it's okay. We watch out for each other. It's what we all do", he says, hesitantly taking my hand in his own. This time, it's not either of us that stops the moment. It's a huge wall of zombies coming right for us. We run around the back of the house, looking for some sort of shelter. My foot catches something raised in the backyard, and 10k is just turning back to help me up when I realize that my clumsy ass just tripped over a cellar door. We both throw the doors open and hop down inside. He shuts the doors again and slides a metal pipe through the inside handles. "Shit. The group's gonna be so worried. Shit", I fret, pacing our small space before realizing that we are surrounded by a small amount of supplies. Cans, more bleach containers, and jars of food sit on shelves around us and I nearly burst into tears. Fucking jackpot. I do a small celebration dance while 10k looks on at me in amusement. He's much more observant than I am, and noticed the supplies as soon as we hopped down. "What now?", I ask, watching as he sits against a bare wall and makes himself comfortable. "We wait it out. The group's probably hiding somewhere too". ------------------------ The first 10 minutes of silence in the cellar aside from the occasional scuffle or grunt of a zombie is unbearable to me because I become so anxious. My chest tightens up and I feel as if I can't get enough air in my lungs. I feel trapped and horrified at the thought of the zombies busting down the doors and eating us alive. So helpless. 10k notices my shallow, strained breaths and scoots over to sit by me. He hesitantly grabs my hand and squeezes it, then moves close to murmur comforting words to me. Slowly, my chest untightens and I can breathe again. I look up to his face to thank him, grateful that he helped me through the panic, to find his eyes on me. His face is just inches from mine, and the proximity has my pulse hammering. I've noticed him watching me a lot when we are with the group, and I always get so self-conscious because I'm worried he's thinking about how strange I am or how bad I look with my curls frizzed and sticking up at all angles from my braid. But...the way he is looking at me now sets a fire loose deep in my chest. He starts to lean in closer and my eyes widen as his hand comes up to touch the back of my neck. Suddenly, our lips are pressed together. A whole horde of rabid Zs are set free in my chest, and my hands come up to grasp his collar, my body finally breaking from the shocked state and responding to him. His lips are soft and the kiss is everything a first kiss should be. His breath is sweet as it mixes with my own. We both pant as the gentle kiss turns hungry, desperate. 10k tightens his grip on me and his hands slide down my shoulders to my lower back, pulling me flush against his body. Tongues explore mouths and teeth knock together slightly. A noise I've never heard come from myself escapes my throat, like a noise a wild animal would make, and he responds with his own deep groan. The kiss slows after a while and we pull back to look at each other, still panting and both very red. A smile lights up his face in a way I've never seen on him, and I can't help but respond with my own. "I've wanted to do that forever", he mutters, "but I was always afraid to mess up us being friends". "Me too", I chuckle. His face turns slightly more serious. "That was a-actually my first...", he trails off. His first kiss? Him? But he's so perfect and cute and who wouldn't want to kiss him?? "Well", I grin, "I guess we will just have to do that some more to practice". I wink at him and he laughs, bringing my lips back to his own.

[tinydooms]

Worth a Thousand Words

  So, I didn’t write anything for the June Challenge yesterday, because I couldn’t figure out how to make this scene fit into one of the prompts. It’s one of those Maurice-love-the-Beast-as-a-son AUs, but is mainly an excuse for me to have a go at analyzing Adam’s ruined portrait. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated. 

So, without further ado:

Worth a Thousand Words: 

Maurice wanders the castle, growing more confident with each passing day. The staff have assured him that as long as he stays out of the West Wing-the master's private quarters-he is free to go anywhere he likes in his new home. Home. Maurice shakes his head whenever he thinks of the word, falling so easily from the lips of the enchanted servants. Whatever this castle is, it is not a home. It is dark and cold and lonely, its grand hallways filled with a despair that is not hard to understand. He has no idea what happened here, but he senses that the Beast is as much a prisoner here as he is.

If only he hadn't sent Belle away. If only he had never lost his way in the woods. If only they had never come to Villeneuve. If only, if only.

Belle will be all right. Maurice knows that she is a capable young woman, and she will make her own way. He will never stop missing and worrying about her, but he knows that she is her mother's daughter and that she will survive.

He has hardly seen the Beast since the monster sent Belle away, and he cannot help but be thankful for that. The rest of the staff are good to him; they have given him a comfortable bedroom, new clothes, excellent food. The cold that set in when Maurice was in the tower is beginning to heal. He asked for drawing materials and received a wealth of fine paper and charcoal pencils, paints and canvases and chalk. Truly, there is nothing Maurice wants for here but his freedom.

He wanders the corridors now, looking at the paintings on the walls. There is excellent work here, portraits and landscapes and scenes both classical and modern. He recognizes the work of some of his Parisian compatriots, men he worked and drank with back when Paris was bright and the future rosy. There is a picture of a woman on a swing, kicking her shoe off to her lover below. Maurice studies it, remembering Fragonard's earlier works. So they have not been cursed long here, then. Ten years, at the most. Interesting. He wonders, not for the first time, who is responsible for collecting all of the extraordinary artworks that reside in this place.

There is a portrait gallery in one of the upstairs corridors, filled with pictures of the family that has ruled the castle for generations. Maurice wanders, looking at them, studying the family resemblances. These are the gentlemen of the family, here are their wives, their children, on and on, until finally the portraits run out, ending in a pair of ruined canvases. Maurice stops. What on earth has happened here? The mother has survived (and good thing, too; she was a lovely creature, with a gentle smile and eyes filled with kindness), but the father's face is mangled. It looks like someone ripped through his features, someone with claws and a fierce and burning hatred.

Maurice goes very cold.

Why would the Beast do this? Who was this man, who stares down at Maurice with a single cold eye? His face is all but obliterated, but Maurice can see the proud stance, the hands curled into fists. There is a sword on his hip and he is surrounded by dogs; a stag's head hangs on the wall behind him. A hunter, then, and a soldier. A cold man. And he was married to that lovely young lady? Maurice looks at the woman's portrait again, and feels a twist of sadness at the harshness of arranged marriages. Then he moves his attention onto the last portrait. Their child.

This portrait is slashed, too, though not with the same hatred as the father's. It is as if the Beast (for Maurice has no doubt it was he who did this) couldn't bear to look at this picture long enough to destroy it. The gashes are fairly clean; with care this picture could be salvaged. Maurice studies it with interest.

The subject is a young man, perhaps twenty-five. He favors his mother, with dark gold hair and blue eyes the color of the summer sky. He is a great beauty, or would be if it weren't for the coldness that he exudes. His gaze is icy, challenging, as though daring the viewer to find him anything but beautiful. He sits with one arm resting on the table before him, his very posture filled with hauteur. And something else, something-

“What do you think of him?”

Maurice starts, yanked from his thoughts. In his concentration, he has not noticed the Beast making his way down the gallery, though the Beast himself has taken care not to be too quiet. He stands a few feet away, watching Maurice study the damaged painting.

“Oh! Forgive me, Lumiere said I could wander-”

“Yes, it's all right,” the Beast says. He is not wearing that filthy shroud today, Maurice notes, but has washed and dressed in clean clothes. Is he more or less horrifying for dressing like a human man? Maurice is unsure.

“What do you think of him?” the Beast asks again, nodding towards the portrait. “You have studied him so long.”

Maurice looks back at the picture. Whoever the artist was, he was a genius for capturing so much emotion. It strikes Maurice suddenly that he has seen those eyes before, that he knows whose picture this is.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that I would be very worried about this young man, if he were my son.”

The words ring out into the quiet corridor, and Maurice waits for the Beast's anger. But it does not come. Instead the monster cocks his head, startled. Whatever answer he had been expecting, it wasn't this one.

“What do you mean?”

Maurice gestures at the painting. “Look. It has layered nuances, this picture. At first glance we see only this young man's beauty, and that would have pleased him. But look at it longer and you begin to see more. Come.”

The Beast comes to stand next to Maurice, gazing as the artist points. Maurice puts his fingers to the canvas, pressing the worst of the gashes across the young man's face together. “Look, here, at his face. He is handsome, arrogant. He is blessed with classical beauty, and would be stunning if he smiled. But look at the eyebrows-what do you see?”

The Beast shakes his head. Maurice taps the canvas. “He is afraid, this young man. Anxious is the better word, maybe. See how his eyebrows are set? There's a defiance there. He is waiting for an attack, this one. You can see the challenge in the way he holds his features. I would say that someone close to him was extremely critical of him, so much so that he hid his fear behind a mask of arrogance, and became exactly like that person so as to try to appease them.”

Maurice falls silent, wondering if he has said too much. The Beast does not speak, but stares at the picture. “You can tell all that from a painting?” the creature says at last.

“An artist is trained to see every nuance the body has to offer,” Maurice replies. “I would very much like to know who the artist was.”

“He was an Englishman, Joshua somebody. Came to France, did a few paintings, left again. He was immensely talented.”

So it is the Beast's own picture. Maurice looks at his erstwhile captor, suddenly pitying him. For the first time, he is not afraid of the Beast.

“What happened here?”

The Beast looks at him. He is not angry, but seems rather hesitant. “What if I told you that the young man in the portrait was afraid, of so many things? What if I told you that his mother died when he was young, and that he was never good enough for his father, who called him all sorts of names and accused him of weakness and a multitude of other sins? And he tried and tried to please the old man, to make him love him, and never succeeded. And so he became cold and cruel and, and twisted, until he was so full of fear and anger and hurt that he cared for nothing and no one but himself, because it was safer?”

“I would say it is small wonder that he became so, if he was raised without love,” Maurice says. He hesitates, then adds, “It's your picture, isn't it?”

“Yes.” The Beast looks down at his paws, ashamed. “I was cruel to an enchantress. She damned me for it. She offered me a rose in return for shelter, and I mocked her and sent her away. She said I needed to learn a lesson and that I could look forever as I was on the inside.”

Maurice whistles. “I know some villagers she ought to visit,” he remarks, and the Beast gives him a shy smile.

“It's cold here,” he says abruptly, “and you are not yet well. Let's go downstairs; Mrs. Potts can bring tea.”

Maurice is surprised, but follows the Beast out of the gallery, down the stairs to the little drawing room. If the staff are surprised to see them together, they make no sign of it, and Mrs. Potts does indeed provide them with tea, and toast and little cakes. They eat and drink quietly, and Maurice reflects on the Beast's words.

“That will be your father, then, in the other ruined portrait?” he says at last.

The Beast gives a hollow smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“You must have hated him.”

“Yes,” the Beast says. “I was scared to death of him. He always had quick fists and a raging temper.”

Maurice studies the Beast, who does not quite meet his eye. He is beginning to understand, now, and wants to learn more, but he knows too how difficult it can be to talk about the past. “Fear is a terrible thing to live with,” he says, and the Beast nods.

“Yes. I've made you fear, and I regret it. I am...not used to kindness.” He raises his eyes and looks at Maurice. “You can go. Home, I mean. Back to your daughter. For...for helping me to see.”

