#got nicks hair no one else is allowed to wear this in the same act because i said so

[veone]

a sight for sore eyes

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[rahleeyah]

Did somebody ask for Nick Amaro punching Elliot Stabler in the face?

It's nice to be back in New York. He wishes it was under different circumstances - Christ does he wish - but he missed the city. LA isn't the same. Zara's there, and Gil's in San Diego, and they have both grown so much in the last five years and he wouldn't have missed that for anything, but he does wish, sometimes, that they could have stayed at home. In New York. 

He's come to bury his mother and clean out her apartment. Before that gets started, though, he's got some faces he wants to see. He doesn't know for sure if they'll still be there, doesn't know what he'll find, but he knows he has to look, and in his heart he believes that as long as Liv is still alive and in possession of two good legs, she'll be at SVU. That place, it's more than just a job, to her. It's a calling. She's a goddamn crusader. 

For a minute he stands looking up at the station, weighing whether or not he wants to go in. Whether or not he wants to know what's happened to Barba, and Carisi, and Fin, and Rollins. Shit. Rollins. No way is she still there, he thinks. 

He could have called. Should have called. Friends for life, he and Liv had promised each other, and they are, and they will be, but not the kind of friends who call each other and gab on the phone on Saturday afternoons. The kind of friends who'll take a bullet for each other, who'll drop everything and fly to the other side of the country after five years of no contact, if that's what they need. But not Facebook friends. It's just not in their DNA. They're bound by blood now; they don't need a phone call. 

So he takes a deep breath and walks into the station, gets on the elevator behind some asshole in a flashy suit like the kind Barba used to wear, and the guy is talking on his phone but he's pressed the button for SVU so Nick can't escape him, just has to stand there and listen. 

"I'm not asking, I'm telling," the guy says. "why? 'Cause I'm your father, that's why." 

The guy's tone and the words coming out of his mouth remind Nick forcefully of his own father, and that makes him hate this man he doesn't even know. The door slides open and Nick goes to step out but the guy must not have registered he's there; the guy almost steps on him on his way out of the elevator and doesn't even apologize, just hangs up his phone and goes heading towards SVU and Nick is once again following him. His knee never healed right and Nick isn't as quick as he used to be, and the guy gets further and further ahead of him. 

"She here?" The guy calls to a young female detective sitting at one of the desks. The squad room looks completely different, now, and for a second Nick feels like all the breath has just been knocked out of him. The girl says yeah, go on back, and the suit heads for Liv's office. Must be the ADA, Nick thinks. And shit, this is weird. It's like walking into his childhood home and seeing another family living there. It's like finding out there's no such thing as home, really. Like whatever home is, one day you stop belonging there. 

"Help you?" The girl calls to him. 

"Yeah," he says. It's too late to pretend he's not here. There's no sign of Rollins, or Fin, or Liv, but he's gonna do what he came here to do. 

"Is Benson around?"

The girl gives him an appraising look.

"Who's asking?"

Before he can answer, a voice is calling out behind him. 

"Nick?"

He turns, and there she is. Amanda Rollins. Still blonde, still beautiful, and shit, Carisi is standing right beside her. 

"Amanda," he says, and in the next second she's running at him, flinging her arms around him. They hit so hard he could have picked her clean up and spun her around, if it weren't for his bad knee. As it is he nearly goes flying, but he catches himself, and holds on to her tight. He's missed her, more than he wants to admit. 

"Oh, my God," she says as she pulls back. "It's so good to see you. You look good."

"Yeah," he says. "So do you." 

And she does, and he wishes that didn't hurt. 

"Carisi," he says next, and holds his hand out for a shake. Carisi’s hair has gone grey, and his suit is too flash for a cop, but he’s still Carisi, and he bats Nick’s hand away, and pulls him in for a hug.

“If we’d known you were coming we’d have gotten a cake or something,” Carisi says as they part.

“I wasn’t sure you guys would even still be here,” Nick tells them. “Kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Is Liv around?” 

As if in answer to his question the door to the Captain’s office opens behind them, and she comes walking out, with the suit hot on her heels. 

She stops dead in her tracks when she sees him, and shit, he just about stops breathing. That woman; she’s like a sister to him. Better than a sister; he trusts her more than his own blood. A thousand memories flash through his mind. The angry Liv he’d first met, calling him Serpico and looking at him like she was certain he wouldn’t last a week. Remember when you asked me about my father, and I told you it was a long story? It’s not that long. Standing beside her on the porch at the beach house, her clothes ripped and burned, her body bruised, her eyes wild. Liv’s eyes in the rearview mirror, Lewis’s blood sprayed across her face. Liv’s hands on him, while the EMTs wheeled him away after Johnny D shot him. Friends for life, Nick Amaro. 

Her hair is longer, and her face is more lined, but she’s still so goddamn gorgeous. She covers her heart with her hand, and he grins, and they both start to move, then, not running, but walking straight towards each other, determined, no one else in the world but them, in that moment, and the next thing he knows he’s got his arms wrapped around her, and she’s holding him so tight it almost hurts.

“Nick,” she whispers his name shakily, and he laughs, because he can tell she’s about to cry and shit he is, too. 

“Good to see ya, Liv,” he manages to choke out, and when he pulls back she reaches up and touches his face, her dark eyes searching his. She doesn’t have to say it; he knows she’s wondering if he’s ok, and he hopes she finds the answer in his face. Truth is, he’s doing better now than he was five years ago. Better than ten years ago. He’s settled. He’s happy. He hopes she is, too. 

“You gonna introduce me to your friend?”

This from the suit. The sound of his voice shatters the moment, and Liv pulls away, and Nick is thinking he really, really hates this guy. This guy with his easy arrogance, this guy whose voice, whose posture, whose belligerent expression reveals a possessiveness towards Liv that Nick doesn’t like, not one bit. Liv laughs and steps back from him but Nick keeps his hand resting at the small of her back. There’s a petulant part of his heart that wants this guy, whoever he is, to see Nick touching her. To know that he’s allowed to, that she’ll let him, that whatever problem the suit may have Liv cares about Nick. 

“Yeah,” Liv says, and a little bit of Nick’s anger fades, because she sounds happy. 

“This is Nick Amaro, my old partner.” He can hear the grin in her voice. “Nick, this is Elliot Stabler.”

It’s not something he can control. It comes over him so suddenly, so viciously; he always thought that when people talking about seeing red they were just exaggerating. He always thought people had more control over themselves than that. But Liv says that name, and damn if he doesn’t see red.

“Elliot Stabler?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Stabler answers, taking a step forward, and maybe he’s about to ask Nick if he’s got a problem with that, but he never gets the chance.

Stabler. The one who left her. The one who was the reason she was so standoffish, with Nick. The reason she was so angry all the damn time, walking around nursing a broken heart and letting it get her into trouble. The one with the anger issues and the dinged up service record that nearly derailed her whole career. The one with the wife at home, while Liv was half in love with him - Nick isn’t supposed to know that part, but he does. And anybody who could do that to Liv, who could hurt her so bad, treat her like she was second class, disposable, anybody who could stand there and act like he had a right to be by her side after all the shit he put her through, anybody like that, they’re gonna get what’s coming to them, courtesy of Nick Amaro. It’s been ten years since Stabler walked out on her, but however he came back, whatever the reason is for him standing here right now, Nick doesn’t give a single shit. He knows Liv and he knows she would never tell this guy just how bad he hurt her, just how much she lost when he left, knows she’s got a good heart and she’ll forgive the people she loves. She won’t hold this asshole accountable.

Nick, on the other hand, has no qualms about it. 

“Ok,” Nick says, and then before anyone can so much as take a breath, he hauls off and punches that smug son of a bitch right in the mouth, as hard as he can. And shit, but it feels good. 

[girlboss-molina]

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 1: Introductions

AO3 Link

Words: 5543

-----

Alex POV

...

Of course. 

Of fucking course.

He’d known it was coming, yeah, but that didn’t change the fact that, despite his friendship with Princess Julie, Alex had no desire to marry her. And now, after begging not to be married off, he was still stuck in this deal.

It had nothing to do with Julie herself, of course; Julie was a kind, loving, musical girl around his age. The issue was that he was gay. Marrying a girl was not something he was interested in. 

Julie knew Alex was gay; he’d come out to her after he was sure she would accept him, which he knew she would after she mentioned her best friend being a lesbian, and her being bisexual herself. Needless to say, neither of them had been thrilled by the announcement a couple years back that they would be getting married, for more reasons than the fact that nobody wants to be in an arranged marriage. 

And now, in three months time, he would be at the alter with a girl he wasn’t in love with. 

Alex knew it wouldn’t be that bad; in fact, he and Julie were quite close friends. Their kingdoms, Tambor and Dahlia respectively, were close allies. But for some godforsaken reason, their leaders had felt the need to strengthen their allyship by setting up their heirs in an arranged marriage. Had Alex been the oldest, this wouldn’t have been the case. However, it wouldn’t be him, but his older sister, Ava, taking the throne of Tambor. 

He, along with his guards, would be travelling to Dahlia this evening. He hated that it was so soon. Not that he wasn’t excited to see Julie, he was, but it was the reason that put a knot in his stomach.

Alex allowed himself one more panic attack before getting ready. As a treat.

The warm sun streaming into his room felt out of place with the dread settling in his stomach, and his breath choked, his heart racing, salty tears streaming down his face. He clenched his hands into fists and back out, trying to calm himself despite the emotional release. His nails dug into his palm, not hard enough to cut, but enough to leave little indents that he then ran his fingertips across. 

Trying to pull himself together, he stood - albeit shakily - and walked across the soft, carpeted floor to his full-length mirror, pleasantly surprised as he noted that he wasn’t as big of a mess as he’d expected, given his previous panic. 

A knock on his door alerted him that his head butler was there to help him get ready for the jet ride.

“Your highness, are you alright?”

Alex didn’t answer, grateful for Luke’s steady voice outside his door.

“He’s a little panicky at the moment. Maybe give him a few minutes to settle?” he suggested, and Alex hoped Luke was receiving the strong thank you vibes he was trying to transmit telepathically. 

Any time Alex had a panic attack, he was semi-verbal. He could speak if he really, really tried, but it generally took a great deal of effort. He and Luke had a system, though; if Alex needed support during a panic attack, he would fake-sneeze three times, and Luke would come in from his station outside Alex’s door. 

Alex allowed himself another minute to calm his breathing and wipe the tears from his face, practicing the grounding exercise Julie had taught him. 

Inhale- 1, 2, 3, 4

Hold- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Exhale- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

It helped a lot, and soon he was able to straighten his hair and begin changing into the suit his tailors had made just for this occasion. 

Another knock echoed from his door, and Alex took one final deep breath to compose himself. 

“Come in,” he said, proud of how steady his voice was. 

The butler entered; a kind man named Erik, who Alex had gotten to know over the past month or so. His olive skin shone in the afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Alex dressed himself, for the most part; having butlers help him dress was never something he particularly enjoyed. He allowed Erik to smooth his white dress shirt, though; no matter how many times Alex had practiced tucking in his shirts, they always ended up wrinkled. 

He slid the navy suit vest over the shirt once it was nice and smooth, fastening the thick buttons over his stomach. Minimalistic gold embroidery on the vest sparkled in the light, and Alex couldn’t help but smile at the bit of flair. He’d been half-hoping that his matching navy pants would have a bit of sparkle as well, but to no avail. Probably for the best, he decided. Just a little touch was enough. 

He fixed the cuff of his sleeve, taking a breath as Erik reached up with a comb to fix his hair. It was simple but refined, how it always was. 

“Erik, you’ve outdone yourself with this one, bro!” Alex said excitedly. He might not be very pleased about being in an arranged marriage, but he could appreciate a good suit. “I love the details.”

“I’m glad you like it!” Erik beamed with the praise. “May I?” he asked, reaching for Alex’s shoulders. Alex nodded, and Erik smoothed the vest’s warm fabric, readjusting the hem until it was aligned perfectly. 

