#flipped this canvas so many times I got the sleeve wrong

[dailypj]

✨Day 64

Happy last few minutes of valentines 💕

Pj - 7goodangel

Lux - alainaprana

Human designs - meeeeee

[dothwrites]

worried Dean @ Cas: “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

---

It’s a widely accepted tenet in the art department that Castiel Novak is a genius. 

Dean first hears rumors of Novak’s skills when he’s a freshman. He doesn’t believe them at first. He suspects they’re overblown by groupies who are too interested in trying to get into Novak’s pants (not that Dean can blame them: with his shock of dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and delicate scrollwork of tattoos spiraling up his arms to disappear under the sleeves of his very tight t-shirts, Novak is a walking wet dream). Then, at the end of his freshman year, he’s busy setting up the annual art show when a piece catches his attention. 

At first glance, the painting is deceptively simple. A shadowed figure stands in the center of the canvas, his arms raised up to the sky. Around him are swirls of red, black, and gold, somehow blending into one color in the background. The more Dean looks, the more ambiguity he finds in the painting. Are the swirls of gold lifting the figure up or restraining him? Is the figure fading into the black or breaking free? Is the red coming from him or is he drawing it in? Are his hands raised in supplication or defiance? 

Dean loses track of how many minutes he spends staring at the painting, admiring the shading, the color, the symbolism. Transfixed, he reaches out to touch at the rough surface of the painting before he recalls himself and snaps his hand back to his side. 

“You can touch it if you want.” 

Dean whirls around at the deep voice, his eyes widening when he sees Castiel Novak standing behind him, hands tucked deep into his pockets. Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow at him. 

“Seriously. Go ahead.” 

Dean shakes his head, aware of Castiel’s reputation. “I can’t...we’re not allowed to disturb the artwork--”

Castiel’s mouth twists and Dean doesn’t know whether he’s angry or deprecatory. “Well, I’m the artist, and I say you can.” 

Castiel’s eyes rest heavily on him. Dean swallows, his heart picking up a rhythm that seems attached to the flick of Castiel’s tongue over his lower lip. Hand shaking, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the textured canvas. 

“It’s rough,” Castiel says from right behind him (when the hell did he get that close?), “because becoming is always rough.” 

And that’s how Dean Winchester decided Castiel Novak was a genius. 

---

As school and life continues, Dean admires Castiel Novak from afar. 

From what he can tell, Castiel doesn’t have many friends. He has admirers, which he ignores, and he has a few people who hang onto his fame, which he disdains, but actual friends? The only thing keeping Dean from volunteering is the thought that Castiel will turn the same withering look on him. 

Castiel haunts the art building and, as Dean continues delving into the Art program at Carver Edlund University, he does the same. Sometimes he’ll pass Castiel on his way to his studio. Castiel always nods at him, but it’s a companionable gesture, the same that you might give to someone at the grocery store. He never stops to chat, doesn’t even remove his earbuds. 

And that’s fine. So Dean’s harboring a crush that’s as much intellectual as it is physical. Plenty of people have crushes. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s obsessed. Not like he lurks around just so he can leave at the same time Castiel does. Not like he skulks through the dark halls so he can get a look at Castiel’s new project. That would make him creepy and pathetic, and those are two adjectives which certainly don’t describe Dean Winchester. 

After a while, denial doesn’t even taste bad, just a little bitter. 

By the end of his sophomore year, Dean’s accustomed to the status quo. He notices the light in the private studio allotted to Castiel (all senior Art majors get their own studios, but Castiel got the nicest of them), but he doesn’t stop on his way to his own (shared) studio. When he arrives, however, he screeches to a halt. 

His studio is filled to the brim with snotty freshmen. His personal workplace has been completely commandeered by a freshman with a (barf) man bun. “What the hell?” Dean sputters. He can feel his face turning red with rage. “This is my time.” 

Man-Bun pops his gum as he looks at Dean. His eyes are so hazy Dean’s surprised that he’s not deep-throating a bong at that very moment. “Um, guess again? We totally booked the studio for tonight?” 

Seething, Dean storms to the schedule and checks. Sure enough, there’s a long list of names on the door for the studio space. “I always have Thursday,” he protests, but it’s an empty sort of rage. “I’m always here for Thursdays.” 

Man-Bun shrugs, turning back to his psychedelic smattering of colors. “Not this Thursday, dude.” 

Dismissed, Dean gathers his remaining dignity, and leaves. Standing out in the hallway, he reviews his options. He’s kicked out of his regular studio, and he needs to work tonight, otherwise he’ll never get his final project for figure drawing done. Every studio he passes is booked to capacity; clearly the art program is full of procrastinators. In fact, the only studio that has any sort of room...

“No. No. Shit.” Dean weighs the consequences of failing his class versus metaphorically throwing himself into a volcano. Finally, his fear of failure takes over, and he knocks on the door of his last remaining option. 

The door swings open, revealing a Castiel who looks significantly more disheveled than normal (though normal Castiel usually looks like he was rode hard and put away wet). A smear of blue paint decorates one cheek while his earbuds dangle from his neck. Dean tries to ignore the spirals of Castiel’s tattoos, especially where they disappear under his shirt (he especially tries to ignore the thoughts of what those tattoos look like underneath Castiel’s shirt). Castiel blinks in surprise. 

“Dean. What are you doing here?” 

(The fact that Castiel knows Dean’s name comes as a shock. Dean assumed that he was one of the thousands of nameless faces Castiel passes every day.)

“Um, first let me say, it’s totally awesome if you say no, I don’t expect you to say yes, it’s a huge imposition--”

“Dean, you’re rambling.” 

“Can i use your studio? Or share it? I wouldn’t ask, but a bunch of douchebags took mine and there are no other spaces open, and I really need to finish this project--”

“Sure. Come on.” 

And with that, Castiel steps back and beckons Dean into his studio. 

Dean crosses the threshold with something resembling awe. He never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he would be allowed into Castiel’s inner sanctum. He tries not to gape too obviously as his eyes dart from corner to corner of the room. It looks...like a studio for the most part. Several canvases are hung around the room; if they’re discarded attempts or inspiration, Dean doesn’t know. They could easily function as either. Castiel finally steps in front of him, directing Dean’s attention to one corner of the room. 

“Would there be good?” 

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s good.” He pauses, eyes darting nervously around the studio. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Castiel frowns, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No, of course not. If you were, I wouldn’t have opened up the door.” With that, he seems to consider the topic of conversation closed, and retreats back a few steps. 

He sets up his work and tries to ignore the fact that Castiel Novak is watching him. It’s almost impossible not to feel his eyes; the skin on the back of Dean’s neck prickles in awareness, but he perseveres. 

He sets his sketch on the easel before casting a critical eye upon it. He frowns as he notices every imperfection. it’s based off a series of sketches he jotted down in class earlier that day. Dean remembers the careless grace of the model, the way that the fabric had draped artlessly over his waist and shoulders, but he can’t recapture the specific atmosphere of the room, which was what made that particular model striking. Every time he tries to put onto the paper how the room felt, his figures end up wooden and two-dimensional. 

“You’re paying too much attention to the form.” 

Dean jumps, his charcoal pencil scrawling an ungainly line across the page. Not a huge loss, he was already going to toss this one anyway. He turns around to find Castiel standing directly behind him. 

Castiel nods towards his sketchpad. “In your drawings. You’re paying too much attention to the form. That’s why it’s coming out wrong.” 

“The form is all there is,” Dean replies, a little peevishly. He knows the sketch sucks, but that doesn’t mean he wants Castiel freaking Novak pointing it out to him. 

“The form is one part. But you have the lighting and shading and you have the intention. The intention is...the feel of the room. It’s what remains unsaid and unseen to those who weren’t there. It’s what you’re trying to capture by paying so much attention to the form. Of course, by concentrating too much on the technical, you lose the abstract.” 

Castiel flicks over to a new page with a deft flick of his wrist. He plucks the pencil from Dean’s grasp with one hand. With the other, he poses Dean’s hand close to his face. Castiel stares at Dean for a few excruciating seconds before he turns his attention to the empty page. 

Dean hardly dares to breathe as Castiel sketches. He’s not sure how he’s going to return to real life, knowing now the tiny crease that knits between Castiel’s brows or how the tip of Castiel’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. How is he supposed to live, knowing Castiel hums tunelessly as his hand works? 

“There.” Castiel flips the sketch to face Dean. In it, Dean finds his own face, rendered in a few lines. It’s rough, certainly, but it’s a close enough likeness. More than that, Castiel’s managed to capture...

“Do I look that scared?” Dean blurts out, before he can stop himself. 

Castiel actually laughs, deep and rumbling, from the diaphragm. It’s a lovely sound, one that fills the studio, and one Dean would gladly hear again and again. “You don’t look scared.” He sets the pencil down on the easel and turns fully to face Dean. “Anxious maybe. Hovering on the edge of anticipation.” He steps closer. His chest almost brushes Dean’s, which could be misinterpreted as Castiel not understanding the concept of personal space. 

What can’t be misinterpreted is the unsubtle drop of Castiel’s eyes to Dean’s lips. 

“I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I’ve really wanted to kiss you for almost a year,” Castiel says, his voice scraped rough around the edges. His eyes drag up to Dean’s, and Dean’s taken aback at the wild glint in them. Castiel steps closer and his clever fingers slip into the spaces between Dean’s fingers. “Please Dean,” Castiel breathes, raw and needy, “please, can I kiss you?” 

“Fuck yes,” Dean murmurs, which is all he gets to say before Castiel’s hand cups the back of his head and his lips descend upon Dean’s. 

Not that Dean’s bragging, but he’s had quite a few good kisses in his life (and been told that he gives quite a few good kisses). Castiel blows them all out of the water. Dean’s never been kissed so thoroughly before, like Castiel wants to own him, like Castiel’s interested in finding exactly what makes Dean tick. His teeth nip at the swell of Dean’s lower lip while his tongue delicately traces the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean eagerly opens his mouth, moaning into Castiel’s mouth as Castiel’s tongue slips in along his. 

Hours or days later, when they part, Dean realizes that while one of his hands is cupping the spur of Castiel’s hip (holy fuck, those hips feel like handles for his hands), his other hand is still holding Castiel’s. It’s certainly the sweetest kiss that’s ever given him a boner. 

Castiel laughs, a little breathless. It’s only then Dean realizes he’s a little taller than Castiel. “You do live up to expectations,” he murmurs, and Dean’s not sure whether Castiel’s talking to himself or not. 

The words spark a recent memory in Dean, and suddenly nothing is more important than finding out the truth. “You said you wanted to do that for a year?” Castiel nods, his eyes suddenly shifting to the side. “Why?” 

“Everyone always goes on about my art. How groundbreaking it is, how I’m a ‘once in a generation talent’.” Castiel uses finger-quotes, which should not be as endearing as Dean finds it. “And it’s nice, but none of them even bother to see my art for what it is. They just see my name attached to it and they lose their shit. But last year...You saw that painting. It didn’t matter to you who made it. You saw it and appreciated it for what it was. And I...I saw you.” 

Castiel swallows. For all his suave confidence earlier, he looks oddly vulnerable now. “So, anyway. Yeah. For a year now. Um...” He glances at Dean’s easel. “I guess I’ll leave you alone now. Or if you want privacy, I can go.” 

“Or,” Dean says, the pink flush on Castiel’s cheeks giving him all the bravery he’ll ever need. “You could stay.” Castiel’s eyes slice to him, their blue intense and jaw-dropping. Dean grins, a little predatory, like they’re on even ground. 

“After all, I’m going to need a model for this sketch.” 

[sams-sass]

Secrets in the Snow

Chapter One: The Frost

Hey Hey! Here is the first chapter to my new winter/Christmas fic series. I hope you guys like it! 

Read: 

Chapter 2: The Mountains Call

Chapter 3: The Winds Whisper

Chapter 4: The Fires Kiss

Chapter 5: The Hearts Desire

Summary: You and Sam find yourselves trapped in a cabin for Christmas. Fluff ensues. 

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, Christmas fluff

Parings: Sam x Reader

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

The other cars' red brake lights in the drive-through were blurry from the rain pouring down as you stared out the windshield. Your arms were crossed on top of one another and leaning against the leather front seat, your chin resting on them peacefully. Your body was folded into itself, legs spread apart, and back stretched. Dean was in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel while the other flipped through the radio stations. Sam was on your other side, his hands curled around a lore book. The line moved, and Dean looked up to drive the car forward.

"Y/N, what do you want?" He asked you, his face turning toward you slightly.

"Usual." You mumbled against your arms.

"You got it, kiddo." He said as he pulled the impala up to the window and rolled the window down, practically yelling the order over the pounding rain.

"It's coming down out there." You said, lifting your head slightly.

"Yes, it is." Sam agreed, his face turning towards you, a small smirk on his face. Dean pulled up to the next window and took the food the woman handed him, passing it over to Sam, who was waiting with his hands out. He looked in the bag and found your food first, giving it to you over his shoulder while still looking in the bag. Dean took the drinks from her and gently placed them in the middle of the two boys before pulling away. He pulled into the parking lot and took his food from Sam in their perfect synchrony of movements. It was moments like this with the two of them that made you forget about the bad for a moment. Classic rock coming from the radio, Sam's nose buried in a book, Dean moaning around his burger even though he eats one once a day. The harmony of the three of you together, no monsters in sight. Just pure relaxation. You leaned against the back door and stretched your legs out on the backseat. You unwrapped your food and dug in, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand in between bites because, as usual, Dean forgot to ask for napkins.

"So, where are we going?" Dean asked Sam, balling up his food wrapper and tossing it into the bag.

"Wyoming. From what it seems like, they have a werewolf problem." Sam took a sip of his drink, not looking up from the map. You balled up your wrapper and threw it into the bag as well, taking a large gulp of drink and once again poking your head between the boys.

"Where in Wyoming?" You asked.

"Lander," Sam answered.

"Ah, so right in the mountains." You nodded, laying your head to the side and looking up at Sam's profile. He turned and smiled at you.

"I see you're using that geography book I got you." He sounded proud, making you feel proud too. The moment was cut short by Dean making exaggerated gagging sounds. You whipped your head around and landed a swift punch to his arm.

"Ow!" He shouted, grabbing his arm before falling into a fit of laughter. Acting like children made you laugh, too, chipping away at the weight on all of your shoulders.

 --------------------

The loud rumble of the impala's engine sounded throughout the quiet and sleepy mountainside town. Your drive here had been beautiful, sweeping landscapes with racing rivers and snowcapped mountains that took your breath away. You all climbed out of the car and stretched out your tired limbs. You lugged your bag over your shoulder and made your way into the motel room, letting the crisp air fill your lungs. You stopped walking and tilted your head up slightly, looking up at a cloudless sky that seemed to go on forever. Your lips parted at how large the sky looked when no buildings were cutting into it, just endless blue. You made your way into the motel room and threw your bag down on the couch, leaning against the wall as you made your plan.

"Alright, since this is a pretty small town and we already know they have a werewolf problem, let's see where they could be hiding," Dean said, spreading the map over the small table and leaning on his hands.

"Well, if I were a werewolf, I would hide in the mountains. Small town, someone is going to find out sooner or later. I would hide where it would be harder for them to find me." Sam said, one long finger coming to point at the surrounding mountains out on the map.

"I agree." You said, pushing off the wall and coming to stand next to Sam.  

"We could canvas the locals, see if there is something in the mountains worth looking into." Dean nodded, standing up straight.

"Sounds good to me." You said, watching Sam nod his head in agreement.

About an hour later, the three of you walked into a local bar and sat down at a booth. The entire place was decorated for Christmas. Lights were wrapped around almost every surface. Green wreaths with red bows, dawned many of the walls. Pinecones with fake snow sprinkled on them sat in bowls along the mantle above the fireplace. A large Christmas tree sat in the corner; its ornaments and tinsel made a feeling of nostalgia settle within you. Sam sat next to you, his large body squishing into yours, making you giggle. He always looked so big compared to everything else. Dean brought back three drinks and placed them in the center of the table. You grabbed yours and took some sips. Sam moved, and you could feel the heat from his skin, warming yours.

"Alright, I'm gonna canvas the bartender," Dean said after taking a long drag from his beer. Sam scoffed next to you, and you rolled your eyes.

"Have fun." You said, raising an eyebrow at him and letting a knowing smirk sit on your face, folding your hands on the table. Dean sent you a wink and his most charming smile before making his way over to the bar with a confident strut.

"I'm just gonna-uh," Sam mumbled awkwardly, pointing at Dean's empty seat. You wrinkled your forehead in confusion, tilting your head to the side.

"Oh! Yeah, of course." You said as you realized he was telling you he was moving away from you, there was a small part of you that didn't want him to. He slid across from you and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright, who should we talk to?" He asked, looking around the rustic bar. You looked up at him and let a small smile pull at your lips.

"Uh.." You mumbled as you looked around at the crowd. You spotted a man in a black long sleeve shirt, a vest over his chest. His jeans were worn in, slightly dirty, and torn in places. His hands told you that he worked with them every day of his life. He moved his baseball cap, scratching his brown curls before placing the hat back on his head. "I'm going to talk to him," you said, pointing to the man, "he looks like he goes in the woods." You said, taking more swigs of your drink and looking back at Sam for a moment. He followed your previous gaze and looked at the man you were talking about. He turned around to you and pressed his lips together.

"If you need me, I'll be around." He assured you, eyes connecting with yours.

"I know, Sammy." You said in an even and peaceful tone, your shoulders relaxing. "See you around." You smiled as you stood up and made your way across the bar. You didn't see how Sam's eyes lingered on you for longer than necessary, how his hope drained slightly when you sauntered over to him, eyes wide and lips smiling, how his fists clenched when you grabbed his arm, your head was thrown back in laughter. He couldn't stop looking at you; no matter how hard he tried, his eyes always wandered around to you and your enticing personality. He couldn't pull himself away from the torture of you looking at you with another man.

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

You licked your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. He leaned in a little closer to you; his scent of body odor and beer invaded your nose quickly. You resisted the urge to turn away from him, instead of burying your nose in your drink and taking a large swig. He had told you his name at some point. Jeremy, was it? You didn't know, nor did you care. You just wanted to go back to the hotel and hang with your boys.

"Hey, do you know about any properties in the mountains?" You asked, lowering your head and looking up at him from under your lashes.

"Properties?" He asked, clearly confused and disinterested.

"Yeah, like properties with a lot of land? I could be in the market to move here." You blinked and tried to give him your most seductive smile.

"Oh, well, if it's land you want, there is the old McCall farm. No one has lived up there for a long time, and it has like 150 acres or something. We used to sneak up there when I was in high school, just to drink and party and such. The views from there are absolutely incredible." He said, his elbows coming to rest on the table. You ran your finger along the rim of your glass, collecting the moisture.

"Thank you." You said, sitting up slightly.

"No problem. Maybe I could take you up there to check it out?" He asked you, leaning in even closer and giving you a crooked grin.

"Uh, I don't know. I'm here with some friends." You looked around the bar and found Sam's eyes, sending him your signal by tapping three times on your cheek with your index finger. Within a few seconds, you felt your phone buzz. You acted surprised and pulled it from your pocket, looking at the screen with false confusion on your face.

Sam: Come back here.

"Something wrong?" Jeremy asked you, genuine concern crossed his face and made you actually feel bad for him.

"No, just my friends wanna head home." You said, standing up. "Thanks for the help."

"Ok, well, goodnight." He said with a dorky grin.

"Night." You said before walking back through the bar towards Sam, looking for Dean as you went. A hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you toward them, making you squeak in surprise. You practically fell into Dean's chest, his arm coming around your shoulders. You quickly relaxed into his familiar touch and wrapped your arm around his waist.

"Hey, bud." You said, smiling up at him.

"Hey, kid. You ready to go?" He asked you; his breath smelt like tequila, and he still had some salt around his lips, causing you to giggle. You nodded, unwrapping yourself from his embrace, and made your way over to Sam on the other side of the bar. He was waiting with your jacket in his large hands. He held it up, and you slid your arms in the holes, feeling the immediate warmth against your skin. The three of you made your way back to the motel, and you told the boys about the farm. You all decided to check it out now; make sure that was the place and know how many there were. Sam was once again looking over the map in the passenger seat. His hair was softly blowing from the heat coming out of the vents. You smiled to yourself, looking up at him out of the corner of your eye.

The old farm took you about 40 minutes to get to by the old dirt roads. Dean muttered under his breath the whole time about "mud in the undercarriage" and how baby was a "beautiful creature who didn't deserve this shit." Jeremy was right about the amount of land. The property seemed to stretch on forever. Its rolling hills with untrimmed grass made you feel so small against its massive landscape. You all climbed out of the car and made your way to the house as silently as you could. You peaked through a window, holding your breath not to make any noise, and looked around to see…nothing. No lights were on. No sound could be heard anywhere. There was just nothing. You turned to the boys and shrugged your shoulders. That's when you heard it, the low rumble of a growl. You all turned and spotted the werewolf sprinting full speed at you. His eyes were reflecting with the glow of the moon. He was headed straight for you, not even paying attention to the boys as he charged. You reached into the waistband of your pants and aimed at his heart. The shot was loud in your ears, echoing around your skull. You swallowed and lowered your weapon, the smoke showing against the night sky. He dropped instantly—the silver taking its effect.

"Nice sho-." Dean was cut off by the other werewolf; none of you saw. He sunk his massive claws into Dean's leg. Blood seeped through his torn jeans, and his body crumpled into itself. He groaned and grabbed at his torn flesh. You heard Sam pull in a loud breath before running over to his brother and collecting him into his arms. You aimed your gun again at the other wolf and fired. Missed. He kept running; he was too fast. You realized there was no way you could catch up to him and lowered your gun. You ran over to Dean, placing your arms around him to help Sam lift him into the car. You grabbed a towel out of the back and tied it around his leg, apologizing after he screamed in pain. Sam drove back to the motel. Tires kicked up dirt the entire way. You and Sam brought Dean inside and placed him onto one of the beds. It was bad. His wounds were deep and harsh.

"Hey, Dean, it's ok. We are gonna take care of you." You said to him gently, removing the towel as you spoke. It took an hour and a half. You and Sam were continually switching places, one of you stitching while the other wiped the blood away. Finally, it was done. Dean's eyes were rolling in his head from blood loss and exhaustion by the time you were done. Your fingers ached from holding the needle for so long. Sam's hands were caked in blood. Dean fell back and was almost instantly asleep. You took a breath, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your forearm.

"Thanks for the help, Y/N," Sam said, using a wet rag to clean his hands.

"Of course, we're a team." You stretched out your aching fingers while you grabbed clothes from your bag.

"This means it's up to us now," Sam replied, leaning on the sink counter.

"I know." This thought had crossed your mind too. Dean was in no shape to hunt for a while. You bit your lip and fully turned to face Sam. "We're hiking tomorrow, aren't we?" You asked him.

"Yeah." He sounded exhausted. You could hear the heaviness of his voice.

"Well then, we better get some rest." You said with a nod. You and Sam got cleaned up and laid down for the night. The couch cushions were lumpy and awkward under your body. You tried to roll onto your side, but that only made it slightly better. Dean was already snoring, and you could tell by his breathing that Sam was well on his way. You closed your eyes and pulled a deep breath into your lungs. It wasn't too long before the exhaustion of the day pulled you down into the black as well.

You and Sam finished packing your bags, taking extra clothing, food, water, and a GPS tracker.

"Hey, Y/N, what socks do you have on?" Sam asked you from his bed.

"Just my normal socks." You responded over your shoulder, throwing more things into your backpack.

"No, no, no, it's freezing out there. Here, take my wool socks." He said, turning to you with his hand stretched out. You took the socks and sent a small smile his way. You sat down on the couch and pulled them onto your feet. They were ridiculously large on you, but they were really warm and comfortable. You stuffed your feet back into your boots and grabbed your backpack. You threw the bag over your shoulders. You said bye to Dean. He gave you a small kiss on the cheek and wished you luck. You saw Sam send him a small wave before closing the door completely. You and Sam set forward on your hike up into the mountains. You were about a fourth of the way when you looked up at the sky.

"Hey, Sam! I don't like the looks of those clouds." You called to him, pointing up at the heavy clouds rolling in.

"Huh? Oh, no. I checked the weather report. They were only calling for a ten percent chance of precipitation." He responded with a half-smile before he kept walking. You continued behind him, but apprehension still sank into you.

 ----------------------

It took you five hours to get to the farm, giving yourself breaks for eating and hydrating. Your feet ached in your shoes. Your shoulders were screaming from the weight of the backpack, and your knees felt like they were about to give in at any moment. Your breath was fast in your lungs, hard breaths in and out. Due to your exhaustion, you almost missed the air's change how it grew thick with moisture and smelt of humidity. You glanced up to the sky again, seeing that the grey clouds had taken over the blue. The temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees as well, sending a chill through your bones. Wind through the trees blew your hair around you, and a worry made itself known within your gut. Sam seemed to notice the change, as well. His steps became smaller. Eyes turning to the sky. The first flake fell…then it seemed as if they all came at once. The surrounding air was filled with snowflakes that seemed to be coming from every direction. The wind picked up, and you could barely keep your eyes open. It was so loud, howling in your ears and slapping against any exposed skin. The snow was sticking to the ground and fast. Your boots were already covered in white powder, and you knew your jeans wouldn't hold up to the conditions. This was not a pretty snow. The flakes did not cascade on their way down, getting stuck on branches as they fell. It was not a scenic snowfall. This was a full-on blizzard, and you and Sam were trapped right in the middle of it.

"Ten percent, my ass!" You shouted over the screaming wind. Sam turned and gave you a "what do you want me to do about it?" expression.

"We have to find shelter." He said back.

"Shouldn't we head back?" You asked, wrapping your coat around you a little tighter.

"Not in this; looks like we are staying here tonight." Sam pointed to a cabin. It was on the land of the farm, but not quite near the house. It would be perfect for keeping an eye on the place for the werewolf's return. You looked at the cabin, back to him, then back at the house, before looking back at him and shrugging your shoulders.

"Alright." You said with a defeated sigh. You made your way into the cabin, peaking in the windows before using your lock pick to get inside. The first thing you noticed was the silence within the walls. It made your boots sound impossibly loud against the wood floors. You looked around at the bare cabin. Just an old couch sat in the middle of the living room; a bookshelf was against the left wall leading into the kitchen. The cabinets had a few cans still in them, some plates and glasses, but nothing to make a home with.

"How long do you think it's been since people have been here?" Sam asked you while he looked around the cabin too. You swiped at the counter and looked at the considerable amount of dust on your finger.

"I don't know. Months maybe." You took your backpack off and placed it on the floor.

"We should get a fire going," Sam announced, making his way back outside. You decided to stay in and take inventory of what you had. You opened cabinets and doors, finding everything you could. You found blankets and pillows, giving them a smell before placing them on the couch. Next, you looked at each can of food. Most were expired, but you found a few cans that were still good. You shook out the blankets, getting as much dust out as you could. You then found a broom and swept away all the dust and debris in front of the fireplace, making room for the blankets. Sam came back about a half-hour later with wood.

"Find much?" You asked, looking behind him to see if there was any more.

"Most was wet, but I found a pile, and the ones underneath were good." He knelt in front of the fireplace, placing the logs in one at a time. His cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold. His hair was sprinkled with snow, and his lips were extra pink against the grey backdrop. You shook your head, not letting yourself go there, and knelt next to him, searching your bag for a lighter. You handed it to him and watched him light the wood on fire. You instantly felt warmer just watching the yellow flames begin to dance. You didn't want to get upset. You didn't want to let your mind wander to the worst of thoughts, but you could feel the "what ifs" creeping in slowly and surely. What if you were stuck here for longer than just tonight. What if you run out of food? How will you shower? Wash your clothes? You looked over at Sam and could tell he was thinking the same things.

"Sam, I'm nervous." You confessed, turning towards him.

"Me too," He didn't lie to you. "but we can do this, I promise. We just have to get through tonight." He took you by the shoulders and forced you to look into his eyes, setting his jaw and nodding once. You found comfort in his assurance. You found peace within his green and gold eyes, nodding to yourself and biting your lip. You and Sam were trapped in a cabin while a blizzard raged overnight. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: @watermelonlipstick​ @melancauliflowers​ @strawqerrybby​ @spnfanficpond​ @calaofnoldor​

[peterxwade24]

Safety Found in Red Sleeves

Chapter 3

So, I know it’s been a long time waiting for this chapter but it’s finally done! It is 3500+ words of Thana’s overprotective friends and Jason being an overprotective dad/brother.

Before I get into the chapter, I’m going to go over a few words that might trip you up. All of the translations are courtesy of Google Translate so if I’m using a word wrong feel free to correct it.

Baba is Papa. Aleuma is Auntie. Kutlat Saghira is Little Nugget.

Thana stood in front of the class, carefully going over her note cards for her presentation.

Mlle. Bustier smiled at the class before clapping. “Okay, everyone. Let’s settle down and give Ms. Dupain-Cheng our full attention.”

Lila, ever the attention seeker, allowed crocodile tears to well up in her eyes. “Mlle. Bustier. She’s going to copy my presentation. It’s not fair.”