Maurice stares. The words hang in the air between them; there is no anger in the Beast's voice, only a quiet despair. He thinks of the young man in the painting, and how different he would look if he were happy. And he understands for the first time that he can help.

“Thank you, but I think I will stay a bit longer,” he says. “As you said, I am not quite well yet. Would you like some more tea?”

The Beast stares at him. Maurice helps himself to more tea and toast, and turns the subject to art in general. The next day, he begins to teach the Beast to draw.

*

It is strange to have someone in the castle who is neither a staff member nor a prisoner. The Beast (for he will not allow himself to have a name) is mystified by the old artist, Maurice, and cannot imagine why he has chosen to stay. But he finds that he is grateful to have the man there. Maurice's fear has vanished. In its place is a warmth and kindness that the Beast has not experienced since his mother died, many years ago now. It makes the Beast want to get up in the morning, to see him. Maurice teaches him to draw, showing him how to hold the pencils in his clumsy paws, never speaking a harsh word. Drawing soothes the Beast, allowing him to breathe regularly. And as they draw, they talk. Maurice tells the Beast of his life and travels, and how he and his daughter came to be in Villeneuve, and the places they had lived before. Paris, Versailles, Rouen, Toulouse. Adam tells him about his childhood, about his English mother, his tutors, the books he loves to read. They talk and talk, and the Beast's heart begins to thaw under Maurice's genuine interest. Shyly, the Beast opens up more and more to his former captive.

“What is your name?” Maurice asks him one afternoon, as they sit in the library together, looking through books on the history of art.

The Beast hesitates. “I haven't let myself have a name in years.”

“Yes, I noticed that the staff only calls you 'the master', like some villain in a gothic novel.” Maurice smiles. “You needn't tell me if you really don't want to, but I would very much like to know it.”

“I'm a creature. Can creatures have names?”

“Certainly. Have you never named a horse or a dog? You may be a creature, but you are also a man under a curse. You are allowed to have a name,” Maurice says.

The Beast's breath catches in his throat. He realizes all of a sudden that he loves this old man dearly. I wish he were my father. He clears his throat. “I was called Adam. I am Adam.”

Maurice smiles. “A strong name. It means 'man', you know.”

Adam's breath catches again. “It does?”

“Yes,” Maurice replies. “I'm sure there is a Hebrew grammar somewhere in this library, if you don't believe me.”

“I believe you,” Adam replies. He feels as though he has been given a gift.

Maurice's cold goes, and yet he does not leave. Weeks pass, and he continues to stay with Adam, bringing light and laughter and kindness to the castle. Maurice is the father that Adam never had and always longed for. He finds he does not resent the curse as much, now that he has a friend. There is only one thing that keeps Adam's happiness from being complete, and that is the man's daughter. Adam cannot help but feel a stab of guilt whenever he thinks of her.

“Why do you not return to your daughter?” he asks Maurice one afternoon.

They are sitting in the West Wing balcony, where Maurice has been using the turrets to teach Adam perspective. Maurice looks up from his sketching and gives Adam a small smile.

“Do you not know?” When Adam shakes his head, Maurice continues. “Belle does not need me as much as you do. I made the choice to stay weeks ago, that day when you said I could leave. I could see your fear and self-loathing, Adam, and I couldn't let it continue to consume you. Your father may have twisted you up, but you were beginning to find your way out of it. You just needed a little outside help.”

Adam stares. Maurice gives a little chuckle. “Besides, I always wanted to have a son. And now I do. Because you are my son, Adam, whatever you look like, and I love you for it.”

Adam can't speak for the tears that fill his throat. Then there is a flash of gold light, and a ringing that sounds like music in his ears, and Maurice jumps back in shock as Adam ripples and changes. For a moment all is confusion, and then Adam is standing on his own human feet, his human hands holding a pencil and sketchbook, his heart racing. He looks up at Maurice, thunderstruck. The curse is broken.

“Oh,” Adam says, and flings himself into Maurice's arms, sobbing. The older man catches him and holds him close.

“It's all right, Adam,” Maurice murmurs. “It's all right, my son. You're all right.”

Adam has never been held like this, by a father, has never felt a father's love, and yet he knows in that moment that everything will be all right.

[lunacatriona]

Holby City Fanfic Contest 2.0 - Voting!

Okay, so, we have eleven wonderful entries.

1. To vote, please reblog and add the number of your favourite.

2. Please only vote once.

3. If you have entered, you may vote.

4. If you have entered. you may vote for your own entry, but please refrain from telling anyone you did so.

5. If you want to leave feedback on any of the stories, please include that in your reblog.

6. Please keep feedback respectful. It is one thing to have an opinion, but entirely another to express that opinion in a rude or venomous manner.

7. Voting closes at 11pm on Monday, February 13th. It will take a while to read through the entries so just take your time.

8. Have fun reading!

Please note that the word limit kind of went out the window, so you’d be as well just ignoring that part while judging.

1. Title: Frosted Ponds and Beating Hearts Prompt: image of snow

Serena drives slowly on the icy streets as a fresh cloud-full of snow gently falls to the ground. She vaguely knows where she is, somewhere on the other side of Holby and close to Bernie’s flat. She reaches over to pick up the map on the passenger seat: spies a few street signs and confirms she is where she is supposed to be.   

She starts looking around the streets, craning her neck in search of a familiar figure. She indicates and turns a corner; sees a rather tall and coat clad woman leaning against a brick wall with an umbrella dangling from her hand. Serena pulls up into a free parking spot, put on her fur hat, and gets out of the car. 

Bernie looks up at the sound of a car. Smiles and pushes off the wall when she sees Serena pop up above the roof of her car and takes a few steps forward. Stops in the middle of the pavement and smiles: face extra bright and underlined by black wool. 

“I was beginning to worry you’d gotten lost,” Bernie jokes as Serena stops in front of her and pulls her in for a hug.

“Well, you’re directions got me here in the end,” Serena quips back as she lets go. “Though, they were very a bit jumbled. I can’t believe you don’t know where you live.”   

“I know where I live, I just don’t know what any of the streets are called!” Bernie response, slightly defensive.

Serena pins her with a stare and Bernie grins ruefully. Gestures toward her left, bowing her head slightly as she points Serena in the direction they should be walking. Serena smiles and fall into step beside Bernie and the trudge towards the end of the block: thick boots keeping grip on the sludge.   

“Why did you bother bring that?” Serena asks as they walk, pointing towards the now tattered umbrella hanging limply from Bernie’s finger.   

“Well, it wasn’t that windy when I left the house!” Bernie replies, tone indignant. “But there was this one gust on the way here and it just sort of happened.”   

Serena laughs and Bernie huffs. Throws the umbrella in a nearby bin as they walk towards the park.   

“But why did you bring it at all?” Serena presses.   

“I didn’t want us to get too badly snowed on,” Bernie mumbles, knowing it is a moot point now that the barely falling snow of the day has stopped completely.  

“Oh, that’s very sweet. But if you didn’t want to get me snowed on you shouldn’t have invited me out into the snow,” Serena quips, and laughs as Bernie’s makes a face at her infallible logic.   

They turn the corner, cross the road, and walk into an expanse of snow covered park: grass blanketed in white, trees iced with flakes, a frozen pond in middle and slightly off to the left. Serena notices a couple playing fetch with a dog in the far right corner but otherwise the park is empty: not even footprints in the snow, save their own as they slowly trudge towards the pond.   

They are both a bit breathless by the time they stand on the wood planks of the bridge curved over the frozen water. The stop at the highest point of the arch — Bernie leans forward and rests her weight on the railings; Serena’s gloved fingers grip the bar leaving fingermarks in the ice —they look out over the park.

“I see why you wanted to show me,” Serena says, breath misting in the cold air. She turns her face towards Bernie who looks back with big eyes. “This is lovely, thank you for sharing it with me.”   

Bernie smiles: small and bright and a touch embarrassed. Looks as if she wants to say something but nibbles on her lip to bite back her words. Serena turns her attention back the view, knowing patience is usually the best course of action with Bernie. Bernie follows suit, looking over at the couple still playing with their dog.

They stand in silence for several minutes. A few flakes of snow start to fall again. Then stop.

“You know, I missed the snow so much during my deployment. The rain too, and the cold,” Bernie says, looking out over the park. “Not that I hated the heat, you got used to it eventually, but it was constant and it made me miss the weather back home. Even though I’d grumble about never seeing the sun whenever I was homeside I’d still love it when it was cold.”   

“It was strange, being in the Ukraine,” Bernie continues and Serena manages not to tense at the mention. “Being away from home but not sweltering. I was so used to sweating whenever I was abroad. But Kiev, it was cold. Except it wasn’t a comfort. It was cold like home but it wasn’t. Home, that it.”   

“But now that I’m back here…” Bernie trails off: she might not have said “with you” but Serena hears it all the same. “The snow and the cold — it’s beautiful.”  

“It is,” Serena agrees, looking at Bernie’s profile. The corners of Bernie mouth curls into a smile: she turns and Serena sees that wide thin smile that always reminds her of a puppy. Serena smiles back before turning to stare out over the view. Scuffs the toe of her shoe on the wood of the bridge before speaking.  

“I’ve always loved the snow,” Serena says, still feeling Bernie gaze directed at her. “When I was a child I loved snowball fights and making angels and huffing in the air and pretending I was smoking.” Serena mimes inhaling; puffs out mist and giggles. “I love the brusque coldness and the excuse to wear layers of thick wool.” Serena pauses, looks up at the fluff on her head. “And any excuse to wear the hat, obviously.”   

Serena beams under her fur fringe: her face kitten that ate the cream smug. Bernie turns and lets out a bark. Leans over and bumps Serena shoulder with her own. Shuffles closer to bring their sides together, leaning on the railing again. Serena leans down too, keeping the crook of Bernie’s elbow pressed again her own.   

They look down at their hands, itching to tangle together. Serena looks up through long lashes and Bernie shivers. Serena notices and raises an eyebrow.   

“Sorry, seems I’m a bit cold,” Bernie says, tone playful and loaded. “Perhaps you’d like to warm me up?”   

“I think I can manage that,” Serena teases and turns to wrap her arms around Bernie’s waist. She pulls their bodies together and tilts her face; looks up to see Bernie looking down. Serena raises her chin as Bernie drops hers: their lips meet, slightly chapped but still soft and warm. Serena tightens the hug and feels Bernie melt against her.   

Bernie’s fingers brush against Serena’s neck and up to dip under the band of her hat. She curls her fingers in Serena’s hair; knocking it onto the ground. Neither notice it rock back and forth on the wood planks before coming to a standstill as the snow starts to fall again.

2. Prompt: “How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?” - Grace Hanson, Grace and Frankie

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything? You ask yourself, maybe you would like to say it out loud while you dive into your glass of whiskey and take a slow sip.

You are in Serena’s house and everything in her house is screaming her name. Her smell is everywhere, it stuns you and you curse the moment you accepted her invitation. 