He might not have been the type of guy to always wear suits, unless necessary, but Alex had to admit it. He looked good. The slim fit outlined his muscles, and the deep blue of the vest and pants brought out the bluish tints in his blue-green-grey eyes. (nobody could seem to decide what color they actually were). The small touches of golden embroidery shone and somehow managed to accentuate the sun-born highlights in his hair. 

“You look wonderful, your highness.”

“Thanks, Erik. And you can call me Alex, we’re chill.” Alex had been insisting to Erik that he could be casual around him for months, but Erik still generally referred to him as “your highness.”

“Alex,” he corrected with a broad smile. “Well, Alex, you have a photoshoot for the press in ten minutes, so if there’s anything else I can do to get you ready, don’t hesitate to ask. Though I must say, you look awesome.” Alex let out a small laugh. 

“Thanks, dude. Oh, wait, before you go, could you tell me something?”

“Of course,” Erik replied. Alex put on his Serious Face.

“Do these pants make my butt look big?” Erik bust out laughing, and Alex couldn’t help but do the same. 

...

Three hours later, Alex was finally done with an exhaustive photoshoot. He hated having his picture taken; add that to the list of anxieties. He had to make sure he looked perfect, or everything could go wrong; that was what his parents had drilled into him from the moment he had his first real photoshoot. 

Of course, he still had to endure an interview with the Tambor Times Magazine, which he was dreading. Speaking to an overeager journalist with no respect for privacy was never something he looked forward to. 

“What are your thoughts on the marriage that has been arranged between you and Her Royal Highness, Princess Julie of Dahlia?” Alex cleared his throat.

“It’s definitely a unique situation,” he started. “I mean, not every nineteen-year-old is part of an arranged marriage.” He did his best to keep his voice light, and it must’ve worked, because the journalist gave a laugh and moved on. 

“If I may, what is your current relationship with her?”

“The princess and I share a close bond,” was the only answer he gave. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be going,” he added. “I have a flight to catch.” He grinned - He didn’t have to catch any flight. He would be on the royal family private jet. But the journalist smiled and shook his hand, instructing him to have a wonderful evening, and he did the same. 

The bit about catching a flight wasn’t entirely false, though; soon, he had wished his parents a good evening and boarded the jet with his suitcases, hoping to leave his anxiety in Tambor.

-----

Julie POV

...

So.

Here’s the thing. 

Julie liked Alex, she really did. He was one of her closest friends (princesses don’t get out much). But he was gay, And Julie was decidedly Not A Guy. Plus, they both knew their connection was strongest platonically, anyway. 

Of course, none of that matters in diplomacy. 

Julie had tried many, many times to get out of the arranged marriage. But she’d just turned eighteen, and Alex nineteen, and apparently their kingdoms had no such qualms about marrying off teenagers. 

At least her dad, King Ray, had tried to get her out of it. But even as king, there was only so much he could do; everybody except for him thought it was a grand idea, because Of Course They Did. And once the public had heard the news, when she was sixteen, Julie couldn’t look out her window without seeing photographers outside the palace gates for a week. 

She supposed there was nothing she could do about it now, though, no matter how much she wanted to, for her sake and Alex’s. 

At least he was someone she got along with well. She knew they would never be in love, for multiple reasons, but she wouldn’t be unhappy. Alex might, though. They’d stayed up late on many a night, him rambling about cute guys he’d seen amongst the palace staff or on his occasional trip to the city, her chatting about songs she’d been writing and the one guy she’d had a crush on, Nick. 

Nick was the son of a nobleman her dad was very close with, and they were good friends, but she’d never acted on her little crush. Her feelings for Nick hadn’t really gone anywhere, it was just a lingering crush she’d had for a few years, but one that had faded with time.

Julie sighed, smoothing out her dress. It was simple but elegant, with a little bit of Julie flair. The silky violet fabric was cut in a slim fit to her waist, before gently flaring outwards towards her ankles. Off-the-shoulder straps revealed the dark skin of her shoulders, and the pearly embroidery of dahlia flowers around her waist shone in the light, tapering off as she twirled, though as she practiced her camera smile, it didn’t reach her eyes. 

Alex was her friend, but neither of them wanted to get married. But she’d tried her hardest to get them out of it, to no avail. 

So, as she sat down at her vanity, Julie closed her eyes and reminded herself the words her mother used to tell her every time she was scared. 

It’ll all be okay, Jules. You’re strong, and you’re a diamond in the rough.

The words settled her stomach a little bit. 

Her lady-in-waiting, Mira, knocked on her door. 

“Come in,” Julie said. Mira bustled in, her flaming red hair pulled into a messy bun, her brown eyes sparkling. 

“Oh, Jules, you look lovely.” Julie smiled.

“Thanks, Mira. How’s my hair?” Julie reached up to smooth her curls, which had been combed back and woven into a thick, braided knot at the base of her neck.  

“Almost perfect, but it needs a little something,” Mira decided with a smirk. Julie had no idea what Mira had in mind, but she knew she would love it. 

Before either of them could say another word, Flynn walked into Julie’s room, followed by her girlfriend, Carrie. 

“Hey, underachiever,” Flynn greeted with a smile.

“Hey, disappointment!”

“Dude,” Flynn said, a serious look on her face. “That dress is the shit!” Carrie nodded enthusiastically. 

“A definite look.”

“Thanks guys,” Julie said with a grin. “I love it, too! Mira’s got some sort of magic in her hands, because this is one of my favorites for sure.” Mira blushed. 

“Well, I’m not quite done,” she admitted. “Jules, your color scheme is pink, purple, and blue, usually, right?”

“Yeah, usually! I can always get behind some other colors, though.”

“Of course. But I think for this dress, the pink-purple-blue scheme would fit the best.”

“Definitely,” Carrie jumped in. “The purple mediates the pink and blue, so those are like side accents.” 

“I like this one,” Mira decided, pointing at Carrie. Carrie flipped her hair and smiled. “But yes. So, I was thinking for your hair, we could weave in some thin ribbons in those colors? It would be super simple, wouldn’t even have to take it out and restyle it.”

“Work your magic,” Julie instructed. Mira grinned excitedly and set to work, sitting Julie down at the vanity.

“Okay, Jules,” Flynn sighed. “I know you don’t want me to ask this, but are you doing okay?” Carrie took Flynn’s arm and nodded. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. Either of you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Julie decided. She didn’t want to marry Alex, and she knew he felt the same way. “At least it’s not somebody I hate, though. Alex and I get along really well.”

“I know,” Carrie added. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be okay.” A single tear rolled down Julie’s cheek, and she was grateful she hadn’t done her makeup yet.

“Thanks. To be honest, I’m not really okay, but I’ll live. And besides, it’s not for another three months. And having another friend around for a few months will be nice. Before, you know, I have to marry him.” Flynn let out a sad laugh. 

“If I may add my input,” Mira began, “I’ve always hated the prospect of arranged marriages. At the very least, both people should have to agree with it.” Julie nodded, quickly stopping when she felt the ribbons Mira was weaving into her hair tug. “Sorry,” she added. “I’ll be done in just a moment.”

“I agree,” Carrie said. “It’s stupid. Dahlia and Tambor are already allies, so why are they even doing this?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. My dad says it’s to ‘strengthen agreeability between our separate civilians.’ But at least tried to get me out of it,” she added. “King Xavier and Queen Claire both thought it was a great idea.” Julie had always held some bitterness towards Alex’s parents, given their closed-mindedness and apathy towards minorities and less fortunate people. Alex had always felt the same, and avoided coming out to them for those reasons. 

“Well, I personally think it’s homophobic that my best friend is being forced to be part of an arranged marriage,” Flynn decided, “because I’m gay and it annoys me. Plus, you know, she doesn’t want to be part of it.” Julie couldn’t help but laugh at that, as did Mira. 

“All done with the ribbons,” she said, handing Julie a mirror to see the back of her head. 

“Oh, Mira, I love it!” The ribbons were braided through her thick hair, swooping around the knot, twisting through her own curls and holding the hairstyle together perfectly. Both pretty and practical. 

“I’m glad!” Mira looked very proud of herself, for a good reason. Julie’s lady-in-waiting was definitely a woman to be admired (and feared - she’d taken down a full-grown man in a self defense class, while wearing heels). Julie could walk in heels, even run in them, but she’d tried fighting in them, and failed miserably. She might’ve been competent fighting in regular shoes, but heels were a different story. Mira, though, could do it all. 

Mira’s phone dinged. 

“Oh, Jules, it’s time for the pre-meetup photoshoot!”

“Got it. Thanks, Mira, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Forget about your photoshoots, probably.”

…

The photoshoot involved lots of candid shots of her in the garden, doing her best to look serene, and not show the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. But somehow, she actually managed to get through it without losing it. 

“Wonderful, miss. Turn towards me, look to your left- yes, perfect.” The photographer’s voice faded as she obeyed his instructions, a human robot running correctly but with wandering thoughts. 

“You look so natural, miss!” he complimented. Julie offered a smile, returning to her thoughts. There had to be a way to get her and Alex out of this. But she couldn’t think of any that wasn’t treasonous, illegal, or flat-out stupid. Of course, as a teenage girl, she felt she deserved to be a little stupid sometimes, but apparently that was “unbecoming of a princess” and “a bad influence.” Personally, she just thought that was biphobic.

-----

Luke POV

...

Luke hadn’t ever traveled much, let alone to a neighboring kingdom, so needless to say, he was pumped to get to visit Dahlia for three months at least. His hope was that, even though no one involved wanted the marriage to happen, they could find a bright side in him getting to stay with his best friend. 

Of course, that didn’t change the fact that he felt bad for his charge and best friend, Alex. He knew Alex was gay; in fact, they’d “dated” for a few weeks when they were fourteen. But even after deciding they were better as friends, they were close, maybe even closer afterwards. Luke told Alex everything; he didn’t know if he had a secret that Alex didn’t know. 

Everyone in the palace was used to seeing him and Alex wandering the grounds, goofing off, messing around in the music studio, what have you. Technically, Luke was a junior guardsman, and given his bond with the prince, had been assigned (along with an actual guard) to be his security detail. That had evolved into an even stronger friendship, though. Years passed, and soon they were inseparable. 

Luke had done his best to cheer up Alex; seeing his best friend that upset was heartbreaking. But there was nothing he could actually do to help, so he settled for laying next to Alex on the floor and staring at the high ceilings.

An hour passed, and soon the afternoon sun was streaming into Alex’s room. Luke saw Alex drag a hand down his face. 

“I guess you should start getting ready, then?” he asked.

“Probably.” Luke patted his shoulder. “Do you think it would be too drastic to fake my death?” Luke laughed, knowing Alex was joking, though it wouldn’t have actually surprised him. Alex and Julie were friends, but neither of them wanted to get married. Especially not the gay guy, very publicly, to a girl. 

Luke stood up, giving Alex a mock salute, and walked out the door, closing it behind him. 

He stood there for a few minutes, straightening his back as a senior guardsman passed him. He ducked his head in a nod, relaxing a moment later. As much as he might’ve come off as a chill guy, he was worried for Alex; even more so when he heard Alex’s breathing quicken from the other side of the wall, his footsteps pacing back and forth. 

The panic attack shouldn’t have surprised him. Alex had clinical anxiety, and this was probably one of the most stress-inducing times of his life. Being forced into an arranged marriage - even if you’re friends with the other person - is no fun for anybody. And today he would be going to the Dahlia palace to stay for three months before the ceremony.

Luke fiddled with the hem of his jacket; it was charcoal black, and thick and protective, with eight buttons on the wide front, crossing his chest. He’d gotten used to it, but despite that, he still started sweating in the warm weather of Tambor. The red sash crossing over the jacket had golden embroidery on the edges, and he quite enjoyed running his fingers over the textured thread. 

Luke could still hear Alex panicking, but there were no sets of three fake sneezes in between the rapid breaths, so he stayed. Alex was able to recognize when he needed support, and when he needed to be left alone. 

Luke spotted Erik nearing him. He couldn’t stop him, but Erik was aware of Alex’s anxiety, so Luke wasn’t concerned. He smiled at Erik, giving him a look, warning him that Alex was having a panic attack. Erik nodded, knocking gently on the door. 