Thana glanced up at the other girl, her blue-grey eyes cold. “Well, Lila. If you’d paid attention, you would know that M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng are my adoptive parents. I’m not doing my presentation on Italy. I’m doing my presentation on Gotham City, New Jersey, USA.” She nodded towards Mlle. Bustier and waited for her to put the slides up on the board before turning to look at the class. “Gotham City, New Jersey, USA is called the ‘most crime-ridden city’ by the locals. The GCPD, or Gotham City Police Department, is exactly what it sounds like. The police department of Gotham City. Most locals, however, do not respect the officers of the GCPD because of the vigilantes that roam the streets. The main vigilante is Batman, he’s also the oldest, he dresses in all black with a cowl on his head that has bat ear like protrusions on the top. After him is Nightwing. Nightwing is very flexible and most Gothamites, people from Gotham, speculate that he is in fact the first Robin. He dresses in a suit of black with a blue bird across his chest. Red Robin, who is widely speculated to be the third Robin, works alongside the first two but also alongside Spoiler. He dresses in a red and black suit with a yellow robin head in the center of his chest atop a pair of crossed bandoliers. Spoiler, who most believe was both the fourth Robin and the second Batgirl, dresses in a suit that is primarily purple with black on her chest. Signal, a member of the team, dresses in a yellow and black suit with a white bat on his chest. It is believed he may be a meta, which is shorthand for metahuman which is what they call people with powers. There is also Black Bat, who most believe was the third Batgirl, who wears a mostly black suit with a yellow bat on her chest and yellow detailing on her arms and around her ribs. Black Bat’s suit covers most of her face from her nose to her chin. Most Gothamites believe that the first Batgirl is working hand in hand with the rest of the team behind the scenes after an attack by the Joker left her paralyzed from the waist down.”

The class looked on in amazement at the high quality photos that went along with each hero, but also in fear as Thana gave a thorough rundown of all the heroes and villains, called Rogues, before Thana’s face split into a smile.

“-The Sirens, a group of three antihero turned Rogues who don’t behave the same way that most of the other Rogues do. They have been seen helping Batman, when it fits them. The Sirens refers to Catwoman, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. Catwoman wears a black leather catsuit, which is self explanatory in her name. Poison Ivy wears varying shades of green and plant life while Harley Quinn, who was once affiliated with the Joker, most commonly wears a light pink crop top under a pair of gold overalls. The Riddler and Scarecrow, two Rogues who are relatively harmless since they partnered up, are rather distinctive. The Riddler, who wears a green three piece suit with matching hat and a purple tie and domino mask, leaves riddles and clues. Scarecrow, who wears a grey three piece suit with a canvas sack over his head, injects or sprays people with what he calls Fear Toxin but recently he has cut back on the injections and only soaks the paper The Riddler’s riddles are written on in his fear toxin. The Penguin wears a black three piece suit with a white dress shirt and is most commonly accompanied by twin girls who are most commonly seen wearing black wigs, green dresses and Kabuki masks. The Great Rodolfo, whom most speculate is related to the Joker, wears a cream or tan suit jacket, plaid pants, a matching plaid vest and a different patterned plaid necktie. Lastly, there’s Red Hood,” Thana’s hands fisted at her sides and pressed her lips into a thin line, who has recently been spotted fighting alongside various members of Batman’s team. Most Gothamites believe him to be the second Robin returned from the dead. Red Hood wears a red helmet, a dark brown leather jacket, black pants with black boots and a black utility belt, a black shirt with a red bat on his chest, and a red long sleeved shirt under his black shirt.”

---

Thana wrapped her arms around Kim’s waist and let out a shuddery breath. “My brother is Red Hood and he wants me to know it’s him.”

Chloé frowned but nodded. “We’ll help you see him again. However, we need to set up people here to fight the Akumas and someone to get, at least, Adrien to purify the butterfly.”

Alix smiled and turned towards Chloé. “I have some friends in Mme. Mendelieve’s class who can assist us while we’re gone.”

Adrien nodded and smiled. “You mean Bellamy, Brielle, Marc, and Alicia?”

Alix nodded. “Alicia is very sneaky and would be pretty good at using the Mouse Miraculous. Marc is very trustworthy and may or may not already be planning a storyline involving a hero who’s based on them. They would be a good temporary Horse Miraculous user. Bellamy is the Mom friend of their friend group and kind of reminds me of the dragons from mythology who hoard things, so I was thinking about him for the Dragon Miraculous. And Brielle is awkwardly good at keeping people organized, the only person better is Vivienne, so she could probably wield the Bee Miraculous.”

Adrien grinned goofily and slung an arm around Alix’s shoulders. “Those are great suggestions and unless anyone else has anyone better I think we’ll go with them.” Adrien, as the de facto leader of the team, looked to Thana for his longtime partner’s opinion.

Thana nodded from where she was hiding amidst Kim’s red sleeves. “Bellamy was nice to me when I arrived and Alicia always shadows her friends.”

Nino glanced at Chloé before tapping his headphones. He knew she would know what he meant. Nino glanced at their friend, could see how out of it she was becoming, and locked eyes with Chloé.

Chloé, always okay with coming off as argumentative and brash, looked at her oldest friend with a smile before falling back into her usual bratty persona. “Not to say this hasn’t been fun but, this hasn’t been fun. Kim, Nino and I are going to take Fragolina back to mine. Thanks for having us and thank your dad and Jalil for not interrupting us for me Alix. Kim. Nino.”

Kim stood up slowly, making sure to not disturb Thana as he did so. He shed his red hoodie and draped it around Thana’s shoulders before pulling Nino to his feet. Nino, who took his headphones off and placed them atop Thana’s head before selecting one of his playlists and stuffing his phone into one of Kim’s pockets.

The boys guided Thana out of the room, while Chloé smiled at the two other members of their group. “Fragolina’s going through some things at the moment, because she just realized her brother isn’t as dead as she thought he was and wants her to know that he’s looking for her.”

Adrien pursed his lips before glancing at Alix. “I didn’t know she had a brother, did you?”

Alix shrugged. “She didn’t really talk to many of us when she got here.”

---

Thana settled against the pillows on Chloé’s bed with Kim’s hoodie looking as though it was swallowing her whole and the hood pulled up over her head and covering Nino’s headphones with the lyrics to The Neighbourhood’s “R.I.P.2 My Youth” transitioning to Fall Out Boy’s “Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea” sounding in her ears. Nino’s phone was no longer in Kim’s pocket but plugged in while Chloé was packing clothes for their trip to the States.

Nino and Kim were trading practice blows in an area far away from Chloé’s closet. Or they were before Nino began flipping away from all of Kim’s attacks.

Chloé glanced at the boys before shaking her head and turning to their resident Gothamite. Chloé let a smile cross her face before turning to the four Kwamis, who were all relaxing in a large dollhouse, and raising a brow. “What are you four doing?”

Plagg and Trixx wore matching grins while Stompp simply crossed their arms over their chest and Sass began humming a tune. “Relaxing, what does it look like we’re doing?” Plagg’s face broke out in a larger grin before he relaxed into Trixx’s side.

Chloé simply shook her head at the four Kwamis. “Why don’t you four go relax with Fragolina?”

-*-*-*

Jason smiled as he picked up his Little Nugget and settled him on his hip. “Hey Little Nugget. Did you sleep well?”

Damian nodded before burying his face in Jason’s shoulder. “Who are they?”

Jason adjusted his hold on Damian to allow for Damian to see the two girls. “You remember Lady Shiva, don’t you?” He waited for Damian to nod before he continued. “The girl with the dark hair is Lady Shiva’s daughter, Cassandra. The blonde haired girl is Stephanie Brown. Do you remember when Bruce proclaimed that he wouldn’t have his children hanging out with the children of bad people?” Damian pursed his lips in thought, something he picked up from Jason, before nodding again. “Lady Shiva is a bad guy, as is Stephanie’s father. But, by Bruce’s standards so are Talia and Ra’s.”

Cassandra bowed, low to the floor, in Damian’s presence. Cassandra would never forget her training, and all must bow before the Heir of the Demon’s Head.

Stephanie gave a two finger salute with a smile. “Sup?”

Dick and Tim emerged from the bedroom they crashed in the night before. “Jason? Does this place have coffee?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Am I going to have a Tamaranean princess and a half-Tamaranean tyke breaking into the apartment you’re helping pay for?”

Dick’s eyes widened before he dove for the couch, where he left his phone the night before. He let out a victorious shout when he found his phone still had battery life left. He tapped out a text to Kory before turning back to his brothers. “No.”

---

Jason kept watching for danger out of the corners of his eyes, even though it was noon and he was in a supermarket, he couldn’t take any chance now that he had his Little Nugget and two sisters to watch out for. He saw a familiar man with short red hair leading a man with long brown hair, a familiar red haired woman and her companion, a familiar blonde haired woman, turn down aisles further down. “Stephanie Jeanelle Brown. Put down the toaster waffles. Take Cassandra and go find the boxed waffle mix, and while you’re there grab some pancake mix and syrup. Dick, Tim, go find some fruits that will keep for more than a week.”

The four teens nodded before going off to do what was asked of them. Damian, however, pouted from beside Jason. “Why do they get to go get things while I’m stuck with you?”

“Because, Little Nugget, I’m not afraid someone will steal them and make me reconsider how I feel about murder now that it’s not just me.” Jason smiled and ruffled Damian’s hair, which had grown out since Jason had first taken him. “I just want to keep you within eyesight because there are unsavoury characters who live in Gotham and darken the streets. I know technically I’m your brother but I feel like you are my child and I will do everything in my power to protect you, like I couldn’t protect your aunt my sister.”

Damian glanced up at Jason, a look of confusion on his face. “But I thought there were only three girls in the family in the right age range.”

Jason’s face melted into a faraway look and tightly pursed lips. “She was four when I met her, this tiny little slip of a child covered in bruises with dark red hair and blue grey eyes. I was following her, like most street kids would have, when she got the drop on me and then pinned me into the shadows beside a dumpster because her father was walking towards the alley we were in. I became Robin when I was twelve and she was nine, and then CPS and GCPD dragged her from one of our nests and took her away from here. I just found out about that at the press conference.” Jason’s blue green eyes kept sweeping the aisles looking for anyone who could pose a threat to his family. He saw, instead, Selina Kyle deciding between two different laundry detergents in one aisle and Oswald Cobblepot, accompanied by Pere and Gale, deciding between two different kinds of cereal.

Damian took in the information Jason gave him, knowing that Jason would tell him anything he asked even if it was painful to think about. “Who’s her father?”

“Jervis Tetch, aka Mad Hatter.” Jason’s voice was filled with so much venom he had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “He’s a very bad man and if you ever hear anything about him, you run away. The Iceberg Lounge will provide you sanctuary if you can’t make it back to the apartment.”

Damian nodded as he allowed himself to be caged in by Jason’s arms so he was between Jason and the shopping cart.

Stephanie and Cass returned triumphantly with waffle mix, pancake mix and syrup. Followed by Dick and Tim a few minutes later.

Dick turned to Jason with a wry grin. “Is there a real reason we’re shopping at this store at this time of day? Or did you just want to surround yourself with other people who love your Pixie?”

Jason glanced up and made eye contact with Ed Nygma. Jason waved with a small smile on his face before Ed grabbed John’s arm and dragged him to the six siblings.

“Big Todd.” Ed called in lieu of greeting.

John nodded with a smile.

“Are you ever going to give that up?” Jason shook his head fondly. “Ed, John. This is Damian, my Little Nugget. Little Nugget, these are your aunt’s Uncles Ed and John.”

Ed nodded. “Have you tried to get in contact with her?”

John pressed a kiss to Ed’s cheek before looking at their present company. “Now might not be the best place to converse about this topic Love.”

Ed nodded before he let John drag him away. “We must converse again.”

---

Jason smiled as he tucked Damian into bed, before closing the bedroom door. He slumped back into the kitchen and with an exhausted sigh he set about finishing the dishes from the day’s meals. He paused to think about what Ed had said in the store. Would she even want to hear from him? Would she be receptive to talking to him or getting in contact with him?

Tim walked into the kitchen, intending to get a glass of water then go back to bed, when he stumbled upon Jason lost in thought. “Jason?” Tim stood next to Jason and gently pried a plate out of Jason’s hand. “Jason? Can you hear me?”

Jason shook himself out of his stupor and turned to the smaller boy. “Replacement? What are you doing up at this hour?”

Tim shrugged nonchalantly. “I was going to get a glass of water.”

Jason rolled his eyes and grabbed a glass out for Tim. “Sure.” Jason leaned against the counter and watched as Tim filled the glass with water.

Tim smiled at his older brother. “Were you thinking about what Nygma said?”

Jason ruffled Tim’s hair with a half smile on his face. “She was my only family for many years.” Jason turned back to the sink still full of dishes with a chuckle. “Go back to bed Replacement.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow.”

Jason finished the dishes before dragging his still damp hands through his hair. He let out a tired sigh before turning around, to find discarded clothing covering his couch. He picked up a laundry basket and tossed all of the clothing into the basket. He glanced around the living room and nodded, satisfied with how clean it was. “We’ll have to clean up the apartment tomorrow, as long as Wayne doesn’t call us in.” Jason muttered as he put the laundry basket down on the counter and walked into his bedroom and curled around Damian.

---

Jason, with Damian settled on his left hip, stared at Bruce Wayne who was standing at the door to the apartment building. He raised a single eyebrow as he turned to have his right side facing Bruce. “Can I help you Mr. Wayne?”

“We need to talk.”

Jason snorted. “Then you can do it while walking. We’re meeting someone soon and we’re walking.”

Tim, Steph and Cass brushed past the trio. “Bye Jace! We’re gonna go hang with Kon, Cassie and Bart for a few hours!”

“Text when you get there and when you’re leaving! If we’re not home before you call to let me know you made it home safe!”

“Bye Jason!” Steph called while Cass waved.

Jason turned back to Bruce and raised his eyebrows. “Walk and talk Wayne.” Jason hitched Damian further up on his hip and started to push past Bruce, when Dick beat him to it.

“Call me if you need something or if one of the others needs something. I’ve gotta go home to Kor’i and Mar’i.”

“See you later Dickiebird.”

“See you Jaybird, see you Chick.”

Damian simply waved at Dick and rested his head on Jason’s shoulder. “Bye-bye.”

Jason watched Dick walk away with a smile on his face. He turned to Bruce and frowned.

“Jason-”

“Baba. Go.”

“In a minute Kutlat Saghira.” Jason pressed a kiss to Damian’s cheek. “Do you want to walk and talk or-”

“What did he just call you?” Bruce cut Jason off. “What did you just call him?”

“I called him Little Nugget, and last time I checked I didn’t have to tell you anything.” Jason shook his head and pushed past Bruce. “Are you ready to meet some friends Little Nugget?”

Damian nodded and smiled.

---

Jason pushed open the door to the Iceberg Lounge and smiled as the chilled air cooled the sweat on the back of his neck. “This is where we’re meeting some friends of your Aleuma.”

Damian smiled and patted Jason’s chest, his nonverbal way of saying he wants down.

“Don’t run off, stick close. Not everyone in here is friends with your Aleuma.”

Damian nodded before the two men from the supermarket approached them.

“Jason.” the man with brown hair smiled as he extended his hand to Jason.

“Mr. Crane. Have you been keeping your nose out of trouble?”

John laughed and nodded. “Of course, Ed keeps me in line.”

Ed laughed and shook his head. “Someone has to.”

The red haired woman and her blonde haired companion strolled into the area with matching smiles on their faces.

“Sundew.” The red haired woman called.

“Little bird.” Her blonde companion chirped.

Jason waved. “Damian, the red haired lady is Doctor Pamela Isley and her lovely companion is Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Pam, Harley, this is Damian al Ghul-Wayne. However, he’s more my son than Wayne’s at this point.”

Pam and Harley waved at Damian before offering him smiles.

“Oswald!” Jason called to a portly man across the lounge.

The man, followed by two women dressed in green long sleeved dresses and Kabuki masks, walked over to Jason with a smile on his face. “Todd. It’s good to see you.”

“You too old man.” Jason bowed to the two women. “Pere. Gale.”

The women bowed back.

“Damian, this is Oswald Cobblepot, your Aleuma liked him for some reason and he gave us shelter on more than a few nights.”

Oswald Cobblepot held out a hand to Damian with a smile on his face. “Hello there Damian.”

“Hello.” Damian smiled and stood taller. “Baba. I’m taller.”

Jason snorted. “I see that Little Nugget.” Jason glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door move.

“Hey, Ozzy? You heard from-” Jerome stopped talking before his face split in a smile. “Hoodie! You’re back!”

“Hey Rome.” Jason waved. “Come meet Damian.”

Damian tilted his head in a confused puppy manner before the red haired man appeared from behind Jason. “Is he?”

Jerome extended a hand to Damian with a more mild grin on his face. “Hi. I’m Jerome Valeska, although most of these people know me better as The Great Rodolfo. You must be Damian Todd.”

Damian preened for a moment before coming back to the moment. “Technically, Baba says my name’s still Damian al Ghul-Wayne but I like Damian Todd.”

Taglist

@southamericangothamite @maribat-is-lifeblood @mystery-5-5 @our-preciousss @mochegato @chocolatecatstheron @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @2confused-2doanything @wannajointhecrabcult @dreamykitty25 @tomanyfandomsonmymind @moonlightstar64 @justafanwarrior @mialuvscats @pheony1882 @pepelachanel @moongoddesskiana @abrx2002 @ladybug-182 @greatcatblaze @thatonecroc @vixen-uchiha @superbwhispersconnoisseur @lilkymilky

After this, there will be a short titled “Pixie?!” featuring Jason fresh from the grave and the appearance of Talia al Ghul using his panicked state against him.

[hunnybby]

pairing: ukai keishin x reader

a/n: it’s fake-dating ukai time baby!!!!! let’s gooooo

-

ukai hears the crinkle of something being tossed on the counter. he doesn’t need to look up from his newspaper to know they’re chips. so without letting go of said paper, he uses one hand to ring up the guest.

and when that guest leaves, he still feels the presence of one more. it makes him sigh, so he folds his paper and sets it down gently. “y/n, are you gonna buy somethin’ or are you gonna pace back and forth like you did yesterday?”

he hears a squeak coming from one of the farther aisles. then, he hears steps growing slightly louder as you approach him.

when he gets a good look at you your hair is a mess, your biting your lip looking him straight in the eye, and your hand is clutching a bottle of melon ramune. “ukai.”

“got somethin’ to tell me?” he inquires, eyes travelling up and down your slightly disheveled appearance. he bites down a smile, choosing to keep his face void of emotion.

you’ve always had an air about you that put him at ease, even when you were both in school. the fact that you decided to stay after graduation relieved him when he first heard the news. but you don’t come to the store often enough for him to think about you.

or, you didn’t come to the store often enough. but for the past few days, you have stalked in at the same time everyday, spending the same amount of time browsing through his aisles, and then rushing out without a word.

he wants to say its weird, creepy even. but he finds it more amusing.

you inhale a deep breath, closing your eyes while doing so. if he didn’t know any better, he would think you were trying to calm yourself down before telling him a big secret.

but the atmosphere quickly changes when you slam your ramune bottle on the counter and exclaim a bit too loudly, “let’s get married!”

a proposal wasn’t something he expected today. you’re fidgetting in front of him now, and he gets a full view of you messing with the sleeves of your sweater.

what once was a blank canvas is now a face full of ukai’s shock and confusion. it’s quickly replaced with a laugh from him. “at least take me out to dinner first,” he says casually, pushing your drink back to you. “just take it. i’ll see you around.”

he starts to shoo you away with a wave of his hand, but you don’t move. he raises his eyebrow at you.

“no, wait,” you put your hands up to stop him from saying any more. “that came out wrong. please do me a solid and pretend to be my boyfriend. my grandma won’t stop bothering me. i’ve been on so many blind dates these past few months,” he knows your word-vomitting, and he loves it.

he smirks, the action growing wider as you speak on something so relatable to him. it makes him overjoyed that he wasn’t alone. “last night i met with someone who said their hobby was playing chess- which is great; i loooove chess! but they ended up showing me a 20 minute beginner video. who does that on a first date?” your face twists, “and from what i heard you’re facing the same issue.”

ukai tries not to think about the unheard voicemails of his own family and friends telling him about ‘a fine young lady they saw today.’ he’s already got enough to worry about with the rowdy kids at the club.

“so i thought to myself ‘why not ukai keishin? he’s nice, my family knows him’ and i just-“

“let me stop you right there,” he interrupts, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning in a bit closer. “i don’t like lying or playing games,” he says as sternly as possible. but there’s a glint in his eyes as he points at you, “but i know exactly what you’re going through. i’m in.”

you sigh, defeated. “sorry for asking you. this was a stupid idea,” then you double take, “wait- you’re in? like, you’ll do this? you’ll help me?”

“you’d be helping me too, sweetheart.” and the petname rolls so smoothly off his tongue he swears he sees you almost faint.

but you don’t, thank goodness. his first aid experience only goes so far.

instead, you extend a hand that he gladly takes in his with a firm shake. “good grip,” you say, and he feels your hands flex around his. you stay connected that way for a bit, before you hesitantly pull back.

grabbing your drink from the counter, you nod your head in his direction. “ok. well. i’ll be off. with my free drink. with your permission obviously,” you let out a nervous laugh as you make your way to the exit. “i’ll see you when i see you, ukai.”

he has to stifle his laughter when he sees you bump into the wall first before finding the actual door.

he nods back at you, watching your figure leave his store. he allows himself to exhale out in relief. “this won’t be good at all,” he tells himself, grabbing his newspaper again and flipping through it with a tiny smile on his face.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

King’s a Hack

PART SIX OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of migraines, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4K

Summary: On a night at home with a stress-induced migraine, Ella is surprised when Jess shows up. The next morning, Ella goes on one of her occasional pie baking kicks.

A throbbing pulse behind her eyes, Ella trudged through the balmy morning to the diner. The history textbook was weighing down her shoulders. April and the air was finally warming, though the morning still had a frosty quality about it. The sunlight was bright but she could still see her breath in white clouds before her. Stepping into the cozy air of the diner, the aroma of coffee hit her right away and made her stomach do a flip. She could work there a hundred years and never get used to it. Coupled with the smell, the place was the loudest she had ever heard it. Drywall was falling in random chunks from the ceiling, men in hardhats strolling back and forth out of a plastic sheet. She’d forgotten about the demolition project Luke had started two days ago after taking a sledgehammer to a wall in the apartment. For a moment, she regretted walking in, but ignored it and took a seat at the counter. Immediately, she dropped her bag to the ground and laid her head on her arms crossed before her.

“Hey, Ella, what can I get for ya?” she heard Luke ask through the commotion.

She lifted her head again, blowing hair away from her face. “Green tea, please.”

Luke’s face fell a little bit. “Oh.”

“What’s wrong, Uncle dearest?” Jess asked, coming up to Luke’s side with a hardhat on his head and an umbrella in hand.

“Nothing,” Ella grumbled, shrugging off her coat.

“Oooo, that’s not a happy face,” Jess teased, observing the pout on her lips and the stormy look in her eyes. Jess gave her the umbrella and she took it reluctantly, then understood as the ceiling fell above her in dusty pieces.

Luke sighed at Jess’s tone, a wiseass as he always was, and put the tea on. “She ordered green tea.”

Jess scoffed. “And?”

“Ella only orders green tea when she has a migraine,” Luke explained.

Ella rolled her eyes. “I do not.”

“Really? How ya feelin’ right now?” Luke asked haughtily, a knowing smile on his face.

Groaning, Ella brought her head back down on her arm dramatically. “I stand corrected.” Her voice was muffled by the sleeves of her sweater.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re just so insanely unpredictable, honey,” Jess quipped.

As she sipped her tea, the construction and life swirling around her, Ella felt dread for the day ahead building up. It wasn’t often she got migraines, but when she did, she tried her best to power through them. School was bearable when she pretended to be looking down at her notes while actually sleeping. The muscles in the back of her neck were stiff and her head ached with the beat of her heart, but the tea was helping slightly. Lorelai and Rory blew in with their usual brand of chattiness. On a normal morning, it would have lifted her spirits. Instead, she was largely silent as Lorelai relayed the story of how she sliced her hand while trying to clean her gutters. Ella perked up as the tale ended.

“Why’d you try to clean them yourself?” she asked, brows furrowed. She had been cleaning the Gilmore gutters since she had started high school. Her father had taught her when she was a child, as she liked the thrill of the height.

Lorelai shot her a guilty glance. “Well, you were working last night and they were overflowing when it rained last week and I just thought...yeah. It was a lost cause to begin with.”

“Well, I can come by tonight before my shift-”

“Ah!” Luke stopped her, his hand up. “Don’t even think about it. Just stay home tonight, you don’t have to come in.”

“What?” she asked, exasperated. “My family’s at a reunion, I have pretty much no homework. I’m fine! I can work!”

“Wow. How convincing,” Jess deadpanned from his spot on the stool by the kitchen door, observing the exchange.

“What’s wrong?” Rory asked, searching Ella for something amiss.

“Green tea. Need I say more?” Luke said.

Lorelai looked over at Ella sympathetically, reaching to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Your head again?”

“It’s not that bad! What about your gutters?” Ella reasoned. Without work to fill her time, she imagined she might spend the night in her lonely house clutching her forehead. Not an ideal evening. Even with a headache, work at Luke’s was better than a second in her house, filled with the ghost of her mother.

“Don’t worry. Jess’ll do it,” Luke said off-handedly, tossing a glance over his shoulder to his nephew.

Jess’s eyes widened and he got up from his seat. “Jess will do what?”

“Clean the gutters. Right, Lorelai?” Luke raised his eyebrows expectantly at Lorelai, who faltered under his look and then nodded after a hesitant moment.

“Sure. Jess will clean our gutters.” Lorelai swallowed dryly.

“Instead of scraping the plates you’ll be scraping the gutters,” Luke said to Jess, making a fresh batch of coffee as he spoke. “Height is the only difference. You’ll get paid either way. Just go this afternoon before the dinner shift.”

“Yeah, we’d love for you to do your Breakfast Club routine from our roof,” Lorelai said. Of all the people in Stars Hollow, she may have been the person who hated Jess the most. Rory had spoken volumes to Ella about the disappearing act Jess had pulled the first time he was invited over for dinner at the Gilmore house. “C’mon, Bender, give us a fist bump!”

Jess scoffed and rolled his eyes. He looked to Ella pointedly as she finished off her tea. “You just had to go and get sick, didn’t you?”

“I’m not sick, jackass!” she exclaimed, the sound of her own voice echoing painfully in her ears. She looked around at the group, each person watching her doubtfully. “And all of this is unnecessary. Because I’m fine! Like I said!”

Jess shook his head and took a peek down at his watch. “Don’t wear yourself out. We gotta get to school. You comin’ or takin’ a sick day?”

“Shut up,” she hissed. Gathering up her stuff, Ella saw Jess slip on his own jacket and carry nothing but a novel in his back pocket as school supplies. She led the way with irritated footsteps, dodging the powdered ceiling which fell all around.

Taking off his hard hat and light on his feet as he tried to catch up with Ella, Jess shot Luke one last smirk. “She’s a joy, isn’t she?”

.   .   .

With the lights dimmed, Ella watched as Carrie White’s powers grew with every passing minute. The house was quiet, almost peaceful, as the night fell. Clouds obscured the view of the full moon, but a few stars could still be made out against the indigo canvas of the sky. She laid with a thin afghan splayed over her, a cool washcloth against her forehead. Three horror movies in, and she was starting to feel a bit of cabin fever already. It occurred to her how little time she spent in the living room anymore. Apart from her bedroom at night, the house was practically foreign. She knew her way around the cabinets at the diner than she did in her own kitchen. Besides, Fiona had rearranged everything when she moved in. The little blue house was no longer the one she grew up in. Just as she was dozing off, a soft knock sounded at the door. Sighing through her nose, she threw the blanket and the washcloth aside, making her way over to the front.

Furrowing her brows, Ella saw Jess standing with his usual smirk and a box of food in his arms. “Um...hey?”

“Delivery.”

A suspicious smile crossed her face. “Excuse me?”

“Well, since tonight you’re all alone and sick-”

“Not sick,” she interjected. “I don’t need rescuing.” Jess barely paused, his smile growing.

“Luke figured you might not have any food in the house, so he sent over a care package,” Jess explained, gesturing down to the box, which contained at least two large paper bags with the Luke’s logo across the front.

Ella scoffed. “But I’m fine.”

“‘I’m fine.’ My god, you’re like a broken record today,” Jess remarked. “Where should I put this?”

“I-”

“Kitchen?” he asked, then brushed past her through the doorway, immediately in the small living room. He noted there was only one light on in the whole space, illuminating everything in a low golden glow. A blue haze emanated from the TV screen, paused on a frame of ‘70s Sissy Spacek. He stopped short, looking back to Ella for guidance, where she still stood slightly dazed in the doorway.

Clearing her throat and blinking once in surprise, she shut the large white door behind her and pointed past the living room, through the open space in the wall overlooking the kitchen. “Yeah, kitchen’s fine. Right through there.”

She followed him in, flipping on the light switch and wincing at the sudden flash before her eyes. Trying not to let the twinge in her head show, she steadied herself on the door frame before walking on. Ella watched as he began unpacking the box’s content. There were bags full of fries, burgers, salads, sandwiches. Along with the greasy amenities, she saw a huge container of green tea bags. A fond smirk passed across her lips, then fell again when she remembered Jess had randomly shown up at her house.

“Jesus, how many people did he think I needed to feed?”

“Well, maybe that cat of yours can put some of this away.” Jess shrugged in disinterest, not meeting her eyes as he spoke. “Luke didn’t know how long your family was gone, so he wanted you taken care of.”

Ella shook her head, though good-naturedly. “I’m only alone for a couple days. He means well but does he ever tire of his overprotection?”

“Not likely.”

She chuckled a little, though her heart wasn’t in it. The pain was back in her head after standing up, and it made her dizzy. Without thinking, she took a seat in one of the rickety kitchen chairs. The kitchen was dated, with a scheme of peach and white that became almost blinding in the daylight. The small, circular table rocked slightly, on uneven legs. It had been there since before Ella was born, though, so she hardly even noticed it.

Jess raised an eyebrow when she sat down abruptly. “I’d ask if you’re okay, but I doubt I’d get a truthful response.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Mariano?” she asked in mock offense.

“Yeah. And not a very good one.”

She uttered a weak laugh. “You underestimate me.” Then, after a beat: “Why didn’t Caesar or someone bring this over?”