«How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?» This time you say it out loud, and she doesn’t even seem to have heard you, as she holds a glass of delicious Shiraz in her hands. She looks like the kind of person who has the answer to your question. 

You feel stupid next to her, on her couch. You feel your heart racing while her head rests on your shoulder and she sighs while swallowing her wine. 

You’re a coward now and you always were, trying to drown your feelings for Serena inside a half empty glass. 

Pointless, you think to yourself. 

Your feelings are always there. 

You both had a tough day: the many losses in the operating room, your divorce, her problems with Jason. It all gets to you as a wave of nausea and you lose all your courage once again. 

You look at her leaning against you. She is your Goddess dressed with leopard print shirts and a smile as bright as a thousand sunrises. It is the thing that you love most about her. 

You are sad, like twilight, solitary and some would say cold as ice, she is exactly everything that you are not. She holds the sun within herself and, as the sun does with the moon, she lights up your life, she makes you feel alive again. 

You love her – yes, this is love, even if it was damn hard to admit it- like you’ve never loved anyone before her. 

«It’s all relative.» Her voice slow because of the alcohol reaches you, and you ask yourself how much time has passed since you posed the question. How long have you been in your head Ms. Wolfe? A minute? An hour? A whole day? Has the earth exploded and has everything started over until you reached this point in time again? 

You do not know. 

You think back to her words. You both already knew the answer, but it’s nice to have an excuse to hear her voice. This alcohol is not strong enough for you and it is having almost no effect. You grew up in the army and in those environments you learned to hold much more than a few glasses. 

Her eyes close, tired, while holding a glass of wine in her delicate fingers. You gulp down the rest of your whiskey before the ice turns it into dirty water. 

You search for the courage to kiss her while, with eyes closed, she is unaware that your faces are just a few inches away. 

You can always blame the alcohol if it were to upset Serena. 

You stop and you can feel her hot breath on your lips.

You move away from her.

How much do you have to drink to not feel love anymore? 

There will never be enough glasses of whiskey or Shiraz on the whole damn planet that will complete a task that impossible. 

The softness of her breasts against your side leaves you short of breath. You want to groan out loud but do not dare. 

What would you do to see those breasts, take them in your hands, kiss them, love them, love every part of her for the rest of your existence. But Wolfe, you’ll never be brave enough to confess your feelings and you know that. Maybe all you have left to do is to run away and forget about it, forget about how you came back to life thanks to her. 

Maybe one day you’ll do that when she will fall in love with the next idiot who will sooner or later steal her heart. Serena Campbell is too attractive not to catch man’s eyes. How long will it be before your heart will fall apart to see her in the arms of another? 

She is not your woman. 

You keep saying that, but it is pointless. Jealousy starts to crawl like a treacherous snake inside your mind. 

You picture her with him, in his bed, and you become furious. You squeeze the glass in your hand so hard you think that it will shatter. 

«Bernie.» Her voice awakens you from your slumber and you look in those worried eyes. You smile pretending that everything is fine and she seems satisfied with it. If only she knew, she would not take your hand in hers as she is doing now, she would not lean so much on your body, would not invite you to her house, even though at times you think she knows exactly the reaction she is causing in you. 

Serena Campbell is definitely not stupid. 

She occasionally flirts with you. You both do that with the other. But it is only camaraderie, isnt it. It is something that has to do with spending the whole day in the same department, the same shared office. Is that something that makes everyone think of you two as the self-appointed mothers of AAU. 

Yes, you could really be the mother of most of the boys there. You feel old and you think back to your children who don’t speak to you anymore. How would they react to knowing that their mother - more than fifty years old - is in love like a teenager with her best friend? 

God, you feel ridiculous. 

You feel Serena soft snoring against you and a sweet smile blossoms on your lips, thinking how beautiful she is without even having to try. 

How much do you have to drink to not feel remorse? 

You grab the whiskey bottle and drink straight from it, who cares if you eventually will die of liver disease. Your time on this earth sucks. An eternal purgatory that reminds you of your past mistakes, cruelly lists them every day before your eyes, and only looking at Serena seems to ease the pain for a few hours. 

Berenice, you think, the name of a beautiful proud woman, who sacrifices the thing she holds most sacred for love. You vaguely remember the legend, your mind clouded by alcohol. No name could be more wrong for you than this except well, maybe Griselda. Once Serena told you that it meant “Old Heroine”. You smile full of contempt. On second thought maybe, old but never a hero. 

You have another drink. 

Your thoughts become clouded and your limbs are screaming with exhaustion. The position is uncomfortable with Serena’s weight against you, but you do not want to move even one inch from there. Tomorrow you’ll deal with the back pain. Tonight you simply don’t care.

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything? 

Perhaps you know that, after all, this is where the punishment is. You’ll never lose your self-awareness and you will continue to mull over your feelings as you drown and fall asleep, perhaps for the first time in months, with Serena to warm you body and soul.

4. Title: Surprises often get unrequited Prompt: “How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?” - Grace Hanson, Grace and Frankie

Holby is always busy after the holidays, AAU being no exception. Serena’s been nonstop the entire day. The entire week to be exact, she thinks to herself, chuckling softly to no one in particular.

‘What’s brought that on then?’ Raf says, approaching her.

‘Just thinking how Holby holds no surprises,’ she replies. Raf gives her a questioning look. ‘Each case that comes through here seems to be a repeat of the last one, altered just a smidge so that you don’t feel like knocking yourself about just to change things up.’

‘You don’t have to remind me about that. I just had three very intoxicated boys, all more or less blaming it on food poisoning,’ he says with a grin of his own, before walking off.

The next day will bring relief to Serena as she has the day off, along with a certain someone who she spots walking across the ward. Somehow she always knows where Bernie is on the ward before looking, a new feeling that came after Bernie returned from Kiev. But just as soon as she sees her Bernie’s gone again and Serena starts to glower.

Their relationship is moving as it should be, they spend their days working together, and spend their evenings enjoying each other’s company. Tomorrow will be the first day that they’ll both have off together where the other hasn’t already arranged to do something else, and Serena plans to spend every minute of it with Bernie.

She just has to get through the last of her shift before they can head off to the restaurant Serena has made reservations for, which she had booked a month in advance. A point she will tell anyone who tries to get in-between her and Bernie’s night.

She makes her rounds, seeming to never run into Bernie despite her want to do just that. One look from Bernie makes any stressful situation just a little better, and to get one now would mean getting through these last couple hours a bit easier. Though despite her hopes she never bumps into Bernie and her mood dampers just noticeably. But it’s enough for Raf to notice.

‘I can see your earlier giddiness is gone, any reason for that?’ he raises an eyebrow. ‘Not seeing enough of Bernie maybe?’

Of course he means it as a joke, but it just makes Serena more miserable. ‘What does it take to run into someone here? This ward isn’t that big, and she can’t be in theatre at all hours can she?’

She doesn’t get an answer, merely a sad smile from him.

‘I better see her at the end of shift or else I’m sending you on a man hunt. Without pay,’ she points at Raf and he throws his hands up in surrender. She resumes her rounds before he can say anything.

Overlooking the rest of her patients and one surgery later Serena breathes a sigh of relief. She removes her bloody theatre gown after a particularly messy abdomen repair. Luckily she put on her scrubs before going into theatre in case of this situation.

It’s the end of her shift so she decides to put on her evening attire, a simple white shirt with her favourite blue blouse over it, and black dress pants to pull it all together. She looks at herself in the tall mirror in the corner and smiles, her mood finally lightening after a long day.

She walks onto the ward, everything has quieted down and she sees Raf give her pointed look and he shifts his gaze towards her office. She follows his stare and spots the very person that’s been on her mind the whole day, she gives Raf a wink before donning a sly grin on her face.

She hasn’t told Bernie what they’re doing for the evening, she only told her to keep her evening clear, which she already knows she will since they spend most evenings together already. Serena thought she may as well start the evening with a surprise, starting with a surprise hug.

Bernie is facing the two joined desks in their office, hunched over and looking down at something in her hands, her phone? A file? Serena can’t tell. She stops just outside the office to look over Bernie, she’s gotten used to openly admiring her. At first she was self-conscious of staring at Bernie, because she was a woman, but now Serena enjoys what she gets to look at when Bernie is not aware of it.

At the moment though Bernie’s body looks tense, a slight tremor to her shoulders, but Serena just rules it out as exhaustion after a hard day.

Serena looks around the ward and sees that no one is paying attention to her or the office before stepping inside. She doesn’t bother closing the door so as not to stir Bernie. Serena walks until she is behind Bernie and tries to keep her breathing under control. She leans forward and pushes up on her toes.

‘Hi,’ Serena says, trying to make it sound as husky as possible, into Bernie’s ear whilst beginning to wrap her arms around Bernie’s body. Before she can fully wrap her arms around her Bernie suddenly jolts upright, turns, and all Serena sees before she blacks out is a fist.

Serena wakes up in one of the vacant beds. She looks up with blurry vision, two sets of eyes looking down at her.

‘Welcome back,’ Raf says with a cheeky smile.

‘Oh Serena, I am really sorry,’ Bernie brushes her fingers against Serena’s arm. ‘I..I was just, distracted by something.’

Serena reaches up and feels her face. Her fingers delicately going over her swollen nose and cheeks, wincing at the tenderness. ‘I could only imagine what that could be.’ Serena groans out the last word.

‘Right, well. We’ll have to get you in for a CT, I’m afraid you have a minor concussion. So I’d like to keep you in overnight.’ Raf gently feels her nose and the surrounding area. ‘Good news is that I don’t think Ms. Wolfe broke anything.’ Serena groans again.

‘Rightly so,’ Serena mummers as she squints at Bernie’s sad smile.

‘For the most part I think you were very lucky. From the way Ms. Wolfe yelled for help we all thought something far worse had happened,’ Raf looks down at his watch. ‘Okay, I’m off. Someone will be around every couple hours to check on you.’ Raf heads to the nursing station to finish the night’s paperwork leaving Serena and Bernie alone.

‘I guess, urgh,’ Serena pushes herself up more on the bed. ‘This isn’t the romantic, wine-filled night I had planned.’ She looks at Bernie’s quizzical look, takes hold of her hand to reassure her, but notices the bruising around her knuckles. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not so much. I’m more pained from actually hitting you. Really Serena, I am sorry, for this, and for the evening I’ve just ruined.’

‘You can make up for it by being my nurse for the night. First order of business I would like a glass of water with your best straw. I hear hydration can cure all.’ Serena manages to smile despite her swollen cheeks. ‘How much do you reckon I’d have to drink to not look like Rudolph anymore?’

At that question all of the tension in Bernie fades and she laughs heartedly. She gives Serena’s hand a squeeze before getting up to be the dutiful nurse.

When Bernie returns with all the necessities – water, an extra blanket, a pack of cards – the two begin an evening of familiarity. Bernie gives a not-so-clear reason as to why she was distracted, which Serena puts to the back of her mind as she asks Bernie how she got from the office to the bed.

‘When I realized it was you, I caught you before you fell and hurt your head more,’ Bernie says with a small smile. ‘And then I picked you up and carried you to this bed.’ She pats the bed in front of her. Serena’s face lightens at that fact.