“Your highness, are you alright?” When Alex didn’t respond, Luke jumped in. 

“He’s a little panicky at the moment. Maybe give him a few minutes to settle?” Erik nodded, and Luke gave a relieved smile. 

“You look nervous as well,” Erik noted. 

“Well, I am, a little bit,” Luke admitted. “I’ve never been to Dahlia, but I’m going with Alex since I’m his head guard and Royal Best Dude™.” Erik grinned. “I’m excited, though! I bet it’ll be a lot of fun.”

“I’m so jealous,” Erik told him. “I’ve never been outside of Tambor.”

“I’m worried for Alex, though. He’s really nervous.”

“Yeah,” Erik agreed, a flicker of understanding rushing across his face that made Luke smile despite himself. If he was being honest, Luke had a tiny crush on Erik, but nothing substantial. “I mean, it’s gotta suck being closeted to everyone but a few people, and having to marry a girl.” Luke nodded. 

“I wish there was something we could do about it.”

…

Luke stood guard off-camera while Alex had his pre-meetup photoshoot and interview. It was what he always did, though this time it felt different, like he was a silent supporter during a tough time, now more than ever. 

If nothing else, he could reassure Alex that he looked fabulous in his suit - it wasn’t a lie, either. The navy blue fabric complimented his eyes perfectly, and the golden details were a stunning addition. Tie that with his sharp jaw and awkward, endearing personality? Anybody would simp for him. He had a feeling that many people did, too; Some of Alex’s best photos from these shoots would be printed in the Tambor Times Magazine, and he would also post some - as well as his own selfies - on his instagram. Luke had seen the comments, and always smirked at Alex given the amount of heart-eyed emojis and key smashes there were. 

Luke stood behind the cameraman for the candid shots where they needed Alex to be smiling or laughing. No matter how much he practiced, Alex could never get a good candid smile, so Luke took it upon himself to stand behind the photographer making faces, or occasionally imitating their every move with mock seriousness. 

When Alex’s musical laugh rang through the air, Luke patted himself on the back. 

Worked every time. 

He worked his magic for a few more shots afterwards, doing his best to make Alex laugh. It wasn’t just for the photos, though, it was to help him settle down. Luke knew this was a horrible situation, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he’d have to try to make it more bearable. 

After Alex’s interview, Luke could tell that the reality of the situation was hitting him even more, as a flicker of fear shadowed his face, his hands clenched into fists. Luke walked towards him slowly, making sure Alex was okay with it, and when he didn’t retract, he put his hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. And as Alex seemed to relax, nodding and pulling Luke into a hug, that was when he knew.

Alex was his best friend, and didn’t deserve any of this pain or fear. He deserved for things to be okay.

Luke would keep that promise, no matter what.

-----

Reggie POV

...

Reggie knew he was Princess Julie’s honorary older brother; it had been that way for years, after he ran away from his own pathetic excuse for a home. He was lucky King Ray was a kind man; he could’ve just as easily left him there where he’d found him, a nine-year-old in the street of the raining Dahlia capital city. But he’d taken Reggie in, and soon, Reggie was part of the royal family, even if not by blood. 

Now, given that he was Julie’s honorary older brother, he hated that she was being put into an arranged marriage. She was eighteen, for God’s sake! Reggie was nineteen, and knew for a fact he wouldn’t have been able to handle it nearly as gracefully as she did. Then again, while she was young, playful, and vibrant, Julie was also the epitome of grace and poise; she’d grown up in a palace, after all. 

Needless to say, though, Reggie was sure he wouldn’t be able to not be protective of Julie when Prince Alexander came. He’d met him before, but only briefly; in passing after dinner during visits, mostly. It did help Reggie’s nerves to remember that Alexander was a very sweet, reserved person from his own interactions with the man. But that was his little sister, and while she wasn’t completely devastated, Reggie knew she didn’t want it to happen. 

He dragged a hand down his face, flopping down on his bed. He wanted so badly to help Julie out of this, but he couldn’t. 

Hey, at least he could cheer her up with his jokes! She always said they were awful, but Reggie knew better. Only the finest of jokes could make Her Royal Highness, Princess Julie Molina of Dahlia, laugh until her sides hurt, even coming from her honorary older brother, Sir Reginald Molina. 

He smiled to himself. He might not be able to stop this whole predicament, but he could help her through it.

Reggie hopped up, fixing his suit. The silky red fabric of the vest hadn’t creased at all, nor had his grey suit pants, and yet he still felt the need. He did, however, roll the sleeves of his black dress shirt to expose his forearms, because come on. Even with Dahlia’s cool climate, he still got hot, especially when the sun was streaming through his windows, and he had a few photos outside before Prince Alexander’s arrival. Plus, it didn’t hurt that, according to his Instagram followers, the rolled sleeves made him look “personable” and “hotter than the sun.” 

Reggie ran a finger over the shimmering black embroidery of the vest, then winking at the mirror and pulling his best finger guns. It was his god-given right as a fancy bisexual. 

He ran his hand through his expertly-styled hair, letting some of his waves free from their stiff hold. It wasn’t the perfect style it had been when his butler styled it a couple hours ago, but it was more of his own style, which he liked a bit better. Spinning on his heel and slipping a hand in his pocket, Reggie walked out his door and down the light-filled corridor, down to the front steps, waving to Mira along the way. As he stepped outside, he heard people outside of the palace gates start shouting. He gave a wink and playful salute, even daring to blow a kiss in the general direction of a cute girl. He noticed Julie rolling her eyes, the photographer seizing the moment to take some shots of him on the palace steps. 

He jogged over to Julie, wrapping his arm around her. 

“How are you doing, your highness?”

“I’m doing okay,” she said, though both of them knew it was a lie. “How about you, Reg?”

“I’m okay as well. Just popping in to see my fangirls-” he winked at the crowd behind the gate, and a chorus of teenage girls (and a few boys) all sighed dreamily- “and check on you. We both know you’re lying.” Julie groaned.

“This whole thing just sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” he agreed. “But I’ll be here for you every step of the way. You know that, right dude?”

“You’re such a sappy loser,” she told him, and he put her in a playful headlock, posing for the camera.

“I know.” Reggie might’ve been a “sappy loser” of a brother, but he knew that, in Julie’s book, he was a sappy loser (affectionate), and that she understood that he was there for her. 

Hopefully that would be enough. 

-----

Willie POV

...

Willie had never actually gotten to know Princess Julie, but he’d met her a couple times. He was a chef in the palace kitchens, and on occasion, Julie would come down to try to get to know people. He’d never truly had a long conversation with her, but in the interactions they’d had, she was kind, and had a musical air to her. 

He’d seen pictures of the prince she was set to marry, Prince Alexander of Tambor. If Willie was being honest, he was kind of cute.

Okay, really cute. 

He’d never actually met the guy, but he seemed nice. His photos on Instagram had good vibes, at least. Willie couldn’t help but hope he’d get to meet him when he came to visit. If it was just because his brain was screaming cute boy, that was nobody’s business but his. 

Willie sprinkled more flour on the dough he was kneading, folding it in some more. It was cathartic, this repetitive motion. It helped calm his ADHD sometimes. He kept going.

Sprinkle. Fold. Roll.

Sprinkle. Fold. Roll.

Kneading the dough until it wasn’t sticky, he listened to the head chef, Lilian, shout orders at the rest of them. She was a very intimidating woman, tall and muscular, with raven black hair in a sleek ponytail, and fair skin flecked with flour. But she was quite kind, Willie had come to learn over the years. She was just one of those people who scared you if you didn’t know them. 

He put the dough in a pan, setting it in the oven and flicking on the light so he could monitor its progress, as could anyone else walking by. Wiping the flour from his hands to his apron, he then put his dishes and utensils in the giant dishwasher, finally washing his hands and grabbing a new bowl. 

Tonight was the welcome feast for Prince Alexander. Willie and a few others were in charge of baking loaves of bread for the appetizers, as well as making the desserts; today, mini chocolate mousse cakes. 

Dessert was always Willie’s favorite course to prepare, and not just because he could steal bits of frosting from the spatulas after he was finished. It was also because of how making desserts seemed to put everyone in the kitchens in a good mood. Maybe it was the smell of rising sugar, or the bright colors of the tubs of sprinkles, but he adored it. 

He cracked the eggs into the mixture of butter and sugar, adding the milk and flour soon after. As he poured in the cocoa powder, a little bit poofed up, creating a chocolatey cloud. The noise of the mixture did nothing to silence his racing thoughts, though. 

Would he get to meet Prince Alexander?

Would he like him?

And most importantly, why did he want to so badly? 

Willie shook his head, doling the batter into mini cake pans and tapping them on the counter to get rid of any air bubbles, sticking them in an oven after it beeped to temperature. 

Another oven beeped.

“Hey, Alyssa?” he called to a plump woman a few meters away. “Could you check on the bread in that oven to your right?” She nodded and leaned down, giving him a thumbs up.

“Probably needs another minute or so, but it looks great.”

“Sick, thanks!” Alyssa nodded and smiled, her dyed-purple hair shimmering in its bun. 

Willie grabbed the ingredients he would need for the mousse, arranged them on the counter, then jogged over to the other oven and pulled out the bread - without putting on oven mitts.

He hissed in pain but didn’t let go, quickly putting it on the stovetop and running to a sink to run his fingers under cold water.

Willie already had tons of scars and calluses on his hands, both from cooking and skateboarding on his off-days, so the burn didn’t hurt nearly as bad as it would’ve a few years ago. And by some miracle, it didn’t blister - though it did swell and turn red. Willie cursed under his breath, heading to the first-aid kit and smearing some ointment on it and covering it with a bandage. 

“Let me guess,” said Lilian from behind him. “You forgot oven mitts again?”

“Guilty,” he said with a grin. Lilian sighed, but didn’t manage to hide her smile. 

“Willie, you need to be more careful. I know your brain always has, like twenty thoughts going at all times, but you could hurt yourself.”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected. “And I know, but you only live once, and I didn’t want the bread to burn.”

“Five seconds to grab a mitt wouldn’t burn the bread.”

“Hey, there’s a first time for everything.” Lilian rolled her eyes and gently swatted him on the shoulder. It wasn’t a mean move, of course, it was her saying she was exasperated but that she cared about you. Willie laughed and went back to his mixing bowl, getting ready to prepare the mousse.

This would be perfect.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Vampire Girlfriend (Faline)

The Lady of Gluttony

The night was dark yet lovely, and from the open curtains of the room you stood in, you questioned whether the moon had always been so crimson and bloody than any other night. 

You sat with idle thought, the cup of red wasn’t much to calm your nerves but it was still enough to get you through the evening with no worries or fears. The fears that usually build up inside you whilst you stayed; never knowing of the true intent what the manor’s owner would lay on you.

The Foxhall Manor was just as extravagant and precocious as its owner: the luscious and voluptuous lady Faline D'Aramitz had a history who’s family name brought and attracted them to the land and to build the manor they called their home for generations.

Lady Faline D'Aramitz - the Sanguine Fox - had brought herself a reputation through the years, and certainly, through acquaintances, you had been most curious of the woman who now owned the million-dollar property.

You huffed into your cup with a remorseful sigh, the sound coming through from the background as you tried listening in; incoherent music, preferably jazz was what she liked most, played softly in the solemn air.

You kept your eye towards the entrance of the large reception: continuing to watch on out the large stainless window, tempted for a second to drown your sorrows with a tune on the piano you could remember from playing in your youth. Yet, you stayed in your spot, listening.

Faint footsteps became loud ones, distinct and confident, even when you could hear another pair fumbling to stand as two people walked faster towards the entrance of the grand room.

High heels, the classic garbs for her lady to wear.

There, before you, she appeared, slunk and holding to her like a babe was a man you had wanted to forget their name that same evening; his suit askew, head sloshed and guarded against seeing his face, trying his best to keep the drink in his loose grip.

“Love, there you are. Hiding from me, you ran off from Nathanial and I.” Faline was slim and tall, with a slender build that made her look like an ethereal goddess than mortal being. 