“I volunteered.”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to get outta the construction zone,” Jess explained, a ranting tone in his voice. “There’s nothing but banging and yelling. Place gives me a headache.”

She scrunched her nose up at the word. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to come over here and get a glimpse of this pretty face.”

Jess snorted, though she thought she saw a slight flicker of something across his expression. “Right. I think I get enough at work, thank you very much.”

“Don’t feel bad. Lots of people get intimidated by my level of perfection. Can only handle me in small increments,” she joked tiredly, her chin propped up on one hand.

Finally, he had unpacked everything in a box and stood over it, facing her. After a moment, she realized they’d been looking but not talking, and she brought her eyes down to the food on the table.

Clearing her throat, she ventured another glance at him, her courage returning. “So, are you just gonna stand there the rest of the night, or…?”

Again, Jess shrugged. “Well, you didn’t give me my tip.”

Ella snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mariano. Service is not your strong suit on your best day.”

“Well, if you refuse to give me money, I’ll settle on a fry or two,” he offered, his face amused with the negotiations.

She sighed, a smile of disbelief on her lips. For a moment she thought, and decided she had been wishing for some company all night. Why not Jess? “Be my guest,” she said, motioning to the chair across from her. “You’re not the worst person who could have walked in, I suppose.”

A satisfied grin flashed on Jess’s face and he shrugged off his jean jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair. “What a model hostess.”

“Shut up. Overstay one minute of your welcome and you’re outta here,” she warned, opening up the fries and reaching for a few. She watched as Jess made the salt and pepper dip. On slow days or while closing up the diner, she’d seen him make the condiment a few times. It was pretty fucking good.

Jess scoffed. “In your condition? I doubt you could take me.”

Raising her eyebrows, Ella shot him a look. “Try me.”

“Alright, I’m duly warned,” he said, surrendering.

As she got settled with her food, Jess let his eyes roam over the room. He’d never seen anywhere in her house other than her bedroom at the end of the hall. The peach kitchen felt homey and lived-in. By the kitchen sink, there was a witch hanging on a wall hook. White lace curtains hung over the windows. The fridge was covered with photos and magnets, some of them faded with age. Then, his eyes arrived back on Ella. She reached behind her, opening a cabinet and retrieving silverware and plates. Jess muttered a thanks as she passed him some. He shook his head when she offered him a drink. When she got back to her seat, she began arranging her food neatly on the plate. Jess bit back a laugh, almost expecting the behavior. Her blonde hair was down, slightly disheveled though she had tucked it behind her ears. She had on the same Beetlejuice t-shirt and blue jeans she’d worn at school. It was odd to see her slightly placated, less stressed than she was at the diner. When she looked back up at him, he caught a glance at the redness in her hazel eyes. Had he woken her up? A pang of guilt hit him, but he felt silly so he brushed it off.

“So, how was cleaning the Gilmore gutters?” she asked, munching on a fry.

“Nice alliteration.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Go on.”

He shrugged. “It was alright. Lorelai gave me some Chinese food. We made small talk. Sort of.”

“Awww, look at that. Jess is acquiring people skills,” she mocked.

“Shut up,” Jess snapped, face contorted in irritation.

Ella laughed. She spotted a pickle on the side of his plate and snagged it from him. Though he narrowed his eyes at her, he said nothing in protest. “Why’d you talk to Lorelai anyway? I thought you guys had a long-standing feud?”

Jess shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s Luke’s friend and she helps you out and...Rory asked me to put in a little effort.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she smiled suspiciously. “Just...listening to directives from others. Not exactly your style, is it?”

“Alright,” he said with finality, straightening up in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Out with it.”

Ella scoffed. “Well, are you into Rory or something? Seems like you’re pretty open to her opinions.”

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Please. Like I’d fall for the resident princess of Stars Hollow.”

“I don’t know. You’ve got similar literary tastes, or lack thereof. At least she has the decency to recognize Hemingway’s inferiority,” she explained, not meeting his eyes and taking a bite of burger after she finished talking.

Jess let out a small sigh and his smirk came to his lips again. “Y’know, Ernest only has lovely things to say about you.”

She giggled. “I doubt that very much.”

A slight tension filled the air before Ella spoke again.

“Look, all I’m saying is, you hate her boyfriend, you’ve got that Holden Caulfield thing going for you. Wouldn’t be the worst coupling in the world.”

“Such high praise. What’s it to you, anyway?” he asked, getting a little defensive. She couldn’t tell whether it was because the idea appealed to him or repulsed him.

She shook her head, her voice light. “Sorry, I don’t mean-” She stopped to sigh, then began again: “Okay, you can’t speak a word of this to anyone or I’ll personally castrate you.”

Jess’s eyes widened at the mock threat, chuckling. “Okay, well I gotta hear this.”

“I hate Dean.”

He gasped, bringing a hand to his heart in teasing surprise. “I’m shocked. Not good enough for our perfect Rory?”

“He’s just...he at least needs to give her some fucking space sometimes,” she sighed. At that moment, her headache shot up her neck and behind her eyes again in a flash of pain. Despite her best try, she couldn’t hide her grimace.

Jess regarded her momentarily. “How’s your head?”

“I’ll survive,” she said, her face guarded.

“You get them a lot?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

Clearing her throat, she swallowed another mouthful of burger and shook her head gently. “Not really. Just every couple months since...uh since my mom and everything. Doctor says it’s a normal stress response or something.”

Humming in acknowledgement, Jess’s eyes flicked to the TV through the opening in the wall to the living room. “Carrie, huh?”

A look of slight relief washed over her, and the small smile returned to her lips. “Yeah. I go on Stephen King binges when I’m not feeling like myself.”

Jess’s brows furrowed and he scoffed. “Why?”

“Because they remind me just how much worse my life could be. Especially if the supernatural got involved,” she explained.

He chuckled a little and raised a doubtful eyebrow. “King’s a hack, y’know. Totally bloated prose.”

“His books are entertaining, what can I say? And I’ve learned so much about the state of Maine reading them.”

“I am so disappointed in you, Eleanor Stevens,” he groaned amiably.

She only shrugged. “Hey, you have your vices, I have mine.” Then, she glanced back over her shoulder and suddenly began gathering up her food. “C’mon, we’re just getting to the good part. The prom massacre awaits for our viewing pleasure.”

Jess smiled, watching her go as he picked up his own food, then joining her on the tattered green couch.

.   .   .

As he descended the stairs, the smells of nutmeg and apple hit Jess in the face. The aroma was not unwelcome, his empty stomach growling, but he thought it odd. Luke didn’t bake very often, and almost never at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. Jess would’ve slept in later, but the hunger and his sleep schedule for school had forced him from his twin bed. They didn’t open for another hour, late on Saturdays with less people up so early for work. Jess ran a hand through his messy hair and found Luke taking down the chairs as he passed through the curtain at the bottom of the stairs and entered the diner.

“Are you makin’ somethin’?” he asked his uncle groggily, immediately stealing a donut from under one of the glass domes on the main counter.

Luke shook his head and sighed. “Not me. It’s the pie psycho back there.”

“I told you not to call me that!” Jess heard Ella call from the kitchen.

Grunting in annoyance, Luke rolled his eyes. “This is a sickness, Ella! It’s an unhealthy obsession!”

Blowing a piece of hair from her eyes, Ella emerged from the kitchen into the dim morning light of the diner. “It’s a hobby!”

“What the hell’s going on?” Jess chimed in, a hint of a laugh in his voice. He regarded Ella. Her hair was pulled back again. Streaks of flour painted her pale face and she wiped her hands on the full apron she wore over her simple dress. He snorted and sat down at a stool across from where she stood, her forearms leaned on the counter. “Looks like you’re feelin’ better.”

“Much,” she nodded, a smile gracing her face. A sudden bell sounded and she rushed back into the kitchen. When she came out again a moment later, she held a pie, steaming in her potholder-clad hands. “And I have pie.”

Pursing his lips, Jess nodded in simple recognition. “I can see that.”

“You showed up at six o’clock, unannounced, to make pies without being asked,” Luke exclaimed in exasperation, gesturing in irritation with the rag in his hand. “Just like last summer!”

“Last summer?” Jess asked.

“Every week, she shows up, early hours of the morning, with random pie supplies-”

“And we sold every slice! You get up at four in the morning anyway!” Ella piped up defensively. “We’ve got this apple and then in-” she paused to look at the clock, “ten minutes we’ll have a pumpkin and a pecan!”

Luke groaned, throwing his head back dramatically before returning to his work. “You’re incorrigible!”

“Nice. Five cent word,” she quipped.

Shaking his head, Jess laughed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Last night you’re like a zombie and now you’re the crazy pie lady.”

“I’m multi-faceted,” she said distractedly, crouched behind the counter as she straightened various folded napkins and silverware.

“That’s one word for it,” Jess grumbled, and had to duck to avoid the crumpled napkin Ella launched at him in retaliation.

Ella popped up again from behind the counter, blowing out a satisfied breath. “I just figured I should do something nice for you, Luke. As a thank you for the care package last night.”

Jess’s eyes widened marginally and his back straightened.

Brows furrowing, Luke tilted his head at Ella. “What care package?”

“The one Jess-”

“Hey, Luke, I think I heard the raccoons getting in the trash again this morning,” Jess said hastily.

Luke groaned. Lumbering into the back without another glance at either of the two teenagers, he muttered a final “Dammit!” before disappearing from view.

Slowly, Ella turned back to Jess with a knowing smirk on her lips. Crossing her arms, she leaned on the counter across from him again and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“What?” Jess snapped defensively.

“Well, aren’t you a fine, upstanding young member of the Stars Hollow community.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You wanted me taken care of because my family was gone and I had a headache,” she prodded, watching as a flush reddened Jess’s cheeks and he squirmed nervously under her eyes.

“Aren’t you gonna burn your pies standing out here?” he asked, deflecting.

She shook her head nonchalantly. “No, they’ve still got a while. You’re blushing, Mariano.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, this is fun. This is very fun,” she teased, watching him grow more uncomfortable by the second.

“Oh yeah?” Jess asked testily, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’d say.” Then, after a moment, she stood up again and sighed, grabbing the pie knife from under the counter. “Thank you, Jess. That was very nice of you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said, still feigning confusion.

She scoffed, then began slicing the pie, still warm but no longer hot to the level of tongue-burning. “Whatever, tough guy. You want some pie?”

“For breakfast?” he asked, chuckling in a little in relief as she dropped the previous subject. Butterflies of embarrassment still fluttered around in his stomach.

“It’s Saturday. There are no rules. Besides, my pies are legendary.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jess told her, eyes lingering on Ella when she turned away. A smile blossomed on her face.

[justjessame]

If Only Someone Looked At Me Like They Look At Guns 1

When I bought the secondhand bookstore in South Boston, my dad thought I'd lost my mind. What was I, a native West Virginian, going to do all alone in Boston? Sell books, I'd thought. And live my life, finally, I added.

I had spent a healthy portion of my life being the perfect daughter. The one who gave and gave and made sure that I did everything in my power to make my parents proud. I gave everything to everyone, until there was little left for myself. Now, at thirty years old, I could finally have something for myself.

Besides which, have you ever seen Boston? It's gorgeous and colorful. However, when my dad helped me move into the apartment I'd leased within walking distance to my new, old store "As the Page Turns" he wasn't impressed.

"Really, Tessa?" He asked, looking around. "You're going to be homesick. This place is too noisy, it's too dirty. You're going to miss good ol' West Virginia."

Dirty and noisy? Coal mines, I thought, and the plants that made it smell or shot smoke up into the air weren't the same? Instead of arguing, I diverted him with the manual labor of the move. "You going to help me with this bed, Dad? Or should I ask a neighbor?" That got him moving.

It didn't cure his nagging. Not before he headed home, nor after he'd arrived. It made the weekly phone calls a bit of a hassle. I wanted to talk about how I was making my store a success. He wanted to bring up the things I'd left behind. I wanted to discuss the changes I made as the money started to come in earnest. He wanted to listen for a sign of homesickness. Not a call passed without at least one, "You ready to come home yet?"

Two years, I thought, walking to work in the early morning sun. I was smiling. I loved my life. I was busy. I made the store a reasonable success, adding a coffee bar and pastries to the space. And I had regulars and new customers almost daily. Success was sweet, I thought, as I unlocked the beveled glass front door and listened to the comforting jingle of the bell.

The phone rang almost as soon as I dropped my bag behind the counter. Since I wouldn't be opening for another half an hour, I had a pretty good guess of who was calling.

"Morning, Dad!" I answered, taking the cordless phone with me to start up the coffee and espresso machines. I wondered if his call would be over by the time my daily pastry delivery came. "What's up?"

"Tessa, you shouldn't answer the business phone like that." He admonished. Great start, Dad, I thought. "Why don't you have your cell phone on?"

Ugh, I thought, the chastisement with a side of criticism. Lucky me.

"My Blackberry is in my pocket. I must not have heard the call come in." I answered. "Sorry, Dad." Tessa, I thought, stop fucking apologizing, you're an adult. "How are you? Is something wrong?"

I heard him sigh. "Yes, in Boston."

"What?" I asked, wandering the store to make sure I'd put everything in order when I'd closed the evening before. The counters were clean, the leftover pastries went to the soup kitchen nearby, and the shelves were stocked and orderly.

"Don't you read or watch the news?" Irritation was so heavy on his voice that I could feel the glare across states. Why couldn't my parents have had another child so I could share this guilt and misery? "Those vigilante murderers are back in Boston. I think you should come home."

I rolled my eyes. "Dad, I do watch the news. It's just been busy. This past week's been insane." I rolled my shoulders, feeling the tension build. "And why would I care about vigilantes? Didn't they kill mob people? I sell used books and coffee." Logic, I thought, would hopefully work. "Why would I be in danger?"

"Tessa, they killed a priest." He groaned. "Why wouldn't you listen to me before running away to Boston?"

Running away? I was thirty years old when I relocated, for fuck's sake. "Dad, I'm not Catholic, nor are you." I reminded him gently. "I'm certainly not a priest." I let out a sigh I hadn't noticed I was holding. "I'm fine. I'm happy." The stress moved from my shoulders to my neck belying my words. "I'll be safe. Besides, I highly doubt they've returned. And even if they had, they couldn't be stupid enough to come back to their old stomping grounds."

Another sigh and groan from his end. "You never used to be this stubborn." Yeah, because I was too busy making sure everyone else was happy. "Didn't you tell me the bar they used to frequent was close to your store?"

Damn it. Why had he remembered that tidbit in all that I'd told him about my store? Why couldn't he recall how excited I'd been at finding the rare book one of my customers had asked for? And why had I thought sharing the 'local colorful history' of my new home with my overbearing dad? In my defense, I didn't know that someone would kill a priest.

A tap came to the front door and I nearly cheered at the interruption. "Dad, I have to go, my pastries are here." Rushing through another round of I'll be safe and ending with round of "I love yous".

I let out another sigh and ran to unlock the door. The jingle of the bell calmed me a bit as Marco, the bakery's delivery guy came in with the first load of boxes. As I rolled my shoulders and tried to crack my own neck to release the tension, Marco left for the second and last load. After checking to make sure everything was accounted for, I offered him his usual tip. A double espresso.

"Ah, that hits the spot, Tess." He smiled. "You ok?"

I assured him I was fine and we chatted about this and that.

"Better hit the road. Don't want the boss to get pissed." He said, tossing the small cup in the trash. "See ya tomorrow." I waved him out.

"Could you flip my sign?" I asked, and he smiled and did it. "Later, Marc."

I moved to fill the pastry case. Using the decorative towers and plates that I'd picked up at one of the Farmer's Market stalls. The jingle of the bell made me raise up and offer my usual greeting. "Welcome to As the Page Turns, can I help you?"

He was taller than me, but then again almost everyone was. His incredibly blue eyes crinkled with a smile as he took me in behind the counter. The pastry boxes were almost all empty and the display was filled. I was wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a loose v-neck brown t-shirt, and a pair of canvas sneakers. My auburn hair piled loosely into a bun on the top of my head and my ever present and much needed glasses perched on my nose, not thick enough to hide my green eyes.

Since he was clearly inventorying my assets as it were, I decided to do the same for him. Dark hair, looking like he'd used shears to cut it in the dark, crowned his head. His skin was sun kissed but not tan, and he wore a peacoat, black t-shirt, jeans, and boots. I could see a bit of a tattoo peeking from the collar of his coat on the left side of his neck. Another tattoo was on his right hand, along his index finger. A word, "AÈQUITAS". Huh, Latin. Justice? I felt a tingle of curiosity.

His smile turned to a smirk and I waited, raising an eyebrow under my glasses. I had my usual customer service smile on, but felt a little smirk of my own forming. Both confirming our inspection of the other, and finding it agreeable. He finally spoke.

"'Eard dis wus de place fer a master coffee on dis street." His Irish brogue is full and strong.

"Did you now?" I asked, my smile widening. "Whose singing my praises?"

"Doc." Ah, I thought. The sweet, if a bit different, owner of Mcginty's Bar, the place my dad had brought up in his call.

"What can I get you?" I asked, grinning at the thought of how many day drinkers Doc sent my way to sober up. This man, however, looked like he had recently woken up. Perhaps,he had a late night, if the slight red in the white of his eyes were telling the tale properly.

"Two av the largest black coffee yer 'av. Strong." He answered. A late night then, I smiled.

"Shot of espresso sounds in order." His eyebrows raised. "Don't look alarmed, I'll add it to the regular coffee." I turned to the machine behind me and started the two cups. "How is Doc?" I asked over the noise and my shoulder.

"'E's gran. Jammers, oi tink." Jammers, I thought, trying to make sense of the words he used. Traffic jams came to mind so I translated that Doc was busy. I had plenty of Irish immigrant customers, and I was slowly learning some of their vernacular. It was rough going, but interesting.

Capping the two large cups with black lids and sliding them into the brown sleeves that would protect my customers from burning themselves on the heat pouring from the hot coffee inside, I turned. "Well, tell him I'll try to stop over this afternoon with his favorite treat." I handed him the coffee. "Are you new in town?"

He shot me a strange look, but seeing me waiting behind the till, he gave another grin. "Aye, just visitin' for business." He chuckled at his own joke. "Ye new? Yisser accent is different."

I had heard that a great deal when I moved here. "Yep, I'm from West Virginia." My smile stayed in place. He's an odd duck, I thought, but Doc never sent me anyone dangerous or violent, so I felt safe. "Hope you enjoy your visit." I told him his total and he handed me a large bill. Opening the register to give him his change he waved me off.

"Naw, lassy, that's for yer." His smile was sweet, but the tip was twice as much as his coffees cost. I opened my mouth to protest, but he stopped me again. "Naw, oi ill in my brown 'ear it. Doc acts loik de sun shines from yer side av de street an' oi can tell why. Yer take care av 'imself, an' we take care av ours."

"Doc's a sweetheart. He reminds me of my late grandpa." I answered, smiling at the jist of what he said. "It's no hardship to check in on him." I put the extra cash under the drawer. If this strange man came back, his coffee was paid for. "I'm Tessa, by the way." I held out my hand.

"Murphy." He answered, simply, taking my hand. His hands were calloused and rough. Like the men I was raised around and the ones working in the factories here.

"Nice to meet you, Murphy." I said, my smile genuine.

The bells on the door jingled again. Another strong Irish voice called out before I could give my standard greeting. "So that's wha yer were- keepin' company wi' a juicy lassy instead av bringin' de coffee, yer arse."

I looked up and the usual greeting caught in my throat. Dear Lord, I thought, the dim light of the store allowing the beams of early morning sun to settle around the newcomer like a halo. Sun bleached brown hair, cut as haphazardly as Murphy's, light blue eyes, and scruff on the planes of his tanned face. Clearing my throat and my mind of how beautiful he was, I finally found my voice.

"Welcome to As the Page Turns." Jesus, why did I sound squeaky and breathless at the same time? "Guess one of these is yours?" I gestured at the two cups on my counter.

He turned his full attention to me and my mouth went dry as I watched him take the same inventory of me as Murphy had. Only this time I felt inadequate. I fought the urge to squirm.

"Damn it, Conner, stop starin' at 'er loike she's bill skinner. She looks loike a colt ready ter bolt." Murphy's voice broke the weird hold. 'Bill skinner'? I wondered. The horse bit I completely understood.

I cleared my throat again. "So, Connor, is it?" I asked, holding out the same hand that Murphy had shaken. "Visiting for business as well?"

Connor, the archangel of beauty choked on his own tongue as he took my hand and shot a look at Murphy. They were silent for a beat, my hand locked in the calloused heat of Connor's while they stared at each other. Great, pretty, but another weirdo.

"Aye, business." He answered, a smile and chuckle as he returned to face me. "An' yer are?"

I really wished I knew the joke. That had these two laughing every time I mentioned business.

"'Er name is Tessa. Whaich yer wud 'av known if ye'd gotten oyt av scratcher and cum wi' me, loike oi tried ter git yer ter." Murphy answered, smirking.

Connor released my hand and I leaned my hip against the counter. "Are you business partners?" I asked, wondering what type of business they could be in. Rough hands, sun kissed skin, peacoats, hair that looked like a blind barber and blunt shears created the cut weren't usually what I'd associate with business travel. They could be sailors, I supposed.

Connor and Murphy laughed. Each picking up a cup of coffee. Murphy with his right hand, Connor with his left. "Business partners?" Connor smiled, taking an appreciative sip. "Naw, brothers."

Murphy sipped his own. Closing his eyes and sighing in gratitude. "Twins in fact." He added, opening his eyes.

Connor took another drink from his cup. He moaned indecently and it made my stomach clench. "Dis coffee is rapid. Yer 'av a gift. An' I'm jealous yer git ter enjoy it al' de time."

It was my turn to laugh. "Oh, I don't drink coffee." The look of horrified disbelief on both their faces was priceless. "I make it. I love the scent of it, but drink it?" I shuddered. "No thanks."

Murphy's eyebrows rose. "'Oy can yer make it if yer allerge it?"

Connor chipped in, shaking his cup. "An' make it taste loike dis?"

I noticed the ink on his hand as he shook the cup. Another word tattoo. "VERITAS" I reached into my tiny bit of high school Latin. "Truth," I said out loud, startling all of us. I blushed as their eyes fell to mine. I swallowed. "The truth is- my parents love coffee. When my mom died, I learned to make a decent cup so my dad could wake up to it. Worked as a barista for a bit. Still hate the taste."

Connor's eyes burned into me, making me curious again about the two of them. "Konnor, perestan' pyalit'sya, ty yeye pugayesh'." Murphy broke the silence in a murmur. The language sounded almost guttural. Russian? Strange.

Connor's eyes never left me as he answered. "Notò la mia mano, Murphy. Pensi che chiamerà la polizia?" The language he'd chosen sounded more lyrical. Wait, 'polizia'? Police?

I cleared my throat. "Well, this has been- interesting." I smiled, hoping to defuse whatever tension was between the three of us. "Could you please let Doc know I'll be over around lunch?" I asked, needing time to process. Hoping desperately they'd take the hint.

Murphy spoke again, tugging his twin away from the counter. "Naw problem, lassy. We'll be 'appy ter let 'imself nu. Say take 'er 'andy, Connor."

"Clap yer lay-ra, lass." Connor said, allowing his brother to steer him out the door, Murphy shooting me a wave.

Well, then, I thought. Going back to the pastry display, I started clearing the empty boxes. What the hell was all that?

Russian translation from Murphy: Connor, stop staring. You scare her.

Italian translation from Connor: She noticed my hand, Murphy. Do you think she'll call the police?

[bibislut]

Bitter-Sweet Days (Chapter 4)

Find the entire fic here

Chapter 4 

{This chapter contains explicit smut, but also some key things. I have highlighted the beginning and end of the explicit content with this >>> _-_-_-_ -_-_-_-_}

 21st May 2001

Draco kicked off his shoes as he walked into his apartment, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. He allowed himself a moment of weakness; leaning against the wall to catch his breath and slow his heart after the four flights of stairs up to his apartment. They had never winded him before - but he supposed that’s what dying did to you. It was a warm, sunny, spring afternoon and he was eager to spend it reading on his balcony. 

The morning had gone better than expected. 

"You're resigning?" Matthews had frowned at him over his glasses.

"That's correct, sir." Draco kept his face neutral.

"But you only finished training last year. You've barely been in the postition 6 months." 

"I am aware of that, sir." Draco tried hard not to grind his teeth. How this buffoon was his superior he had no idea.

"Why?"

"I feel that I no longer suit this role," and I'd cut my testicles off with a butter knife before I spend my last months working for you.

Draco held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "I've cleared my desk. I'll take my leave as effective immediately." He swept out of the room, smoothing down his hair.

Draco ruffled his white hair out of his eyes and hung up his suit jacket. The sound of a muggle ice cream can sounded below, the playful tune ringing out. A wonderful idea popped into his head. 

He walked into the living room, clicking his teeth. "Lady? Where are you girl?" 

He reached into a cabinet and pulled out some treats. The rustling was all that was needed for his gorgeous black owl to swoop in from Merlin knows where. She landed on his shoulder and nudged his ear. He reached up and fed her a treat. 

"I need you to take a letter for me."

He placed some treats on his desk next to his parchment and she happily hopped over to eat them. 

Potter,

I hope you're free. I said we'd do something more low-key next time - how about a canal-side walk and an icecream on me? 

Let me know ASAP

DM

He rolled the parchment up and secured it to Lady. 

-----

The sight of Potter's flabbergasted face was both adorable and hilarious. He really was easy to read.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so dressed down, Malfoy."

Well, he wasn't wrong. Draco was wearing long denim shorts, canvas shoes, and a white short sleeved button up with his shades tucked into the top. He felt weirdly free without his suits and robes, but he would never admit it.

"Like what you see, Potter?" He smirks, trying his best to appear smug - though Merlin knows if he managed to look anything other than the bundle of nerves he really was..

Merlin's tits. The way Potter licked his lips and returned the smirk, surely it was illegal?! 

"More than you realise, Malfoy." 

Swooning didn't happen in real life did it? Draco was sure he was about to find out. He cleared his throat and settled a smirk on his face, slowly raking his eyes up and down Potter. He was wearing black denim shorts and trainers, and a red shirt that said "melanin king".

"You don't look too bad yourself Potter, for a tramp that is." He laughed at that, and oh boy, could Draco get used to that sound.

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

"Make me, Potter." Draco held his gaze steadily, every bit the challenge. The darker boy stalked towards him, leaning in close to his ear. Who needed breathing anyway?

"Later," Potter murmured and Draco shivered. Cheeky bastard. He grabbed Draco's arm. "Where to?"

With a crack they disapparated, landing in a small, shaded alley. The sound of splashing water could be heard. Potter took his hand. "Lead the way."

His hand was so warm, all of Potter was. It was like he was fire personified, warming you up, all blazing looks and passion. Draco ached to know whether he brought that fire to the bedroom. 

He lead them out of the alley and into the bright sunlight, muttering a skin protection spell as he went because he knew how easily he burnt. They turned the corner to see a stream of clear water, children splashing in it as parents and dogs sat on the grassy banks, eating ice cream and laughing. It looked heavenly.

"Where are we?"

"Bourton-on-the-water, I came here once as a child and was mesmerised by how clear the water was."

Potter smiled and took off, pulling Draco with him. "Come on, let's get some ice cream." He went right up to the store front. "What do you want?" 

"Oh, um." Draco peered at the flavours through the glass. "I'll have mint-choc chip, please." He smiled at the server.

"Make that two," Harry said as he pulled out his wallet. Draco smacked his hands away.

"I said I'd get it, you pillock." He pulled out his own wallet as Potter snorted. 

They paid and made their way to the water. 

"Hermione got me the shirt, as a Christmas present," he pointed down at his chest. "We have matching ones," he chuckled.

"Ah yes, Granger," Draco murmured.

"Oi, watch out. She's my best mate." 

Draco held his hands up in surrender. "I didn't mean anything about it, oh Mr Saviour," his voice dropped with mockery.

Potter made a funny face and licked at his icecream. "Don't even start, Malfoy."

Draco smirked and put on a high pitch voice. "Oh Merlin! It’s Harry Potter!" he squealed, tapping him on the shoulder. "Can I have you autograph, Harry?" He poked his shoulder repeatedly.

Potter laughed and dropped his ice cream, wrapping his hands around Draco's wrists. Draco tried to pull away but Potter just tightened his grip, and really, his shorts shouldn't be this tight. He stopped struggling and as Potter was about to say something, he pushed him back, knocking the two over with Draco sprawled across him. Potter kept his grip and leaned up to whisper in his ear. "You're dead, Malfoy."

He rolled them over, pinning Draco's hands above his head. Draco could just about hear a small voice over the sound of his heartbeat saying that it was good they'd walked so far along the river - there was only one other person around and he was dozing on a blanket 30 feet away. 

Draco lifted his hips, struggling against the hot, firm body of Potter, who had the gall to smirk down at him. They were both panting slightly, and… was Draco hallucinating? Or was that the hard length of The Saviour pressed against his thigh?

His own cock hardened at the thought, and he looked into Potter's endless green eyes to see an excitement that was echoed in his own. He closed his eyes, and with a sharp crack the two landed with a bounce on Draco's bed.

Potter let go of his wrists, looking around. "Are we…?"

"In my bedroom? Yes Potter, we are. On my bed."

"Impressive accuracy, Malfoy."

Draco smirked, wrapping his arms around Potter's neck. It was his turn to lean into his ear. "Just wait until you see what else is impressive."

Potter groaned and placed his lips against Draco's neck, grazing his teeth against his sensitive skin. Merlin, 15 year old Draco would have burst a blood vessel knowing what was about to happen, after spending so many nights in his bed at Hogwarts, fist tight around his cock over the thought of Harry Potter. 