‘I think that bit of information just took you off the hot seat Ms. Wolfe.’ They grin at each other, holding each other’s gazes. ‘But you are taking me shopping for a new blouse.’ She feigns a pout. ‘It was my favourite.’

‘Anything you want Fräulein,�� Bernie says before taking up Serena’s hand with both of hers and lays a kiss on it. ‘Anything.’

5. Prompt: Image of snow

They are walking, hand in hand, through the snow-covered streets. A freezing cold wind bites at their faces.  

“What do you think of Italy?” Bernie says. “I mean – you never got – “

“Perfect.” Serena says.   And that’s that. Honeymoon sorted.   

-   

Strolling, hand in hand again with Serena, along the sun-drenched Amalfi coastline, Bernie thinks life can’t get any better. A shimmering azure sea stretches out on one side. On the other dozens of white-washed villas rise over the cliffs. The scent of lemon tinges the air. There is only one thing that could improve her morning. Ice-cream. Soft, cold and delicious. And when she spots a place that sells it, she rushes ahead. Pulls Serena with her.   

“Steady on, soldier,” Serena says. Pulls back. Follows Bernie’s gaze. Realises what she has set her sights on. Quirks an eyebrow. “It’s half nine in the morning, Bernie.”   

“We’re on holiday.”   

And besides, Bernie thinks, there’s never a wrong time for ice-cream. So, making sure Serena definitely doesn’t want one – “We’ve just had breakfast.” – Bernie, very much like an excited child Serena thinks, dashes over to the little stall and buys herself an ice-cream.   

All of two minutes later, they have walked south down the road and Bernie pauses to check street signs for directions (only having taken one tiny lick of the ice-cream). All of two minutes later, after Serena vehemently said she did not want ice-cream, Bernie takes her eyes off it for one second and, of course, some of it goes missing.    

“Oi,” she says, even as she holds the cone out so Serena’s tongue can swipe the rim of the cone, “you said you didn’t want one.”   

“It was melting,” Serena protests. “It was practically dripping onto the pavement.”   

Bernie’s can’t help but smile, when Serena lifts her head and Bernie sees that’s ice-cream spots her nose. Serena utters her trademark “what?” and Bernie’s smile stretches into a grin. “What?”   

“You’ve got –” Some part of her is tempted to lean forward and lick the ice-cream off her wife’s face. The other part of her, that remembers the other tourists around them, passes Serena a tissue from her pocket. Which Serena uses, and then promptly, forgetting the other tourists around them, kisses Bernie on the lips.   

“Was that an apology?” Bernie asks, when they part.   

“No,” Serena says, and really is it any wonder what happens next, when her voice dips gloriously low and wicked so that only Bernie can hear, and really is it even Bernie’s fault what happens next, when Serena kisses her again, harder and deeper, slipping her tongue into Bernie’s mouth, and really did Bernie care in that moment when the ice cream somehow falls from her grip and into a mess on the floor, seconds after Serena admits it wasn’t an apology, it was her thinking of far more fun and inventive ways to enjoy ice cream. To steal it off people.   

Quite literally.   

-   

Needless to say, Bernie wasn’t really thinking of the wasted ice-cream earlier. But now they’re back at the villa, she decides – Serena Campbell, ice-cream thief extraordinaire –needs to pay. Serena, conscience obviously untroubled by such theft, is relaxing by the poolside, the sun lounger on which she lies on a bit too close to the water. Oh well, Bernie thinks. Serena has rested her straw sun hat over her face to shield her eyes from the sun. Soaking up the sun, she lies there perfectly content. Perfectly unsuspecting as a swim-suit clad Bernie creeps up towards the pool.   

Bernie turns back to take a long, appreciative look at the contrast between the deep blue of Serena’s halter-neck bathing costume (as well as its plunging neckline) and the creamy whiteness of the skin on display. She’s told Bernie she doesn’t tan, just burns much to her irritation when she was younger, and now she just slathers herself with sunscreen and enjoys the sun regardless. It’s a lot less risker, anyway.     

The sun has brought out dazzling constellations of freckles over Serena’s arms and upper chest and Bernie has to drag her eyes away. At least her last sight is a very beautiful one, before all hell sets loose via the incitation of Serena Campbell’s wrath.   

Bernie remembers Serena’s teasing question one day when she had snuck up behind the woman, quite unintentionally. Can you wear louder shoes, please? Bernie’s bare feet pad quietly to the edge of the pool. Stand right at the ledge. The nearest part to Serena. When Serena doesn’t stir, Bernie takes a deep breath and jumps into the water, curling her body up for maximum impact.   Maximum splashing.   

“Berenice bloody Wolfe,” Serena shouts, jumping up from the sun lounger. Bernie surfaces from under the water and twists around in the pool to admire her handiwork. Serena stands, sun-hat clutched in hand, not quite as dripping wet as Bernie had wanted. But her skin is glistening and there are darker patches on her swimsuit from the water and her face is, Bernie inwardly congratulates herself, a picture. Bernie can’t help but break into laughter.   

Her smugness will be short-lived. Bernie has declared war and, whilst she is laughing, guards down, Serena is swiftly going in for attack. Creeping up the edge of the pool herself. She dives in, forceful and graceful. Swims up to Bernie. Bernie is just about to tease “show off” before a wave of water hits her. Then another. Yes, Bernie Wolfe has declared all-out war. It takes a several seconds for Bernie to move back in the water, away from the incoming waves, and splash back. Gain the upper hand. Which she quickly loses.   

“Please,” she says, out of breath, holding her hands up in defeat. “You win.”   Serena mercifully accepts her surrender and moves close to Bernie, to where the pool is shallow enough so that they can both stand up, the water lapping just below their shoulders. They are almost stood chest to chest. Serena’s eyes are gleaming. Her smile is triumphant.   

“Was that an apology?”   

“No,” Bernie says, lifting Serena up in the pool so that her legs wrap around Bernie’s waist, “It was me thinking that –” Bernie grasps Serena’s backside, “surely”, Bernie lowers her head to press her lips against Serena’s collarbone, “there are far more fun”, she trails her lips upwards and Serena happily tilts her head back, granting her more access, “and inventive things to do in a swimming pool.”

6. Prompt: “How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?” - Grace Hanson, Grace and Frankie

Bernie hadn’t realised how much she had wanted, how much she had needed to get back to the daily grind of surgery. Blood on her fingers, organs in her hands. That familiar rhythm of slicing and suturing. Except the rhythm’s is off – she’s alone in theatre, without anyone opposite her – and it’s like a heart with only one beat. The other absent. Lost. The remaining one, stuttering on.   

She arrives at Serena’s with aching bones. Jason is out tonight, around Alan’s. It’ll be good for him to get out of the house. The air inside is heavy with grief and, some days, it’s like trying to move through mud the silence is so thick. Full of unsaid things. Full of questions, unuttered, because there are no answers. What now? How do they even get through this?   

What is she, Bernie, meant to do? What can she do? These past weeks, she feels like she’s done nothing but stand by and watch the beautiful and bright spark in Serena’s eyes swallowed by complete blackness. Done nothing but stand by as the woman she loves suffers an agony there’s no anaesthetic for.   And there’s no organ to remove. No bone to set straight. No bleed to find and stop. No open skin to stitch shut. There’s nothing Bernie can do.   

Bernie turns into the living room and sees that the surfaces are empty. Serena must have binned the flowers, rounded up the cards and stashed them away. Out of sight. There’s petals strewn across the rug. A few scattered on the coffee table. A photo-frame on the dresser tilted the wrong way, an ornament knocked on its side. Bernie spots the note Jason has left her, before she a chance to notice the missing vase that usually stands in the centre of the windowsill.   

Jason keeps a watchful eye on Serena. Bernie hadn’t asked him to, but he knows she appreciates it. That she finds it reassuring, most days. The note tells her that Serena was still in room when he went out at three. Had been in the most of the day. She didn’t eat lunch like yesterday. And she’s been drinking.   Bernie calls out Serena’s name as she moves into the kitchen. Red wine stains the countertop.   

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?   

Serena. Last night. Drinking after dinner. Sat next to Bernie on the sofa. Bernie telling her that perhaps she shouldn’t have another glass. Serena saying that Bernie never minded before. Neither of them mentioning what the before is. Serena pouring herself another glass. A smile creeping across her lips, strange and terrible.   

“How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?”   

Bernie reaching for the glass before it can reach Serena’s lips. Holding it tight.   “Serena,” Bernie, voice soft as the snowfall, before taking the glass from Serena, “it won’t help anything.” Bernie putting the glass on one side and turning back and pulling Serena closer to her. Serena leaning in to her and sobbing into Bernie’s shirt.   

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?   

Serena not seeing Bernie’s eyes, flitting all around the room. Not finding anywhere to land. Bernie not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to do. Bernie hugging Serena tighter and tighter.   

After dinner. Last night. Serena. How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?   

The red wine stain on the kitchen countertop. The bottles she knows are missing from the fridge.   

Bernie runs. Turns out the kitchen and up the stairs. Shouts Serena’s name. Gets no answer. Her hands shake. Struggle to turn the handle of the bedroom door. Open it on the third try. Her heart hammers against her ribs. Blood rushes in her ears. She sprints past the empty wine bottles on the floor. Pushes opens the bathroom door. Finds the shower door open and Serena slumped on the shower floor, knees to her chest, eyes closed.   

Bernie yells her name. Crouches down next her. Puts her hands on her shoulders. Gentle, but firm. Says her name. Gentle, but firm.   

“Bernie.” Serena’s eyes open.   

Gasping from the run, terror still running in her veins, Bernie’s eyes dart over Serena’s body. Her hands follow suit, patting her down. Checking that’s she okay. That’s she safe.   

“I broke the vase,” Serena says, dull and flat. “That’s all.”   

She shows Bernie her hand. The cut that the shower has washed clean from blood.   

Bernie checks over Serena again. “Have you taken anything?”

“What?”   

“Have you taken anything? Medicine, pills. Serena.”   

When Serena doesn’t respond, Bernie lets her fear get the better of her. Raises her voice.   

“Serena. If I check the – “   

“I haven’t taken anything,” Serena snaps. Bernie has never been more relieved to hear her anger.   

“How much have you drank?”   

“Can’t remember,” her voice is faint. Barely a whisper. Tears form in her eyes.   “The water’s burning hot.” Bernie finally registers it pounding on her skin. She is on her knees, leaning forward into the shower. Her hair is drenched. Water runs down her back, soaking through her shirt just as it has Serena’s clothes. She’s half-dressed. Barefoot, in trousers and a bra. The water’s scorching and her eyes stare past Bernie, unfocused, uncaring.   

“Serena,” Bernie says, she cups Serena’s face with her hands, “let’s get you out of here.”   

“I wanted …” She chokes out a sob. “I wanted …”   

“I know,” Bernie says when Serena can’t get the words out. “I know.”   