She was eternal, just like her beauty, chestnut hair falling in loose curls down her back, skin a soft milky colour, those eyes were made up with eyeliner but she pulled it off so nicely to match her hazel eyes. Lips always coloured in a ruby red tint; her signature look.

She had dressed nicely for the evening, to impress as she called it, a party all the time that she liked to pull off for all her guests. She was lavish as much as she was, a beauty of a gem that was a rough as glass.

“I had to get some air.” You drew back, nostrils flared from the amount of alcohol pouring into Nathanial’s system, and you could clearly recall he hadn’t drunk that much for the evening.

“Yes, yes, I know it can get rather stuffy in here. But now look-- you’ve crumpled your dress. And it was such a nice one too.” Faline’s words and tone always pulled up with a certain allure, like a sweet major key never-ending, it was enticing to listen to. There was a pout to her red lips, eyes looking you down with grand wanton.

You disregarded her comment, never being one to dress for those that she called partners of her empire, the business she had run under her family’s name. 

“Come come, let me look at you, dear.” She dropped the man in her grip with no struggle, the poor man crumpling like paper to the loveseat with little trouble, and staying there with no complaint or sound.

She swept over him, closing in on you like an awaiting hawk to dive through the air to latch onto a rabbit, and you didn’t mind the thought of being her little prey. 

“My, that dress I got you will never be the same again. Whatever will I do with you, love.” Her lips curled upwards, eyes flickering down to meet yours, a hunger building in you that you didn’t know awaited.

“It’s just a dress, Fay. I’m sure I can make it up to you with food or something else.” Your tone was one thing she spotted which was up, and she allowed you to move out from her grasp, a hold not too tight to let you escape.

Faline’s eyebrows scrunched in thought. “What happened, my dear?”

Always quick to spot my moods turning so sour. You wanted to remark, turning to look back on her, the graceful tall woman standing before you was quick to reach you again, and this time, you allowed her to touch you.

“I’m just spent, s’all.”

“Hmm, well, that was not what you said the last time we were up, and I can safely recall, the bourbon in your system was keeping you and allowing you from dancing on the tables, exactly that one over there.” Faline gave a wolfish grin, one that if anyone else had received, would’ve made them tremble.

You wanted to answer, but no noise came from you, instead, you gingerly took one of her chestnut locks into your fingers and twirled them in meditation, contemplating.

“This has been the fourth party this week.”

“I know, and aren’t they lavish, dear?” She grinned, her teeth were exceptionally white in contrast to her lips. From this light, they looked like they had been drenched already in blood from a meal thanks to Nathanial.

“Fay, these, have to end. Do you know how much blood you’ve drunk? How many people you have brought here?” Your words were slow and careful, unsure whether how to tread around her. 

Fay gave you a quizzical look, one that made her hazel eyes stand out most. Of all the things so beautiful on her, her eyes were the most wonderful to look upon.

The Lady D'Aramitz gave a nonchalant shrug. “They come and go, but they never remember what really happens here. They just leave with laughter on their tongues and little money left in their pockets from gambling. Plus, an excruciating headache comes the morning.”

“Yes, as well as other things being sore.” You wavered. “You get your fill from them, Fay. How else would your meals turn up?”

Fay’s pout deepened, “I don’t like how you speak about my actions, dear. If it was such a problem, why hadn’t you of said anything earlier?”

“I did! But you were always feeding on them!” You remarked loudly, your voice bouncing across the gold and red walls. “You were feasting on them and plumping them for the slaughter. Would I be next for your fangs to sink into?”

Arguments were rare, and for being the rational type had flown out the window once you took a sip of alcohol. Faline was impulsive and watchful, a true gluttonous queen when those she liked in her ‘court’ stuck around or were invited; the lady was always there for people to please. 

But there was always something beneath the hazel-green waves to her eyes, the unforgiving side that made her wilder than you, and for maybe the first time in knowing her, you had never witnessed her be so calm.

You huffed, running a hand through your made-up hair, going to move away as you sat far away from the unconscious man, twirling your half-empty cup in your grip a little tighter.

“Love, you know I would never harm a hair on you.” She waited, before floating to come to sit beside you, she was embracing soon enough. “If I were to hurt you, I would truly be dead myself.”

“Funny you say that.” You gave a goofy lopsided grin her way, earning a teasing roll of the eyes. “No, I mean it. You have my word, my love. But, why hadn’t you ever said anything to me about it?”

“I was... I was scared, okay? I knew you had been doing these types of hosting parties long before you had even met me, let alone before I was even born. And yet, I had never seen you drink so many bodies like that before. That bloodsucking - I got used to - but I got uncomfortable seeing how much you were enjoying it.”

Your fingers came to hold her own slender ones, squeezing tight for a reaction from her. “I’m sorry, Fay. I should’ve told you sooner.”

Fay chuckled silvery, leaning down to kiss your temples than your cheeks, reciprocating the affection back. “My love, I may be a millennium-year-old, but still I, cannot act without you by my side.” 

“You say that, even when you lived a long life before I had even existed.” You spoke honestly. “I wish I could witness everything you had.”

“And you could, if you would allow me to do it.” She grabbed properly onto your hands now in her own. “I cannot go on to the ends of the earth without you by my side, my love, two queens ruling in a world against hooligans in power. Allow me, my dear? Please?”

There it was the chance of eternal life. You didn’t have much that you could miss, and to be with Faline for eternity was something you would wish for in any mortal partner, but eternal was painful, and you were hesitant to just give it away.

You loved her, you did, but you didn’t know as of yet to be so sure, even from the first time when she had asked you. You had heard tales of vampires and how monstrous they were, and although you had met Faline in a good time of both of your lives, you had been warned of her previous doings.

She spotted the anxiousness in you, tracing her fingers underneath your chin to make you look at her, and with no hesitation, kissed you sweetly. There was a sweet side to her, and you were maybe one of the few to view it.

“You do not have to worry about answering me so soon. You still have time, my dear. Enough to want to live out the days of a mortal with me by your side.”

You grinned to her softly. “Of course, Fay. I just want to be with you forever.”

“Then forever it shall be.” She cradled you in her arms carefully. “Now, do you mind helping me with Mr Nathanial over there? I must bring him back to his car before he wakes up.”

“Fay,” You began, a playful tone bubbling over as you laughed. “How much did you give the man?”

“Enough that he wouldn’t remember much, my sweet, Just picture it though, poor sweet Nathanial waking up in the morning with a blasted headache, and no idea where his credit card had gone.”

Just as she had said that your eyes glinted over the flash of black and gold in her fingers, recognising the unlimited card that she had nicked off with. “What are you wanting to use that for?”

“You know how you wanted to go to Venice? I may have booked flights for tomorrow....” She joyfully began. “And I know how much you wanted to go, so I booked it so I could show you everything.”

“You cheeky minx, you thief to people’s credit cards and my heart!” You dramatically said. “Whatever will I do with you, Miss D'Aramitz?”

Faline gracefully leant close into your face: nipping at your bottom lip that she had caught with her teeth.

“Be with me forever, that’s what.”

[coldflame96]

Turnabout Parent Trap, chapter 20 (the end!)

I finally finished this bad boy and the last chapters a bit shorter so I thought I’d do something a little different. Don’t read if you haven’t read the rest of it please. 

It’s been a long journey. Thank you for sharing it with me. :)

Read the full thing on AO3 here

February 11, 2029

Gatewater Hotel Imperial Hall- Los Angeles, Japanifornia

Phoenix was nervous. Well, not nervous exactly, but more just excited. He was getting married! Not for the first time, but hopefully the last.

“Nick, they’re almost ready for you,” Maya came in. And then she gave him an unimpressed look. “What have I told you about messing with your tie? And your hair. Look at you, you’re a wreck! Don’t make me get my sister in here!”

“No thanks,” he muttered, “You’re bad enough.” And got a light smack on the head for that. He saw how the deep purple she was wearing brought out the bronze tones in her skin as she readjusted his tie and smiled.

“You look beautiful, Maya.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. My wife’s a dress designer.” And then she smirked. “Besides, you’re the star here. Miles won’t know what hit him.”

“He’s seen me like this before.”

“Sure, but you look way better now than you did at 21. I saw the pictures.”

“Wow,” he scoffed, offended. “That’s-“ And then he paused. “Wait, really? I’m 36, how is that even possible?”

She shrugged. “Some people get better with age.” And then she gave him a smug look. “You were pretty dorky before.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Y’know,” she started, starting on his hair now, “I’m kinda surprised you’re even doing all this again. Kinda figured Miles wouldn’t wanna bother.”

Funny story about that. “It was his idea, actually.”

“Really? Wow. And here I thought he was the pragmatic one. Guess he is a romantic, after all.”

She finally took her fingers out of his hair, and he made to run a hand through when she smacked it away.

“I just fixed it, Nick!” she glared. “If you mess it up again, I’ll kill you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled.

He heard a piano start playing and Maya grinned. “Well, that’s your cue.” And then she offered up her elbow. “You ready?”

He took a deep breath, and then linked his arm with hers. He was born ready.

~~~~~~~~~

Apollo sat next to his sibling, who practically had stars in their eyes as their parents exchanged vows at the altar. The old bearded guy gave them permission to kiss and they did eagerly which of course was something he’d seen many times at this point, but he clapped along with everyone else.

Trucy giggled from next to him and he looked at them curiously. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” they shook their head, “It’s all just kinda crazy, isn’t it? Two years ago, I didn’t even know you existed. Now we’re at our parents wedding.” She laughed again. “It’s all just so backwards!”

He rested an arm on their shoulder. “Yeah, I guess we were never very traditional, huh?”

“Nope!”

He vaguely heard Dad announce something, and then people around them started getting up. “Oh, I guess it’s time for the reception.” He offered his hand. “Coming?”

They took his hand.

~~~~~~~~~

When Iris had learned that Pearl, her younger half-sister, had moved to Germany last summer, she was disappointed. They had been getting to know each other rather well and she thought that she could finally tell her the truth about her.

But then Mr. Wright had told her she’d gone to Germany when she came to visit one day and she thought that was it. She’d waited too long and lost her opportunity. And then he had told her he was getting married. And even invited her. She wasn’t even sure if she deserved an invitation after what her sister did, but she appreciated it none the less.

She had been about to decline, but then Mr. Wright had told her Pearl would be here, and well…now here she was. It was only too bad she hadn’t been able to get Pearl alone so far. Maya had been quite welcoming and friendly and allowed her to mingle in with their group, but this was a delicate matter. She couldn’t just blurt it out in front of everyone.

She saw Mr. Wright pass through the hallway, from what she was assuming was the bathroom, and he nodded at her, pointing his eyes down the hall.

“You should catch her before she goes back in,” he advised.

“Thank you.” And then she already started walking.

“Iris?” he called out, and she turned her head in confusion. He gave her a small, shy smile. “Thanks for coming.”

He really was quite handsome…she felt her face heat up and she mumbled, “Of course.” And bolted down the direction he’d pointed her at, ignoring how her heart skipped a beat.

Mr. Wright was quite the charmer. She sometimes wished she’d been the one engaged to him once upon a time instead of her sister.

But it probably wouldn’t have worked out either way. His heart clearly belonged to someone else.

She was broken from that train of thought when she saw Pearl’s familiar figure just about to open the door back into the reception room.

“Oh, Ms. Iris!” she gasped. “You look so pretty!”

Pearl certainly looked quite beautiful herself, looking grown up in her dusty pink A line.

“Thank you, Pearl. You too. Did Ms. von Karma make that dress for you?”

The girl grinned. “Yes, she did!” And she did a little twirl. “Do you like it?”

She smiled gently. “I love it.” But she should get to the point. “Hey, Pearl, do you mind taking a walk with me? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

She perked up curiously. “Oh, okay then.”