"Are we really doing this, Potter?" Draco tugged gently at his hair to pull him up so he could see his face. 

"I want to, do you?" He looked down at him.

"I do, I just wonder how much you’ve done with all this,"  he gestured between the two of them. “Or how much you want to do.”

Potter blushed at his words, looking away. "I mean I’ve done it, slept with a guy, yeah." 

"Good." Draco traces his fingers over his face before flipping them over, Potter landing with a gasp. He grinned devilishly. "But do you have experience taking it?" 

Potter gasped like a fish. "You're…?"

"A top, Potter? I am, when the mood takes me." Draco ran his thumb over Potter's lips. "And it seems to have taken me now."

Draco watched as Potter gulped, his eyes following the long line of his neck. 

"Okay," he cleared his throat. "Okay, Malfoy. Let's see what you've got."

And that was all he needed to hear. Draco kissed him fiercely, running his hands over Potter's top, trailing his fingers over the bare skin where it had ridden up. Potter wrapped his arms around Draco and sat up, Draco straddling his lap as he pulled his top over his head. He ran his fingers over his chest hair before reaching round to scratch his back. Potter hissed into his mouth and Draco felt the noise go straight to his cock. 

Potter fumbled with Draco's buttons, practically ripping them off as he tore away his shirt. His hands were so hot on Draco's skin, blazing a trail along his torso. Draco felt his fingers graze over the scars on his chest before Potter pulled away. He looked down at the scars under his hands and cursed.

"Fuck, Malfoy, is that… is that what I did to you?" his voice cracked a little. That night in the bathroom, Potter had scarred him for life, literally. Draco felt no anger about it, he could still remember the horror on Potter's face as Draco fell to the floor in a pool of his own blood. He hadn't meant it, he knew that.

Draco smoothed back the curls away from his forehead, running his own fingers over Harry's scar. He smiled sadly.

"Look at us, huh? Scar head and scar chest…" He chuckled slightly.

"Yeah but that's different, Malfoy. I did that to you!" Draco smacked him lightly on the back of the head and held up his left arm.

"And I have the mark of the guy who did that," he traced his fingers over Potter's scar again, "to you." 

The Dark Mark was no longer black, instead looking itself like scar tissue, pink skin winding intricately over Draco's otherwise pale arm.

Draco grabbed Potter's chin and made him look at him. "The past is the past, Potter. Focus on where we are right now." 

Potter smirked slightly and looked him over. "You're sitting on my lap." 

"And you're about to take my cock up your arse." Draco whispered the words teasingly. Potter visibly shivered at his words and Draco smiled. He kissed him again, much more softly this time, and the two seemed to hum in unison.

_-_-_-_ -_-_-_-_

Draco climbed off his lap and pulled him up until they were both standing, kissing Potter again as he undid the buttons on his shorts. They fell to the floor and Draco palmed his cock through his boxers, feeling it harden further under his touch as Potter panted into his mouth.

"Do you want my mouth around your cock, Potter?" The darker boy moaned loudly at his words.

"Fuck Malfoy, yes."

"Ask me nicely." Draco used his other hand to pull Potter's hair.

"Shit, please," he hissed as Draco gave him a gentle squeeze. "Please suck my cock, Malfoy." 

"Since you asked so nicely," Draco smirked and dropped to his knees, pulling Potter's boxers down. He took him into his mouth slowly, licking his length and hollowing his cheeks. He bobbed his head at an almost sinfully slow pace and heard Potter curse again. Draco teased him a few moments longer before coming off his cock with a pop. 

Draco stood again and pushed Potter back until the back of his knees hit the bed. He reached into his side drawer and pulled out a pot of lube as Potter crawled backwards onto the bed. He tossed it to him with a wink. 

"Touch yourself." 

Potter looked like he was about to say something but changed his mind. He unscrewed the lid and dipped a finger in. Draco undid his own shorts and pushed them and his boxers to the floor, kicking them off. He took his cock in his hand and stroked it languidly, watching carefully as Potter spread his legs and traced the puckered point.

He watched as Potter slowly slid his finger in, millimetre by millimetre, with a soft gasp. He got to the knuckle and then began pumping it slowly, his eyes closed and eyebrows knitted together. Draco thought he'd never seen something so beautiful. He watched as Potter pulled it out, slicking up another finger, before pushing the two in with a wince. Draco knelt next to the bed, his head between Potter's legs and kissed his way up his thighs.

"You're doing so well," he whispered and Potter let out a little whimper. Draco watched as he began pumping his fingers a bit faster, panting heavily.

Draco tapped his hand lightly. "Stop."

Potter did as he was told, pulling his fingers out as Draco stood up. He took the lube and spread it over his cock, his heart hammering as he realised what was about to happen. He was about to fuck Harry Potter.

He kissed Potter's chest, then his shoulders, then his neck, and finally his mouth. He looked into his bright green eyes as he lined his cock up. "Are you ready?" Potter held his gaze and nodded.

Draco pushed the head of his cock in and they hissed in unison. He watched Potter's face as he slowly pushed himself further in and almost came right then when he saw his eyes roll back.

"Fuck, more, Malfoy, more."

It was like siren call, the sound of Harry Potter begging him to fuck him. He pushed his cock in further and further until he finally bottomed out. He stilled for a second as he tried to catch his breath. Potter was so tight, and so warm, and fuck, he felt so good. 

He thrust gently, moaning with Potter as he picked up his speed. "Shit, Harry." 

Potter's eyes flew open and he laughed. "Did you just call me Harry?" 

Draco chuckled and leant his forehead against Harry's. "Shut up and let me fuck you."

"I thought you already were-" Draco cut him off with a hard thrust and they both moaned. His pace quickened and became more erratic.

"Come for me, Draco," Harry whispered, and Merlin's tits, who was Draco to say no to that. He fucked him harder, panting, but it was the face Harry was making that tipped him over.  The sight of Harry Potter underneath him, dark curls stuck to his forehead, lips parted in ecstasy as he chased his own orgasm, was one Draco knew he would never forget.

"Fuck, Harry!" he shouted, his cum shooting out. Apparently that was all the permission Potter needed, as his own cum spurted between their chests.

They lay panting for a moment, before Draco slid off and curled into Harry's side. Potter slid his arm around him and kissed the top of his head. Is this what heaven felt like?

------ 

_-_-_-_ -_-_-_-_

Draco must have dozed off, worn out, because when he woke he was alone in his bed, and he could hear clattering in his kitchen. He pulled on a pair of boxers and walked out of his room to find Harry bent over, rummaging through his cupboards. He leant against the doorway with a smirk. "Well isn't this a nice view."

Potter let out a startled shriek and spun around, clutching his chest. Draco had never laughed so hard. "The saviour of the wizarding world folks, acclaimed war veteran," he said between gasps.

Harry pouted and walked towards him, shoving him into the wall. "Don't be mean, Malfoy." He pressed his chest against his.

"I thought you liked me mean," Draco laughed and pecked him on the lips, sliding out from under him. He filled up the kettle. "What were you looking for?" 

Harry sat at the counter. "Biscuits."

"All out, I'm afraid." Draco switched it on and pulled out two mugs. "How do you take your tea?"

"Milk, one sugar." 

Draco pulled out a paper package and unwrapped it to reveal a half eaten cake. He cut two slices and passed one over. "It's French, my mother sent it over." 

Potter took a huge bite, letting out a moan. "Its really good! I've always wanted to go to France." 

"You've never been?" 

"No, I used to spend a lot of time as a child looking at pictures of it though, the little villages, the Parisian streets. I always wanted to visit the Eiffel tower." Draco watched as Harry's face took on a distant, almost pained look - but before he could say anything he shook his head and smiled at Draco.

Draco poured the water into the cups, stirring. "We should go together, sometime." 

Harry smiled. "That would be nice."

Draco passed his mug over and gestured towards the balcony, where streams of dying light were pouring in. "The sun is setting, we should go watch it."

"So romantic." Potter winked at him.

"See, Potter, I don't spend all my time being evil." Draco winked back.

[jo-anna-marie]

Paint Me A Picture

Paint Me A Picture 

Grace stared uncomprehending at the elderly woman standing behind the peeling, tan counter-top. However, she quickly regained her senses after glimpsing herself in the stranger’s large, square cut glasses. “How much for just the paint?” she asked, her calloused, stained fingers tightening around the meager tip money she earned from her shift at the diner.

“Um...well, let’s see. It will be 34.99 for the whole color set.” Mary, according to the magnetic tag attached to her green vest, smiled sympathetically. “Now, don’t you move. I think I might just have a coupon around here somewhere!” Mary opened and closed several drawers behind her before pulling out a pack of discount tickets.  

“I’ll take the paint...just the paint, for now.” Grace blew out the breath she was holding, before handing over all the money in her hand. She was still a few cents shy of the total, but both women pretended not to notice. “Thank you...um, Mary.” Her gratitude was real but fleeting. Her mind was already wandering to the night ahead. 

“You’re welcome. I didn’t get your name,” Mary replied, but the girl was already on the other side of the clear door.  

Grace held her purchase close to her chest, the tubes clicking together inside the flimsy plastic bag. Just three blocks later and she was walking up the uneven steps to her apartment. Her key slid in without resistance and she opened the door to the dark, empty space. After flipping the switch, the light blinked several times before illuminating the familiar living room slash dining room. It was bare of furniture, but littered with unfinished canvas paintings, ripped up charcoal sketches, pencil shavings and mugs full of dirty water.  

The microwave beeps for the third time before Grace finally pulls out tonight’s dinner. She ate greasy fried chicken from directly out of the take away container. She regrets not opting for the baked rigatoni from work. However, taking a large swig from the cheap  bottle of  whiskey made her meal go down easier. Sitting criss cross on the floor, her now nearly empty, glass bottle and her full, untouched tubes of colors lay in front of her. She had fruitlessly searched for a scrap of clean, white paper. How could she paint?  Perhaps she could pick up an extra shift this week. Try to smile more, like her red faced, potbellied manager suggested. Her fingers stretched as if stiff from lack of movement. She needed to paint tonight, or find more whiskey. 

Her head whipped behind her at the sharp sound of her neighbor slamming a door shut. Or at least she hoped it was the door. She didn’t like to stick her nose in other people’s business. She liked to keep to herself, the only trait she shared with her mother, Temperance. Though some people thought  they shared a lot of physical attributes too. This was a kind of compliment for Grace and an insult to Temperance. 

Peering at the thin, white wall that separated apartment number 3 from 4, Grace noticed how bare it looked. Almost like one of her canvases. But if she painted it, wouldn’t she get in some kind of trouble? It could always be painted white again, she reasoned.  

Standing upright, Grace gathered her supplies and refilled a mug with fresh water from the sink. She started mixing colors and sweeping her brush one way and then the other. It was always like this for her. Never knowing the outcome until she stopped, or ran out of paint or space. 

There was a sting in her right side that caused her to shift and wake from her spot on the hard floor. Pushing herself up, Grace found a  paintbrush snapped in half which had left a long scratch on her arm. Her blood had turned the bristles a reddish-brown. Her head was hurting as well. The thought that she should consider giving up drinking left as quickly as it came.

 Once she had committed to waking, Grace saw herself staring back. She had painted a life-sized self-portrait. It was like looking into a mirror. She was unsure if this was her best or worst piece.  

She pulled her eyes away when she heard the loud, unforgiving beeping from her alarm. It was morning and she needed to hurry or else be late for work. The breakfast shift was the worst. Employees and customers tended to be tired and short on patience and money. Not to mention hungover. 

No time to change, let alone clean up. Grace brushed her teeth with the last remainder of whiskey. She’d need more soon. “Well, I guess this is goodbye for now.” Grace laughed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. A quick glance at her cheap, plastic wristwatch and she was rushing out the door. It was dark when she finally returned, picking up a second shift but still short on tips. She must try to make an effort with her appearance, or at least her attitude. 

Walking straight to the fridge and finding it lacking, Grace grabs a stale bag of chips for dinner. She listens to two messages, both debt collectors, and startles to a stop at the sight in front of her. She forgot, almost, about her mural. 

It was eerie how precisely the image matched, from the frizzy, murky brown hair down to her scuffed trainers. She looked homeless, though she had a home. No wonder she never got any good tips. What a mess, she thought. “I’m going to paint over you when I get paid. I’m not a fan of roommates.” Grace’s laughter echoed in the empty room. 

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. No, wait she can breathe but it feels more  like drowning. She chokes on short, shallow sips of air that barely reach her lungs before she spits it back out. Something heavy is pressing her down deep, an unmovable weight over her entire body. It is dark, but her eyes start to adjust and she can see shapes and shadows.  Her body is slick with a cold sweat, making goosebumps form and fine hairs stand up. She can’t move her head, but her eyes flick back and forth. After a moment she finds another pair of dark eyes staring back at her before she jerks fully awake and mobile. Her whole body hasn’t felt this tense and sore since her art modeling days when she would have to keep still for hours at a time. Back when she was confident in her mind and body, in the knowledge that she was helping other artists, and that she was, in those moments, art itself. 

Her breath slowed as the adrenaline started to fade but she didn’t know if she could sleep. Grasping at the lamp sitting on her makeshift nightstand, all at once the room became too bright and hurt her eyes. It’s been a long time since she had a nightmare. Maybe it’s because she didn’t have a drink tonight. She would head to the store tomorrow. It was her only vice, beside ink and paper. 

She spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of sleep until her alarm went off. How was she supposed to go back to work? She couldn’t call out, even if she didn’t feel well.. She needed the money. She pulled the sleeve of  her coat from an unstable stack of half-completed paintings. As she reached for her purse, Grace saw movement in her peripheral. Her heart thudded in her chest as she remembered her nightmare. It was herself, or rather her image. It seemed to her off center but then she didn’t trust herself. In truth she barely remembered that night. Her nerves were shot. 

Today was a good day, well as good as it could get for someone like her. A drunk couple over tipped her at the restaurant which allowed Grace to buy takeout and liquor. She was almost happy, walking briskly up the cracked concrete steps to apartment number 3. Closing the door and walking straight to the kitchen for an actual glass and metal fork. Grace often borrowed food from work but it was rare that she was able to buy something she wanted. She was warm and full from dinner, before she saw it. Before she realized that her image was  missing from the painting. It was impossible. 

Did someone do this? Did she do this but not remember? She was sure that she saw the painting this morning, before work and now it’s gone. Grace poured herself a glass. And then a second and third before facing the empty wall once again. What should she do? Move? She had nowhere else to go. Call the police? And tell them what exactly, that she disappeared. They’d send her to some sort of hospital but then maybe she belonged there. 

After a few minutes she finally noticed something. At the edge of the wall, there were a few smears of brown paint, the exact same shade as her hair. Grace came closer and reached out until her hand touched the plaster. BAM! She almost fell at the sharp snap of a door closing. It must be her neighbor again. Her heart banged against her chest as she pressed her hand against the wall again. It felt odd, almost warm like someone’s body heat after they’ve been sitting a while. But then the heating vent was directly above, so maybe that explained it. Though Grace’s heart refused to slow it’s steady beat. 

For the first time in years, Grace wished for her mother. She could call her but she didn’t know what she would say to her. Temperance would not have the capacity to believe such a story. She only read memoirs and was far from the imaginative, creative type. The only paints she used were cosmetics and even then she always chose the wrong colors for her canvas. It’s one of the many reasons that they only see each on holiday. What would her mother see if she could look at her now? Would she recognize her own daughter? 

Grace went to the bathroom and turned on the water, twisting the knob so that it was scalding hot. She was tired and had been drinking more than usual. That’s why she’s seeing things. Grace’s body turned pink from the soap scrub and hot water. It was a small relief when her feet touched the cool tiles, though the rest of the small room was filled with steam making her feel sticky. Her hand swiped across the mirror above her sink, wiping away a small circle of moisture. She did not see her reflection. Only the towel rack behind her. 

Grace locked her bedroom door for the first time since she moved into this apartment and lay down with the lamplight still on. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she could not find her shadow on the wall. 

After Grace was reported missing, news articles and bloggers would accuse Temperance of being coldhearted. For trying to profit off of her daughter’s artwork. Temperance rather thought it was the buyers who wanted to own these drawings and paintings, even the unfinished ones, that were devoid of feeling. Grace had disappeared but her debt remained. Unpaid rent  and overdue student loans were passed to her. Even Grace’s former classmates, her so-called friends, had  started selling their sketches and stories. It hurt to know that her daughter’s naked body was hanging on some stranger's wall. Temperance would find it in herself to forgive these things if only she could see her daughter. Not her paintings or her likeness, but Grace in the flesh. 

A year later and people still come in to buy the same paint set that the girl bought before she went missing. Mary shakes her head and  does not offer any of them a coupon. In fact, she breathes a little easier when they are on the other side of the glass door. 

[waywardnerd67]

Nerd By Day, Superhero By Night

Summary: (Y/N) loves her job as a Librarian in the small town of Lawrence, Kansas. When a new IT guy begins working there she quickly learns that there is more to him than meets the eye. Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Fluff/AU/Superhero!Dean/Nerdy!Dean Word Count: 5381 A/N: This is an AU based off THIS POST. As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy!

(Y/N) was sitting at the Circulation Desk at the Lawrence County Library. She was scanning in the latest books dropped off for return. Her manager, Clara, had been in her office with the newest hire to the library for the IT position.

“(Y/N), have you seen the new guy yet?” Her co-worker, Maggie asked.

She shook her head, “No. He came in during my lunch. All I know is his name is Dean Winchester.”

The girls looked up when they heard Clara’s office door open. (Y/N)’s heart nearly stopped when a tall, lean man in a button-down shirt, tie and black rimmed glasses walked out behind her manager. She swallowed hard as they approached them.

“(Y/N), Maggie this is Dean, he will be our new IT guy. Dean, Maggie is a part-time college student interning here and (Y/N) is our head librarian for this branch.” Clara said as he stuck his hand out to them both.

As soon as her hand touched his an electric currently ran up her arm. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” His baritone voice had her stomach doing flips.

“I-It’s nice to meet you as well. If you need anything, please let me know.” Her cheeks flared as she stumbled over her words slightly.

He smiled bashfully at her as he let go of her hand. She down noticing some bruising on his arm he was trying to keep covered by his sleeves. He followed Clara, giving him a tour of the library and where his office would be.

“Oh. My. God.” Maggie said her brown eyes wide, “He’s gorgeous! Kind of a nerd, but damn he makes it look hot.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes going back to scanning books, “He is very good looking and there is nothing wrong with being a nerd.”

Maggie scoffed, “Usually nerds are inexperienced, and I like a man who knows what he is doing.”

“Let’s get back to work and then you can go out to find you an experienced man.” Maggie walked away to put books back on the shelves laughing quietly.

By six o’clock, (Y/N) was ready to go home, unwind and dive into her newest book. She waved goodbye to Maggie and Clara. As she walked to her car in the back of the building, she noticed Dean getting into a beautiful black Chevy Impala. He was loosening his tie and talking on his phone to someone.

She could not help the sinking feeling that he could be talking to his girlfriend or boyfriend on the phone. She shook her head slightly trying to get rid of the disappointment filling her mind. (Y/N) was almost to her car, when she felt the hair standing on the back of her neck as if someone was behind her.

She stood still for a moment before she hurriedly started to get out her keys. That is when she was knocked from behind hard against a nearby car. Large hands grabbing at her bag as she struggled to keep it on her shoulder while sinking to the ground.

“Give it up bitch or I swear I will kill you.” The man sneered as she looked up at him.

As the man lifted some kind of long object in the air to hurt her with he suddenly went flying through the air. The assailant was just as surprised as she was when he landed a few feet away. She stood up slowly seeing a tall, intimidating person standing near her.

“I believe that bag belongs to the lady. I suggest you run before you make me do something I might regret.” His voice was deep and raspy sending chills down her spine.

The man scurried away as fast as he could without a word. (Y/N) looked back towards the hero who saved her, but he vanished before she could thank him. She looked all around noticing Dean must have left before the man attacked her. She took a few deep breaths as she sat in her car trying to calm down.

The next morning, she walked into work still a little dazed from the previous night. Maggie came running up to her waving the morning paper in her face, “Have you seen this?”

“Good morning to you as well. And no, I haven’t because you keep waving it like a lunatic.” (Y/N) said a little snippy.

Maggie rolled her eyes, “Lawrence has its very own superhero.” She said excitedly laying the paper down on the circulation desk.

Before (Y/N) could look at the article, she noticed Dean coming in with his hands full of coffee and a box of pastries. “Do you need some help, Dean?” She asked walking over to take the coffees from his hands.

“Thanks. I figured… well, since I’m the new guy I would bring everyone some morning… uh treats.” The way he stammered over his words and his cheek turning pink was adorable.

Maggie quickly grabbed a cup and a Danish hopping up on the desk, “Ah, yes we do accept all forms of sucking up and flattery here.”

He chuckled as (Y/N) looked down at the front page seeing the man who had saved her. “Who is the Hood?” she asked picking up the newspaper.

“He’s the superhero I was talking about. He showed up a couple of weeks ago and has been taking out criminals left and right.” Maggie explained as (Y/N) skimmed through the article.

The picture was blurred at best but showed a tall man with leather pants and dark red jacket with his hood up. He wore a full face mask that was bright red and military black boots.

“He kind of looks like a Red Hood knock off.” (Y/N) commented as Dean choked on his coffee.

He coughed a few times turning bright red as Maggie slapped his back, “You okay there big guy? I know, (Y/N)’s nerdiness knows no bounds. Who the hell is Red Hood?”

(Y/N) smirked, “He is a character in the Batman comics. He was originally a Robin, but then supposedly died by Joker and came back to life by the Lazarus’s Pit. He comes back to his hometown of Gotham taking out the bad guys who Batman refuses to kill. He’s an anti-hero, not good but also not bad.”

She looked up to see Dean staring at her in awe. She felt her face burning as Maggie scoffed, “Seriously, this is why you do get any dates. You need to put down the comics and pick up some lipstick.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes then heard Dean say softly, “I don’t know, I think it’s kind of hot when a woman reads comics.” He bit his lip nervously and excused himself to his office.    

“Did he just call you hot?” Maggie asked as stunned as (Y/N) was.

She shook her head, “No way. Now can we get to work.” Maggie jumped off the desk walking back towards the reference section to clean off the large tables before the library opened.

The was going well as families came in and out for their books. (Y/N) held a crafting class in the late afternoons for elementary ages so their parents could browse kid free for an hour. She noticed Dean standing there watching her closely. She looked up to see him smiling at her as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

When the library was getting ready to close a tall man with long chestnut and a large canvas jacket on. “Can I help you?” (Y/N) asked as he nodded.

“I’m looking for Dean Winchester.” He said looking around.

(Y/N) nodded, “Okay I will go get him…” just then Dean came walking up with his computer bag over his shoulder, “Never mind, did he throw up the bat signal or something?”

He chuckled nervously, “Something like that. This is my younger brother, Sam. Sam, this is (Y/N).”

Sam waved, “Nice to meet you. Dean we really need to get going.”

He nodded glancing over to (Y/N), “Have a good night, (Y/N).”

“Bye Dean.” She said watching the brothers walking away talking adamantly.  Maggie bumped her shoulder into (Y/N)’s.

“Who is that tall drink of water?” she asked as her eyes traveled up Sam’s body.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Can you control self around any man?” Maggie shook her head skipping off to the far end of the library to start shutting everything off.

Maggie and (Y/N) walked to their cars together after closing the library. She waved to Maggie as she drove away.

“Did that creep last night hurt you?” (Y/N) let out a yelp as the voice from behind her scared her.

She turned around seeing the man from the newspaper article. He was wearing his mask again and standing a few feet from her. “No, luckily you were there to save me before he could.”

“Good.” He turned to leave when (Y/N) called out to him.

“Wait, who are you? Why are you here in Lawrence? I mean, it’s not like we are Gotham City.” She asked moving closer to the man.

He laughed shrugging, “Every town needs a hero even if they are more like Ivy Town.”

(Y/N) laughed softly, “So even superheroes like reading comics.”

“Where do you think we get our inspiration from. There is true evil in this world Miss (Y/L/N) and I’m just a man who wants to save as many people as I can.” He said then turned away pressing his hand to his mask. “Got it. I’ll be there in five.”

“Someone in need of saving, Mr. Hood?” She asked.

He simply nodded taking off down the street disappearing from sight. (Y/N) sighed getting in her car. She started giggling uncontrollably, “So this is what Lois Lane and Catwoman feel like when the hero leaves them to save the world.”

Over the next few months, (Y/N) took to reading every article she could about The Hood which was the name the press came up with. The library was having electrical and plumbing work done so it was close for the day. (Y/N) and Maggie decided to invite Dean and Sam over to (Y/N)’s for movies and dinner.

(Y/N) and Dean had become good friends at work. They often would talk about the latest horror movie that had come out or new books coming into the library. She was nervous about seeing him outside of work and especially in her home.

“Are sure we couldn’t just go out somewhere?” She asked.

Maggie shook her head as she put more beer in the refrigerator, “No way. (Y/N), your house is meant for entertaining and parties. You just have no friends and now you do.”

(Y/N) sighed trying to swallow down her anxiety as she picked up a few of things on the kitchen table. Around five o’clock, there was knock on the door and she felt like her stomach was going to jump from her body.

She opened the door with Maggie right behind her smiling when she saw Dean. “You know you don’t have to dress like you’re going to work whenever you are around me.” She joked.

Dean was in a white, button-down, short-sleeved shirt with dress slacks and a tie. His cheeks turned a slight shade of pink, “I know, I was… uh… working a freelance job and had to come straight here after it.”

(Y/N) could tell he was hold back something. She shook it off handing them each a beer and walking over to continuing cooking. She noticed Maggie sitting close to Sam as his arm rested on the back of her chair.

“What are you making? It smells great.” Sam asked taking in a deep breath while closing his eyes.

She smiled proudly, “Chili, corn beard, bacon stuffed jalapeno poppers and lemon strawberry cupcakes with cream cheese icing.”

Dean sucked in a breath his lips parted slightly, “Did you say bacon stuffed poppers?”

“Yeah, I did. I hope that is okay?” She asked doubting herself. The cooler weather of fall had made her want to cook the first pot of chili for the season.

Dean’s smile erased any doubts from her mind, “It sounds amazing. Sammy and I haven’t had a home cooked meal in forever. We’re not exactly domestic.”

The girls laughed and easily the four of them fell into conversation. They found out that the brothers were born in Lawrence but after their mother died their dad moved them around a lot. Always being on the road throughout their lives, they decided they wanted a place to settle down in and they decided to come back to their hometown.

“What made you decide to go into IT?” (Y/N) asked as she placed the last dished on the table for dinner.

Dean looking longingly at all the food, “Uh… well it was just a safe career choice. What about the two of you?”

“Well I’m getting my Master’s in English Lit right now. I’m just interning at the library as extra credit. I want to travel the world and write novels or articles for online publications.” Maggie explained as Sam hung on to every word she said.

Dean turned his attention to (Y/N), “And you?”

She chuckled shrugging, “I have a degree in teaching, but I have worked at that library since I was sixteen years old. I just can’t bring myself to leave it because I love being surrounded by books.”

The brothers were digging into the food when Dean said, “You know you can do both. You can still be surrounded by books and teach. From seeing some of your classes at the library I think our schools are missing out on having you teach the next generation of doctors, lawyers and IT guys.”

(Y/N) felt her cheeks burning as she bashfully smiled over to Dean. The rest of dinner they talked about random topics and the boys praised (Y/N) repeatedly for her cooking. Afterwards, they made their way to the living room where Dean had brought over his favorite movie.

“Hatchet Man?” (Y/N) questioned as he put the DVD into the player.

“Yep! By far, my favorite movie of all time. Time to slice and dice.” Dean said sitting on the chair next to the (Y/N)’s spot on the couch.

About twenty minutes into the movie, Sam and Maggie disappeared from the living room claiming they did not like horror movies. (Y/N) did not want to think about what they were really doing within her house. She got up getting Dean another beer and some popcorn scooting over to the other side of the couch.

“If you move over then it will be easier to share the bowl.” She mentioned as he nodded moving over next to her.

(Y/N) glanced over during the movie to see Dean scrunching up his nose to push his glasses up. She watched as his lips mouthed every line from the movie. His olive eyes were focused on the screen wide with excitement.

Her body was buzzing with nervous energy sitting next to Dean. The feelings he brought up in her were foreign to her. The way she always wanted to be as close as possible to him and the urge to reach out to hold his hand. (Y/N) found herself slowly moving closer to him on the couch as the movie continued. That is when she noticed he was also moving himself closer to her and hope filled her heart.

Suddenly, Sam came out into the living room his shirt untuck and hair messy. “Dean, we… uh need to leave. Something came up at home.”

Dean looked slightly worried, “Alright Sam.” He glanced to (Y/N) softening his eyes, “I’m sorry we have to rush out. I promise we can watch your favorite movie next time and without the party poopers.”

She nodded smiling, “I hope everything is okay.”

Dean got up following Sam to the front door. Maggie and (Y/N) watched them quickly get into Dean’s car and take off down the road. Maggie placed her arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder, “I think I’m in love.”

“You mean in lust.” She chuckled as they cleaned up the living room.

Maggie left soon after leaving (Y/N) alone with her own feelings unknowing how to deal with them. Finally, around midnight she could not stand being inside anymore. Putting on her running clothes and a hoodie she grabbed her phone along with her earbuds deciding to work off some of the energy keeping her up.  

She did not normally like running in the middle of the night but lying in bed wide awake thinking of Dean was no better. She started off towards the library which was two miles from her house. The cold wind nipped at her blistering skin. Her running playlist pushed her to run harder.

She knew the policy at the library was co-workers could not be in romantic relationships. That on top of Dean’s comment of being able to teach while surrounded by books had her considering a huge change for her life. When she reached the library, she sat down on the stairs leading to the main entrance breathing heavily.