How much do you have to drink to not feel anything?   Serena finally looks at her, properly. Eyes red-rimmed and shadowed by grey. Bernie almost wants to look away. She can’t stand the emptiness she sees in Serena’s pupils.   

Bernie eases Serena up and to her feet. She steps in the shower and turns off the water. Serena clutches at her and Bernie clutches back. For a moment, they stand together, shivering in the shower, clothes dripping. For a moment, they hold each other and Bernie whispers into Serena’s wet hair. I’m here now. I’ve got you. I love you.   

-   

The cut on Serena’s hand is not as worse as she thought. Bernie treats it with the supplies from the first kit in Serena’s bathroom. Doesn’t want to leave Serena even to just go down to the kitchen so fetches her a glass of water from there too. In the bedroom, Bernie unpeels Serena’s sodden clothes from her skin. Strips her own. Fetches towels and bathrobes.   

Serena pushes Bernie’s hands away when she goes to tie the terrycloth around her.   

“No, I want – “ She kisses Bernie, short and chaste. “I don’t want to get changed … I … “   

“Serena, I don’t think you’re – “   

“No. I just want you to … I just want to feel you … against me.”   And Bernie knows, again, what she wants.   

They crawl under the covers of the bed, exhausted, and Bernie pulls Serena close. Until there is no space between them. Until they are pressed as tightly together as the pages of a book. Skin to skin. Serena’s back against her front. Bernie presses feather-light kisses to Serena’s shoulder. She doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what else to do. She knows, tomorrow, something must change.   

Her arm settles around Serena’s waist, her hand clasps Serena’s. Bernie listens to Serena’s steady breathes fill the room and presses her fingers over Serena’s wrist. Feels the pulse beneath.   

Wrapped within Bernie’s body, Serena falls asleep. Bernie never does.

7. Prompt: Image of a lost shoe

“I can’t believe it,” Bernie gasped, “I’m living with a camping snob.”   

“I’m … I’m not a camping snob. I just –”   

“Prove it. Come on a camping trip with me.”   

Why, Serena thinks now, did she agree? Why could she never resist a challenge? It was because of Bernie – I’ve practically slept on desert floors – Wolfe’s eager smile. Excitement Serena vowed she would mirror.    Even when Bernie booked a pitch without an electric hook-up.   

“What if Jason needs me? What if there’s an Emergency?” Serena protested.   “It’s only three days. We’ll take portable chargers. For emergency, only, though. And I know you’ll want to ring Jason every day, so I checked. There’s a telephone box down the street from the site.”   

And, despite such sacrifices that the whole ‘getting back to nature’ business meant, Serena got excited. Looked forward to spending time alone with Bernie, away from Holby, away from work, away from the pressures of daily life as a surgeon. Of daily life, full-stop.   

Whether it was a villa on the Amalfi coast or a campsite in Wales, Serena knew location didn’t really matter. It was a holiday, with Bernie. Their first as a couple.   

She couldn’t help her laughter when Bernie packed Scrabble – (“Sure you’re ready for that sort of competition, Miss Wolfe?) – and a packet of cards and poker chips – (“Sure you’re ready, Miss Campbell?”)   

She still harboured a certain level of trepidation about the trip, knowing she’d have to exchange 600 hundred thread count sheets for a lumpy sleeping bag, a memory foam mattress for one prone to deflate 30 seconds after you inflated it. But Serena stayed positive. Bernie wanted this trip, was an ‘outdoorsy person’, who enjoyed these things (much to Serena’s disbelief). As they set off for the weekend, Serena was determined that she wasn’t going to bring Bernie’s good mood down.   

And she doesn’t grumble once, not when the weather report announces expected blustery October showers and dropping temperatures, not when she remembers that she forgot her toothbrush – “it may be another country, but I’m pretty sure they have shops in Wales, Serena” – or when they journeyed into the countryside and the roads got very twister and narrower and if-a-car-comes-in-the-other-direction-this-is-going-to-be-very-interesting-indeed thinner and “Berenice Griselda Wolfe, if you don’t slow down this car right now, I will throw you off the cliff myself.”   

She doesn’t frown, either, when their journey stops abruptly. They wait as a seemingly endless line of sheep cross the road. “Did you see a farmer?”   

“No?”   

“Are you sure?”   

“Where on earth then – “   

Bernie just gives a shrug of her shoulder. Mutters something that sounds like Wales under her breath.   

The interruption means they don’t arrive at the campsite as dusk is settling. Campsite is a very loose word. It is more of a muddy field in the middle of nowhere. But no, Serena isn’t going to complain. Or she wasn’t until they pull up at their pitch – just another square of slightly less muddy grass – and it starts raining, thick and fast.     

“Maybe, we should just … wait it out.”   

“I don’t think this is the type of rain you wait out.” It looks like it’s staying for the weekend, is what Bernie means. “And, besides,” Bernie says, with a smile on her face that Serena feels is rapidly fading from hers, “we should get the tent up before night falls.”   

“Can’t we just kip the night in here and put it up tomorrow?”   

Bernie laughs before getting out the car. She thinks Serena is joking. Serena is, but only a bit.

Serena stays within the warmth of the car, but, when she sees Bernie unfurling the tent by herself in the now torrential downpour, she feels a stab of guilt. She promised herself. Think positive. And here she is, sulking like a petulant child. Wanting to write the camping trip before it has even begun. All because of a bit of rain.   

She steps out the car, and does so with a bit too much positivity that she doesn’t look what she’s stepping into. “Serena, watch the –"   It’s too late. Mud swallows her feet. When she tries to yank them out, one by one, her right shoe doesn’t come up. It remains wedged in mud. She is left, one foot on ground, one, shoeless, hovering in the air, imitating a flamingo. Very badly. She should have concentrated more in that mindfulness yoga class, she thinks, before she loses her balance. Bernie rushes over, but not in time.   

When she helps Serena up, all thoughts of positivity fly out of Serena’s head at an astonishing rate.   

“For Christ’s sake,” she says.   

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”   

“I’m fine, I just – “ She scowls, looking down at her muddied clothes and hands.

“It’s alright. I’ve got wipes in the –“   

“What?”   

“I’m kidding. This campsite has another across the road. There are shower and toilet facilities just over there. Let’s get you a fresh pair of clothes, hmm?”  Bernie says.   

Serena takes a deep breath. Positivity, she thinks. 

-   

After a long, surprisingly hot, shower and change of clothes, Serena is feeling decidedly more upbeat than before. She walks back, very carefully, in the wellingtons she had mercifully not forgotten, and sees that she had forgotten that Bernie occasionally did like to turn into Super Woman, and not just in theatre, when she sees that what was just sheets of fabric and pegs on the ground is now a, thankfully very sturdy looking, tent.   

Serena kisses Bernie on the cheek. “Thank you.”   

“Your very welcome.”   

-   

“Large portion of chips, vinegar. No salt,” Bernie says as she steps into the tent, grateful to get out the bad weather, “and just what the Doctor ordered.” She holds up a bottle of shiraz, trophy-like.   

Serena looks up from where she is nestled up in a very thick sleeping bag (and a couple of blankets on top for good measure). “Where did you get that from?”

Bernie just taps her nose. Zips up the tent behind her. “I was worried for a moment. I mean we’re got plastic cups we can use, but I didn’t bring a corkscrew. And then I remembered you’re Serena Campbell.”   

“I don’t know whether that’s meant to be a compliment or not.”   

“Depends on if you have a corkscrew.”   

“You know I do.”   

Bernie grins. She fetched tea while Serena set up the things in the inside of the tent and a couple of lanterns – battery operated – cloak the space in a warm glow.   

“Very homely,” Bernie says, crouching down to her knees.   “A girl does her best.”   

“Loving the hat by the way, Cinderella.” She nods to the fluffy monstrosity on Serena’s head.   

“My ears are cold. Heck, my everything’s cold. And will you stop calling me that.”   

Bernie pouts.   

Serena rolls her eyes. “Just because you fancy yourself as a Prince Charming, doesn’t mean – “   

“But I did retrieve your shoe.”   

“I didn’t lose it.”   

“Sorry, yes,” Bernie holds her hands up, “you simply misplaced it.”   

“Oh, come over here and sit down properly,” Serena huffs in mock-annoyance, “you’re making the place look untidy.”   

Bernie settles down onto the air bed. “Certainly, your majesty.”   

Serena swats Bernie with a pillow. Mumbles something about Bernie bringing in the cold with her.   

“By the way,” Bernie smirks, “I think you look very snug, but if you do need some … warming up later, I’d be happy to help. Purely in the interest of you not catching pneumonia, of course.”   

“I thought you’d never ask.”

-

Bernie is doing just that, sharing her body warmth so to speak and raising Serena’s own, when Serena hears something outside. All but yelps.   

“What was that?”   

Bernie is far too absorbed with other things to reply with anything other than a “Mmm” against Serena’s neck. Her lips suck at the soft skin there.   

“There’s something outside,” Serena hisses.   

“Probably just a sheep,” Bernie mumbles, “that’s wandered away from the field.”   

“It did not sound like a –“   

The rest dies on Serena’s lips. Bernie’s hand has wandered somewhere else as well. And she is particularly good at the art of distraction. 

- 

Later, when Serena is feeling the most positive she has about the camping trip, body sated and boneless and still thrumming with heat under Bernie’s own, Bernie takes her chance.   

“Serena?”   

“Mmm.”   

“What do you think about caravanning?”   

Serena groans -  and not in a good way.

8. Prompt: “One word can sometimes be sharper than a thousand swords.” (Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred D Taylor) 

“Idiot!”

The hissed word cut through the haze of Jasmine’s embarrassment. The patient was glaring at her in utter disgust, and she dropped the IV needle onto the floor as sheer panic took over her system. Meeting Morven’s eye, she jerked her head towards the woman before turning on her heel and sprinting for the ward doors.

It would be one thing if Ms Campbell was still here, and she could turn into her office and seek advice. But even that door was closed to her now, now that she had gone on an extended leave. And Ms. Wolfe was not an option to speak with, either, seeing as how she had rightfully taken Ms. Campbell’s side.

Swiping away tears, she made for the lift and blindly stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor and then trying to make herself as small as possible in the corner of the car. As the lift continued upwards, she tried to keep her sniffles quiet, not wanting to add grist to the hospital rumor mill. And then, a large, warm, hand was resting itself on her shoulder, and she was looking up into the entirely too kind eyes of Mister Hanssen.

“Doctor Burrows, are you on your way to the roof?” he asked lowly, and she gave a small nod before looking away from him. She had treated him badly before, and wasn’t certain how to act around him now. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Jasmine darted her eyes back up to his face, trying to suss out if he was being serious. There was no trace of mockery or derision on his face, and so she felt free to shake her head. “I think I might like that,” she murmured lowly before pulling away from him slightly, trying to ignore the fact that tears were still rolling down her cheeks.

Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over. Jasmine hesitated before using it, gazing at the snow white linen square, seeing the faint HH stitched into one corner. Taking a closer look, she realized that the entire piece had been stitched by hand, the spacing between stitches almost inhumanely perfect. “They’re made to be used, Doctor Burrows.”