And Iris led the girl to the courtyard where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Like peeling off a bandaid. Hopefully it wouldn’t bleed.

~~~~~~~~~

Gatewater Hotel Banquet Hall- Los Angeles, Japanifornia

Miles watched as Phoenix opened the bottle of wine, Where Dreams Have No End, 2010 etched on it. He nodded, raising his glass in a toast and once he got the satisfied clink, they both took a sip at the same time.

Miles raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this is better than I remember.”

Phoenix shrugged. “Well, you know what they say about fine wine.”

Miles eyed his partner appreciatively, saying without much thought, “Yes, much like yourself, it ages quite handsomely.”

Phoenix gave him an incredulous look at that and Miles noted with pleasure how his ears turned red. “What, are you drunk already?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed, “I’m not such a lightweight to get drunk off one sip of wine.”

Phoenix didn’t say anything, instead choosing to focus on his cake, their live performers starting with a slow, melodic song. Which brought up a concern…“Are you sure inviting them to perform was a good idea?” he asked his husband softly, touching his arm, the performers in question being the singer Lamiroir and her partner Herod, formerly known as Thalassa Gramarye and Jove Sadhmadhi. Though the young blond pianist they had with them was unfamiliar to him.

Phoenix looked at him, distracted for a moment from his cake. “Lamiroir is Apollo’s favorite singer, right? Why would it be an issue?”

Miles really didn’t like it when he acted willfully obtuse. “You know why, Phoenix. Having them here with the kids is a risk. What if they say something?”

“They won’t. I already talked to them about it.”

“Apollo and Trucy aren’t stupid, as you well know. What if they find out?”

Phoenix grabbed his hands, pressing a light kiss to his fingers. “Miles, they’re 14. They’re old enough to know that they didn’t just sprout up from nowhere. It’s not like we have anything to hide.”

“Well, yes, but-“

Phoenix didn’t let him finish that sentence, kissing him firmly. Miles pulled away, glaring with no heat.

“That was quite rude.” He got a kiss on the jaw in response. “I was talking and-“ Another kiss. “Ugh, you’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

Phoenix looked smug as hell. “Is it working?”

Yes. “No.”

He chuckled, “Liar.” And then kissed him again, softer this time.

“Hey lovebirds!” Larry called out, causing them to break apart. “Come get your pictures taken!”

He rolled his eyes and watched as Phoenix did the same.

He supposed a few pictures wouldn’t hurt. But not before he kissed his husband another time.

~~~~~~~~

Trucy never really “got” Apollo’s type of music. She was always more into upbeat stuff like the Gavinners, but this Lamiroir lady…was not bad. Her voice was beautiful, and she could see why Apollo liked it, even though it was kinda slow in her opinion.

Something about her was weird though…Familiar somehow. But Trucy was sure she’d never met a celebrity before.

She watched as the man with Lamiroir started playing something faster paced on his guitar and she smiled. Now they were talking.

“Dance with me, Apollo!”

“Trucy, I don’t dance.”

She rolled her eyes, and then she spotted a familiar dark head and got an idea. “Fine, I’ll go dance with Clay then.”

Their eyes went wide and they grabbed her arm. “You can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because!” their eyes darted. “Because I’m gonna dance with him!”

She asked faux innocently, “But I thought you said you don’t dance?”

“Well, I lied!” And then to her delight, they marched over to Clay, saying something to him that she couldn’t hear, and he looked both confused and pleased as they started dancing awkwardly.

She waved sweetly and laughed as Apollo glared at her and Clay waved back.

“Excuse me, Miss,” she whirled around to come face to face with her grandfather, his eyes twinkling. “May I have this dance?”

She curtsied dramatically. “Of course, sir.”

And she let him twirl her around. For an old guy, he was surprisingly graceful.

~~~~~~~~

Mia was feeling quite good after her couple glasses of champagne. Light on her feet and even lighter in spirit. She was giggling as Lana twirled her again, resting her head on her shoulder.

She heard a cleared throat and she turned to see Phoenix standing there, looking incredibly handsome in that suit. Mr. Edgeworth sure knew what he was doing that was for sure.

“Do you mind if I borrow your wife?” he asked Lana.

“So long as you give her back,” was Lana’s response and he laughed.

And then he grabbed her arm. “Come and dance with me, Mia.”

“Careful, Phoenix,” she grinned like a shark, “Your new husband might get jealous.”

He snorted. “Okay, how much champagne have you had?” he asked, as he started to sway her gently.

“Not enough.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

She saw how carefree he was and smiled. “I’m really happy for you, Phoenix.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It feels good to have a wedding I can actually go to.”

“Why? So you can drink all the champagne?”

“Exactly. Get lit, as the kids would say.”

He cringed, which delighted her. “Please stop.”

She laughed. “Stop what? I’m sticking with the times.”

“You’re not. I live with two teenagers. Neither of them ever say that.”

She pouted. “Well, they used to.”

He muttered, “Yeah, maybe in the Stone Age.”

She flicked him on the head. “Don’t be rude. I’m not even 40 yet.”

“What is with you Fey women and hitting me today?”

So Maya got him earlier? She wondered what wise crack he said to deserve it. “Don’t be a baby. Someone has to keep you in line.”

“I have a husband for that.”

“He’s too soft.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but then refrained and just pouted. “Whatever.”

She patted his cheek fondly, pouting. “Phoenix, will you get me another champagne?”

“No.”

Damn, that usually worked.

Maybe this wedding was a mistake.

~~~~~~~~~

Franziska watched as Maya danced with Pearl, Iris having to leave in a hurry for some other obligation, Kay was dancing with Frau Skye’s younger sister and well…she was quite bored.

She was feeling restless. She saw her stupid brother in the center table kissing his foolish husband like the shameless man he was and had a solution.

She stalked over to their table. “Miles Edgeworth,” she said sharply, and watched them break away, her brother looking a bit disgruntled. Ugh, obscene. 37 years old and acting like a lovesick teenager. “You will dance with me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a request or an order?”

“Yes.”

He rolled his eyes. “Alright then.” And then he stood from his spot.

Phoenix Wright looked amused, and just said in a dry tone, “Good luck!”

She levelled her glare to him. “You’re next.”

He just got even more smug, which annoyed her. “Can’t wait.” Sometimes she lamented the loss of her riding crop. She missed the days when men cowered at her feet.

“Was your wife unavailable?” Miles asked flatly, doing an elegant twirl.

“Shut up,” she snapped, and then she mumbled in embarrassment, “Yes.”

“I see. So you were bored.”

She glared at him but he was unperturbed. She would have to attempt a different method. She switched over to her native tongue and said in a wistful tone, “Why must you assume the worst of my intentions, older brother? Is it not acceptable for your sister to dance with you at your own wedding?”

“Of course it is. My apologies for doubting you.” He didn’t sound completely sincere but she supposed that would be good enough.

“I am taking your husband for the next song.”

“Just don’t kill him, please.”

“No promises,” she said in English this time. The song ended and she made her way back over to where Phoenix Wright was. She nodded. “Your turn. As promised.”

He grinned. “Oh, good, I’ve been waiting!” Then he turned back to her brother. “If I don’t come back, take good care of the kids, yeah?”

“Of course,” Miles said solemnly and she rolled her eyes, dragging the man out by the arm.

She was expecting him to have two left feet as he was an absolute disaster in everything else, but he was surprisingly competent.

“I must admit, Phoenix Wright, I am pleasantly surprised.”

“Hmm?”

“I did not peg you for a dancer.”

“I took some classes.” And then he got that stupid smug look again that made her regret ever saying anything nice. “See, I guess I’m not totally hopeless at everything, huh?”

“Debatable.”

“I never got to thank you, by the way.”

She pursed her lip. “For what?”

“For making Maya happy. Taking in Pearls. You’ve grown up a lot.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I hope you’re not intending to imply I’ve gotten soft.”

He gave her a wry look. “I would never imply that.”

“Good. Because I will happily rip your head off your body if you hurt my brother, I hope you understand.”

She heard him gulp. Ahh, yes there was the fear she so desperately missed. “I understand completely. Thanks for clearing that up.”

She smirked. “My pleasure.”

~~~~~~

The party was finally over, her and Herod packing up their belongings. She’d been rather hesitant to come here when Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth invited her. She didn’t want to cause any trouble with their family, of course. But Mr. Wright had assured her it was fine and said he wouldn’t say anything so long as she didn’t.

And she hadn’t planned on saying anything. The twins she’d given birth to 14 years ago were flourishing under their care just like she knew they would. They didn’t need her. Sometimes she felt that twinge of regret when she would see parents with their children walking the street together, but it quickly passed. She’d made her decision, and she was no longer able to bear children. It just wasn’t meant to be, she supposed.

She wondered if her partner knew…

“Excuse me, Ms. Lamiroir?” She heard a child’s voice and turned around, coming face to face with both of the twins. Had they…figured it out? She wondered if they inherited her ability of observation.

One of them, the one with the shorter hair in a spiffy pantsuit, spoke up. “I’m a really big fan of your work. Can I have your autograph?”

Oh, that was it? “Oh! Of course!” She mimed writing. “Where should I…?”

“Right here.” They shoved a vinyl album in her face. Her vinyl album. She smiled ruefully. Life had a way of connecting things, didn’t it?

She got out her fine tip marker. “Who should I make this out to?”

“Apollo.”

She nodded and signed out To Apollo. With Love, Lamiroir. “There you are, dear.” She handed it back to them.

“Thank you so much!” They sounded breathless. But the other one didn’t say anything, only assessing her quietly which made her a bit nervous.

“Did you need an autograph too?” she asked.

The child blinked, as if caught out of a trance. “Nah, I’m just here for moral support.”

“I see.” She saw the one who’d gotten her autograph run over to one of their fathers to gush, but the other one was still staring. “Was there something else I could do for you?”

“You just look familiar. Have we met before?”

She frowned, thankful she had a cloth covering the bottom half of her face. She saw the child’s fathers off only a few feet away with their sibling, Mr. Edgeworth looking at her curiously.

“No, we haven’t. Unless you’ve been to France?”

They furrowed their brow. “No, I haven’t. Sorry, I must have been thinking of someone else.” And like that, the tension was gone as the child grinned. “Thanks for playing tonight! Your voice is really beautiful!” And then they waved to join their family.

“Sweetheart,” Herod put his arm around her shoulders. “Am I crazy? Or are those two…?”

“They’re just the grooms’ children,” she finished, but she could tell by his face that he wasn’t convinced. She tapped his wrist gently. “We should hurry. They’re going to close down soon.”

He paused for only a moment before nodding. “I’ll grab Machi.”

And like that, the party was over and they all went their separate ways once again.

~~~~~~~~

May 23, 2029

LAX Airport- Los Angeles, Japanifornia

Apollo got a sense of déjà vu, though the airport was different this time.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Papa asked as they walked in through the door. “You got yourself into quite a bit of trouble the last time.”

Apollo rolled his eyes. “Well, unless there’s a secret triplet that me and Trucy don’t know about, I don’t think that will happen again.”

Trucy snorted at that, but Papa just glowered. Apollo thought he was due for a scolding for getting smart, but Dad steered Papa gently away. “They’re fine, Miles. They’ll look after each other.” And then he gave them both a stern look. “Right?”

He nodded furiously, while Trucy, who was always much braver than he was, just rolled their eyes. “Yes, Daddy,” they sighed out.

Papa was satisfied with that. “Very well. But you call us if anything goes wrong.”

“We will.” He went to hug him. “Bye, Papa.”

He gave Dad a hug too while Trucy gave one to Papa and then, after Dad practically dragged Papa out of the airport, they were finally able to get through the baggage line.