“You shouldn’t be out here this late.” Her eyes snapped to see the familiar red mask and dark leather outfit.

“Too much on my mind and running helps.” She explained standing up and walking towards the city’s hero, “Busy night?”

He shook his head, “Not anymore. Took care of a few issues near Kansas City but for tonight Lawrence is safe.”

The Hood turned to walk away, and she reached out suddenly touching his arm, “May I ask you something?”

“Sure, but I may not answer?” He said stepping closer to her.

As if her brain had no control over her hand, she reached up touching the side of his mask. The feelings Dean brought up in her did not even compare to the ones the masked man was able to make her feel.

“Why do you keep coming back to me? Am I in danger or…” she let her question drift off as he moved away slightly.

He stared down at her as she gripped his leather clad arms feelings the lean muscles of his arms. “You’re not in danger and I want to make sure to keep it that way. I… I feel a connection with you, but what I do,” he paused stepping completely away from her, “I can’t have any attachments.”

He popped his hood on turning his back to her looking over his shoulder, “You should stay clear of me.” With that he took off leaving her slightly speechless.

“What if I don’t want too.” She whispered.

Over the next several months, (Y/N) started looking into making a few changes along with hanging out with Dean more often outside of work. When she was with him, she would forget all about The Hood. They had so much in common and she loved spending time with him.

“Dean, can I ask you something?” she asked as they were walking towards the movie theater after work. They were going to see the latest Halloween movie after Dean insisted he treat her to it.

“You just did.” He chuckled.

She rolled her eyes, “Funny. Um, I feel kind of awkward asking this, but we’ve been hanging out a lot and it’s been a lot of fun.”

Dean nodded in agreement smiling at her, “I think so as well.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath stopping just outside the theater, “Is there something between us here or am I just reading too much into this?”

He nervously fidgeted with his glasses looking away from her. She could feel her heart dropping as the silence grew between them. “(Y/N), I like you a lot but…”

She shook her head not wanting to hear what he was going to say. Tears were threatening to fall down her cheeks and she did not want him to see her cry, “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked. I think… I think I’m just going to go home. Goodnight Dean.”

(Y/N) started to walk away quickly hearing Dean calling out to her. Her vision blurred from tears streaming down her face and her chest was burning from the sob she was holding back. When she finally stopped looking around not recognizing where she was.

She pulled her phone out to call Maggie and she cursed as she found her phone was dead. She pulled her coat around herself tighter walking back towards what she thought was the direction she came from.

“Hey beautiful, what are you doing in this neighborhood?” She turned to see someone standing behind her.

She started to back away slowly, “I’m just waiting for a friend to pick me up. He’ll be here any moment.”

For each stepped she took away from the man he would step closer to her. “Why don’t I just take you where you need to be and forget about your friend.”

(Y/N) felt her back press against a wall of a building as the man blocked her from moving placing his hands on the wall behind her. Panic was now spreading throughout her body as she wished she had never left Dean’s side.

“Step away from her.” A deep threaten voice came from behind the man caging her in against the wall.

The man started chuckling, “Hoodie Boy. You’ve been going around hurting a lot of my friends lately and I would love to repay you for that.”

“(Y/N), go now.” The Hood said looking straight at her as she ran past him. She hid behind a nearby parked car watching as the two men lunged at one another.

The Hood blocked every punch the man threw at him with ease. Never before had (Y/N) been impressed with anyone fighting but The Hood made it look as easy as breathing. She moved slightly knocking over a few empty cans next her. Looking up she saw The Hood staring at her and the man saw an opportunity to take a shot at him.

“WATCH OUT!” She screamed.

It was too late the man’s fist connected with The Hood’s mask knocking it completely off. It slid right to (Y/N) who grabbed it quickly off the ground. The Hood shook his head slightly dazed. That is when she noticed the smaller eye mask over his eyes. His hair was wildly sticking up in all directions as he got off the ground.

As he stood up he squared his shoulders and marched over to the man with a fierce determination. With two forceful blows to the face the man crumbled to the ground and The Hood tied his hands along with his feet together.

(Y/N) jogged over to him, “Thank you.” She said breathlessly.

He kept his face turned away from her, “You know you shouldn’t run away when you don’t know where you’re going. You could have been hurt or worse. You need to be more careful.”

She sucked in a shaky breath, “I-I didn’t mean too. I was… wait how did you know I was upset and ran away?”

“I have to go.” He said picking up the man and tossing him over his shoulder. Without another word he was gone. She followed him as best she could to the end of the street where he got onto a motorcycle with the man propped up against him.

She he sped by, she caught a glimpse of his face and she gasped, “Dean.”

The next morning, she walked into the library with The Hood’s mask in her bag. Walking into Dean’s office, she looked around seeing pictures of him and his brother from various states along with childhood pictures of his family. He had a few collector items on his desk like a figurine of Hatchet Man and an exact replica of his car.

There was still an hour before anyone else would be there as she sat down at his desk. She opened his top drawer seeing a variety of office supplies. When she opened the next drawer is when she found what she was looking for. It was the identical eye mask that The Hood had been wearing confirming her suspicions.

Quickly, she closed the drawer and left his office. He had called in for the day just reassuring (Y/N)’s thoughts that Dean Winchester was The Hood. That very revelation kept her distracted at work all day to the point that Clara told her to go on home.

“We’ve got this (Y/N). It’s not that busy and you don’t have any classes. Go on home and we’ll see you tomorrow.” She nodded grabbing her things.

She sat in her car for several minutes holding the menacing red mask in her hands. Tossing it onto the passenger seat, she drove off in the opposite direction of her house. Within fifteen minutes she was parked outside a beautiful two-story house in Lawrence. Walking up to the front door she knocked, and Dean answered wearing jeans, t-shirt and flannel shirt along with his black rimmed glasses.

“(Y/N), what are you doing here?” he asked stunned.

She held up the mask, “I think we need to talk.”

Dean took the mask as she walked inside. The Winchester’s house was beautiful and not at all what she was expecting for two bachelors to be living in. She turned towards him crossing her arms over her chest, “Start talking.”

“How did you figure it out?” he asked setting the mask on his kitchen table sitting down.

“I saw your face as you drove pass me last night. I think I would recognize the face of the guy I’ve been falling for the last few months even with an eyes mask and make-up.” (Y/N) sat across from him seeing a smirk.

He reached up taking off his black rimmed glasses, “Well I guess I don’t need these around you.”

Disappointment hit her seeing him take off the one thing she was attracted to the most, “Did you really think wearing glasses would not make people put two and two together?”

“I figured if it worked for Superman then why not me.” He chuckled then grew serious seeing her face, “Honestly, I never figured I would lose my mask. It’s specifically fitted for me and until last night I had never lost it in a fight. Thank goodness, Sam insisted I wear that eye mask underneath or the douchebag could have made me from the first night I took him down.”

(Y/N) gave him a curious look asking, “First night? You’ve taken him out before?”

“Yeah, the guy who pushed you against your car was the same guy from last night. The police in this town are mostly corrupt and let the criminals go. That is why Sam and I are here.” He explained.

Sam entered the kitchen cautiously, “Hey (Y/N).” he said nervously.

“Hello Sam, so are you the sidekick?” she asked as he glared at her while Dean’s booming laughter filled the room.

Sam narrowed his eyes on his brother, “No I’m not. I’m the brains while he’s the brawn. I run this operation from here and send him where he needs to kick ass.”

“So, you’re Alfred to his Batman.” She said purposely trying to get a rise out of him.

Sam gawked at her then smiled, “I’ll take that as a compliment. Please don’t tell Maggie. She knows nothing of this and I really don’t want her too.” He paused, “Yet anyway.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” (Y/N) said looking directly at Dean.

Sam rocked on his feet awkwardly, “Okay then. Well, I will just leave you two to chat.” He went back down through the door that must have led to the basement of the house.

“So?” Dean asked looking down at his hands on the table.

“So, what now? I know your big secret and now you know mine. Where do we go from here?” she asked a dull ache beginning to form in her heart.

Dean chuckled, “What, that you have a massive crush on me?”

She gave him a pointed look, “Funny Winchester, very funny. I’m trying to be serious here. Do you rec con my brain, so I never knew you and move far, far away? Do we just pretend to ignore one another like nothing ever happen?”

He stood up reaching for her hand, “Come with me.”

She hesitantly took his hand her heart racing as she followed him upstairs to an empty room. Dean stood holding her hand in the middle of the room. “When Sammy was six months old our mother burnt on this ceiling in his nursery. My dad found her and gave Sam to me to get out of the house. Then six months after his twenty-third birthday, his girlfriend Jessica burnt on the ceiling of their apartment at Stanford.”

(Y/N) looked up to the ceiling seeing absolutely no evidence of a fire. “What happened?” she asked as he turned to face her.

“A demon killed our mother and his girlfriend so that Sam would fall in line to lead an army of demons from Hell. Of course, my dad and I would never let that happen and a couple years later I killed that very demon after our dad had sacrificed himself for me.” Dean paused for a moment.

She looked up at him, “Go on.” She said reassuringly.

For the next couple of hours, Dean told her all about their lives leading them back to Lawrence and fixing up their childhood home as a base for their superhero career. They sat on the floor in the room, Dean’s back against a wall while he pulled her into his side placing his arm around her.

“Dean, why are you telling me all of this? Not that I mind because I would love to know everything about you, but why now?” she asked looking up at him.

He bit his lip nervously, “I like you. I like you a lot and this life is lonely. Being a hunter and now a vigilante is dangerous for me, for Sam and for anyone who gets close to us. It’s always only been the two of us and since we’ve been living here we both found someone we want more with.”

His olive eyes were shining as the afternoon sun was starting to set. She smiled up at him, “Found someone, huh? Then you should probably be telling her all of this and not me.”

“Ha. Ha. Funny.” He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face gently trailed his fingers down her cheek. She leaned into his touch watching as his lips moved closer to hers.

“Dean, hey… Oh! Sorry.” Sam said walking into the room.

Dean growled, “What Sam?” he asked through his teeth.

“There is a domestic disturbance a few miles away. You better suit up.” He said chuckling as he left the room.

Dean rested his forehead against hers, “I have to go.”

“I know.” She whispered as they got up walking back downstairs.

“Come on, I’ll show you where everything happens.” Dean said leading her down into the basement.

Sam was sitting in front of three large monitors clicking on a keyboard. There were large TVs with news feeds and traffic cams constantly playing. On the other side of the basement was a training area with weapons for Dean. Then she spotted his outfit hanging up on a door.

Dean was grabbing it disappearing behind the door. As she looked around, he stepped back out full dressed and her eyes traveled up his body. A smug smile spread across his face as he walked over to her. She was holding his mask in her hands.

“So, which do you prefer? Nerdy by day or superhero by night?” he asked.

She reached up running her hand up the back of his neck and pulling his lips to hers. “Both.” She whispered against them as she pulled away handing him his mask. “By the way, keep the glasses look. Nerds are hot.”

His cheeks were as red as his mask as he slipped it on. Walking out a back door that led to where his motorcycle was parked. (Y/N) stood behind Sam as he watched Dean’s helmet camera as he drove down the street.

“(Y/N),” Sam said as she hummed her response, “Welcome to the family business.”

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @waywardrose13 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @anotherwaywardsister @ladywinchester1967 @dwgrl1903 @akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @mirandaaustin93 @spnbaby-67 @time-travel-bouqet @1967-essentialghoul @dean-winchesters-bacon @destielhoneybee @-lovepeacenhope- @destiel745 @carribear31 @srsllydunnodoncare @whimsicalrobots @thisismysecrethappyplace @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @adoptdontshoppets @mrswhozeewhatsis @bella-ca @drakelover78 @imascio08 @pisces-cutie @mannls @the-salty-asian @winchesterprincessbride @xostephanie @klanceiscannon14 @superromijn @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @ain-t-bovvered

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Beloved Memories, in Notes (Vol. VI)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 8,254

Summary: The Mark of Mastery is almost here. Nineteen-year-old Terra and eighteen-year-old Aqua have one last mission to complete before they they are evaluated for all the efforts they put into being Keyblade Masters. If only they had mastery over their own flourishing emotions.

Read on AO3

A/N: This is based off of @holyteapotofrussell‘s prompt, “It’s three in the morning.” It’s been a long, long, LONG time since I updated this fic, and mostly because I just wasn’t happy with it. From that prompt, I imagined the two of them getting out of a fresh fight, and so that prompt won’t be fulfilled until the third (and final installment) of this specific story. But of course, setting the stage up for a proper fight turned this story into a much bigger story than I had anticipated. And no one likes to read their OTP fighting (even though it’s perfectly natural and realistic for them to? Like, they’re human?). I did really need all of this time to fix what was wrong with it, though. It really challenged my ability to convey them, as well.

This chapter is named after Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide.”

A Tale of Landslides, Pt. 2

If Terra hoped to get a decent night’s sleep, the morning sun reminded him that he hoped for nothing. He spent too many hours replaying last night in his mind, and he lost himself in remembering how soft her lips felt before he finally let his dreams take over. Waking up left him in a near panic.

Soon enough, he’d have to talk to her. She was drunk when she leaned forward and kissed him, after all.

But if it went well, he’d have a chance at another one. Desire at this point would be an understatement, it was almost a need. 

Even without enough sleep, he leaped off his bunk and quickly washed up. Some of the other stable men were still in bed, but he couldn’t imagine that they slept very soundly, what with all the chatter over the Highland games, the archery competition for Merida’s hand in marriage, happening today. But his stomach did somersaults, and he couldn’t ingest any breakfast.

Tents and archery posts were fully set up by the time the sun had fully risen. It was a sunny day, but with the territory situated so high on the mountains, it was cool and breezy. Terra was allowed to keep his fur, and he chose to fold it and hang it off his green kilt. Crowds of people, both native and from the other clans, huddled together to watch the suitors line up to take their shots. The royal family members sat on their thrones under the shade of their own canvas, flags with their insignia waving in the wind.

Aqua stood near them, wearing her brown maid’s dress again, with white cotton bell sleeves. She massaged her temples from the headache that he had no doubt came from an inevitable hangover. Merida, fidgeting in her throne, leaned over to talk to her, and Aqua quickly flashed a smile and nodded, hiding her annoyance and discomfort. It looked like she was trying to encourage the princess about something. The moment Merida was pleased with her answer, Aqua stopped saving face and went back to grimacing.

He shook his leg in anticipation. He couldn’t go near her, for his place was within the gossiping crowd, safely away from the royal family and the suitors. He wondered if he should wave to catch her attention. But if he did, he might attract the gaze of the men around him, looking to sneer at whatever he was doing. It was better that they sort this out in the secret passage within the castle, where they could have some privacy.

The competition began. The suitors took their shots, and it didn’t take long before the son of Lord Dingwall was announced as Merida’s future husband. Enlarged nose, pale, buck teeth, scrawny. But worst of all, he was lost in his head so much that he barely registered that he won. Not very suitable to be a considerate spouse to someone else.

Except that Merida had something to say about that. She proceeded to compete for her own hand, and it didn’t surprise him to see see that Aqua kept calm in spite of this announcement. She watched the princess intently, her hand to her heart as if anticipating something. But Merida strode with confidence, disqualifying every single suitor with her expertise, outperforming them so much that their shots seemed feeble and pathetic. The queen however, challenged her daughter, and this resulted in a public blowout between them.

Chaos ensued afterward. The crowds broke off, each clan segregating from each other. The lords were furious, threatening to harm diplomatic relations with the king for such offense. The queen, furious, dragged Merida away, a concerned Aqua following close behind them. The king, helpless, wandered around with no idea over how to handle anything that was going on, sputtering incoherent words which were his best defense at preventing a war. It was too crazy for anyone to notice was Terra was doing, so he slipped away to wait in the secret passage.

He waited at bottom of the stairs that led into the royal ward, where he whistled three short times for her cue. She didn’t whistle back. He paced back and forth. He whistled again.

“Terra!”

She ran down to him, her dress dragging on the steps behind her. Her hair bounced, her eyes were bright like the sky. Her lips were pink. In truth, she didn’t look like she slept very well either, what with the heavy bags under her eyes. And yet, she looked prettier. He reached out, holding her elbow and leaning toward her more than what was causal. She didn’t necessarily welcome it - in fact, she didn’t notice it at all, and gripped his shirt in a pleading way.

“I need to stay and distract the queen,” she said, her breath heavy and her forehead wrinkled with worry. “Merida ran away. You’ve got to find her!”  

Right, we’re on a mission. I should focus.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get her.” Terra nodded as he kept his voice serious.

Aqua’s sigh was shaky and she breathed it out, meditating for a moment to keep herself calm. This mission suddenly went south very swiftly, and too close to the Mark of Mastery exam.

“Thanks, Terra.” She squeezed his forearm in appreciation before she let go, and ran back up the stairs.

Terra sprinted outside, ducking into the thicket of the forest so that no one would see him summon his glider. He assumed that Merida would take her horse and ride down the main road leading away from the castle, which stretched a distance he did not know, through branches and large trunks of trees so tall that their canopies blocked the sun.

This instinct was right.

Merida, seemingly fallen off her horse, was distressed as she pat her steed. Her fiery curly hair swayed freely, and her dress was ripped. But more important than these details was the fact that her beloved bow wasn’t with her. She turned to face him as he approached her, and she placed her foot on the stirrup as though she was trying to run away from him.

“You won’t be taking me back there,” she said.

“Relax. I’m not here to force you to go anywhere.” He held up his arms in surrender.

Her foot slowly found its way back to the ground. “Where is Aqua?” she demanded, her heavy accent adding a vowel to the name.

“She’s with your mother.” He cleared his throat. The queen was probably not the best subject of conversation to have right now. “You were amazing, by the way. I was very impressed with your skill with the bow and arrow.”

Merida hugged herself, flashes of fury and despair passing through her face. “I was only trying to control my future. My mum doesn’t understand. I didn’t want to be forced to...” She held a gasp.

“If it’s worth anything,” he said, keeping his voice sweet and understanding, “you have a strong heart, and it knows what is best for you. You should rely on it.”

She cocked her head, confused by his disposition. “My dad’s right, you know. You’re a real softie for a man.” 

It was aggravating, having to constantly deal with the assumptions over his character, and never living up to their stupid expectations. Especially when he considered that for a softie, he could easily flip her over his shoulder and carry her all the way home.

Pushing his annoyance to the back of his mind, he asked, “what are you going to do now, your Highness?”

“Well stay in the forest, o’course.”

“Forever?” He tried to sound teasing. Playful. Less of a threat and more of a friend. It didn’t cheer her up. “Why don’t you join me, then? It helps me to take walks when I’m upset about something. The mountains are healing that way.”

Merida did join him. She led her horse as he walked by her side. They talked about her wishes for the future. She was barely older than Ventus, and she didn’t have any defined expectations about her life yet. But she didn’t want anything to be done on her behalf. She wished that her mother didn’t try to control her every move, every single day, or decide what her future was going to entail. Terra sympathized. She was far too young to get married off to someone. Unfortunately for her, he had no say.

The tone of the conversation changed when she caught sight of something ahead of them. A dancing ball of blue light with the barest of facial features, humming as if beckoning them to come closer. It was, at least, a gentle spirit, playful but gentle. There wasn’t a shred of threat that he could sense from it.

“A wisp,” Merida said excitedly as she hurried to get closer.

“A what?”

“A will o’ the wisp! Faeries. I’ve seen them before and I’ve been waiting for them to come back. They lead you to your destiny.” For once, Merida actually smiled.

Terra approached the wisp and held out his hand. The light emanating from it was warm, and for a second, it bobbed in place and floated back toward his palm. Like it appreciated the attention. It then hovered away, only to stop as though it was waiting for them to follow. Terra wasn’t one to believe that destiny was written out for any one person. It took work and dedication, with each person aiming to actively make something out of their lives. But this mission wasn’t about him.

Fates changing for her, was what the Master had said when he sent them off to this mission.

“We should follow it,” Merida said, already paces ahead of him.

Some part of him hesitated still, as if he knew it was going to get complicated. But if her fate should change, then who was he to judge the rules of this world? “We should.”

The wisp led to them to a solitary cottage, owned by a witch who was apparently - strangely - obsessed with bears. The entire house was adorned with probably a hundred wood carvings of them, some comical, some cute, some whimsical. Terra on some level wasn’t certain if asking for a witch’s advice was the best solution for a political struggle, having read plenty of books about the deception and cost of magic. Some witches had good intentions, but many acted high on their power to abuse. The witch agreed to concoct something for Merida to help with her situation - with enough badgering and bribery.

But Terra held out his hand to stop Merida from accepting a piece of cake that was laced with a brew from the witch.

“We are here to see how fate is going to change for you, not to poison the queen,” he said, mostly to Merida.

“Then why would the wisp bring us here?”

Considering he didn’t have such a close relationship with the princess, it seemed that it would be difficult to have her trust his advice. He also didn’t have much leverage against the wisp, which is such an omniscient being that was basically regarded like a god, however benevolent it seemed.

“I’m not sure, your Highness, but this isn’t even a diplomatic solution.”

“I suppose then you need your mother to tell you what to do with your life. Tell you which opportunities to take and which to refuse? Wash your bum for you?” She huffed, flabbergasted that he didn’t understand the what a gift she was given. “For a man, you’ve less spine than a squirrel.”

It was clear that she didn’t respect his opinion, and that was mainly because he did nothing to earn it from her. With his concerns brushed aside, she took the cake, now itching to return to the castle. And desperate enough to ignore his ongoing pleas to reason with her, unsure of what the witch’s potion was going to do.

The castle wasn’t exactly a comfortable place to be. The king managed the fury of the lords with spectacular failure in an attempt to stall time - even trying his tired and overused story of how he lost his leg during a fight with the most ferocious bear that existed in this world. Mor’du, a monstrous creature that the people here feared, and the king boasted about his survival when confronting him. It was a story that Terra already heard at least five times during the incredibly short time he spent here.

He therefore avoided the throne room altogether. Merida left him behind, eager to find her mother and try the spell (and completely ignoring the commotion, in which the lords demanded her presence so she would pick a suitor). He crept up the secret passage, sneaking into the maid’s ward so that he could speak to Aqua. To warn her about the witch and the spell. To talk to her about the night before. He passed by a large bow that hung decoratively on the wall when he got to the top floor. He inspected it, trying to gauge if the princess was tall enough to wield it. He decided she was capable, and took it down so that he could give it to her as a gift of confidence.

But while sneaking around, he heard crashes and a scream.

He entered the queen’s room. Aqua was there, using herself as a barrier to protect a hysterical Merida from a bear in front of them, which was destroying some of the tapestries and the furniture around them.

Aqua turned to him when he entered, a confounded expression on her face as she hugged the princess.

“What did you do?” she asked, the sound of disbelief and anger cutting slices into him.

The witch’s cottage was empty. Left behind was a note addressed to Merida, saying how they only had tonight and a day to turn the queen back into a human, or she’d be cursed to wander as a bear for the rest of her life. Her only counsel: to mend what was broken.

Aqua, understandably, was livid. A wreck, really. The Master will probably not allow us to take the exam after this, she had said to Terra. Her tone was condescending. Worried. Angry. Terra knew she was probably feeling a mix of strong emotions, since he felt the same. But he kept his mouth shut. Better for them to stand together than split apart. They still had a day, so there was a chance to remedy this, even if Aqua could not make herself believe it right now.

Or perhaps he was too much in denial over what happened to accept that they were screwed.

The rain beat hard on them, and Terra used logs and twigs to build two small huts for them to take shelter in while Aqua tried to comfort Merida, who was still arguing with the bear, her mother, over the situation. The queen, still expressing human emotions even though she couldn’t talk, was also furious. Her rage was directed toward Merida, who outright refused to accept any responsibility over what she did. Terra did his best to ignore them. Aqua must still blame him for everything, and he didn’t want to invite any more of her anger.

She had the unenviable job of explaining to the princess and the queen about the magic that they wield, about their powers of protection, about them coming here as guides and warriors. And she was very thorough about it, with everything except mentioning the word “Keyblade.” But it disappointed them both to learn that nothing can be done about the queen’s condition without following the witch’s instructions. 

None of their conversations ended with any grace, with the princess and the queen refusing to acknowledge each other as they tried to sleep in their hut.

The rain was cold, and the muddy ground was no comfort either. Terra finished the second shanty, and Aqua quickly sat down next to him to avoid the poor weather, her hands to her head. He wasn’t sure if she still had a headache or if she was still processing the disaster that had become their final mission before the most important exam of their lives.

“Aqua,” he said to break the silence, “I... Merida wouldn’t listen to me.”

“And now the queen is a bear.” As if he didn’t know this. Aqua held her gaze to the ground, as though looking at him would set her off in a rage. “And her husband is an obsessed, bear-hating idiot who’ll hunt her down.”

“Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but we came across these faeries that the people in this world believed were omens that changed fates. Just like the Master said may happen.”

“So you thought it was a good idea to listen to a witch? This isn’t one of your bedtime stories.”

“I actually didn’t want Merida to take the pie.” Terra stopped himself from raising his voice. This wasn’t how he wanted things to go, at all. He cleared his throat. “We still have time to fix this. We have one more full day, right? We won’t miss the exam if that’s what you’re worried about.” He softened his voice further, appealing to her worries. They could hang their heads in shame for failing the mission, and possibly have the exam cancelled on them, but they wouldn’t miss the date.

Aqua sighed sharply and held her hands together. “What if we can’t?”

“Thinking that way will do us no good.” He smiled. She usually was the one to give him the pep talk, but right now she needed to hear her own words.

She sighed slowly as she closed her eyes. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” she said, finally softening her voice. “I didn’t know what else to do when she was complaining about her situation. I told her that no matter what she decided to do, she was going to have to face consequences, and she had the bravery to survive them. It was something the Master would say, so what went wrong?”

“It went like it was supposed to, and now she has to learn to what it all means for her.” It didn’t comfort her. “You said the right thing. You do well with counseling others, you know.”

These words didn’t help her either. Aqua wrapped her arms around herself, feebly adjusting to get comfortable among the rocks around her. He loosened the fur on his hip and handed it to her. A peace offering.

“I’m not cold,” he said before she could object.

She reluctantly accepted it, but it wasn’t enough to cover her entirely. He could wrap his arms around her and keep her warm, and he ached to have her that close. But first he’d have to say something. And yet, what if she regretted what happened last night? Should he ask? Should he stay quiet?

He somehow convinced himself that having certainty was better than none. It was going to be an uncomfortable night anyway, and knowing he could give her the warmth and comfort she needed was agonizing when he couldn’t act on it.

“Aqua, I wanted to talk to you about last night,” he started, making sure that his voice wasn’t shaky.

“What is there to talk about?” An odd question, considering what happened.

He laughed nervously, although most of it was shock. “You... you don’t remember what happened?”

She scoffed. “Just that there was an obnoxious guy who wouldn’t leave me alone. Why? What was so important about last night?”

A kiss. It felt like a rock forcing a growth in the pit of his chest, the rain patter louder than his breath. He willed himself to stay calm.

“Nothing,” he said, though he didn’t know if he sounded convincing and was too weak to check himself. That rock sunk to the center of his stomach. “I just wanted to lighten the mood, that’s all.”

“Well, if it doesn’t help our situation, then right now is not the best time,” she said in a low voice. “I’d appreciate it if we could take this seriously.” She was tired. Anxious. Desperate for a miracle. “We should catch as much rest as possible.”

Moving away from her, Terra tried to get comfortable on his own, his arms crossed as he rubbed his own biceps, though he couldn’t stay dry. The two friends were as far away from each other as that small hut allowed them to be, their ankles crossing in front of each other. They were still close, and yet he felt completely alone.

The morning left Aqua in a better mood, but it was only so much. Sleeping on the muddy ground left them both groggy, sore, and weary of the stress. So while she wasn’t in a constant state of agitation anymore, it didn’t mean that she handled their situation with grace and resilience.

In other words, Aqua relied on her habit of disagreeing with Terra on most of his suggestions when brainstorming ideas for helping their cursed queen.

He knew it wasn’t about her not trusting him. If anything, she needed him to be there with her. It was more about the fact that when Aqua became anxious or nervous, she liked to be in control, and it was easier to let her have it.

Aqua, though, handled Merida much better than he ever could. The princess took care of most of the hunting, while her mother, who had no idea how to be a proper bear, watched with admiration over how well her daughter can take care of herself. And Merida took these chances to brag about her skills, just so her mother can understand that she wasn’t like any other princess and shouldn’t be expected to be behave as such.

Which meant that she still didn’t take responsibility over the whole ordeal. And they still bickered. A lot.

It was amazing how much patience Aqua offered the princess, who was sympathetic enough, but even then she was getting tested. Since she had the princess’ respect, it only took one stern word and Merida listened intently.

Terra hoped that if he had to escort any other princess in the future, it would go smoother.

The plan for now was...well they didn’t have much of one. Going back to the castle was completely out of the question, since everyone there was afraid of bears and the king would command a hunt. The only idea Aqua liked was to find some ancient runes to see if any of them had clues about witchcraft, a history of bears in this world, or most importantly, information about wisps.

And like fate, wisps appeared down a dirt road they were traversing, as if to respond to her curiosity. She wondered out loud if they were in league with the witch who created such a mess.

But with Merida’s insistence, the queen’s desperation to return to normal and Terra’s decision to agree with Merida, Aqua had no choice but to blindly follow.

The trek was mostly uphill, with several wisps lining up like a trail that led them up slopes. The view of the valleys and the castle in the horizon was beautiful, and for a moment, Terra was able to let his mind wander. Leaving his immediate fate at the hands of the wisps meant that he was free to think about other things. Like Aqua. The Mark of Mastery exam. Wishing things were back to normal. But most importantly of all, seeing this vast scenery was a reminder of how small he really was, despite the amount of power that he wielded. There were so many other worlds out there, too, and his problems didn’t size up.