“This is too fine to ruin with my tears,” she whispered, worrying the soft fabric between her fingers. “I ruin everything, you know. It’s just who I am.”

The elevator doors slid open, and she let out a squeak of surprise when Mister Hanssen spread his hand out on her shoulder blade to guide her from the elevator and over to the stairwell to complete their journey to the roof. It was only when they were taking a seat on the ledge that he removed his hand and began to speak. “You give your demons entirely too much power over you when you believe those lies, Doctor Burrows.”

“What if it’s true, though? I didn’t use my best level of care with Elinor, and look what happened. I destroyed her.” She wasn’t really certain which her she was referring to, and it didn’t surprise her when she started crying once more. “I’m just an idiot girl who thought she could make her mother proud by being exactly like her golden child sister.” Delicately, she dabbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne.

“Words have the tendency to cut us much more sharply than a sword, Doctor Burrows.”

“Jasmine. I mean, we’re up here, where no one can hear us. It feels weird to have you address me that way.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel like a doctor. Not anymore.”

She watched from the corner of her eye as his hand reached out and hovered above her knee. Jasmine nodded a little, giving him a brief smile, and then his hand was resting on her knee almost respectfully. Which didn’t help things, it just made her cry all the harder. And then, and then, she was stupidly leaning against his chest, sobbing her heart out. “Jasmine,” he said softly as he awkwardly settled his arm around her, letting her huddle in close to him as she sobbed.

“She’s dead, and Ms Campbell hates me, and I’ve been making mistake after mistake. I almost destroyed your career, and Mister Griffin’s, and I’m so tired. Do you know how hard it is to paste on a fake cheery façade every day?”

“No, because I am allowed to be taciturn and severe.” She nodded as she went to rub her cheek against his suit coat, only to check herself at the last moment, not wanting to get makeup on the obviously expensive fabric. “And Ms Campbell is deep in grief, what you think she feels about you might not be the truest.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I try not to lie, Jasmine. Now, I know that you were kind to Jason once, and I have something that needs to be delivered to him at the house. Would you kindly do me the favour of dropping it by?”

“Why me?”

“Because sometimes, we need to face our fears and realise that the giants in our minds are mere figurines in reality. And because Jason needs someone else besides me checking in on him. I don’t want to order you to do this, but I will, if I must.”

Jasmine drew in a deep breath as she sat up to look into his eyes. “I suppose. I do owe you, after all.” He shook his head. “I do. And I always repay my debts.” He gave her a small nod before standing and extending his hand to her. She clasped it firmly, allowing him to lead her down to his office.

It was a silent journey, and then she was accepting the small stack of magazines from his hand. She went to give the handkerchief back, but he shook his head a little. “Keep it.”

She gave a sharp nod before heading out to the lift and waiting for it.

Thankfully, there was no one else waiting, and she was able to scoot down to AAU and get changed without having to speak to anyone. Then, she was out in the car park and climbing behind the wheel of her old vehicle, starting it up and heading out.

It was only when she was underway that she realized she had no idea where Ms Campbell lived. Once more, she was in luck, as Mister Hanssen had texted her the address at almost her exact moment of need. Tapping on it, she let her GPS guide her the fifteen miles. And listening to the directions also allowed her to not think about the confrontation certain to come.

It was only when she parked outside the veritable mansion that her supervisor called home that nerves started to flutter at her chest. However, she was certain Mister Hanssen would know she had decided to don a yellow feather, and so Jasmine took a deep breath and climbed out of her car, slowly walking to the door.

Still, it took her few moments to knock on the door and then she was left waiting. It was only when she heard the familiar cadence of Ms Campbell approaching her that she wondered what she would say when the door was open. And then, the door was opening, and a tear streaked face was staring at her, anger and grief warring for dominance. “What are you doing here?”

Jasmine was barely prepared for those words, and she held the magazines out as a peace offering. “I’ve come to see Jason. And apologise.” Ms Campbell’s face softened for a moment before she nodded and moved aside, letting Jasmine in and without thinking, she reached out for the woman’s hand, squeezing tightly as if she didn’t want to ever let go.

9. Prompt: “Don’t worry, you’re just as sane as I am.” -Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Serena sat on her couch, relaxing, when Bernie’s keys were rattling in the door and she heard it swing open and her shouting “I’m home!” 

Serena smiled. She put the book, a travel guide of Cambodia, a country she had only ever heard her mother talk about, down on the coffee table, next to her glass of Shiraz. 

Bernie wore a nervous smile. When she tentatively walked further into the living room, Serena heard a weird clacking sound on their wooden floor that Bernie was not making. 

“I uhm,” Bernie stammered “I brought someone.” She let her hands fall to her sides, her gesturing having been useless. 

The clacking continued until… Serena could not believe her eyes. 

“Bernie, is this some kind of practical joke?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of what had walked forth. 

“I’m afraid not, love.” she answered, a bit of fear in her voice for her lover’s reaction. 

Serena stared. And stared some more. 

“Are you sure it’s real, Bernie?” she asked. 

The unicorn walked towards Serena on its own accord, its hooves clacking on the floor. It lifted the right front hoof and offered it to Serena, resembling a handshake. 

Not knowing the proper protocol, she took the hoof and shook it, deeply perplexed by the bizarre situation. 

The unicorn opened its mouth and began to speak. 

“You are Serena Campbell, if I’m not mistaken? Nice to meet you. I’m Dandelion Hooves, but you can call me Dan.” 

Serena mouth was open and saliva was threatening to fall out of it. 

“Bernie…” she stammered, looking to her for help. Bernie pointed to the unicorn with her head. 

Serena supposed it could be real so decided on the chance that it was real, that it was only fair to be a proper host. She closed her mouth and smiled. 

“Hello Dan, it’s nice to meet you too. Yes, I’m Serena. Would you like tea or some wine? We also have juice, I believe Jason, my nephew, hasn’t finished it yet.” She moved to get up. “And um… have a seat?” she didn’t think about the implication of sitting when you are not a human being, so Dan, awkwardly trying to be polite, sat on the floor next to a chair, not fitting into any chair and sitting in chairs was uncomfortable for Dan anyways. 

“If that would be ok, I would love a glass of water,” Dan said. 

Bernie jumped up, saying: “Why don’t I get drinks for all of us and you get to know each other a little?” and walked off towards their kitchen. 

“Well, I don’t want to be rude, but I’d like to know why you’re here?” Serena asked. 

“Well, your lovely partner brought me because my family threw me out and the hospital has no free beds and I am hurt.” It pulled apart the leather jacket it was wearing, a bandage appeared. 

Serena still wanted to understand, to question this, but in the face of a potentially real and sentient creature she didn’t want to insult it. It probably got enough of that shit anyways. So she treated it as if it was a human being. 

“Oh god I’m so sorry they threw you out. May I ask why?” Becoming a bit more comfortable with the situation and her current reality, she folded her legs beneath her. She was in her own home after all. 

“Yes, you may.” It pulled the flesh covering its teeth aside and Serena only realized too late that it had been smiling. “I came out to them as nonbinary. My mom threw a pot at me and told me to get out.” Its expression could be described as sad as far as Serena was capable of judging non-human facial expressions. 

“I’m so sorry. I hate to have to ask this, but… what is nonbinary?” 

 The unicorn sighed, then smiled sadly. 

 “Do you want the long explanation or the short explanation?” 

“Whatever it needs so that I’ll understand,” Serena replied. 

“Okay,” Dan said, then shifted into a more comfortable sitting position. “You know that there are two current recognised genders?” 

Serena nodded. 

“You have heard of trans individuals, being whose gender does not match the sex they were born in?” 

Serena nodded again, there had been a trans kid in Elinor’s class. 

“Well, there are people whose gender does not fit into the binary, into the categories of female and male. There are a lot of subcategories, but the generic term for all genders not part of the binary is nonbinary.” 

Serena nodded thoughtfully. “I do understand that.” 

“But Dan,” she began asking and Dan sighed. 

“I’m sorry. I do understand what nonbinary is supposed to be but… why do we need a term for that?” 

“I knew you’d ask something like that from your expression. At least you’re not as insensitive as some other people. Well look at me. I am not female and not male. That isn’t defined by my sex, neither by the way I dress but only by the way I feel. I do not feel female or male. I feel like something in between, sometimes like nothing at all and sometimes I feel a lean to some side, on a few days I even feel like I belong to one of the binary genders, but never for long. I am not male or female.” 

Serena took her glass of Shiraz and took a deep gulp. 

“I am getting more and more insensitive,” she began, but stopped because Bernie reappeared from the kitchen with a plate with three sandwiches, three glasses of water and a second wine glass for herself, setting all on the coffee table and letting herself fall onto the couch next to Serena, smiling brightly first at their guest and then at Serena. 

 Serena was looking at her. “Did you two get to know each other a little?” 

“Actually, we did,” Dandelion answered. “But I believe you unintentionally interrupted your partner, she wanted to ask me something?” It looked expectantly at Serena. 

“Um, yes I did. I um,” she blushed, “I just can’t quite believe you’re real. I don’t know, maybe you can pinch me or something? I’m sorry, I’m sure you get this a lot.” 

Bernie laughed. “My reaction was quite similar, Dom had to slap me before I was able to treat them properly.”

 “Them?” Serena inquired. 

“Oh um yes, Dan of course. Their preferred pronoun is “they”.” She smiled at Dan, proud to have remembered it, and they mouthed “thank you”, very happy about Bernie respecting their gender. 

“And besides, you’re just as sane as I am.” She winked. 

“Bernie, at this point this not really any consolidation.” Serena said, being half sarcastic. Bernie laughed and Serena joined in. 

Serena thought she had seen something move from the corner of her eye and turned her head. The reflection in an apple looked weird, but she thought nothing of it and said “Why don’t we eat? It’s been quite a day for all of us.” 

But then the apple began to shake and she put her sandwich back down to watch it properly. Bernie and Dan were too busy devouring their sandwiches to notice anything. The reflection in it… moved and now showed a female shape that was beginning to emerge. The female only draped in linen freed itself from the apple and grew quickly until it stood in all its gloriousness on their coffee table. Serena sighed, being beyond surprised. Bernie stared. Dan stared. 

“I am Aphrodite, hi. Can I have a sandwich too?” she asked. 

“Yes of course, help yourself,” Serena gestured, Bernie and Dan were still frozen. 

 She sat down cross-legged and grabbed a sandwich. Her drapes barely hid anything, her obviously female and male attributes were very visible. Bernie gulped. 

“And you are?” Between two bites, she threw her long locks over her shoulder and said snappily “Aphrodite, Aphroditus, Hermaphroditus, Cytherea, Cypris, call me whatever your want. Goddess of love, beauty and sexuality, to your service.” 

“Wow,” Dan whispered. Unimpressed, she continued eating.

“Why are you here?” Serena asked. 

Unhurriedly, she ate the last few bites, licked her fingers, then looked at them. “I am Aphrodite, goddess of love, beauty and sexuality. You did a good job. Well, not at looking good, but at the other two things.” 