He wondered if all his friends from last time would still be there.

~~~~~~~~

May 24, 2029

Maine, USA

“Alright, campers, we have made it to our destination! Welcome to Camp Gourdy!” Trucy was jolted awake from the loudspeaker and then nudged her twin. “Polly, we’re here.”

Apollo blearily opened their eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight, and then their eyes widened as they sat up. “Oh! Hey Trucy, we’re here!” She gave them a flat look. “Oh, right.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “Alright so, as soon as they open the doors we have to make a run for it. Otherwise, we’re not gonna be able to get our luggage.”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to get it?”

“Just trust me.”

“Okay.”

They quickly shoved their way to the front, ignoring the squawks of protest from other campers. Trucy saw her bright blue luggage and Apollo’s red bag about to get buried. “Quick, Polly, grab it!”

“Got it,” they grunted, hoisting their bag over their shoulder.

She grinned in triumph and gave her twin a fist bump. “C’mon, let’s go get our cabins.”

She looked around curiously. Everything seemed the same from when she was here last. Not that she expected much to change.

They approached the check in, and she was mildly amused to see it was the same grumpy old lady from last time. Windbag, right?

“Name and pronouns!” The woman barked.

She blinked. “Sorry, what?”

She huffed, still grumpy as ever. “I said your name and pronouns, whippersnapper, I don’t have all day.”

“Oh! Uhh, Trucy Wright. She.” And then she added on. “Or they.”

“Well, which is it? She or they?”

“Both?” Windbag gave her a flat look and she grimaced.  “Just she then is fine.”

The woman handed her a name tag that read Trucy. She/her. Yellow. Wow, so maybe things were a little different. She wondered if people complained about them not being inclusive enough.

“Name and pronouns!” Windbag barked to Apollo, who flinched under the intensity.

“Apollo Justice!” they yelled, making the old woman wince.

“Don’t shout, child, my ears still work!”

“Sorry.”

“Pronouns?”

“He.” Windbag glared and Apollo flinched again. “They?”

“Fine.” She threw the nametag at them and Apollo couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

“Well, she’s as unpleasant as ever, I see,” they huffed. But then they furrowed their brow again as they looked at their name tag. “There weren’t pronoun options last time.”

Trucy shrugged. “Maybe they’re catching up with the times.”

“Well, they could do it a little nicer.”

“What cabin are you in?” she asked, nodding towards the tag.

“Green.”

So they were in different cabins again. Interesting.

~~~~~~~~

Apollo hadn’t expected to have the exact same cabin mates as last time, but he was still a bit disappointed that Athena wasn’t here. He’d quite liked her. But the other girl, Junie, was here so he supposed that counted for something.

“This is the first time me and ‘Thena are separated,” the girl sighed out.

“Oh, do you know what cabin she’s in?”

“Yellow, I think.”

“Oh, that’s the same cabin as Trucy.”

Junie frowned. “Trucy? Isn’t that the awful girl you got stuck with last time you were here?”

He grimaced. “A lot’s happened since then.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Junie just continued to stare at him expectantly. He supposed he should elaborate. “We found out we were twins separated as babies and that our parents were divorced, so we switched places and our parents are back together now and happily married.”

She looked like she had a lot of questions, but just said, “Okay. Well, um, congratulations!”

“Thanks!”

~~~~~~~~

Trucy was unpacking her things when a familiar face came bouncing up to her, that tall, ginger girl from last time. Agatha?

“Oh, hey, Apollo!” She grinned.

“Not Apollo,” she said wryly.

“Oh, you’re the other one!” she put her fist in her hand. “Um, Tracy?”

“Trucy.”

“Gotcha! Well hey, is Apollo here too?”

“Yep. They came with me.”

“Oh really? Wait, does that mean you guys actually are siblings?”

Was she serious?

“We look identical.”

“Well, yeah, but it could’ve just been one of those weird freak Twilight Zone things!”

Trucy cocked her head. “What’s a twilight zone?”

“Oh, it’s this show my mom really likes. It’s about like people who get stuck in like alternate worlds. Sometimes it’s kinda scary, but I find the vibe of it really soothing.”

Sounded interesting, actually. Maybe she could check that out when she got home.

“Sounds cool,” she admitted, “But it was nothing crazy like that. Our parents just separated us when we were babies because they broke up.”

The taller girl’s eyes bugged out. “What?! That’s awful!”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but then we traded places and forced them to talk again and now they’re back together, so it all worked out in the end.”

The girl grinned. “So my theory was right then!”

“What theory?”

“Oh! I guess you wouldn’t know,” she chuckled, “So you see, me and Apollo both have Greek names, right?”

“Yeah…” What was her name again?

“And my mom is single and his dad is single, or was at the time, so I theorized that we were siblings separated at birth.”

Trucy stared at her blankly. “You guys don’t look anything alike, though.”

“Well, no, obviously because we’re not related, but…” she held a finger up. “The theory was true. Just not for me.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that logic.

And then she got a hard pat to the back. “But hey! I’m glad it worked out for you!”

She was strong. Trucy always did like strong girls. “Thanks!” she grinned, leaning closer. “What was your name again?”

The look she got for that was priceless.

~~~~~~~~

The mess hall was the only time all the campers came together. Atleast the ones in his age group. So he was only partially prepared for a whirl of orange to practically tackle him to the ground.

“Apollo, oh my gosh! I missed you last year and I thought you got banned and were never coming back!”

“Athena,” he wheezed, “You’re choking me.”

“Oops.” She let go of him quickly. “Sorry.”

He set his tray down on a free table. “So you’re in the same cabin as Trucy this time?”

“Yep!” She slid in the chair next to Junie, grabbing her hand and squeezing. “She told me all about your crazy family!”

‘Crazy’ was an understatement. They were utterly mad.

With just the three of them, and Trucy chatting it up from a distance, it really felt like old times.

“So where do you live now?” Athena asked, “Are you still in Germany?”

He shook his head. “No, me and my father moved in with Trucy and my other father last summer.”

Athena gave him a sympathetic look and said in broken German, “it was adjustment?”

He nodded. “Only a little.”

He was curious why she couldn’t say that in English, but at the awestruck look Junie was giving both of them, he figured she was just showing off.

“Well, atleast Trucy won’t try to dump a bucket on your head this time,” Junie said quietly.

He certainly hoped not.