It was a good reminder, and he was so lost in thought that he completely missed out on the conversations the others were having. He snapped back into reality when they finally arrived at their destination.

Old ruins. Ancient, really. The remains of a castle that had been completely blown in half by war and years of erosion from the rain. He didn’t really realize just how far they had walked until Merida mentioned that in all her years, she had never seen this place. Scarier still was that her mother nodded in agreement. The wisps were no longer around, so it was all up to their free will now.

What was left of the castle was a basement, which was littered with rubble.

“Well if they brought us here, we might as well investigate,” Merida started, climbing down into the depths.

Aqua sighed heavily, not really liking the idea all that much but this was better than nothing. “I’ll go. Terra, stay with the queen.”

He was left babysitting the queen, who moaned and growled with worry over her daughter exploring such depths. They lowered deep enough that he couldn’t hear either of their words when spoken, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d say they were chattering over a conspiracy based on what they found down there.

The queen then sniffed profoundly. Little whelps escaped her nozzle, until she roared in fear. He didn’t like the sound of it.

“Aqua!”

He saw her blue hair whip around, seeing him from below, and then notice something behind her. Merida screamed. A roar bellowed from the darkness.

A horrifically large black bear with patches of fur missing and broken spears and arrows lodged onto its back, towered over the two women with a snarl so deep it sounded like a curse. This had to be it: the monster bear from the king’s stories, Mor’du.

The princess was quick enough to attack him with her new bow, but that was of little use when it didn’t even pierce his skin.

Aqua yelped a warning at her, to get back. She summoned her Keyblade, and produced a barrier to reject a swipe from Mor’du. Merida scrambled back up the castle walls, Terra pulling her to safety.

Mor’du circled around Aqua, studying her movements as she flipped around him, aiming to take strikes at her but failing each time as she reflected them with her magic. There was something about the movements - far too intelligent for a typical animal.

He was about to yell Aqua’s name again until he saw that she, too, tried to get back up. She threw pot shots aimed at the floor in front of Mor’du, as opposed to firing them directly at him, just to keep him back.

Her hand in Terra’s, he pulled her up, holding her by the waist as though he had nearly lost her until their faces were centimeters apart. She breathed out her adrenaline, and whipped her head back when she heard the bear easily following them.

Terra summoned his Keyblade as well. She conjured a barrier to push the bear back into the castle, and ordered the royal family to get away.

“Keep them safe,” she said to Terra.

“What about you?”

She shot him a look, and she didn’t need words to express what she was thinking. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said in reply. “I can fight with you.”

“We are not attacking an animal.”

“Aqua, I don’t think that’s a normal bear.” He gritted his teeth. 

Terra didn’t want to be right about that. Mor’du crept from out of the castle ruins and showed off exactly how giant he was when he stood on his hind legs. One of his eyes was scarred shut. The spears sticking out from his back have blackened from so much exposure to the elements. Which was crazy considering that he probably shouldn’t be alive now since bears didn’t live that long.

It must have been Merida’s screaming that forced Aqua to realize that this thing was otherworldly. The queen lunged herself at Mor’du, trying to attack like a bear would - but she was at least half his size.

Aqua cursed to herself, and faced Terra with intent in her eyes. “I need you. Please protect them for me.”

He hesitated. “Be safe.”

Merida had thought to make a run for it, crying out to her mother to get away. They waited for Terra, as he used his Earthsaker to strike the ground, creating wide trenches as a block to stall anyone from pursuing them. With the princess on her mother’s back, the queen waited for him to be finished before bending her front legs as an invitation for to him to ride her as well.

The last thing he saw of the battlefield as she galloped away was Aqua dancing around Mor’du, using her Keyblade to create a cage around him, sealing it with chains that were normally used to contain darkness.

Merida gripped her mother’s fur but she bucked wildly from the unsteadiness of riding a bear’s shoulder. Terra leaned over her to keep her secure, with a mount of fur gripped in his own fingers. The queen ran and ran, until they escaped the mountain they were on, and left the cold and the rain behind.

In a valley, they were able to finally rest. They all agreed to wait for Aqua, and Merida even claimed that the best idea for now was to head back to her castle - they finally have the answer in returning her mother back to normal. But Aqua didn’t come. An hour passed by, and when they only have until the sunrise to fix the queen, these minutes were precious.

This wasn’t normal. She should have been here by now. An image of her alone, injured, and bleeding out waiting for help passed through his mind.

Terra announced that he was going to go back. He said that Merida was smart, resourceful, and courageous enough to handle this from here on out. The princess was reluctant at first but was understanding - not that it was necessary, since they finally heard the buzz of a glider approaching them, with Aqua mounting it. She had a scratch on her arm that she wrapped with a torn hem of her skirt, but otherwise she seemed perfectly fine.

“Is everyone alright?” she asked casually when stepping off. She took a glance over at Terra to see if he was fine, then headed straight for the other two to look for injuries.

Ironically enough, he was probably the one most in pain. He had spent all this time worrying about her so much, did she even spare any thinking about him?

He pushed the thought off of his mind. It wasn’t that he was unimportant to her - she trusted him. She assumed he could take care of himself and that he had the power to look after the princess and the queen. Of course she cared about him.

“Are you okay?” he heard her ask him. They were already paces ahead of him and she had turned around to look back, where he was simply standing there by himself. When he didn’t answer right away, she briskly closed the gap in between them, holding her hand out to gently hold his forearm. “Where are you hurt?”

Inside his chest, where his heart was pounding so hard it could burst. And it could be remedied, if he made her heart jump like this, too. But if he didn’t, then maybe there was no cure for it.

“I’m not hurt.” He tried to sound casual, but she knew him too much to believe him. “Really, I’m perfectly alright. Just worried.”

She nodded. “I get it, but you don’t have to be. We have a solid plan now, and we can fix all of this. You okay to move?”

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“Good.” She smiled. “We’ll both be fine.”

She meant for the Mark of Mastery. But he knew he wasn’t going to be.

They were able to fix it, all within the nick of time. By the sunrise, the queen was human again, her rift between herself and Merida mended. What it took wasn’t a trick or chant, but a compromise - simple enough to say in words, but a terrible mountain to climb when applied to reality. The queen finally admired her daughter for who she was, and Merida owned up to some of the responsibilities that she was burdened with.

Which resulted in the decision not to marry her off to anyone without her own, personal approval.

Not to mention, Mor’du was finally pronounced dead after years of tormenting the people here.

Terra should be feeling accomplished as well, but he couldn’t. Seeing the others get what they wanted - including Aqua, who needed to relax after too many days of worrying about this mission - left him in a state of dissatisfaction. He was the only one with an empty bowl. Aqua smiled to him, whispering “we did it” as she wrapped her arm around his, resting her head on his shoulder. He wanted to touch her back, but restrained himself.

They had been awake the entire night, rushing to get the queen back and fighting off the bear that even the king invited them for a celebratory breakfast. But the both of them chose to politely decline the invitation, wishing only for sleep. The irony of the two of them choosing this route meant that Terra had to listen to lewd comments from the others about their bond, even when he went to his bunk alone. But the exhaustion was so demanding that sleep came easy.

It was early afternoon when he finally awoke and bathed himself. He wanted to forget the smell of sheep as soon as possible, so he went ahead to announce to the royal family that he was leaving - without letting her know.

But of course, she would find out, and promptly announced her departure as well. He packed a sack with gifts of appreciation for his service in the castle’s secret passage. It was always customary that they bring Ventus a gift from every world they visit, and this time was no exception. He heard her footsteps approaching. They were now both dressed in their uniforms, looking like proper Keyblade wielders.

She was now fresh and awake, her eyes sparkling like usual, and he felt a tiny sense of resentment at seeing how much more beautiful she looked.

“So...” She sat on a crate, opening a jovial conversation with him as if everything was back to normal. It really wasn’t. “Mor’du used to be human. He was cursed when he wanted all the power in the world. If only the Master had known about him before.”

She stopped a snicker. He knew what she was getting at, considering that he lost count how many lectures he had to endure from the Master about his own pursuit of strength.

“He wouldn’t let me forget. Probably tell me that if I didn’t watch myself, I’d turn into a dark monster that would haunt all of the worlds, yatta yatta yatta.” He forced himself to joke back, and didn’t even think that he sounded convincing. “Now he’ll write about it in a book and use it to warn all of his future deviant students like me.”

Her smile fell. She never liked hearing him talk lowly about himself. “I wanted to apologize, Terra.”

“Come again?” A lump formed so high on his throat that he nearly choked on it. He prayed that she wasn’t going to admit that she remembered the kiss and regretted it.

“I’m sorry I blamed you for the queen turning into a bear. I knew it wasn’t your fault. I’m just... too good with sticking my foot in my mouth, I guess.” She gave a small smile.

That was a relief, at least. He nearly retorted with, that’s not all you put on your mouth but he bit his tongue.

“You don’t have to apologize to me. I’ve lived with you long enough that I’ve seen worse. I know how you get.” He meant it to sound light-hearted, but didn’t have the energy to really convey that.

And since she read him so well, she was sure to hear the tiniest bit of bitterness in his voice. She said nothing. It was likely that she thought he didn’t accept her apology.

“Let’s just go home,” he said, flipping the sack over his shoulder. Without any mission to talk about, he felt bare around her, and needed a distraction.

It was then that Merida and her family bid farewell to the dark-skinned and blue-haired outsiders that graced them with a miracle, and he (finally) got to bask in the vastness of the ocean in between worlds, flying home. He found himself speeding there, unintentionally leaving Aqua lagging behind, even though neither of them were trying to race each other. When she kept up, he went faster.

The Land of Departure was a welcome sight, the splendor of the academy’s architecture dangerously hovering above the crevices of the mountains, held together by large chains. Edgy, but comforting. He landed and didn’t bother to wait for her to arrive, either. He kept a fast pace as he entered the castle. Most people would find it very lavish - it certainly was in comparison to the medieval style of the place Merida would call home. But seeing it helped him to relax his shoulders and take a deep breath. He passed through the lower halls of the first floor, until he found himself in the closest lounge to the entrance.

Ventus arrived there, too, panting as if he’d been running to greet them. “You’re finally back!” His face was a sight for sore eyes.

Terra dropped the sack at a table and pulled out the contents. “A gift for you.”

“A skirt?” Ventus looked through the green plaid fabric, and immediately tried it on over his pants. He waved his hips back and forth so it swished around.

“It’s called a kilt.” He was about to say that it was supposed to be worn with nothing underneath, but when he saw that Ventus brought it high enough to be worn right under the armpits, he decided he’ll surprise him about it later.

The soft clack of footsteps meant that Aqua arrived to the room. She giggled. “It looks good on you, Ven.”

At this point, Ven shuffled his arms inside so that it hung off his shoulders. “It’s nice.” He was always appreciative of everything they gave him, even when he didn’t understand.

After hugging Ventus, she took her place next to Terra. But he kept himself from looking at her too much. “What should we tell the Master?” she asked.

“Everything,” he said in a way to make it sound like it was an obvious answer. He crossed his arms.

“Okay.” She rolled her lips inward, sighing. “I just wanted to check in and see what you thought.”

“Well... that’s what I think.”

She nodded, and patted Ventus on the shoulder. “Okay. I’ll see you upstairs then.”

With that she left.

“Did you guys fight?” Ventus asked, and it was like dropping a porcelain plate in the middle of the quietest dinner party that existed.

“No,” Terra said too quickly. “No. It was just a close call.”

And to end the conversation before too many questions were asked, he ruffled through Ventus’ hair before heading to the second floor of the entrance hall. The stained glass window here was the most impressive, painting part of the floor in brilliant colors. Eraqus waited by the thrones there, and Terra bowed when he stood next to Aqua. They spoke of the mission, both of their successes and of their failures, and how they worked to fix them. The Master found their story amusing, nodding in approval of their work and expressed how proud he was of them both. For all of Aqua’s anxiety over it, it proved to be mostly useless considering how well it was received.

But at least they were home, and were able to resume their normal routines. Studying, sparring, spending leisure time alone and together. Though Terra liked some of that better than others. He just couldn’t stop thinking about what happened, and found that the best remedy was tossing jokes back and forth with Ventus. If Aqua was involved, he kept more to himself, making sure that he responded minimally to her so that she didn’t notice how distressed he was. It was like wearing a mask, where he had to pretend to be a mimic of himself so that she couldn’t see what he was really feeling.

It was definitely harder to do when he was alone with her, which he avoided as much as he could. He’d pull out a book to read so that he wouldn’t be disturbed. He’d make an excuse to leave the room.

But this evening, in the studio room where they stood barefoot over padded floors, they were sparring. And he didn’t have anything to take his eyes off of her. To spar this much when the exam was barely a week away reminded him that he still couldn’t catch up to her.

So now he was alone in experiencing that kiss, and he would probably be left behind in the exam, too.

And this made him angry. Seeing her dance and twirl around him, her form perfect as usual and her hair flowing around her face, her waist accentuated by her corset, her legs bare which showed off the silkiness of her skin, thrusting her Keyblade forward whenever he left himself open-

Not remembering anything gave her such an advantage.

It wasn’t fair that he was the only one suffering.

She swerved and there was an opening. He took it, swinging his Keyblade so hard so that he hoped it would throw his rage off of him.

“Terra.” It came out as a warning, like a plea to stop. She was slumped on the ground, her legs bent close to her as she leaned on her hands. She gripped on her arm, where he saw a trickle of blood from where he just hit her.

It was normal in this line of work to have accidents. They hit each other all the time when sparring, it was still a fight after all. They grew resilient to pain, but it was protocol to let each other know when too much damage was being done. And he didn’t mean to hit her this hard or throw her back this much.

“I’m so sorry.” He dismissed his Keyblade and crouched to her, inspecting the blow. He touched the area around the open wound, where it began to bruise red and purple. She winched.

“You’re very distracted,” she said.

“I know, you’re right.” He stopped for a moment. “Wait a minute, that means you are, too. You wouldn’t have allowed such an easy hit.”

“Well, yeah, but...”

He hovered his hand over her arm, casting a Cure, begging that the soft aura of green light would take it all away. He wasn’t the best at magic, but he knew basic things and this didn’t look too bad.

It stopped bleeding, but nothing faded. It wasn’t that terrible a lesion, it should have been gone by now.

“It’s a war wound like all the others,” she said when she saw his face, shrugging. “I’ll wear it with pride.”

He didn’t bother to hide how resentful he sounded. “What does that say about me then?” That he had the power to harm her, but not take care of her.

He stood up and walked away from her, knowing that she was going to follow him.

“I can heal it on my own, it will go away like nothing happened,” she said, as if that was the most of his worries.

“But that’s exactly the point.” He was getting angrier. “I should be able to at least cast a stupid healing spell.”

“The Master isn’t testing your proficiency of spells.”

“I should still be competent enough to be able to-” He whipped around when he said this, looking into her blue eyes, which were worried.

“This is why I was so distracted,” she said. “You’ve been on edge ever since the mission, and you’ve been pushing me away. What’s wrong?”

He tried to steady his breathing but did a poor job of it. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I... have a lot on my mind.”

“I’m sure, the anticipation must be insane when it’s so close.” That was only partly true, and it was so terrifying to correct her. And damn it, she was stunning when she smiled at him. “Do you want to talk about it? We can go to our spot. You’re free to speak your mind there.”

You kissed me and I really liked it. And I want to do it again.

He didn’t have the courage to say it. Here he had his fate in his hands, and he could actually do something to make his life better. Or maybe it would only darken his future, if she were to reject him. He wished he could read her mind so he could cup her face and kiss her without having to say anything. Words right now just didn’t make sense, and if they went to the secret spot in the woods they shared together, then he’d be obligated to speak the truth.

“I need time, Aqua.”

“Okay.” Her gaze fell to the floor. She was disappointed, but if she was frustrated she hid it spectacularly well. The sun had completely set by now, and she held her arm again. “I understand. Good night, Terra. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

He probably wasn’t going to feel better tomorrow. How could he, when sleep just wouldn’t come?

An hour until midnight.

He rummaged in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but every muscle was tense. He tried reading, but he found himself going over the same lines again and again without progressing. The moon shining through his window was too bright so he closed his curtains and put his pillows over his face. Maybe if it was dark enough, he’d be lulled to sleep.

Midnight.

His mind was racing. He imagined creeping into her room, right now, and confessing how he felt. She’d be embarrassed but delighted. They would share another kiss, and maybe two more, and she could sleep in his bed tonight. And they’d continue to sneak into each other’s rooms in the dead of the night where no one else would have to know. They could practice what to do with their hands and their bodies.

Or she could shut it all down and tell him that they were never to speak about it again.

An hour past midnight. Why did he have to obsess over things?

He sat up and ripped the bed sheets off of him. Maybe a walk would help him calm down.

The quietness of the castle was peaceful and still, and being the only one awake at the time made him feel like he didn’t have a life to solve in this moment. And he hoped this feeling would last long.

The stars shone brightly, where the breeze caressed his face. He stared upward as he sat on the stairs leading to the entrance of the castle, noting areas where the sky was darker than the rest. He was so small, his problems so tiny and so nonexistent to the millions of people out there who maybe had it worse. If they could survive their dilemmas, then maybe he could, too.

A squirrel casually strolled on the terrace in front of him, stopping every now and then to gauge its safety in its surroundings. In the dead of night no less, where predators were probably watching it.

This squirrel had more spine than him.

“Some brave warrior I am,” he scoffed, running his fingers through his hair.

The squirrel rubbed its face and scurried over, hiding itself behind a bush. Terra was lone again, but he soon realized he really wasn’t. He did a double take at the sight ahead of him. There, right before the forest that led to several trails, the training area, and their favorite place to star gaze, glided a soft gold light that fluttered, traveling around like it didn’t notice him at all.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He had never seen something like this in the Land of Departure, and couldn’t fathom what it was. It felt very much like meeting a will o’ the wisp for the first time, knowing there were forces outside of his existence who worked their own magic. Was this the same thing?

Unlike a wisp, this entity wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t stand-offish either. It was just there, like it was lost.

He approached it, only to find that there were others near it, spreading over the fields that he knew so well, he could practically walk them blind. He pinched himself to make sure he was awake. They were still there.

They started to flutter away, as if they were going to enjoy their time whether he was gaping at them or not. And he could admire them from afar, or follow them and change his fate.

It was probably much healthier for him to stop tormenting himself. So he went after them, wondering if providence was waiting for him wherever they were going to take him.

To be continued....

This chapter references Pixar’s Brave (2012).

[lonelypond]

Jingle Bell Jazz, Chapter 4

Love Live, NicoMaki, 4.5K, 4/?

Summary: ROADTRIP!

CHAPTER 4

Nico was tired. She just needed to close her eyes for five minutes, then she could go back to the music room and dive back into being part of a trio that suddenly alive, music spinning between the three of them like flax to gold. Nothing Nico had ever sung had sounded so...personal. But Maki, Maki, had suddenly become Nico’s best audience ever, attentive, responsive, hanging on every note, easing Nico...and to be fair, Eli, in and out of solos, meeting every challenge, opening up to every risk. For a barn burner, so stylish, with car, clothes, and crib that screamed classy, Maki was surprisingly humble about everything but music. And the way her fingers flew over the piano when the redhead’s full confidence kicked in, Nico couldn’t really blame her for that.

Maki, concentrating on what she and Eli were discussing, had waved in a vague direction when Nico had asked about a bathroom so Nico had used that as an excuse to drift through the first floor, awed by the proportions of the rooms, the vault of the ceilings, but a little put off by the cold stillness. Maki, in the music room, sleeves pushed up past her elbows, tousled red hair bouncing freely at random, seemed like the ingenue of a starkly dramatic black and white film suddenly slipping through the screen into a Technicolor musical, vibrant color rising in that adorable blush Nico had caught when she winked at Maki once. Or was that just a tired hazy dream and not a memory? Nico yawned, balling her fists, and twisting her arms around to stretch them. Just five minutes. There’d been a comfy looking couch just outside the music room, Nico could hear Eli and Maki from there, that would keep her from falling too deeply asleep.

Leaning back into the couch, Nico knew she could get used to this comfort, sinking into luxurious cushions, resting her feet on something so soft it actually seemed to be erasing the strain of a long evening at work. And then there was the spark she felt when Maki had really gotten IT, understood the give and take, ridden the potential. Nico could so easily get used to this, but it wasn’t Europe. And Nico wouldn’t be getting a house even a quarter this impressive if she didn’t start her professional life soon. Nico had learned at too young an age that you couldn’t rely on anyone but yourself, and while she was a rock for her family and friends like Nozomi and Eli, Nico had to make sure the foundation of her own future was set. It wasn’t like she could just marry a guy and be a happy housewife. It might be harder to find a girl, you had to know places, and people, and how to read that quick second glance back over a shoulder, but hey, Eli and Umi had, and they were practically stay at homes. And Nico intended to bring a hand full of aces to the table whenever she did find someone to woo. Nico wondered briefly about Maki as she tilted even further into sleep. Surely the universe wouldn’t waste that talent and those eyes on a society housewife gig. Nico giggled as the “Nico could dream” thought invaded, but she barely had time to remember that it had as she started to snore.

“NICO! NICO!” Eli was shouting. Had it been 10 minutes? Was Maki upset that Nico was using her couch as a bed?

Nico opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Maki opposite her, frozen in the room’s archway, holding a mug, looking like she’d been caught burgling her own home. Her mouth was slightly open in shock, her lavender eyes wide, and she glanced away as soon as Nico made eye contact. The pianist was wearing a silver satin bathrobe over purple paisley pajamas. When did she have time to change? Then Nico became aware of Eli leaning over the couch and pounding on her side, “NICO!”

“Knock it off, Eli. I just laid down for 5 minutes.” Nico sat up, with a groan, wondering how she got so stiff. “We can get right back to work.”

‘It’s after 11 a.m. You missed your train.”

“What?” Nico threw herself up from the couch, stumbling into Maki, who dropped her mug when she caught Nico with one hand. “No no no.”

“What’s wrong? Late for work…?” The hairs on the back of Maki’s neck tingled as confusion fogged her thinking, but Nico’s weight in her arms more of a wake up call than the coffee.

Nico exhaled, fuming,...and pushed the still clinging Maki back, “Why didn’t you wake me up before you got all cozy?” Nico flipped the lapel of Maki’s robe, then stomped back toward the music room, “I can’t believe this.”

Maki, keeping a wary eye on Nico as the singer’s mood darkened, spoke to the calmest person in the room. “Eli, what’s going on?”

“Nico missed her train. She was going to Troy to spend Christmas with her family.”

Nico returned with her coat on, practically running for the door.

“Nico, where are you going?” Eli tried to slow the singer, but Nico was determined.

“Maybe there’s a bus that’ll get me there. The kids are expecting me. Mama’s not going to get home ‘til late….” Nico’s glaring was a front as she muttered frantically. Maki, even with little experience of Nico’s moods, could tell that the singer was trying very hard not to...cry? Scream?

“I’ll drive you.” Maki announced, getting the full attention of Nico and Eli. Maki knelt to pick up her mug, which hadn’t broken, “I was going to Maine anyway. It won’t add that much time.” Maki had no idea how much time it would actually add, but her car could top 100 so once she got Nico safely to her family, Maki could vent a little frustration on the road.

###

And that was how, 42 minutes later, somewhat reluctantly, Nico was opening the door of her apartment so Maki could wait inside while Nico packed a few things. Eli had headed across town to meet her family, Nozomi already at the Ayase brownstone, participating in the annual mixing of enough Christmas gingerbread and Russian tea cake cookies for the entire neighborhood.

Maki stepped into a small room, meticulously clean, a tiny television on a low bookcase next to a turntable hung with tinsel, a few cityscapes on the wall, some framed photos on another low table. One worn sofa and a hard wooden chair were the only other furniture. Maki had changed into glen plaid wool trousers and a gray fisherman’s sweater over thermal underwear, trousers tucked into duck boots. The sky was as gray as her sweater and the wind had immediately cut through her driving gloves. The driving cap had tried to blow off her head every time she stepped into the weather, but once they got in the car again, it would be driving only for the next three hours.

Nico came out of what Maki assumed was her bedroom, a canvas duffle over her shoulder, changed into jeans and what seemed to be five layers of sweaters. Nico glared at Maki, “Your convertible is going to be the death of Nico by hypothermia.”

“I put a stack of blankets in the trunk. You can cover yourself with them.”

“Hmmmmppphh.” Nico stepped into her kitchen, Maki following, “We should eat before we hit the road. I’ll make us quick omelettes.”

“That sounds great.” Maki sat, hands crossed politely in front of her.

Nico snorted, “So you don’t ask if you can help? Too used to servants?”

Maki shrugged “I burn toast.”

Nico growled at the redhead’s nonchalance. “Can you make coffee at least? The percolator’s in the cabinet over there.” Nico jerked her head to the right, “Coffee’s in the brown canister. Do something useful, Rachmaninoff.”

Maki stood, face flushed from embarrassment, and opened the cabinet, grateful she’d gotten accustomed to making her own coffee during the late nights working pieces over on the piano.

Nico was grumbling as she cooked, Maki catching odd words here and there, only a few she recognized like spoiled. And snobby was back...Maki sighed. She did not want to lose her temper, but Nico’s volume was increasing and it would be hard to continue as if she had heard none of the singer’s invective. So she changed the subject.

“How many siblings do you have?” Maki asked quietly as the coffee perked and Nico flipped the egg mix over onions.

“Three. My sister Cocoro just started high school, Cocoa in middle school and my little brother Cotaro is in fourth grade.” Nico divided the omelette, slid it next to the toast on each plate and handed one to Maki, who was pouring coffee into cups. Nico splashed half and half in and settled at the table.

Maki wasn’t sure what was polite conversation about siblings, especially ones so young. “Are any of them interested in music?”

Nico squinted her eyes, considering Maki’s tone, and after several bites of omelette responded, “Cotaro seems to like the drums, but Cocoro’s already planning the business she’s going to run, and Cocoa can’t stand still long enough to have a talk about interests. Nico figures she’ll be an Olympic runner.”

Maki nodded, information noted, but not having met -- or planning to -- Nico’s siblings that conversational alley was a brick wall. So she and Nico ate quickly and in awkward silence.

###

Nico looked ludicrous, buried under three blankets in the passenger seat of the Mercedes. It was taking all Maki’s concentration to focus on the road and not just double up with laughter. Which was good, because Maki was needing to be distracted from Nico’s return in her mind to pin up girl status, Maki not wanting to remember exactly how many minutes she stood in that archway, staring at the sleeping singer, amazed that someone so full of buzzing, boisterous energy could actually be still for even a moment, let alone the hours between 2 a.m. and when Eli had woken her up. Sleeping Nico had looked like a...well, a Zoë Mozert Mutoscope card girl at rest, but still all legs and lips, and that wasn’t helping Maki’s concentration any. Especially since Nico was once again sneering in her direction, not smiling. Maki hadn’t realized Nico had a train to catch...not that that mattered, Maki acknowledged to herself. The only thing she was thinking about last night was getting to the point where working with Nico was possible. And then when they had gotten there, the only thing on Maki’s mind was how Nico’s voice had filled the room, her mind, how Nico had let the lyrics flirt with the piano, with her, how much possibility there was in that tension for...more. Or at least what Maki thought might be more; Nico was obviously viewing this as a job to get through so she could launch her real career. But did she sound that...alive when she sang with the UTX people? Did anyone as playfully and affectionately tease her to new highs like Eli did? Was there chemistry? Could Maki ask that?

While Maki was sorting through all that, Nico asked a question, “What class do you need this for?”

“Huh?”

“Umi said you needed this for a class.”

“Oh, not exactly. I need Professor Melton to write me a reference so I can compete in Switzerland in the Spring.”

“Oh, so you’re leaving school too.” Disinterest...perhaps disappointment?

Maki wanted to think about Nico’s tone of voice, but she didn’t want to leave a gap in the conversation, “Maybe.”

“Oh, you don’t know if you’ll get accepted?” Nico chirped, sounding more sympathetic.

I don’t know if I want to go anymore was too big a thought for Maki to unpack right now, with Nico likely to ask questions so she just grunted. Nico took that as a reply and continued, “Nico is headed to Europe too, if I can get Tsubasa to agree to my terms. Maybe we can meet up in Paris?”

“Maybe.” Maki allowed herself to hint at a slight interest in the proposed rendezvous, “What terms?”

“Nico wants her name on the marquee...won’t do much if people just think Nico’s a random singer Tsubasa picked up. Although,” Nico sounded thoughtful and Maki sneaked a look at the frowning schemer, “Nico might be willing if Tsubasa was willing to go in the studio and record an album. That would boost Nico’s profile.”

Maki grunted again. Snow was starting to fall and the clouds were piling up, darkening the sky, Driving would probably start taking all of her attention now.

###

“So Nico-chi missed her train, she must have been heart broken.”

“For like thirty seconds, then Maki offered to drive her.”

“That’s very nice.”

Eli shrugged, “Maki was going to Maine anyway, probably not anything more.”

“Hallway gossip says Maki can’t be pried away from her piano. That’s why Professor Melton set her this challenge.” Nozomi leaned into the counter, hip to hip with Eli.

“Challenge?” Eli looked up from decorating cookies.

“Professor Melton won’t give her a letter of recommendation for some big European competition until Maki plays with other musicians.”

“But she’s Umi’s friend. Why didn’t she play with μ's ?”

Nozomi giggled, “She grew up with Rin, she might not think they take music seriously.”

“That’s not true; they just have fun too.” Eli pivoted toward to her girlfriend, “How do you know all this?”

“I call people, we talk.” Nozomi batted her eyelashes at Eli, pouting. “I have to do something while you and Nico rehearse until dawn.”

Eli shook her head. “It wasn’t dawn. Well not the rehearsing, anyway.”

“Coco never kept you out so late.”