They stared. She sighed. “Do I have to spell everything out for you?” 

“Yes please,” Serena asked. 

“You,” she looked pointedly at Dan “came out and I just wanted to show you my support. You’re not alone,” she vaguely gestured at her body. “And you,” she looked pointedly at Bernie and Serena “are doing a good job of keeping up the tradition of sappho. Also you welcomed them,” headpoint to Dan “into your house and treated them nicely. Keep being good people and good sapphic women.” 

“Um, thanks, I guess,” Serena said. “Is there a protocol for this?” “Nah not really,” Aphrodite said, “everybody acts and reacts quite differently. Thanks for the sandwich by the way.” 

“No problem,” Bernie refound her voice. 

“Are you real?” Dan weighed in, the excitement showing in their voice. 

“Wanna touch me?” she dared him and scooched closer in the table. Dan touched her arm. 

 “Wow,” they whispered. Aphrodite hugged them. 

 “Keep up your pride, lad. We really need people like you.” She smiled. Then looked into the round. “I‘m afraid I have to leave, things to do, places to go and all that jazz.” 

Bernie nodded, still not quite believing her eyes. 

“Thanks for your encouragement!” Serena said. 

 “Will I see you again?” Dan asked. 

“We’ll see,” she said and mysteriously vanished into the reflection until it was just the ceiling light again.

“What the hell,” Bernie stated.

10. Title: Words of Meaning Prompt: “One word can sometimes be sharper than a thousand swords.” (Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred D Taylor)

Pulses, at two o’clock in the morning, was a quiet affair, a few staff arriving for a caffeine and sugar fix to get them through the rest of the night. When Bernie Wolfe entered the hospital doors, a gust of cold wind blew through with her, causing her to shiver in her escape from winter’s hold. If there was one thing she hadn’t always missed when she was out on tour it was Britain’s winter weather. However, what she lost in the heat and constant presence of sand, she gained in being able to share that winter warming up with Serena - and that she wouldn’t trade for anything now. Even in their present situation with Bernie caring for Serena as she tries to process her grief, Bernie cannot fathom not wanting being here. She’s handled her own guilt - merited or not - for being able to save Jason and not Elinor. Though she might be the fantastic and fearless doctor that Serena had claimed she was, the bleeding damage done to Elinor’s brain was something she couldn’t fix. Serena had wanted to be alone tonight with Jason to fuss over as he continued his recovery, so Bernie had agreed to stay at her flat for the night. However, after three hours of tossing and turning, Bernie decided she’d head into work. It was technically a day off but at least she could get caught up on some administrative work that required her attention. Stopping at the counter, she ordered her coffee and a muffin. As she waited, she looked around to see if there were any staff she recognised. Sat in one corner, Zosia March huddled with Dominic Copeland. She smiled a greeting at them which Zosia acknowledged. She thought briefly about going over but a slight shake of Zosia’s head and a mouthed, ‘later’, Bernie nodded. She kept note to check later how they were doing. Paying for her order, she headed through the corridor to AAU and onto her ward. On a Thursday night, the ward was only a third full, and looking at the assignment board, she could see at a glance what was covered. Fletch was sitting at the nursing desk adding some notes to a chart. Upon seeing her though he startled slightly. “Ms. Wolfe. I wasn’t expecting you to be in tonight.” “Couldn’t sleep. How are things? Anything urgent?” Bernie inquired in case she had to go change into some scrubs. “No. There was just one procedure this evening which Raf took care of before he headed home at midnight. Jasmine is just checking on Mr. Donaldson now; appendectomy.” Bernie nodded in the direction of the consultant’s office. “I’ll be in there getting a dent in the paperwork. If you need me, don’t hesitate to holler.” Dropping her leather bag on one of the guest chairs in the office, she turned to hang her coat up before flicking on the small lamp on their desk. She sighed heavily as she dropped herself down into her chair. She wasn’t a religious person, but she uttered a prayer, or perhaps an oath to some higher power to take care of Serena and Jason in her absence. Pursing her lips, she reached over and grabbed the first handful of folders, opening the top one and read through the chart’s details. Typing the notes into the electronic charts, adding annotations to the surgical plan and outcomes, she moved from one chart to another to the next. It wasn’t until she heard a knock on the door, that she lifted her head to look at the clock on the wall. She rubbed a hand against the back of her neck and rolled it before looking at the door. “Come in,” Bernie called out. “Ms. Wolfe?” Zosia March stopped at the entrance, clearly hesitating and debating whether she should before glancing at Bernie. “What can I do for you, Doctor March?” Bernie asked kindly as she stood to move her things off the chair, and indicated for Zosia to take the seat offered. “I don’t… I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, but I thought you might be able to help.” “I take it this is more personal than work related?” Bernie inquired as she looked at the younger woman’s troubled expression. “Dom?” Zosia’s head whipped up, meeting Bernie’s gaze before remembering that Bernie had seen the two of them in the cafe earlier. “I hate talking out of turn, especially about good friends, but I’m worried about him. He’s lost. He’s lost that spark and interest he has about life, about medicine. I thought at first that it was just a delayed reaction to missing Arthur…” Zosia paused and sighed. “But now I think it’s much more than that. He’s lost his confidence. He’s a very good doctor and I’d hate to see him lose the ground that he’s gained.” Leaning back in her chair, Bernie took a deep breath. She’d missed talking with Dom lately, not surprisingly with everything she’s been trying to do with Serena, but she’d seen him hesitant and guarded when she was covering Keller recently. When he’d come to talk with her in the Keller’s consultant’s office, he seemed genuinely surprised and confused that the decision for the conference trip was solely Mr. Mayfield’s discretion and as far as Holby was concerned, Dom was the chosen assistant. “He is a good surgeon. He certainly has the makings of a very good one.” Bernie smiled, thinking his cockiness reminded her of some of the young medics that had worked in her units while on tour. Turning serious for a moment, though, she added, “What do you make of Isaac Mayfield?” “Honestly?” Zosia asked, and continued upon seeing Bernie’s nod. “I don’t trust him. Gut instinct is that he’s up to no good. In fact, I know he’s not. After, standing up for himself, turning down the trip, Dom came to stay with Ollie and I for that week. He didn’t say much at all, but I could hear him crying through the night. Yesterday he told me Isaac had a one night stand before leaving for Hawaii.” Bernie’s fist clenched around a piece of paper and she took a couple of deep breaths. Doctor March’s instincts were adding up to her own impressions of the registrar. While nothing to pinpoint specifically, and certainly nothing that she could at the moment call into professional practice concerns, she’d seen attitudes and arrogance like his in the military. Recognizing that Zosia was still there, she looked over to the young woman. “You’re a good friend to him, Doctor March. Keep hold of that. Look after him. I will do my best to do that as well. As for the rest, let me look into it further.” “Thank you, Ms. Wolfe.” Zosia stood and rubbed her hands against her legs, seemingly not knowing what to do next, then gathering herself and shaking her head and plastering a small smile on her face. “I best get going. Need to make sure Mr. Rossini is not flirting with all the patients again.” Breaking her usual habits of personal space and interactions with work colleagues, Bernie extended a hand to Zosia’s shoulder. “We’ll find a way through this for Dom, okay?” “Thanks.” Zosia nodded and then left the office, leaving Bernie with some things to consider. Knowing she’d not have the requisite access to request the personnel evaluations from Human Resources of someone not on her ward without legitimate clinical concerns, Bernie would have to speak with Sacha Levy and Ric Griffin and that would have to wait until the morning shift. She made note of things she wanted to check out before she forgot, then stood and stretched. Peering into her cup, she ditched the last dregs of coffee into the pale next to her desk. She smiled to herself for a moment. Unlike the last time she’d been left in control of the ward whilst Serena was on suspension, Bernie had kept their office tidy in Serena’s recent absence. She’d even at one point taken a picture to prove that, though she’d not sent it to Serena, and her partner had not even mentioned the tidiness when she’d returned. Heading out onto the ward, Bernie took a look around, noting where patients and staff were located, before finding Fletch checking the IV drip line of one of the patients. Waiting for him to finish and approach her, she checked her phone for any emails. Nothing urgent, so she opened her Messages app and typed in a small message to Serena, 'Thinking of you. Take care. Love, Bx.’ “Is everything okay, Ms. Wolfe?” Fletch asked, startling Bernie as she’d not seen him approach. “Sorry. You seemed miles away.” “It’s okay. I was just going to ask how things were going out here.” “Things are all right. No worries.” Feeling concerned, he turned his head towards the office. “Was there anything Dr. March needed?”. “Just a consult, Fletch,” Bernie responded, indicating that it was not up for discussion, and Fletch nodded. “I’m going to go stretch my legs a bit. Page me if you need me.” “Will do, boss.” Fletch winked and smiled then headed back to his duties. Bernie walked out the AAU doors, and headed up to Keller via the stairs. Entering the ward, she spotted Essie walking towards her, after checking on a patient. Smiling, Bernie held up a hand as she looked around the unit for Dom. “Hey, Ms. Wolfe, did you miss us?” Essie lightly inquired. It wasn’t often they had a consultant from another ward cover but since Sacha was still out recovering and Ric was still acting CEO, they’d had a couple of locum consultants. “Something like that. Have you seen Doctor Copeland around?” “He’s with Mr. Mayfield in surgery at the moment. They should be close to being done.” Bernie nodded. “What do you make of Mr. Mayfield?” “In what way?” Essie asked. “Professional, mentoring, interactions with junior staff.” “Well, he’s personable. He gets along with everyone as far as I’ve seen.” “And Dom?” Bernie asked. Essie thought for a moment before responding, “He’s seemed a bit down lately but he’ll come round.” Bernie nodded, partially expecting that answer. If Dom was hurting as Doctor March indicated, then he was likely putting up a front, a wall to protect himself, a trait she identified with all too much. “Thanks. Would you mind not mentioning this conversation, please?” “Sure. Not a problem,” Essie responded, but now she was curious about why Bernie would be asking about Isaac. “Did you want me to tell Dom you were looking for him?” “No, that’s fine. I’ll just reach him later.” Bernie turned to leave the ward and as she got out into the hallway, she heard raised voices coming from a side office. She couldn’t hear the content but could hear the tone and recognised the voices. While she disliked confrontation when it came to her own personal life, she was certainly prepared and trained to deal with confrontation when it applied to staff, and as she liked and respected Doctor Copeland, she entered the room and just waited for their reaction. “Doctors Copeland and Mayfield, what is the problem?” Turning to his senior colleague, Isaac responded after a brief moment of a glare at Dom. “Ah, Ms. Wolfe, Doctor Copeland and I were just having an argument about patient care.” “It was my fault,” Dom started quietly. “I missed seeing something on the scan that was more problematic once we opened the patient up. She nearly bled out but we were able to save her.” “Can I see the scan, please?” Bernie asked. She waited until Isaac handed over the iPad with the digital copy of the scan enlarged. “The lesions were completely adhered to the outside lining of the bowel and were starting to penetrate into the colon, causing partial blockage and restricting blood flow. I take it one of the mesenteric arteries ruptured?” “Yes.” Isaac responded, feeling glad that someone else spotted the problem. “And how is the patient now?” Bernie inquired, ignoring Isaac’s smug expression. “Stable. We were able to remove all the lesions, repair the artery and remove the perforated section of the bowel.” Isaac was feeling pretty confident in his abilities but as Bernie took a look at Dom, she was slightly taken aback by his silence. Isaac noted her appraisal of Dom before she guarded her expression and he was not pleased. “Everything will be fine, Ms. Wolfe. We’ll continue his obs as per routine. Won’t we, Doctor Copeland?” Recognising that she needed to be careful but precise with her wording so that Dom would not bear any lasting brunt of Isaac’s ire, she spoke with quiet but commanding presence. “Doctor Mayfield, if I could hear you arguing out in the hallway, so could other staff. Whatever Doctor Copeland or any other junior doctor, nurse or staff does or does not do, it does not merit a shouting match. I’ll arrange cover for Doctor Copeland with another doctor for the rest of the shift. Be aware that this incident will be noted on record.” Bernie was aware of the seething look he sent her before schooling his expression. “Take 15 minutes to go cool off before going back onto the ward. I’ll be checking in later.” Bernie handed back the iPad to Isaac and waited for him to exit the room before taking a deep breath herself, rubbing her temples as the onset of a headache threatened to begin. Dom shifted his position from the corner of the room. “You didn’t need to do that, Ms. Wolfe. It would have worked out.” Bernie raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe it ever does in many aspects.” She sighed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this argument wasn’t just about patient care, there was more than an element of the personal involved.” “It’ll be fine.” Dom shrugged, not quite believing his own words. Bernie was wary. And she was worried seeing Dom’s cowed mannerisms. Zosia was certainly correct in her assessment of Dom and Bernie regretted not keeping a closer eye on Dominic. She liked the young man who had given her far more support than she could have expected after Alex and her being outed, especially as she’d initially erroneously blamed him for the rumours outing her. Gathering her thoughts, she guided the junior doctor out of the side office and down the corridor. “Come on. Drinks are on me,” Bernie smiled. “Uhm. Ms. Wolfe, it’s four am. Albie’s closed hours ago.” Dominic grinned at Bernie’s playful expression. “And we’re at work, so Pulses it is. I need a caffeine shot to get me through the rest of the night.” “Ms. Wolfe? You said you were covering me with another doctor on Keller. What about the rest of my shift?” Dominic asked suddenly. “You’re with me, on AAU.” Bernie grinned widely. “Time to learn some trauma skills, young Jedi.” They stopped by Pulses to pick up some coffee and sugary treats then headed down to AAU. Bernie stopped at the nurse’s station to speak with Fletch for a moment, then nodded her head in the direction of her office. “Give me about 15 minutes or so to arrange cover and I’ll be back out here.” As promised, Bernie had returned with a smile on her face. She’d arranged with another doctor to come in for the last few hours of Dominic’s shift - someone who owed her a favour and someone who would certainly not put up with any bullying of any sort. Another fifteen minutes later, a delivery of a couple of boxes of pizza and bottles of soda arrived on the ward, much to the delight of the staff, thanks to Bernie. Pizza consumed, Bernie let Fletch know where she was headed if there were any concerns and she directed Dom to the wet lab where she began instructing Dom on some trauma skills. Directing him in techniques and the principles behind them, she added in stories and commentary from her experiences. All along encouraging him, correcting when necessary and praising his skills as he acquired them successfully. She was pleased with the teaching session. As the rest of the early morning passed, she could see the light in Dom’s eyes beginning to return, and she made a personal vow to continue to mentor and teach him. She’d have to arrange that with Ric and Sacha but she didn’t see much of a problem arising there. “Ms. Wolfe, don’t get me wrong because I really appreciate this, but why?” Dominic asked as he sat back, looking at the work he’d completed. “Why teach you?” Bernie deliberately set aside the issue of Doctor Mayfield’s earlier behaviour. “You’re a very good doctor. This morning you showed an eagerness to learn and improve your skills.” However, Dom decided he needed to address the earlier issue. “No. I mean with Isaac. You didn’t have to come in when you did.” He sighed. Bernie echoed that sigh. “Dom, do you really think he would have stopped? Maybe, for a while, before he found something else to go off about.” Dom looked like he might interject, but Bernie continued. “One word can sometimes be sharper than a thousand swords. I’ve learned that the hard way in my lifetime. It’s not always about fists or physical violence. It can escalate that way, but not always. Words do hurt sometimes, especially when aimed at a particularly vulnerable part of ourselves we try to keep hidden.” Sensing more behind her words, Dom questioned her, “Ms. Wolfe, what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bernie debated whether or not to delve into her personal history, but she felt it was worth the minor discomfort to make a point. “My early years in the military, there was a senior officer, he had a way about intimidating junior officers and apparently his family, which we learned about later. He’d find a way to go after the weakest point, which in some ways was good and we learned the proper reasoning from other senior officers, but this guy was just cruel for cruelty’s sake. He drove a few of my fellow soldiers, male and female alike, out of the military. Nearly drove me out. I stood up for myself and reported him to someone I trusted. He was dismissed, not just the actions towards the junior officers but also on other offences, of which we weren’t privy.” Bernie stopped and sighed. “Whether it’s a personal relationship or a professional relationship, don’t let anyone make you feel any less than who you are, don’t let them bully or intimidate you. And if it happens, let someone know. This doesn’t just happen on the school yards. We’ve got a respectful workplace policy for a reason, and that applies just the same at home as it does here, especially if the relationship is between staff members. Let me know. Text, call, whatever. Okay? Also, please do that for Zosia. She cares about you.” “Thank you.” Dom stood up and stretched his legs. Sighing, he debated something internally, and then surprisingly, he gave Bernie a hug. It wasn’t something he generally did with fellow staff, particularly senior staff. Excepting Isaac, his last such emotional connection was with Mr. Hanssen after Arthur’s death. Pulling back, he wiped his eyes, straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Thanks, again. How is Ms. Campbell?” “Surviving. We’re taking it day by day.” Bernie smiled broadly and her face softened despite the sadness. “I love her. So much.” “I’m glad. Love looks good on you, Ms. Wolfe.” A blush formed over Bernie’s cheeks as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Thanks.” “Come on, Jedi Master.” Dom grinned cheekily. “We must get back to the ward to see how Fletch and Jasmine have left things. Bernie laughed. "Onwards and upwards, Mr. Copeland.” The two of them headed to AAU, light jokes and comments belying an emotionally charged morning, but both glad of its outcome. Looking at her watch, she noted that it was already past eight o’clock, on a partial shift that she’d picked up. She wasn’t due back until seven that evening for her official shift, so she could go home and get some food and kip before coming back in. Turning onto the ward, she saw Serena entering their office. Bernie gave a glance to Dom, who gave her a nod and a mock salute before heading over to chat with Fletch and Jasmine at the desk. Bernie continued on to her office, closing the door behind her. She waited a moment, assessing the tired expression rolling off Serena, then she crossed the short distance and enveloped Serena in a hug. Not caring that the blinds were open, she pressed light kisses over Serena’s forehead, down her nose and finally a gentle kiss to her mouth before resting her head against Serena’s. “I love you.” “Bernie.” Serena sighed then she wrapped her arms tightly around Bernie’s waist, not wanting to ever let go. “I love you, too.” Her own 'relationships in the workplace’ rules be damned; she needed this.