Maybe he could finally have the full camp experience he wanted from the beginning.

~~~~~~~

It had been a bit of a rough sleep for Trucy that night, as it usually was anytime she was in an unfamiliar place. Though atleast she didn’t have nightmares anymore. Those seemed to have stopped a while ago. She wondered if it was because Papa was there now.

In an echo of last time, she heeled her sneakers on and snuck down to the nearby lounge for some coffee. Daddy didn’t like her drinking coffee unless it was decaf, and Papa swore by tea, but they weren’t here and what they didn’t know didn’t kill them.

As expected, the place was a ghost town. Just how she liked it this early.

She sipped her coffee gingerly, remaining blissfully uninterrupted this time, and then jolted a little when the trumpets went off. Well, that was her cue to disappear.

She quickly changed into her t-shirt and shorts, tying her hair back, which was getting long again. She wondered if she should cut it. She’d gotten spoiled from it being short for so long. But now it was almost halfway down her back and starting to be a nuisance.

The first day for her cabin didn’t officially have anything scheduled, so when she heard familiar sounds of a cheering crowd and the clink of metal, she wandered towards it.

She shouldered her way closer to the front, her height making it hard to see, and smiled when she saw the fencing match, the familiar dodge and jab. Oh, she’d missed that. Maybe she could incorporate more sword fights into her magic shows. Though she was sure Papa would have a heart attack.

She heard the cheers and then Counselor Lotta, still with the same full afro and the southern accent, “And the winner again is Apollo Justice. Our undefeated champ so far! Any of y’all brave enough to challenge them?”

She grinned. She raised her hand, shouting out, “I’ll take a whack at it!”

“Wha’?” Lotta looked around, “Who said that?”

Trucy kept her hand up and watched as the crowd let her go to the front, still grinning as Apollo’s face came into view.

Lotta squinted at her. “Now why does this seem familiar?” Then she shrugged. “Whatever. Put your gear on and git ready to face off.”

It was as she was putting her helmet on that Apollo asked smugly, “Are you ready to lose again, Wright?”

She smirked, even though they couldn’t see it and held up her sword. “I’m gonna win, Justice.  And I’ll do it without pushing you in a basin.”

Apollo got in position. “We’ll see about that.”

“On yer marks!” Lotta called, and then she put her arm down with a whistle.

And Trucy swung.

[benditlikepress]

ignore all basic French marriage laws for the sake of romance and fun

 Nobody was quite sure what to expect when Director Vance beckoned them to MTAC for a ‘surprise’ on Friday afternoon. Gibbs, McGee, Ellie, Nick, Jack, Kasie, and Jimmy all made their way in in dribs and drabs exchanging confused looks and whispers as Vance spoke to one of the technicians sat at the desks. There was a loading screen up, and soon enough a voice came through the speakers.

"Is this thing on?"

The team were all surprised when Tony and Ziva appeared on-screen. It was difficult to tell where they were, though Tony was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Ziva had sunglasses perched in unruly curls.

"Hey guys." McGee was the first to greet them, before Jimmy and Ellie followed.

"Hey, wassup, Tony, right?" Nick nodded at the man, who seemed to size him up.

"Good to meet you, Torres. I've heard a lot about you from Senior. And Kasie and Jack, I guess?" Tony signalled the two mystery women, who said hello to him in turn.

"What brings you guys to MTAC?"

"We called in a favour with Director Vance." Ziva signals the man stood by the steps coyly.

"Where's Tali?"

"The States, actually. At Disney World with Senior."

"And you guys?"

"That's a secr-" "Fiji." Tony and Ziva spoke at the same time. Tony gave Ziva a glare and she made a ‘what did I do wrong?’ expression.

"Fiji, wow. My friend went there last year. It's beautiful." Kasie said wistfully.

"Yeah, it is.”

“So you guys are doing good, huh? Have you settled in now, Ziva?”

“Yes, Jack. Thank you. It took us a while to get into a routine, but things are going well. Tali handled the situation better than I think either of us expected, which was a large help.”

"Actually while we’re on the topic,” Tony interrupted, “I wanted to say thanks to you all for helping Ziva. Behind my back." He added with a fake smile.

"Tony, you knew she was alive for 3 years and didn't tell us!"

“I’m allowed to have Ziva-secrets from you guys, you aren’t allowed to have Ziva-secrets from me.”

“I think Ziva gets to decide who gets to keep Ziva-secrets.”

“Thank you, McGee.” Ziva said pointedly, and Tony rolled his eyes about being ganged up on. Like old times, McGee thought.

“Hey, is that why every time I asked about visiting you shut it down?"

"Pretty much. God love her, Tali couldn't keep quiet if I paid her a million dollars."

"Gee, wonder where she gets that from.." Gibbs said quietly, and the rest of MTAC smirked though Tony seemed not to hear. His face turned serious again, and he frowned a little.

"But seriously, I, uh.. thank you. For what you've all done for my family. I owe you big time."

The words hung in the air for a moment. Ziva smiled a little, sympathetically, a ran a hand through the side of Tony’s hair behind his ear.

"All part of the job." Nick was eventually the one to answer, wondering if his lack of connection to Tony was the reason he was able to speak while the others couldn't.

“Is that why you called us here? To say thanks?”

“No, there is actually something we wanted to discuss.” Ziva began, but then she seemed to think better of it and sat back in her chair. Tony looked at her, and Ziva raised her eyebrows at him to continue.

“Listen, we're calling to tell you all that we.. eloped."

"You what?!" Jimmy exclaimed immediately.

"Yeah. We, uh, we're married. We got married last week."

"You never even told us you were engaged!"

"We went to the town hall the day after I proposed."

"Why did you want to elope?"

Tony and Ziva shared a look, and both laughed to themselves. "It was kind of an inside joke."

"You got married because of an inside joke?"

"We got married because we love each other, McBlind."

"It is nothing personal that we did not tell you, we just wanted it to be special, for us. It was just us and Tali at the ceremony. And some Hungarian tourists."

"Yeah, we didn't even tell Senior until we got home. He was upset for all of five minutes and then called back to say he'd booked us a honeymoon."

"God knows how much it is costing him." Tony rolled his eyes at Ziva's words, and it was clear this was a sentiment she had shared several times since their arrival.

“Well. Uh – congratulations.” McGee eventually settled on, and the word acted like a trigger for the rest of the room as they all rushed to congratulate them and Tony and Ziva seemingly breathed a sigh of relief that it was out of the way.

"Did you get that thing I sent?" Gibbs spoke for the first time since his former agents had flashed on screen.

"We did. Thank you, Gibbs. It means the world to us."

"Wait, he knew and I didn't?" McGee’s voice raised a little in pitch, childishly.

"Tony asked for my hand in marriage." Ziva said with disdain at the tradition, though she looked at her husband with a twinkle in her eyes.

"I can't believe you said yes, Boss." McGee looked at Gibbs with a feigned surprise on his face.

"Yeah, I was a little worried, but I convinced you my intentions are honourable. Right, boss?"

“Something like that. He knows what’ll happen if they aren’t.”

“His intentions are very honourable, I can assure you.”

Ziva moved her hand to Tony's jaw and turned his face towards hers, bringing their lips together. Rather than a peck, it lingered, and Tony lifted his own hands to Ziva's face.

"Ugh, guys. Gross."

"I know, it's like watching my brother and sister make out." Jimmy agreed with McGee with a wince.

"Gremlin, what you get up to in your own time is between you and your internet provider."

McGee grimaced his light disgust as Ziva withdrew her hand from Tony’s face to hit him sharply on the chest. He made a yelp of objection.

“You can’t hit me now, we’re married.”

“If I had known that was the deal, I never would have said yes.”

“Can we wrap this up?” Gibbs interrupted in a loud tone as Tony and Ziva began to bicker, smiles bright on their faces.

"Sorry Boss. Anyway, now Ziva and I have come to our senses she tells me we're not the only ones who need to stop screwing around and see what's right in front of them. I won't embarrass you by saying your names. Cough Torres, cough Bo.." Tony cut off abruptly as he got another hit – this time an elbow in the ribs. His face immediately turned into a genial smile.

"What he means is.. we wasted a lot of time. And we would hate to think of anyone else making the same mistake. Right, Tony?"

"Right. Exactly. So if that applies to you.. just.. keep it in mind."

“Anyway, we will not keep you away from work – we promised Director Vance this would be quick. We just wanted to let all of you know.”

"Will you ask Senior to bring Tali for a visit? I'd love to see her." Jimmy asked with a slight plead in his voice.

"I am sure she would love to see you all too."

“OK. Cocktails to drink, sun to bathe in.” Tony smiled at the camera. “Bye guys.”

Tony and Ziva started talking about something unintelligible as everyone said goodbye and the camera clicked off. The energy in MTAC was wired for a couple of seconds, like a hurricane had just blown through.

"Are they always so.." Nick began, signalling the empty screen.

"Yeah."

"Pretty much."

McGee and Jimmy answered in unison.

"Ziva seems a lot happier."

"Yeah, all she needed was to get back to her family."

"I'm so pleased for them."

"Me too. Everything I've heard and read about them, seems like they belong together.”

"They do. I know I give them a hard time, but it took them long enough."

"Although I don't know what makes them think they're qualified to give advice. The amount of times they both came to me and I told them to just go up to each other and.." Jimmy trailed off when he saw several pairs of eyes staring at him. "It's not a secret anymore, right?"

"You told me Tony and Ziva was the reason for rule 12. That things could be really bad between them." Nick interrupted, immediately regretting mentioning the conversation they had had.

"Well, yeah. They could, a long time ago. But that doesn't mean they don't belong together. Plus they aren't co-workers anymore, so what's stopping them, right? I mean, they already have a kid."

"Don't the rest of you be getting any ideas."

Gibbs interrupted, but his gaze flickered instantaneously to Jack, who looked away trying to suppress a smile.

[quietrainfan]

Okay! It’s the next day and I say that’s more than enough time for me to go back to my Unsympathetic ways! *evil laughter* You can not stop me! Let’s list off the observations, shall we?~ (Warning: Spoilers ahead! Also, obviously, Unsympathetic opinions of the Sides. If that ain’t something that floats your boat, by all means, ignore this post.)

- Patton not allowing Roman to say anything even remotely critical of Virgil

Like, seriously. What Roman said wasn’t even an insult. I mean, I guess it could be considered insensitive to Virgil’s feelings. But how many times has Virgil took jabs (oftentimes low ones) at Roman and was not asked to be nice or apologize? It seems to always be Roman who has to moderate how he speaks while Virgil can mouth off all he wants. Roman wasn’t being malicious, he was just poking some fun. His tone and smile clearly communicate he’s just fooling around and isn’t intentionally trying to get under Virgil’s skin.

I’d have less of a problem with this if one, Virgil was called out more for his behavior. Two, his and Roman’s banter was more equal and friendly rather than guilt-trippy and one-sided. Three, this scene not ending with Roman forcing himself to agree with Virgil’s opinion and Virgil’s condescending little thumbs up afterward. As if to say: “There you go, nice and obedient.”

- Roman using Deceit’s hat for something he isn’t even apart of and without permission (more on that later)

I’m actually going to save this one for last. Because there’s so much to unpack there even though it’s not at the center of attention.

- More of not allowing Logan to have a say in things. Roman taking away his votes because he isn’t wearing a onesie.

Okay so, he’s being excluded from a decision simply because he wasn’t wearing something. I know this may seem like a nick-pick but come on. Give this poor man a break. How many times are the other Sides going to completely brush Logan off and invalidate his input? Even for small things like this he’s being treated like an afterthought. I know Roman pretty much rigged it for everyone and Virgil gave him a look...but this was mostly centered around excluding Logan, yet again. And they still give him flack for not trying to open up. Poor Lo, I wanna just hug him and maybe read something with him just to give some form of comfort from this. And of course, dear ol’ Patton sees no problem with this but was so quick to rush to Virgil’s defense. Then again, this is normal for them. So no one bats an eye at it.

- “I can think of a few ways.”

Not an argument here. Go OFF, Virgil!!! Sorry not sorry, I got SO much satisfaction out of Patton’s face fall here. I was prepared for that line to just be another “Hee Hee Patton line” without so much as an acknowledgment about his actions lately but then I hear THIS! Just good old Patton about to not at all try to address how he treats Thomas and the others as always but then Virgil of all people comes in and lets him have it! Just to rub salt in that well-deserved wound! Yes! That’s right, frown! Frown, HARD! Jeez, that felt so good to see!

I hope we get more of that in the future. Just dissecting Patton’s mistakes and not explaining it away with “he’s trying”!

- “Thomas made his decision and I think we should just try to settle into it.”

HA! That is RICH, Patton! No joke. I laughed so bitterly at that line. Patton, how many times have you tried to sway Thomas in a direction that YOU wanted no matter whether or not it made him happy or was the best decision for him overall? How many times did you guilt-trip him, guilt-trip everyone? How many times did you ignore Roman’s misery (S v S is the most recent example), ignore Virgil’s anxiety? Or amplify it? How many times did you ignore Logan’s advice until it actually had an effect on YOU? You have NO room to talk about allowing Thomas to come to his own decisions when you spent SO long swaying the movement of things to end in your favor. I’m-

How many times did you just “ease into” the changes in Thomas’s life or the other parts of his personality that made you uncomfortable and tried to adjust without judgment? I can’t- *wheeze* Here’s hoping you get some really good character development later on because I just can’t stand you like this.

- “How are you telling me to settle into something right now when you’ve taken your sweet time to settle into things you were uncomfortable with in the past?”

Once again, go OFF, Virgil!!! Call. Him. Out! Patton has been nothing but judgmental and guilt-trippy with whatever he didn’t approve of. He’s made the same mistakes over and over, hardly showing any remorse for it. Only when others point it out does he look bothered. From where I’m standing, it doesn’t feel like he’s ever made as much as an effort as the others. It’s very irritating, to say the least. Him just treating Deceit and Remus like infections rather than apart of Thomas all the time, for example. Trying to repress them rather than understand them, like he did with Virgil. But he likes Virgil, so of course, he didn’t have the same reaction. He doesn’t like Remus or Deceit, so he acts accordingly. Which is really messed up.

Don’t give Virgil that look, Thomas! You know he’s right!

- “There’s nothing wrong with talking! Sometimes you just need to air things out and get a second opinion.”

I’m sorry. Did I just hear that right? *checking with an imaginary person* Who was the one that said that? It was Patton? *non-existant “yes”* Oh, alright.

*clears throat* Getting a second opinion? Getting a second opinion?? Getting a second opinion?! 

...My dude, since when have you wanted a “second opinion”?! Especially from Deceit! Since when did you confront a problem head-on, talk about it without bias, and was satisfied with a conclusion that didn’t cater to your liking?! I genuinely want to see you take initiative, not try to control everything, listen to everyone, and take your role seriously. Without trying to steer everything towards something you personally approve of.

I want to see you go through that change so badly. Drop the goofiness for a bit and commit. Please! *deep sigh*

- Virgil hissing at Deceit

He literally just came to get his hat, dude. He didn’t even acknowledge you. What is your deal? But I guess all Dee has to do is breathe and that’s enough cause for hostility. Jeez. There better be a really good explanation for Virgil’s attitude or I swear I will reach through the damn screen and deal with Virgil myself.

 - Logan putting his onesie on out of sight.