“Coco wasn’t…” Eli frowned, almost scratching her head with the tip of the piping bag, “intense, 18 karat, Maki’s all in on the music. Even Nico was impressed....”

Nozomi flopped so she could lean back on her elbows and watch Eli, “Any chance you could add Maki in and have a trio again? I’m going to miss my favorite jazz group when Tsubasa steals Nico away.”

“We turned down those gigs when Coco quit. Plus didn’t you say Maki was going to some big European competition?”

“I did.” Nozomi frowned. The rest of Eli’s family had gone to visit friends, leaving the two of them to finish the Christmas cookies and start on dinner. “Too bad.”

Eli decided to fancy up the gingerbread people, adding rosettes to their cheeks, “I will just be glad if the New Year’s Eve concert avoids disaster. So pray for that tonight, please.”

“Of course, my love.” Nozomi kissed Eli on the cheek, “I’m sure everything will work out.”

                                                                                                                         ###

Maki and Nico were standing side by side, inside the entrance of the diner, staring at what might as well be a wall, a world darkened by lack of sunlight and brightened by driving snow. Nico was still wrapped in a blanket as well as her three sweaters and a parka, stomping to get warmth in her feet; Maki was brushing snowflakes off her hat, before replacing it on her head and putting her lined leather gloves in her coat pocket. The wool of her coat was so thick, snow had only beaded on it, not soaked through.

“You need better boots.” Maki observed, staring down as Nico’s foot speed increased.

“Thanks, genius.” Nico flicked the blanket edge at the redhead.

“We might as well get some coffee and food. You’ve been yawning; it’s contagious,” Maki sighed, and let the waitress lead them to a booth. It was close to the window. Nico had slid down to the end of her bench farthest from the window and looked longingly at the counter, but Maki was staring out the window, so Nico just sighed and sat on the blanket, wrapping it around her like a skirt.

“The cold is contagious. Yawning is a symptom of hypothermia.” Nico stated.

“No, it’s not.” Maki countered, “You’d be confused and slurring your words, and shivering a lot more than you are.”

“What are you, a doctor?”

Maki opened her mouth, the waitress stepped forward, and Maki took the distraction rather than respond to Nico’s question, “Two coffees and whatever you’ve got that will warm us up.”

“Hot chocolate.” Nico grumbled, “Lots of milk, little butter, got any cinnamon? And pie.”

“Sure, we can do that, dear. We got cheese and onion if you want something for an early dinner. Or apple if you want something to go with the chocolate.”

“Thanks. Cheese and onion.”

“I’ll have steak and eggs, rye toast. Put it all on one bill.” Maki said.

“You don’t have to do that. I can pay. You’re doing me a favor.” Nico frowned.

Maki ignored Nico’s offer, saving her comment for Nico’s food choices. “Hot chocolate and cheese and onion pie sounds disgusting.”

“It sounds warm.”

“Just don’t dip. I don’t want to throw up.”

Nico stuck out her tongue. Maki smiled, but then turned to watch out the window again, twirling her fork, tines pushed into the napkin twisting it around.

The waitress dropped their food in front of them, then stood for a minute, hands in apron pockets before speaking in a serious tone, “There’s a motel about a mile down the road. I could call and tell ‘em to get a room ready for you.” She paused, “Better than going back out there.”

Maki was about to agree when she caught the reflection of Nico’s face in the window. The singer had quickly wiped her sleeve across her face, but when Maki turned, there was only the slightest red around her eyes and resolve hardened the carved lines of her face.

“We shouldn’t chance it.” Nico agreed, but weakly.

Maki smiled at the waitress and cut into her steak “We’ll let you know.”

Nico bit into her cheese and onion pie, but yelped as the steam hit her tongue, “Too hot” she said wryly as she let the pie fall to her plate, waving her fingers at her open mouth.

“Santa’s reindeer must love this weather. He never lets it stop him. He always manages to make it to our camp, even in much worse conditions than this.” Maki mused as she wolfed down her steak, keeping control of the car in this slippery weather was hungry making work. Lavender eyes calm, she met Nico’s gaze, “We’re about halfway there, right?”

Nico was processing the Santa comment, debating a reply, when Maki guesstimated the distance, “Um...probably. Two hours in normal weather, but in this…” Then Nico’s concerns drifted somewhere else and her face softened, “I wonder if Mama made it home before the storm hit.”

Maki hummed, considering, watching expressions race across Nico’s face, most of which she didn’t know Nico well enough to even guess at. But worry was always there, like a neon sign you could see even in a dark, snowy alley. Three siblings at home, all hoping for the arrival of their mother and sister and the weather doing its best to prevent that. Santa wouldn’t be happy. Plus, Nico would probably spend the whole night sad and restless and who knew what the roads would be like in the morning. Maki’s car was fast and pretty sure footed, but it wasn’t designed for ice skating.

Maki put down her knife and fork and raised her cup at the waitress for a refill. Maybe they could get a Thermos to go, “Don’t worry, Nico. I’ll get you there.”

###

For the last hour of the four-hour second half of their ride, the snow had slowed down. Maki was now driving through the Fulton neighborhood where the rowhouse the Yazawas shared with another family was located. For the first half of the drive, Nico had forgone the radio for singing, deciding that if she had a captive audience, maybe Maki could get familiar enough with Nico’s repertoire to improve the chances the upcoming concert would be something other than a hang on to the edge of the stage for life slippery disaster like the road they were driving on. For Maki, fighting jitters and wind bursts, Nico’s voice was an almost pleasant distraction she didn’t have the leisure to listen to, except when Nico got stuck on a “Let It SNOW, let it SNOW, let it SNOW’ loop and Maki had to shout at her to stop. After that, both Nico and the storm had quieted down, Nico turning on the radio. From then, aside from Nico giving Maki directions when needed, they had settled into silence, Maki driving, Nico either staring worriedly out the windows for some sign of home or sneaking glances at Maki, to observe the redhead looking more haggard each time. Maki’s hands gripped the wheel so tightly Nico was worried she might have to break out the crowbar to pry them off. The blankets had been very helpful, but Maki’s stiffness was the result of both fatigue and chill. Nico knew she’d have to get the redhead inside and warmed up first thing.

“Pretty neighborhood,” Maki grunted, sounding hoarse, the gruffness of her own voice a surprise.

“Yeah, snow’s better to look at than drive in. There’s a park down the block my siblings love. There’s a wall to use for snow forts. We used to live downtown but my mom wanted us to have some more space.”

“What about your dad?”

Nico leaned her head against the window, glad for some cool against her cheek, “He died after my little brother was born.”

“Oh.” Maki could feel some energy returning, glad to be nearing a destination and pleased that Nico’s siblings wouldn’t be alone. This was a time of year to be with loved ones. “I’m sorry.”

Nico shrugged, “It was tough, but I helped Mama and we got through it.”

Maki considered not continuing the conversation, but Nico sounded friendly, so Maki braved another question. “Is it hard to be away from them?”

Nico blew and the bangs escaping from the brim of her hat flew up, “If Nico’s going to help them have a better future…” she paused, Maki sneaked a look, noticed tearing up, but Nico shook the mood away, confidence locked in again. “When Nico hits it big, Mama won’t have to worry anymore. And New York City is the place to make that happen. Everybody knows that.”

Maki hummed a neutral tune. Driving was the best cover for having nothing to say. Being half distracted seemed prudent, not rude.

Nico pointed. “Turn right up here. Park anywhere you can.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks, Maki.” Nico grinned.

Maki hummed again, turning the wheel.

###

Maki stood in the doorway, shock having frozen her. In front of Nico was a taller, more mature Nico, hair in a bun, arms out to pull the version of Nico Maki was familiar with into a hug that nearly made the small singer disappear.

“How are you here? You shouldn’t have been on the roads, Nico.” A deeper voice.

Maki heard Nico mutter something close to her name.

“Maki?” Nico’s...mom?!? surely this wasn’t one of the siblings, Maki reasoned, eyes aimed at Maki over the top of Nico’s head at Maki, Maki glancing away as Nico’s mom appraised her. Maki wondered how unkempt she appeared after ten hours of travel and shoved her hands further in her pockets.

Nico stepped to the side, so a better view of Maki could be had. “Maki Nishikino, she’s a freshman Umi knows. Maki’s helping me and Eli with our concert, Mama. Her parents are in Maine so she dropped me off.”

Nico’s mother leveled a glare at her daughter that Maki could feel the heat flying off, “You shouldn’t have been on the road in that storm.”

Nico hung her head, “Maki’s a really good driver, Mama.” Maki perked up at the praise and Nico continued, “And I was worried about the kids.”

Nico’s mom sighed, “And I worry about you, Nico. Especially when you do things like this.”

“Sorry, Mama.” Nico shuffled her feet.

Maki almost snickered. Nico seemed so different, here, in conversation with her mother, more like the young teen a stranger might have guessed she was from her looks.

“You are going to bring your friend inside, feed her, and set up the sleeper sofa for her.” Nico’s mom issued orders.

“Of course I wa…” Nico reached for Maki’s arm.

Maki interrupted Nico, “I just need coffee and a chance to rest my hands for a half an hour.” Maki could feel her fingers uncramping and hoped they really didn’t resemble the stiff hooks they felt like. That would not bode well for piano practice.

Nico grabbed Maki and pulled the taller girl into the apartment, “You heard Mama, Maki. You must be starved. And you can leave in the morning.”

Maki twisted to get herself out of the stumble, nearly falling, but unwilling to reach out her arms and use Nico as a brake on forward momentum. Nico’s mom firmly closed the door behind them..

“My parents…” Maki started.

“You can call them. I’m sure they’re worried.” Nico’s mom had her arms crossed, presenting a formidable barricade.

Meanwhile, Nico had Maki’s coat half off and somehow Maki was standing in front of a blessedly warm radiator, “Nico will loan you a nightshirt….”

“We both have bags in the car.” Maki reminded her passenger.

Finally, something Nico’s mother approved of. “Good, you’d have trouble fitting into anything of mine. Nico will go get it and then both of you can change into something dry while I make some soup. Go on, Nico. Get her bag.”

Nico, still in her coat, held out her mittened hand for Maki’s keys. Rather than risk Mrs. Yazawa’s displeasure Maki handed her keychain over.

Nico was back before Maki had a chance to say anything, then Nico’s mom shoved them both Into her small bedroom, single bed between them, Nico put both bags down, then the awkward silence hovered until Maki sighed and sat on the bed.

“Your mother…your mother is…”

“Trust me, Nico knows.” Nico pulled out what looked like flannel pajamas.

“I really shouldn’t impose.” Maki couldn’t even convince herself.

“Mama’s not going to let you go anywhere.” Nico clucked her tongue, “Neither am I. You’re exhausted, Maki, you have been for 100 miles. Just relax. Nico will take care of everything.”

Maki nodded, suddenly feeling all her weariness and out of arguments. Time to take off her boots before she collapsed. She could figure out the rest after some food.

A/N May your 2019 be full of brightness and cheer.

[endemictoearth]

About Town Pt. 2

AT LONG LAST! (And I’ve written more than a sentence of the next part, which was my mistake with my first part . . . so you WILL NOT have to wait six freaking months for Part 3.)

I have so many fics in my tabs and need to do a lot of reading/reblogging, but decided I didn’t want to let another month go by where I wasn’t contributing! 

I have gotten some lovely messages about this fic, in particular, so I hope part 2 lives up to expectations . . . there will be at least one more part, but this isn’t a traditional Frae fic. 

I hope you enjoy! (I will be putting this on the Round-Up forthwith, but am not tagging, bc I’m not sure who wants to be tagged anymore . . . )

(Oh, and to refresh your memories, here’s a link to Part 1.)

* * * * *

On Tuesday after school, Finn was back at the shop. Both Rob and Dave were there, sorting through the delivery of new stock.

Finn dropped his bag behind the counter, and they grunted a unison greeting without looking up. Finn smirked, immediately getting stuck in to the stock, as well.

He wanted to say something about Saturday, about how he had seen Rae, how he knew . . . something. He knew where she was, but not why she was there. He knew what she looked like with the sun at her back, but not how she felt about . . . well, anything. He’d got a couple pieces of a 1000 piece jigsaw, and he just wanted to keep gathering more, fit them together into a complete picture.

But when he went to say something, it was like there wasn’t enough air in the room, or maybe just in his lungs. He tried to take a deep breath, but only managed a deflated sigh.

“What’s up wi’ you?” Dave asked, his tone tinged with the typical ‘just us lads’ harshness. The default reply to any question about how one was should be some form of shrug, grunt or “Alright, I s’pose.” No highs or lows were allowed . . . this was a mellow space for cool people.

Rob elbowed Dave in the arm. “Shut up, mate—his nan’s ill,” he said in undertones. Finn had to strain to make it out, and when he did, he flushed.

“How’s your nan, Finn? She still on the ward? They looking after her alright?”

Rob was good people, Finn thought.

He nodded. “She’s not doing too bad; at least, she hasn’t gotten any worse.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rob nodded.

Dave frowned and kicked an empty box toward the backroom door. “Sorry to hear about your nan, Finn. But it’s good they’re lookin’ after her properly.”

Finn nodded again. He leant down to pick up another box, and when he straightened back up to place it on the counter, he said, “Funny thing, though . . .” and had the immediate interest of the other two.

“Yeah?” asked Rob, sorting through a load of used cds. Though he wasn’t looking at him, Finn could tell he had his attention.

Finn stammered, “I-it’s weird, ‘cause we were just talking about her, but when I were at the hospital, I run into—erm—Rae, y’know, Saturday Rae? The . . . girl who hasn’t been by in a while.”

He cleared his throat into the silent shop.

Rob looked up, and tried to read Finn’s face. “Oh, yeah? Was she . . . ?” he didn’t seem to know what to ask, but Finn could guess his question. Was she a patient or was she visiting someone?

“She had a bracelet on. I think . . . I think she’s been there this whole time.” Finn exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Dave coughed pointedly. He’d never been good with words, Dave. Even worse than Finn for talking. It was one of the things that bonded the two of them. They could both abide long silences without feeling the need to fill the air with blather. Rob probably talked the most, but even he wasn’t on a constant yammer.

But now, this seemed to need to be said, only what was he saying? He didn’t know her diagnosis. Maybe she had something physically wrong with her, but she didn’t look sick or extra pale or like she’d lost weight or broken a bone . . . she looked just the same. The same way she did standing on the other side of the shop. He stared over at the display rack, imagining she was there, squinting at a track list.

Rob asked a complete question this time. “Did you talk to her?”

“Real quick, but yeah. I gave her one of the extra Melody Makers. I mean, I had one with me. Seemed to cheer her up. Well, a bit.”

Looking over at his boss and his co-worker, Finn saw them both nodding like those dashboard dachshunds his dad had in the car. Like they couldn’t think what else to do, let alone say.

Because they’d all seen it, without really realizing it. She came in, quiet and unassuming, rarely smiled, always alone. There was a certain air about her.

There was that time those lads from outside the corner shop had followed her in and said a few disgusting things before Dave ran them out, shouting, “Next time, you’re banned for permanent!” as they scurried up the street. Finn wasn’t in that time; he wasn’t sure what he would have done if he’d witnessed that first hand.

There was the fact that she hardly ever bought anything, just looked and looked, carefully reading track listings and skimming music magazines, doing her best to absorb what she could just by being in the shop. Nodding along to the music, sometimes jotting notes in her beat up orange notebook (Finn always assumed it was lyrics she wanted to remember.)

Those things they’d observed and promptly forgotten, never adding them up or drawing conclusions, because you couldn’t. Not really.

But when they heard, “She’s in the hospital.” and “She might’ve been there this whole time.” A chord is struck somewhere, familiar yet haunting.

Dave moved over to the periodical section, as swift as his bad knee would let him, and decisively grabbed one of each of the magazines on the rack. He thrust the pile at Finn.

“Here.”

Finn raised an eyebrow.

“Next time you go. Give her these. Just say they were extras, leftover, whatever.”

When Finn took the stack in his hands, Dave spun around, picked up another box with a quick sniff, and flipped open his pocket knife to cut along the taped seam.

Finn tightened his grip for a moment, then remembered himself, and smoothed the covers before slipping them into his bag.

“Thanks, Dave. I’m sure she’ll appreciate them.”

Rob piped up with a question. “Do you know if she has a way of playing music? I could make her some copies of stuff.”

Finn bit his lip, wishing he’d thought of that first. “No, sorry, we only spoke for a minute. But if I go back . . . I mean, I’ll ask. I’ll find out.”

“Yeah, let me know.”

The three of them unpacked in silence for a few moments.

Then Dave said, suddenly, “Finn, d’y’wanna to leave early? It’s pretty dead, and we’ve got this. I won’t dock your pay. But . . . you know . . . if you wanted to . . .”

Finn picked up his bag and jacket and said, “I might not make visiting hours, but I’ll try.”

“Cheers,” Dave and Rob said, replying in unison.

* * * * *

Finn had taken his scooter to work, so he made it to the hospital in record time. He’d remembered her last name, from her bracelet and the post-it on the Oasis CD months ago. Earl.

“Rae Earl?” He asked for her at second floor reception, near where he’d seen her before, trying to seem nonchalant, but his fingers drumming too fast on the strap of his bag gave him away.

“She expecting you?” the nurse behind the desk asked, deadpan.

“Um, probably not, but I saw her the other day, wanted to check up—I mean, check IN. I just . . . wondered how she was.” He swiveled his neck in an attempt to feel less uncomfortable, but it didn’t work.

“Yes, well, I’ll let her know you’re here. Have a seat.”

Finn inclined his head. When the nurse had disappeared behind a pair of swinging doors, he collapsed onto one of the turquoise plastic chairs that were bolted to the wall. He slipped his bag over his head, wrapping the strap around his palm a few times, squeezing the canvas and leather.

He wanted to bite his thumbnail so bad it almost hurt, instead he slipped his free hand under his thigh, pressing down against the smooth surface of the seat.

Just then, the door swung open and the nurse bustled back out and settled into the seat behind the desk without so much as a glance Finn’s way.

He was about to clear his throat and ask what Rae had said, when on the second swing of the doors, she was there, hovering with an uncertain look on her face while the door wobbled into place behind her.

As he stood, his bag hit the side of his knee. He didn’t wince, just walked over to her. When he was right in front of her, he said, “Hiya.” He winced now, his voice nearly squeaking on the second syllable.

Rae had yanked her sleeves down over her wrists, fingers pulling at each hem nervously. Finn dimly registered it was probably to hide her bracelet. She kept her head angled low, but peered up at him, eyes wide.

“Y’alright?” He closed his eyes in horror. Of course she wasn’t alright, but it was just one of those things you say, in normal greeting. At the pub or the chippy, running into your mates at the park. Not here in the hospital. “Sorry, I just . . . thought I’d stop by. I mean, I mentioned that I’d seen you and—“

“What?” She nearly spat the word.

“I mean, just . . . Dave and Rob. We were wondering where you’d got to and I said I’d seen you. That’s all. I mean, I don’t know . . . anything.” Finn unfurled the strap and swung his bag over his head, then stuffed his thumbnail in his mouth, not being able to resist any longer.

She didn’t seem happy, but he thought she might have relaxed just a bit.

“How was the mag?” he asked, desperate for her to say something. She was quiet in the shop, but her silence had never been this charged before.

Her eyes flew to his, then she seemed to remember. “Oh! Good, thanks, there were some great pictures in there. We’re allowed a bit of blu-tack, so I have something on my wall now.”

Finn nodded. That sounded bleak, but he tried not to show it. And it seemed like a good moment to mention the stash he had with him.

“Uh, we had some extras again, so Dave said I should . . . well, he said I could . . . anyway.”

Finn lifted the flap on his bag and drew out the pile, nearly a dozen titles. He squared them up against his hip, and held them out to Rae, her eyes growing bright all of a sudden.

“What? I can’t . . . that’s too much.”

“Trust me, we end up chucking some in the bin nearly every month . . . it’s better if someone reads them.”

She reached out slowly and Finn pressed the stack into her hands.

Her eyes questioned. “Dave really said these were extras?”

“Yeah, really.” Finn smiled at her, not too broad, not wanting to spook her.

“So you could’ve given me free mags before now, then,” she chuckled.

Finn was so relieved when she took them, he nearly laughed out loud.

Rae looked down, flipping through the titles, grinning at Rolling Stone, which really was an old issue; they were always about a month behind on them.

She raised her head, and started to ask, “Do you wanna—oh, never mind.”

“No, what?”

“It’s just, visiting hours are almost up. I was gonna say did you wanna come to the lounge, but there isn’t time. Stupid idea, anyway.”

“No! No, I’d like to come and hang out in the lounge sometime. Maybe I could come back on . . . Thursday?”

“Um . . . yeah, maybe. We have group on Thursday, but you probably be coming after . . . after . . .”

He could tell she didn’t want to say ‘school.’ “I could come around 4:00, would that be okay?” Finn really wanted to come back, and he had a sudden feeling that she might need him to. That for him to show sudden interest and then take it away would be worse than never having come at all.

They both stood there, sneaking glances at each other in turns, but not really looking. Finn drummed on the strap of his bag again, his momentary relief turning back to awkwardness.

“Yeah. 4:00’s good.” Rae said softly. “You should probably go.” She wanted him to leave first, then. Didn’t want to retreat behind the swinging door, but rather wanted proof of his leaving.

“Yeah,” he sighed, straightening.

“Oh, but—“ she started.

“Yeah?”

“How’s your nan?”

He was pleased she’d remembered, but he didn’t actually know—he’d come straight here, on a mission from the shop.

“Okay, I think. I . . . well, I came here first. I’m headed over to her now.” He reddened.

Rae’s eyes widened. “Then you really should go; visiting hours are almost over!”

For the first time since he’d seen her here, in this place, he didn’t feel unsettled. He reached up to fix his fringe, glanced at her from underneath it, and grinned like he was trying to charm a girl down the pub. “Oh, the nurses usually give me a few extra minutes.”

Her already big eyes grew even bigger, in some sort of surprise, and then she scoffed. “I’ll bet they do. Who could resist that—“ she clutched the magazines to her while her free hand waved in his general direction “—face?”

His cocky grin slid over into sheepish, and he huffed a laugh, turning to walk down the hall to his nan’s ward. He pivoted back, “Oh, wait!”

She hadn’t gone anywhere, hadn’t moved to return to the lounge or her room or wherever she was allowed to be at seven o’clock on a Tuesday evening. She waited, as requested.

“Do you, I mean, can you play music . . . I mean, do you have a way to play anything? In here?”

She hugged the magazines to her chest, hair falling in front of her face. “Walkman, but I didn’t bring much with me.”

“Cassettes?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He could usually charm his way to staying after the official hours, but he should try to get there before they were officially over. Turning his head, he said, “See you Thursday!” before jogging away.

* * * * *

His nan was sitting up, smiling, more alert than he’d seen her in a while.

“Finn!”

“Hiya, Nan—you’re looking well!”

She was. Her color was up, and she didn’t look so down as last time. There was a inkling of the old twinkle in her eyes.

“I’m not feeling half bad, either. The doctor says I can go home this week. Maybe even day after tomorrow!”

Finn grinned, then thought: Thursday. He was supposed to see Rae again on Thursday.

Nan must have seen his eyes dim a bit. “Anything wrong, love?”

Finn shook his head. “Not at all!” His grin was back full force, and she peered at it, studying.

“Hmmm, you’re happy again. Something happen? Or someone?”

Finn flushed pink, but his smile didn’t fade.

“Ah, I see I’ve hit close to the mark. Don’t worry, though, I won’t pry.” She settled back against the pillows behind her. “Did you work today?”

Finn cleared his throat. “Just a bit. Dave sent me home early; wasn’t much to do.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

As he pulled his head back, she caught him, her crooked hands framing his face. “And you come straight over to visit your old nan. Not many young men would be bothered. I do love seeing you so often, lad.” She patted her right hand on his left cheek, and he flushed again, feeling a twinge of guilt for stopping to see Rae first.

He sat down on the seat next to her bed, glancing to the door, but there was no nurse tapping their watch impatiently, so he settled back.

“How’s your dad?” she asked. His dad had gotten a promotion at work, and was on a big project. Finn knew his dad felt bad that he couldn’t stop by as often as he did.

“Good, good. Says with all the overtime he’s been getting, he’s going to have to take us somewhere nice when you’re feeling up to a trip.” He winked at her; she shook her head good-naturedly.

Finn held his hands up. “His idea, not mine!”

Nan smiled. “The seaside might just be calling, if he can get away for a day or two this summer.”

She must be feeling loads better, if she were thinking about going up the shore.

The two of them reminisced about previous holidays at the sea for a few minutes, and then there was a nurse at the door, her uniform just a bit too tight, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a messy knot. She cleared her throat. “I’ve already let you stay fifteen minutes past,” she whispered loudly.

Finn nodded, pulling his bag onto his shoulder as he stood. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He gave his nan another kiss, and she beamed. “Next time you see me, I might be going home!”

He beamed back, but there was a fragment of worry at the back of his mind.

Rae.

[twh-news]

[Heartbreaking. That’s all I’m going to say. JUST READ IT. Plus there’s a video on the site!]

Tom! Hiddleston! Loves! This! Bolognese!

It’s amazing Bolognese, the most incredible Bolognese you’ve ever had. You think you’ve had great Bolognese? Try Tom Hiddleston’s Bolognese before you continue to talk about great Bologneses you’ve had in your life. (You braise it in the oven after browning it on the stove—that’s the thing. Also: Bacon! Also: Butter! He also loves bacon and butter!) He made this Bolognese last night, after we’d parted following day one of our two-day early-January walking tour of London, which was half Before Sunrise ten-mile stroll-and-chat through the city, half My Dinner with Andre philosophy symposium. He settled into his Camden house (alone) and spent the evening cooking and watching a screener of Moonlight (alone), which he could now confirm for me was as amazing! and riveting! and touching! as everyone has said.

He heats up some Bolognese for me and we make our plan for the day, which I correctly predict will involve another walk through another astonishingly beautiful park. Yesterday, it was Regent’s Park. Everyone knows about Hyde Park, but do they know about Regent’s Park? No, and I must see it. In the park, I pulled out my old Olympus digital mini tape recorder, and Tom Hiddleston looked at it and whistled in admiration: “Hello, Olympus! This is a great Dictaphone!” He’d used one to test himself on accents when he was at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.

Long walks, that’s his thing—to think stuff over, to figure out his lines, to process what’s going on in his life, both the triumphs (turning a routine Marvel villain into a fan favorite; a Golden Globe win for The Night Manager; the occasional Bond rumor; a UNICEF UK ambassadorship to South Sudan) and the heartache (“Hiddleswift”). On New Year’s Day, he says, Regent’s Park was even more beautiful than it was during our walk: It was foggy, and the lanterns were lit, but you couldn’t see anything beyond the mist. It reminded him of the London of old, the one he loves so much, the London of J. M. Barrie. It was a simpler time then. Lately he’s been thinking a lot about simpler times.

The Bolognese is even good cold! He’s heated it up, but it’s even good cold!

Please don’t think he’s being full of himself being full of his Bolognese. Tom Hiddleston is enthusiastic about everything: Barack Obama (“An enormously temperate man!”); his Thor director, Kenneth Branagh (“Such a humanist!”); Jonathan Franzen’s Purity (“It holds the Internet to account—it shows you how it can distort identity in an unhealthy way!”); Moana (“Incredible!”); Dwayne Johnson in particular (“That man radiates joy!”); Matt Damon (“I think he’s got real integrity!”); Michael Fassbender (“Extraordinary!”); Chiwetel Ejiofor (Amazing!”); this porridge he makes, which is just oatmeal and almond milk and chia seeds (“I’m obsessed!”).

This is important to keep in mind while you’re getting to know Tom Hiddleston: His zeal is bottomless. It’s one of many things that were it not for what we know about his personal life, we might already know more about. For example, you might already know he’s the kind of compelling, versatile actor who can leave his mark on all kinds of roles—as a slick spy in The Night Manager, an emo vampire in Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive, a condescending Asgardian god in Thor—but maybe instead of it being a thing you know about Tom Hiddleston, it’d be the thing he’s known for.

You might know, instead, that he’s an English gentleman of the purest caliber who has never spoken out of turn about any of his relationships, who roots for his co-stars and colleagues loudly (really loudly) over social media, who has never been caught flipping the bird at the paparazzi who hunted him after his famous breakup, who wouldn’t curse during my many hours with him no matter what the circumstance because his mother would be so disappointed to read it. If you took the measure of Tom Hiddleston without any influence from Daily Mail and In Touch Weekly stories, you might think to yourself: Here is a handsome, thoughtful man who is not wasting his potential, and that is a heartening thing to see in this world. Also, he’s tall. A thing you learn doing these interviews is that actors are always far shorter than you ever imagined. Tom Hiddleston isn’t. He is tall and strapping, and I kept thinking that it is so Tom Hiddleston to live up to the hype.

In his kitchen, he makes our third cup of tea of the day; by the end of my interview, we will both be in kidney failure from all this tea, and we will finish talking while hooked up to dialysis machines. We sit beneath a large canvas photograph of the big De Niro-Pacino confrontation scene in Heat, which is one of Tom’s favorite movies; there’s another Heat poster in the library. Heat is the best!

But in the pantheon of things Tom loves, the thing he loves most is Tom Hanks. Tom Hanks is the greatest—what a career that guy has! It’s clear why he might love him so much: Tom Hanks seems as all-in as Tom Hiddleston. “His decency is poured into everything he does,” he says of Hanks. Even the comedies. Even in Turner & Hooch! “I’m nowhere near Tom Hanks’s contribution or even close. All of it’s not high art, you know? But there is a value in it, you know, somehow, somewhere.” What he’s saying is: It’s worth it for us all to think about what we’re putting into the world. He’s saying it would be great to be known for your decency.