11. Prompt: “Ships in the Night” - Mat Kearney

It had always been the case that they worked opposing shifts on Thursdays, Serena on earlies and Bernie on lates, and even once they were living together – especially because they were living together, Serena wouldn’t change it. She might frequently be caught gazing soppily across the ward at the trauma surgeon, but Serena Campbell MBA was not going to arrange the rota around her personal life, thank you very much.

Yet it was Serena who complained most about it, coming home tired and a little jaded just as Bernie was getting ready to go in. “We’re like ships in the night,” she called through the bathroom door, listening to Bernie towelling herself down. The door opened just wide enough for Bernie to poke her head out and kiss the end of her nose. “It’s once a week, Serena,” she chuckled. “Hardly the world’s busiest shipping lane, is it?” Strands of wet blonde hair clung to Serena’s cheek. “I still don’t like it,” Serena huffed, teasing them away and running her finger through Bernie’s fringe.

So that’s how it became a thing.

Now when Serena got home on a Thursday afternoon, instead of finding the radio on and Bernie singing tunelessly along to the final words of each lyric, she would head straight to the ensuite to find Bernie waiting in a hot bath amidst a mountain range of bubbles, candles lit on every available surface. The first time there had been a piano concerto playing quietly from an iPod in the corner, but Serena, one eyebrow raised in amusement, had switched it off. “Too much?” Bernie had asked, scrunching her nose up in that way that made Serena melt.

Climbing in to Bernie’s embrace was the perfect way to wash off her shift. She didn’t need to narrate the day’s events, to explain that the patient who’d seemed to be doing so well yesterday had taken a dramatic turn for the worse or to complain that the ward seemed to be full of middle-aged men with raging libidos and a minimal understanding of body language. She could just drop her head back onto Bernie’s shoulder, her skin swiftly reddening in the hot water, close her eyes and let it all go. They would lay in warm silence, tealights flickering at the edges of their vision, each feeling the other’s heart beat against their skin and recognising in it the rhythm of the universe.

Eventually, but only once they were really and truly pruney, Bernie would step out and turn to offer Serena her hand before wrapping her in a fluffy towelling gown identical to her own (Serena’s idea, and she’d delighted in using the phrase ‘hers and hers’ repeatedly at the till before Bernie had begged her to stop). Then she would steer Serena to the bed, lay her down and fetch the body lotion that smelled of pink grapefruit and jasmine. Serena had started getting home from the hospital earlier, and Bernie arriving there later, to make time for Bernie to rub the lotion into Serena’s weary limbs.

There was a frisson – of course there was a frisson; nothing could be inert when these two were in close proximity – but this wasn’t about sex, or foreplay. Serena would watch the little frown on Bernie’s brow as she carefully massaged each of her toes, the balls of her feet, her heels, and marvel at this act of care that was now bestowed upon her each week, no matter what, simply because she had grumbled about the rota. Knowing that Serena would sooner take up Morris dancing than ask a colleague to take the increasingly busy Thursday night shift from Bernie (it being the new Friday and all), Bernie had simply set about making the hour and a half they had together that day one of Serena’s favourite parts of the week.

Sometimes, most times, Bernie would start at Serena’s feet and work her way up her legs, her back, her arms, pressing the tension out of every muscle until she could rest her hands on Serena’s shoulders, whisper “OK?”, and kiss her before getting dressed. Sometimes she’d start with the shoulders and work her way down, finishing by making playful conversation with 10 “little piggies” before pulling on her clothes. But always, always, she left Serena with the same words: “I can’t control the wind, my darling, but I can adjust the sail.”