And here Hiddleston does a brief impression of Tom Hanks (he does very good impressions of everyone, including me after a day) that is hard to describe, except to say that it summons Tom Hanks in a very profound way. Its only flaw is also part of its charm: While he does the impression, he’s also looking at you to see how much you’re enjoying it, and then he can’t stop smiling when he sees that you are, so ultimately what you get is an impression of Tom Hiddleston enjoying himself doing a Tom Hanks impression.

This seems like a wise moment to address a sneaking suspicion that I batted away at first—inconceivable, given the physical specimen in front of me—until it became unavoidable: By most definitions, Tom Hiddleston is…uncool. His vulnerability, his enthusiasm, his Bolognese, these are not trademarks of a dashing movie star. And yet here he is, a sweet-natured bookworm trapped in the second act of a movie where the overlooked geek has been given the face and body of the only man who should ever be allowed to wear a suit (or jeans, or that long-sleeve navy T-shirt he wore when we had dinner).

But now consider uncoolness as a general thing, how in its most concentrated form it frees a certain 1 percent of people to be who they truly are, turning uncoolness into the ultimate coolness. Tom Hiddleston’s sincerity and eagerness to engage, to connect, go from making a confounding first impression to a genuinely winning second one.

On every level, Hiddleston is in: He’s there, he’s present, he’s yours, he’s heartfelt, he’s real. And that can be a double-edged Chitauri Scepter, since it leads to the stuff about Hiddleston that wounds him: the Golden Globes speech in which his enthusiasm for his UNICEF work plunged him into a YouTube-able-forever moment (and its subsequent apology) that I can only watch through my fingers; the infamous I ♥ T.S. tank top, which is now synonymous with the words “Tom” and “Hiddleston.” The world might not be ready for the kind of earnestness and sincerity that comes along with Tom Hiddleston. I am here to tell you that we would be a much happier race of humans if it were.

His conscientiousness was built into him as a boy by his father, who is the best chemist in the world. They lived in a modest home in Wimbledon along with his mother, who is the most compelling arts fund-raiser alive; his elder sister, Europe’s best journalist; and his younger sister, a gifted midwife with a singing voice that comes directly from God. The Hiddlefamily was solidly middle-class, but Tom’s parents sacrificed to send him to the best schools—Eton, Cambridge, and then RADA. He learned the basics of scrupulosity, though, from his father, who taught him that there is right and wrong, fact and myth, and that sometimes you have to work hard to spot the difference. This was a life lesson for Tom Hiddleston, passed down from father to son, but it’s also an acting lesson.

See, he thinks the audience deserves people who have studied. Acting isn’t about lying or pretending, the way people sometimes say it is. It’s about getting the experience of the person you are portraying exactly correct, and the way you do that is by going to the experts. In Skull Island, the Kong reboot, he plays a former British SAS soldier who is a renowned tracker, hired to help find whatever it is they’re looking for (which turns out to be monsters). For that performance he: read The Tracker, the seminal memoir by Ur-tracker hero Tom Brown Jr.; trained with a former Navy SEAL even though this is like the 70th time he’s played a soldier; and researched a jungle-warfare school in Malaya where actual British SAS soldiers are believed to have trained in the 1960s.

We’re at a pub he likes in Hampstead Heath called The Bull & Last—evening, day two—eating steak and broccoli. He does an impression of David Attenborough’s voice-over for Planet Earth II, which we’d watch a bit of after dinner, only Hiddleston’s narration is about him eating a bite of my meal (“…the male must dine on his companion’s steak…”).

Where would we be without experts, is his point. How would we learn? And so one of the things Tom Hiddleston is determined to fix about the world right now is what he calls our “strange public distrust of experts.” In his Twitter feed, which consists solely of enthusiastic re-tweets of film promotion and causes he loves, one tweet stands out: a Guardian article about the rise of fake news and how David Cameron’s name turned to pudding when the Daily Mail published an account of him sticking his dick into a dead pig’s head as an initiation rite.

[#twitter: https://twitter.com/twhiddleston/status/753155188542742528 ]

And guess where that all came from? An unconfirmed rumor and an anonymous source! But it doesn’t matter, Hiddleston points out: That story is now part of the David Cameron story. Which would be one thing if we knew for sure it was true, he says, but we don’t. Which is why it’s time for “a movement in critical thinking, to really resist this dilution of truth and holding people to account for twisting it or distorting it.”

(As if to underscore this: A few days after I returned to the States, a friend sent me a link to a Daily Mail article containing nine pictures of Hiddleston and a “mystery brunette”—me—hugging, laughing, and bidding each other farewell. For the record, I was laughing about his Attenborough impression; I was hugging him because we were saying good-bye after two days and because: Tom Hiddleston!)

So yes, fake news is a thing, and now is the time to talk about it. This is the first time he’s talked about any of this, he says—about politics, news, anything beyond the scope of his roles. He used to politely beg off. But he sees that’s no longer an option. We can’t afford complacency anymore. Look what’s happened in the past year to the world’s most powerful democracies.

Which is why he’s decided to step into the fray himself, consequences be damned. “If you’re under attack,” he says, looking me square in the eye, his voice raw, “if your values are under attack, if you’re being shamed, if you’re being humiliated, the animal response is to hide in the bush. It’s to be less, to make yourself smaller, to diminish in size and volume. And the lesson of 2016 is we have to love more, we have to risk more, we have to be braver, we have to be more outspoken.”

It wasn’t until much later that night, after we’d parted, that I realized we had started talking about Taylor Swift long before we started talking about Taylor Swift.

It is tempting to say that the union of Hiddleswift was cooked up in a panicked publicist’s office: That professional breakup lyricist Taylor Swift—who knew this very magazine was about to publish a story suggesting that maybe she hadn’t been so honest about whether she knew she’d be a lyric in Kanye’s “Famous,” that maybe there was even a videotape to prove it—urgently needed a professional, tactical, romantical distraction. That maybe a British actor who was trying to break through to an American audience sensed an opportunity to become something more here. Maybe those two urgent impulses led to them sitting on the rocks, having a perfect kissing moment, while a person with a camera stood not so far away and took pictures.

But—but—it is also equally possible that it was real. I mean, this happens, right? Beautiful people fall in love, don’t they? And these two made a kind of sense: They were similarly earnest and pale and high-rise and shiny. He had that James Dean daydream look in his eyes; she got his heart racing in her skintight jeans. Can we leave room for the notion that they fell in love?

It lasted three months. They ate dinner in restaurants; they traveled to England to meet his family, and to Australia, where he’d be shooting Thor: Ragnarok. But soon after that Australia trip, that was it, and we were left with only unconfirmed tertiary sources saying that Taylor did. not. like. how public he was with his affection, like, say, confirming their relationship to The Hollywood Reporter and generally walking around with a smile on his face like a man in love.

“Taylor is an amazing woman,” reads the prepared statement Tom Hiddleston has memorized and is now giving me at The Bull & Last, where his voice has gone low. “She’s generous and kind and lovely, and we had the best time.” But I didn’t ask that, I say. I asked something else. So I wait, and he says, “Of course it was real.”

I ask if he wants to say anything about Australia, about the Fourth of July party at which he donned that fateful tank top, about the rumors that she thought he was too eager. Does he want to say anything about any of it?

And here he puts down his fork, a bite of my steak still on it. He looks off into the middle distance, and here is what he says:

“The truth is, it was the Fourth of July and a public holiday and we were playing a game and I slipped and hurt my back. And I wanted to protect the graze from the sun and said, ’Does anyone have a T-shirt?’ And one of her friends said, ’I’ve got this.’ ” The friend pulled out the "I ♥ T.S." tank top that Taylor’s friends are contractually obligated to own. “And we all laughed about it. It was a joke.”

So that’s his statement on the entire relationship: an explanation of the tank top. “It was a joke,” he repeats. “Among friends.”

“I only know the woman I met. She’s incredible.” But, man, all those cameras. “A relationship in the limelight takes work. And it’s not just the limelight. It’s everything else.”

I can vouch for this depiction of Tom Hiddleston. He is definitely, without a doubt, someone who would put on an "I ♥ T.S." tank top, both to protect a scratch from sun damage and to make his new friends laugh while th—wait, sorry, he’s still talking:

“I have to be so psychologically strong about not letting other people’s interpretations about my life affect my life. A relationship exists between two people. We will always know what it was. The narratives that are out there altogether have been extrapolated from pictures that were taken without consent or permission, with no context. Nobody had the context for that story. And I’m still trying to work out a way of having a personal life and protecting it, but also without hiding. So the hardest thing is that that was a joke among friends on the Fourth of July.”

He still isn’t looking at me. The last piece of my steak is now poised on his fork in mid-air. He is so sad, and I can’t take it anymore, so I put my hand on his and I say, “Tom, Tom, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about the tank top anymore. I got it. I understand. I’ll tell the world.” But he can’t stop talking about it. He literally cannot stop talking about it.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just, I was surprised. I was just surprised that it got so much attention. The tank top became an emblem of this thing.” It’s hard to tell me this, he says. He wants to trust me. He wants to trust that the world won’t use this to embarrass him again, but he doesn’t know. He just knows it will follow him until he talks about it.

And anyway, none of this has anything to do with the person he fell in love with. “I only know the woman I met. She’s incredible.” But, man, all those cameras. “A relationship in the limelight… A relationship always takes work. A relationship in the limelight takes work. And it’s not just the limelight. It’s everything else.” He wanted a regular relationship. So did she, he says she said. “So we decided to go out for dinner, we decided to travel.”

After the breakup, he moved to Australia for Thor: Ragnarok, and each morning he’d wake up at five and go running, and the cameras would be there. “I’m getting up so I can do this job well. I’m getting up to go for my run so I can play Loki as well as I can.” Everywhere he went, whether it was checking e-mail on a park bench or looking at a menu, if he furrowed his brow it meant he was miserable and that would incite a new tabloid story about how hard he was taking all of this. It was a tough time, a public tough time. Chris Hemsworth gave him some good guidance; Hugh Laurie checked in. His family worried.

So you can think whatever you want about Tom Hiddleston, you can swift-boat Hiddleswift all you want. But he is as bewildered by the whole thing as you and I are.

He looks at me finally and he says, “I’m not going to live my life in hiding.”

The next morning, I wake up at five to pack for my flight back to New York, and I see an e-mail from Tom, sent the night before, asking if he could come to my hotel to talk to me about something. I tell him yes. He lives 20 minutes away; 15 minutes later he knocks on my door.

He explains that he wants to be honest with me, that it would be hypocritical of him to talk about honesty in the world and then not be with me. I have to understand, he says, that a relationship is between two people, that it doesn’t belong to him alone. But like David Cameron now knows, it is neither practical nor wise to let rumors hang in the air. He wants me to know that he has no regrets, he says, “because you have to fight for love. You can’t live in fear of what people might say. You know, you have to be true to yourself.”

But I understood all that, I tell him. I understood last night. It’s six in the morning, Tom. I have a flight to catch. And he shakes his head, feeling foolish because maybe there was something he thought he could say that wasn’t quite coming out the right way, and instead he says, “Yeah, okay, I just wanted to make sure.”

So we sit and talk for a while. We talk about how relationships go sideways, how the ripples of a breakup can still pin you to a wall even months later.

I turn my tape recorder off and I stand up, but he doesn’t. He shakes his head again, his hands clasped together, and he hangs his head. I sit back down and we talk some more because I finally understand that he isn’t here as someone who needs to explain his side in a PR battle; he’s here as someone who is still crushed by the end of a relationship.

So we sit and talk for a while. We talk about how relationships go sideways, how the ripples of a breakup can still pin you to a wall even months later. We talk about heartache. We talk about sadness and healing. We talk about what it’s like to love and what happens when the object of that love withdraws but all your love is still there. We talk about how those things can really change a person. The world will chip away at your optimism, and you just have to fight back. You have to be someone who is still full of joy and full of love, who can still use a word like “obsessed” about porridge. You have to be bold and open. You have to be honest. You have to be like Tom Hanks. We all have to be more like Tom Hanks.

He carries my luggage downstairs for me and I get into a cab for the airport, and I think about sincerity and I think about snideness and I wonder why so many of us seem so much more comfortable with snideness. I think about one of the last things he said to me, which was about David Bowie. Had he mentioned how much he loves David Bowie? He loves David Bowie! On New Year’s Eve, he listened to “Under Pressure” with his friends. ’Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word, he recites. And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night. And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves. This is our last dance, this is our last dance, this is ourselves. You should’ve seen his face when he was saying these words. His eyes were closed, and it was like he was in a trance. It was the best face!

Taffy Brodesser-Akner is a GQ writer.

This story originally appeared in the March 2017 issue with the title “We ♥ T.H.”

[hiddlesfashion]

Tom Hiddleston GQ March 2017 photoshoot. 

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Tom Hiddleston on Taylor Swift, Heartbreak, and Great Bolognese

Perhaps you learned his name only because of his recent three-month romance with Taylor Swift. But by then, Tom Hiddleston was already a beloved Marvel villain, James Bond short-lister, Night Manager leading man, and truly gifted wearer of suits (like the ones he‘s got on here, in this season’s color: brown). Taffy Brodesser-Akner heads to London to absorb the full blast of his English charm offensive—and find out why Tom and Taylor wound up on the rocks so Hiddleswiftly.

Tom! Hiddleston! Loves! This! Bolognese!

It’s amazing Bolognese, the most incredible Bolognese you’ve ever had. You think you’ve had great Bolognese? Try Tom Hiddleston’s Bolognese before you continue to talk about great Bologneses you’ve had in your life. (You braise it in the oven after browning it on the stove—that’s the thing. Also: Bacon! Also: Butter! He also loves bacon and butter!) He made this Bolognese last night, after we’d parted following day one of our two-day early-January walking tour of London, which was half Before Sunrise ten-mile stroll-and-chat through the city, half My Dinner with Andre philosophy symposium. He settled into his Camden house (alone) and spent the evening cooking and watching a screener of Moonlight (alone), which he could now confirm for me was as amazing! and riveting! and touching! as everyone has said.

He heats up some Bolognese for me and we make our plan for the day, which I correctly predict will involve another walk through another astonishingly beautiful park. Yesterday, it was Regent’s Park. Everyone knows about Hyde Park, but do they know about Regent’s Park? No, and I must see it. In the park, I pulled out my old Olympus digital mini tape recorder, and Tom Hiddleston looked at it and whistled in admiration: “Hello, Olympus! This is a great Dictaphone!” He’d used one to test himself on accents when he was at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.

Long walks, that’s his thing—to think stuff over, to figure out his lines, to process what’s going on in his life, both the triumphs (turning a routine Marvel villain into a fan favorite; a Golden Globe win for The Night Manager; the occasional Bond rumor; a UNICEF UK ambassadorship to South Sudan) and the heartache (“Hiddleswift”). On New Year’s Day, he says, Regent’s Park was even more beautiful than it was during our walk: It was foggy, and the lanterns were lit, but you couldn’t see anything beyond the mist. It reminded him of the London of old, the one he loves so much, the London of J. M. Barrie. It was a simpler time then. Lately he’s been thinking a lot about simpler times.

The Bolognese is even good cold! He’s heated it up, but it’s even good cold!

Please don’t think he’s being full of himself being full of his Bolognese. Tom Hiddleston is enthusiastic about everything: Barack Obama (“An enormously temperate man!”); his Thor director, Kenneth Branagh (“Such a humanist!”); Jonathan Franzen’s Purity (“It holds the Internet to account—it shows you how it can distort identity in an unhealthy way!”); Moana (“Incredible!”); Dwayne Johnson in particular (“That man radiates joy!”); Matt Damon (“I think he’s got real integrity!”); Michael Fassbender (“Extraordinary!”); Chiwetel Ejiofor (Amazing!”); this porridge he makes, which is just oatmeal and almond milk and chia seeds (“I’m obsessed!”).

This is important to keep in mind while you’re getting to know Tom Hiddleston: His zeal is bottomless. It’s one of many things that were it not for what we know about his personal life, we might already know more about. For example, you might already know he’s the kind of compelling, versatile actor who can leave his mark on all kinds of roles—as a slick spy in The Night Manager, an emo vampire in Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive, a condescending Asgardian god in Thor—but maybe instead of it being a thing you know about Tom Hiddleston, it’d be the thing he’s known for.

You might know, instead, that he’s an English gentleman of the purest caliber who has never spoken out of turn about any of his relationships, who roots for his co-stars and colleagues loudly (really loudly) over social media, who has never been caught flipping the bird at the paparazzi who hunted him after his famous breakup, who wouldn’t curse during my many hours with him no matter what the circumstance because his mother would be so disappointed to read it. If you took the measure of Tom Hiddleston without any influence from Daily Mail and In Touch Weekly stories, you might think to yourself: Here is a handsome, thoughtful man who is not wasting his potential, and that is a heartening thing to see in this world. Also, he’s tall. A thing you learn doing these interviews is that actors are always far shorter than you ever imagined. Tom Hiddleston isn’t. He is tall and strapping, and I kept thinking that it is so Tom Hiddleston to live up to the hype.

In his kitchen, he makes our third cup of tea of the day; by the end of my interview, we will both be in kidney failure from all this tea, and we will finish talking while hooked up to dialysis machines. We sit beneath a large canvas photograph of the big De Niro-Pacino confrontation scene in Heat, which is one of Tom’s favorite movies; there’s another Heat poster in the library. Heat is the best!

But in the pantheon of things Tom loves, the thing he loves most is Tom Hanks. Tom Hanks is the greatest—what a career that guy has! It’s clear why he might love him so much: Tom Hanks seems as all-in as Tom Hiddleston. “His decency is poured into everything he does,” he says of Hanks. Even the comedies. Even in Turner & Hooch! “I’m nowhere near Tom Hanks’s contribution or even close. All of it’s not high art, you know? But there is a value in it, you know, somehow, somewhere.” What he’s saying is: It’s worth it for us all to think about what we’re putting into the world. He’s saying it would be great to be known for your decency.

And here Hiddleston does a brief impression of Tom Hanks (he does very good impressions of everyone, including me after a day) that is hard to describe, except to say that it summons Tom Hanks in a very profound way. Its only flaw is also part of its charm: While he does the impression, he’s also looking at you to see how much you’re enjoying it, and then he can’t stop smiling when he sees that you are, so ultimately what you get is an impression of Tom Hiddleston enjoying himself doing a Tom Hanks impression.

This seems like a wise moment to address a sneaking suspicion that I batted away at first—inconceivable, given the physical specimen in front of me—until it became unavoidable: By most definitions, Tom Hiddleston is…uncool. His vulnerability, his enthusiasm, his Bolognese, these are not trademarks of a dashing movie star. And yet here he is, a sweet-natured bookworm trapped in the second act of a movie where the overlooked geek has been given the face and body of the only man who should ever be allowed to wear a suit (or jeans, or that long-sleeve navy T-shirt he wore when we had dinner).

But now consider uncoolness as a general thing, how in its most concentrated form it frees a certain 1 percent of people to be who they truly are, turning uncoolness into the ultimate coolness. Tom Hiddleston’s sincerity and eagerness to engage, to connect, go from making a confounding first impression to a genuinely winning second one.

On every level, Hiddleston is in: He’s there, he’s present, he’s yours, he’s heartfelt, he’s real. And that can be a double-edged Chitauri Scepter, since it leads to the stuff about Hiddleston that wounds him: the Golden Globes speech in which his enthusiasm for his UNICEF work plunged him into a YouTube-able-forever moment (and its subsequent apology) that I can only watch through my fingers; the infamous I ♥ T.S. tank top, which is now synonymous with the words “Tom” and “Hiddleston.” The world might not be ready for the kind of earnestness and sincerity that comes along with Tom Hiddleston. I am here to tell you that we would be a much happier race of humans if it were.

His conscientiousness was built into him as a boy by his father, who is the best chemist in the world. They lived in a modest home in Wimbledon along with his mother, who is the most compelling arts fund-raiser alive; his elder sister, Europe’s best journalist; and his younger sister, a gifted midwife with a singing voice that comes directly from God. The Hiddlefamily was solidly middle-class, but Tom’s parents sacrificed to send him to the best schools—Eton, Cambridge, and then RADA. He learned the basics of scrupulosity, though, from his father, who taught him that there is right and wrong, fact and myth, and that sometimes you have to work hard to spot the difference. This was a life lesson for Tom Hiddleston, passed down from father to son, but it’s also an acting lesson.

See, he thinks the audience deserves people who have studied. Acting isn’t about lying or pretending, the way people sometimes say it is. It’s about getting the experience of the person you are portraying exactly correct, and the way you do that is by going to the experts. In Skull Island, the Kong reboot, he plays a former British SAS soldier who is a renowned tracker, hired to help find whatever it is they’re looking for (which turns out to be monsters). For that performance he: read The Tracker, the seminal memoir by Ur-tracker hero Tom Brown Jr.; trained with a former Navy SEAL even though this is like the 70th time he’s played a soldier; and researched a jungle-warfare school in Malaya where actual British SAS soldiers are believed to have trained in the 1960s.

We’re at a pub he likes in Hampstead Heath called The Bull & Last—evening, day two—eating steak and broccoli. He does an impression of David Attenborough’s voice-over for Planet Earth II, which we’d watch a bit of after dinner, only Hiddleston’s narration is about him eating a bite of my meal (“…the male must dine on his companion’s steak…”).

Where would we be without experts, is his point. How would we learn? And so one of the things Tom Hiddleston is determined to fix about the world right now is what he calls our “strange public distrust of experts.” In his Twitter feed, which consists solely of enthusiastic re-tweets of film promotion and causes he loves, one tweet stands out: a Guardian article about the rise of fake news and how David Cameron’s name turned to pudding when the Daily Mail published an account of him sticking his dick into a dead pig’s head as an initiation rite.

And guess where that all came from? An unconfirmed rumor and an anonymous source! But it doesn’t matter, Hiddleston points out: That story is now part of the David Cameron story. Which would be one thing if we knew for sure it was true, he says, but we don’t. Which is why it’s time for “a movement in critical thinking, to really resist this dilution of truth and holding people to account for twisting it or distorting it.”

(As if to underscore this: A few days after I returned to the States, a friend sent me a link to a Daily Mail article containing nine pictures of Hiddleston and a “mystery brunette”—me—hugging, laughing, and bidding each other farewell. For the record, I was laughing about his Attenborough impression; I was hugging him because we were saying good-bye after two days and because: Tom Hiddleston!)

So yes, fake news is a thing, and now is the time to talk about it. This is the first time he’s talked about any of this, he says—about politics, news, anything beyond the scope of his roles. He used to politely beg off. But he sees that’s no longer an option. We can’t afford complacency anymore. Look what’s happened in the past year to the world’s most powerful democracies.

Which is why he’s decided to step into the fray himself, consequences be damned. “If you’re under attack,” he says, looking me square in the eye, his voice raw, “if your values are under attack, if you’re being shamed, if you’re being humiliated, the animal response is to hide in the bush. It’s to be less, to make yourself smaller, to diminish in size and volume. And the lesson of 2016 is we have to love more, we have to risk more, we have to be braver, we have to be more outspoken.”

It wasn’t until much later that night, after we’d parted, that I realized we had started talking about Taylor Swift long before we started talking about Taylor Swift.

It is tempting to say that the union of Hiddleswift was cooked up in a panicked publicist’s office: That professional breakup lyricist Taylor Swift—who knew this very magazine was about to publish a story suggesting that maybe she hadn’t been so honest about whether she knew she’d be a lyric in Kanye’s “Famous,” that maybe there was even a videotape to prove it—urgently needed a professional, tactical, romantical distraction. That maybe a British actor who was trying to break through to an American audience sensed an opportunity to become something more here. Maybe those two urgent impulses led to them sitting on the rocks, having a perfect kissing moment, while a person with a camera stood not so far away and took pictures.

But—but—it is also equally possible that it was real. I mean, this happens, right? Beautiful people fall in love, don’t they? And these two made a kind of sense: They were similarly earnest and pale and high-rise and shiny. He had that James Dean daydream look in his eyes; she got his heart racing in her skintight jeans. Can we leave room for the notion that they fell in love?

It lasted three months. They ate dinner in restaurants; they traveled to England to meet his family, and to Australia, where he’d be shooting Thor: Ragnarok. But soon after that Australia trip, that was it, and we were left with only unconfirmed tertiary sources saying that Taylor did. not. like. how public he was with his affection, like, say, confirming their relationship to The Hollywood Reporter and generally walking around with a smile on his face like a man in love.

“Taylor is an amazing woman,” reads the prepared statement Tom Hiddleston has memorized and is now giving me at The Bull & Last, where his voice has gone low. “She’s generous and kind and lovely, and we had the best time.” But I didn’t ask that, I say. I asked something else. So I wait, and he says, “Of course it was real.”

I ask if he wants to say anything about Australia, about the Fourth of July party at which he donned that fateful tank top, about the rumors that she thought he was too eager. Does he want to say anything about any of it?

And here he puts down his fork, a bite of my steak still on it. He looks off into the middle distance, and here is what he says:

“The truth is, it was the Fourth of July and a public holiday and we were playing a game and I slipped and hurt my back. And I wanted to protect the graze from the sun and said, ’Does anyone have a T-shirt?’ And one of her friends said, ’I’ve got this.’ ” The friend pulled out the “I ♥ T.S.” tank top that Taylor’s friends are contractually obligated to own. “And we all laughed about it. It was a joke.”

So that’s his statement on the entire relationship: an explanation of the tank top. “It was a joke,” he repeats. “Among friends.”

I can vouch for this depiction of Tom Hiddleston. He is definitely, without a doubt, someone who would put on an “I ♥ T.S.” tank top, both to protect a scratch from sun damage and to make his new friends laugh while th—wait, sorry, he’s still talking:

“I have to be so psychologically strong about not letting other people’s interpretations about my life affect my life. A relationship exists between two people. We will always know what it was. The narratives that are out there altogether have been extrapolated from pictures that were taken without consent or permission, with no context. Nobody had the context for that story. And I’m still trying to work out a way of having a personal life and protecting it, but also without hiding. So the hardest thing is that that was a joke among friends on the Fourth of July.”

He still isn’t looking at me. The last piece of my steak is now poised on his fork in mid-air. He is so sad, and I can’t take it anymore, so I put my hand on his and I say, “Tom, Tom, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about the tank top anymore. I got it. I understand. I’ll tell the world.” But he can’t stop talking about it. He literally cannot stop talking about it.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just, I was surprised. I was just surprised that it got so much attention. The tank top became an emblem of this thing.” It’s hard to tell me this, he says. He wants to trust me. He wants to trust that the world won’t use this to embarrass him again, but he doesn’t know. He just knows it will follow him until he talks about it.

And anyway, none of this has anything to do with the person he fell in love with. “I only know the woman I met. She’s incredible.” But, man, all those cameras. “A relationship in the limelight… A relationship always takes work. A relationship in the limelight takes work. And it’s not just the limelight. It’s everything else.” He wanted a regular relationship. So did she, he says she said. “So we decided to go out for dinner, we decided to travel.”

After the breakup, he moved to Australia for Thor: Ragnarok, and each morning he’d wake up at five and go running, and the cameras would be there. “I’m getting up so I can do this job well. I’m getting up to go for my run so I can play Loki as well as I can.” Everywhere he went, whether it was checking e-mail on a park bench or looking at a menu, if he furrowed his brow it meant he was miserable and that would incite a new tabloid story about how hard he was taking all of this. It was a tough time, a public tough time. Chris Hemsworth gave him some good guidance; Hugh Laurie checked in. His family worried.

So you can think whatever you want about Tom Hiddleston, you can swift-boat Hiddleswift all you want. But he is as bewildered by the whole thing as you and I are.

He looks at me finally and he says, “I’m not going to live my life in hiding.”

The next morning, I wake up at five to pack for my flight back to New York, and I see an e-mail from Tom, sent the night before, asking if he could come to my hotel to talk to me about something. I tell him yes. He lives 20 minutes away; 15 minutes later he knocks on my door.

He explains that he wants to be honest with me, that it would be hypocritical of him to talk about honesty in the world and then not be with me. I have to understand, he says, that a relationship is between two people, that it doesn’t belong to him alone. But like David Cameron now knows, it is neither practical nor wise to let rumors hang in the air. He wants me to know that he has no regrets, he says, “because you have to fight for love. You can’t live in fear of what people might say. You know, you have to be true to yourself.”

But I understood all that, I tell him. I understood last night. It’s six in the morning, Tom. I have a flight to catch. And he shakes his head, feeling foolish because maybe there was something he thought he could say that wasn’t quite coming out the right way, and instead he says, “Yeah, okay, I just wanted to make sure.”

I turn my tape recorder off and I stand up, but he doesn’t. He shakes his head again, his hands clasped together, and he hangs his head. I sit back down and we talk some more because I finally understand that he isn’t here as someone who needs to explain his side in a PR battle; he’s here as someone who is still crushed by the end of a relationship.

So we sit and talk for a while. We talk about how relationships go sideways, how the ripples of a breakup can still pin you to a wall even months later. We talk about heartache. We talk about sadness and healing. We talk about what it’s like to love and what happens when the object of that love withdraws but all your love is still there. We talk about how those things can really change a person. The world will chip away at your optimism, and you just have to fight back. You have to be someone who is still full of joy and full of love, who can still use a word like “obsessed” about porridge. You have to be bold and open. You have to be honest. You have to be like Tom Hanks. We all have to be more like Tom Hanks.

He carries my luggage downstairs for me and I get into a cab for the airport, and I think about sincerity and I think about snideness and I wonder why so many of us seem so much more comfortable with snideness. I think about one of the last things he said to me, which was about David Bowie. Had he mentioned how much he loves David Bowie? He loves David Bowie! On New Year’s Eve, he listened to “Under Pressure” with his friends. ’Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word, he recites. And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night. And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves. This is our last dance, this is our last dance, this is ourselves. You should’ve seen his face when he was saying these words. His eyes were closed, and it was like he was in a trance. It was the best face!