I think this really speaks volumes about how he’s treated. He’s so afraid of being ridiculed and not being respected that he has to hide what he likes. Logan feels if he actually indulges in his other interests openly, he won’t be able to actually enjoy it because it’s “silly” and of course Logan can’t be “silly” because it’s going to cost him his comfort and dignity. And it’s not like he’s wrong for feeling that way. 

There is such a lack of respect for him from the others, day in and day out. He can’t ever let his hair down and relax for a bit. The others complain about him being so closed-off but when opens up, he always gets shut down. When he makes jokes, he can’t just laugh with the others. It’ll be used as material against him later on if he does. (Ex: He misuses a word, it’s used against him later even though it clearly bothers him. It’s not teasing if the recipient isn’t laughing along.)

Logan wants a say in what they watch as a family? Yeah, no. Unless you wear that onesie that we’ll likely make fun of you for, your opinion is invalid.

I can’t imagine what this is doing to Logan’s mental health and self-esteem. Or can I? Because that last clip is pretty telling. Honestly, I respect Lo so much. He has to put up with so much bullshit yet he continues on and does his job anyway. Hopefully, he’ll find some way to feel better about himself.

- Roman using Deceit’s hat for something he isn’t even apart of and without permission (here we are)

Speaking of a complete lack of respect, what the fuck, Roman?! And literally everyone else!

Okay so, Deceit and the Light Sides are not anywhere near on good terms. Especially after S v S! They are not friendly with one another. There’s no dynamic here that allows any of the Light Sides to borrow something from Deceit. While I did laugh at Deceit’s reaction and Roman’s face after was genuinely priceless it still...got me thinking.

Deceit is mistreated all the time. He’s ignored, demonized, villainized by them at every turn. He and Remus aren’t included in any family get-togethers. When he was literally having an emotional breakdown he was laughed at (Virgil) and still ignored. Deceit did everything he could to be heard in a debate and was called “edgy” for expressing genuine concern over Thomas’s well being.

Then Roman obviously sneaks into his space and steals his hat to use for another debate that they’re having??? That also doubles as quality family time that he’s never included in??? Do I really need to explain how utterly disrespectful and messed up that is? And this is after they had the courtroom scenario and left on really tense terms. And they likely haven’t spoken since.

So not only is Deceit going to be constantly demonized, made fun of, and excluded from anything remotely affectionate...but he’s also going to get his personal items stolen on top of all that? How nice. And just...the salt in the wound of using it for a voting and family time...

I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself but I just can’t get over it! The nerve, the audacity...it’s so low!

I honestly don’t know how Deceit remains so civil with the others, it’s truly remarkable. I applaud you, Dee. Respect. Hopefully, you’ll get fairer treatment in the future.

[paradisobound]

Sail Away With Me: Part 3

Summary: It was a fluke. Dan shouldn’t have ever gone with Sam to a party on a yacht. He shouldn’t have trusted her to go. But in a chance encounter, he ends up in bed with Phil Lester, a billionaire CEO of a luxury clothing company. When he thinks he’s screwed up enough, he realizes he’s in way too deep. Because Phil Lester has fallen in love with him. The catch: Dan gave Phil a fake name and all Phil has to remember Dan by is the tattoo on his hip and the necklace he left behind.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: A semi-explicit sex scene between Dan and another male

Pairing: Instagraminfluencer!dan and CEO!Phil

This is a chaptered work. Updates every Saturday around 1pm EST

**MASTERLIST | ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN | WATTPAD**

DAN POV 

“I got an email from a company called Luxor.” 

The breeze is blowing through Dan’s curls as he pushes his hand through them and shuffled them a bit on top of his head. They were sat on the balcony just outside of Sam’s room, overlooking the coast. The mist from the water kept kissing his skin, leaving his cheeks a bit dewey. 

Sam looks up at him, tucking a stray strand of her wavy red hair behind her ear. She’s wearing her glasses this morning and although Dan’s seen her with them often, he knows that if she were to be photographed like that right now, she would definitely be seen as ‘over-casual’. But truth was Sam was nearly blind. 

She wraps her lanky arms around her knees and draws them closer to her chest as her shorts ride up her thighs a bit. She sniffles a bit and wipes at her nose before finally opening her mouth to say something to Dan. 

“Not impressive.” 

“Oh?” 

Sam shrugs again and lets her feet down from the edge of the chair, putting them on the floor. “Luxor is just another stereotypical clothing brand.” 

“But the email seems promising.” 

Dan scrolled a bit further down the email where they said they would love to meet up with him at their London office to talk about negotiations for a potential contract deal between them. To say Dan was intrigued was an understatement. He was used to companies reaching out to him for his large Instagram presence but he often doesn’t get anything that pays him anywhere near what Luxor would probably pay him. 

He lets out a sigh and looks back out at the coast. In the distance, he can see boats of all kinds: yachts, sail boats, everything. Dan takes in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it go as he relaxes his shoulders. 

He’s actually feeling pretty lucky that he wasn’t too hungover this morning. He definitely cannot say the same for Sam who currently looked like death ran over her twice but he can at least say he’s feeling better. 

Although, the tinge in his backside was definitely an indication of his night last night. He wouldn’t even be entirely sure that the night was real if it wasn’t for that light ache in his lower back. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel everything and it makes his skin tingle. 

“It’s up to you,” Sam says, drumming her fingers against the side of her chair. Her finger nails made a pleasing yet slightly obnoxious clicking every time they hit the metal. “But I don’t think Luxor is worth it.” 

Dan shrugs. “I’ll think about it.” 

Sam shrugs again and leans down, resting her chin against the railing of the balcony. 

“How are you feeling?” Dan asks her, knowing full well that she isn’t feeling the best. She follows his question by another shrug—she must be in that mood today—and then sits up. She reaches into her hoodie pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and placing it between her lips as she lights it. 

“Does that answer your question?” She asks with a chuckle. “I’m hungover as fuck and I have a headache thats bigger than the whole of the UK.” 

Dan lets out a soft chuckles and reaches over, rubbing her arm gently. She twitches for a second and then laughs. “We’re a mess.” 

“And that’s why we’re best friends.” 

“Because we’re both hot messes?” Sam asks with a lighthearted chuckle. 

Dan nods and lets out a loud snort as he reaches for the table in front of him and picks up his cold coffee and takes a sip. 

Sam finishes her cigarette and puts it out in the ash tray that she has hidden under her chair. She then lets out a loud groan and stretches up before she kicks her long legs out in front of her and stands up. “Let’s go.” 

“Where?” Dan asks. 

He knows its the afternoon, but he’s didn’t know they had any plans. 

“Lets go swimming.” 

She extends her hand out and Dan takes in as she lifts him up and forces him back inside the doors to her bedroom and they get dressed to go out. She calls for a cab via the PA system she has in her room and then they leave to go towards the beach. 

***

“We couldn’t get ahold of Phil Lester.” 

They’re sat on the beach, the warm summer breeze blowing in their hair. People are walking all around them and Dan is digging his toes into the hot sand. 

“Oh?” 

Sam nods with a sympathetic look. She’s got her hair tossed up in messy double braids now and her freckles are darkening in the sun. Dan reckons that Sam is actually quite pretty. And if he was attracted to females, he’s sure he would jumped on the opportunity to be with her. But it’s just not something that would have worked. 

They tried...once. When they were newly eighteen and Dan was still figuring out if he liked girls. They met at a club while Dan was on a trip to Ibiza with his university friends for a vacation. Dan had no idea who Sam was when they first met but they shared a few drinks and found themselves to be natural friends. 

Dan tries to forget about how they tried to have sex once and he totally failed at it, panicking just as Sam undressed. And it wasn’t even like a genuine panic, it was more that he knew this wasn’t what he wanted and the thought of it was unsettling to him. Sam didn’t mind, and despite the first few hours being a bit weird, they can laugh about it now. 

“I asked Gillian to get ahold of Jeanna Trombley who is Phil Lester’s personal assistant. She takes all of his calls and everything. And she tried but Jeanna said that Phil Lester was far too busy right now to answer a call about a missing possession so...sorry, babes.” 

Dan feels a bit of sadness willing in his chest. He pulls his knees up to his chest and lays his cheek on his knees, turning his head towards Sam. She reaches out and puts a hand on his back and rubs it and that simple act is enough to make him sniffle and will himself not to cry right now. 

“I’m sure you’ll get it back one day.” 

“How?” Dan asks. “He doesn’t even know my real name and I doubt he even remembers me.” 

“My dad is good friends with Phil Lester, in case you didn’t know.” Sam juts in. “He does a lot of business deals and in return, he often offers Phil a place to stay in our hotels in a private executive suite just for him. I’m sure I can ask him to see if he can even talk to Phil.” 

Dan lets out a scoff. He know Sam’s dad wouldn’t ever do anything like that. 

“He probably is keeping it as a trophy.” 

“A trophy?” Sam asks, clarifying. 

Dan nods. “Yeah, like, oh I fucked this guys brains out and his necklace fell off so I’m going to keep this to remind of that night. You know, that kind of a trophy.” 

“I don’t think Phil would be that selfish.” Sam says, furrowing her brows. “I’ve met him before...I mean, I don’t think...” She stutters on her words. “Yes, it’s true that there are times where Phil can be a bit cold hearted but I don’t think he’d keep someone else’s possession for a trophy.” 

Dan shrugged. His skin was feeling a bit hot and he was beginning to feel a bit sweaty and gross. Sam let out a sigh. “I don’t know what else you want to do, Dan.” She says, her words cutting through to him. “There isn’t much to do at this point. Honestly, I would just let the necklace go. For all we know, maybe you didn’t lose it in his bed. Maybe you lost it on the dock or somewhere else in the yacht. You’re just thinking of the worst case scenarios right now.” 

Dan swallows and reluctantly nods because Sam was right. But he didn’t want to admit it. The necklace was still something that meant a lot to him and it wasn’t easy for him to come to the realization that he might have to part with it. 

“Come on, lets go swimming.” She says, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. “There is no point getting all pissy right now. It’s our last here. Let’s make the most of it.” 

Dan lets a smirk take over his lips and he dips his head down as he allows for her to drag him into the warm Mediterranean water. 

***

They ended up in a club somewhere, the music blasting and the lights strobing all around them. Dan’s got a few drinks down and Sam has a few more downed and they’re well past sober. Sam is dancing with some random guy in the crowd and Dan is dancing a bit off to the side where their table of empty drinks and cups are. He’s downed his third mixed drink and he’s reaching for a test tube shot from someone walking around the dance floor. He reckons he should be a bit more responsible but he’s also way past the point of giving any fucks whatsoever. 

The guy with Sam gets a bit handsier with her and Dan looks protectively to make sure she’s okay. And she definitely is by the way she’s kissing up and down the Adonis’s neck. Dan watches her for a few moments before she takes the mans hand and winds her way through to their table. 

“I’m leaving with Nick so you know the drill.” 

And Dan does. If Sam doesn’t text him within three hours of leaving, he needs to call her and etc...

He gives her a smile and watches her leave out the door with this fit guy as he left stood alone with an empty test tube shot and another one coming his way. He’s tempted to reach for it but he’s stopped when someone comes up next to him. 

“You’re looking a bit lonely over here.” 

Dan turns and makes eye-contact with a beautiful tanned male stood in front of him. His knees go a bit weak and he feels already the tell-tale signs of arousal spinning in his stomach at looking at the attractive male. His voice was sugary sweet in the best way possible and his bright green eyes shone directly into Dan’s brown. 

“Maybe.” Dan answers, smirking a bit. 

“You’re too cute to be lonely,” The male says. “I’m surprised no one else has snagged you up yet.” 

Dan shrugged. “Most people can’t handle me.” 

“Handle you?” 

Dan nods, playing along. “I’m a bit more than people can normally handle.” 

“Is that so?” The man asks, moving a forward. “Show me.” 

Dan reaches out and takes the mans hand in his palm and drags him into the middle of the crowded dance floor. He knows the man probably thought Dan meant he was going to drop to his knees and blow him in the middle of the floor but this was nicer. 

He wrapped his arms loosely around the mans neck and they swayed together as the mans hands placed themselves firmly on Dan’s hips. 

“What’s your name?” Dan asks. 

“Ivan. Yours?” 

“Dan.” 

Ivan smiles at him and leans down, pressing his lips against Dan’s neck and sucking a bit onto the tender skin. Dan’s breath hitched and he let out a low moan as he clung in closer to Ivan and let him suck continuous kisses onto his neck. 

They left, not long after. Dan shot Sam a text saying he was going home with a guy too and the fact that she replied with a thumbs up emoji made him chuckle a little bit. They took a taxi to the guys home, which was a small little villa on the coast. 

Once inside, it didn’t take long for the heat between them to intermix with the heat of the night. Dan shimmied off his clothing somewhere in Ivan’s living room and Ivan’s pants found their way with his as well. 

Dan went down on him, sucking him off the best he could but by the second round “Yes! Suck that cock!” came from Ivan’s mouth, he was getting to feel a bit less excited about what was happening. 

He still very much wanted to have sex, that was definitely still true. But somewhere in the back of his head as he swung his legs over Ivan’s hips and seated himself on top, he could still hear Phil’s voice and feel his hands on his skin. Ivan’s hands felt bigger, and colder. Phil’s were soft and gentle, warm to the touch like they were sear Dan’s skin if they were left too long. 

It took Dan a lot longer to get off with Ivan. Ivan finished pretty fast and then proceeded to let Dan ride him until he finished. But by the time Dan was close,  his thighs were aching and he was beginning to feel like this was more a chore than actually getting himself off. 

He came with a whimper and then pushed off from Ivan, landing beside him on the bed. Ivan kissed him, softly one last time, before Dan pushed off and told him he needed to get going. My friend is probably worried. He lied. 

He grabbed his clothing and dressed as fast as he could. He used Sam’s contact to call for a taxi and he waited outside for it and jumped in as soon as they came. When he got to Sam’s home, she was inside too, sitting on her bed wiping off her melted make up. 

“Was your night a bust too?” She joked, the remnants of black mascara on her cheeks. 

“Kind of.” 

Sam chuckled. “Nick came after a few seconds and then blacked out on me. I was back here within an hour.” 

“Ivan was okay but it took me a while to finish.” 

She sucked in a breath. “Oh no.” 

Dan looked at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh no, what?’ 

She shook her head. “Was it because you were thinking about a certain someone instead?” 

“Don’t be daft.” Dan says with a laugh. 

“Your red spot on your cheek just got darker. You’re lying.” 

Dan felt his cheeks light up more “I wasn’t thinking about Phil!” 

She shrugged back and the conversation ended. 

He fell asleep next to Sam in her bed that night and in the morning, a private cab was waiting for them to take them to the airport where they would catch Sam’s family’s private jet back to London. 

It was bittersweet for Dan as he watched the plane lift off out the window. He really felt as if a part of him was being left behind in Amalfi and he knew that part of him was currently in Phil Lester’s hands. 

***

Dan went back to his flat in London with a heavy feeling in his chest. He threw his suitcase down on the floor of his living room and then collapsed on his couch. Sam said she would be over a bit later for take out but he was really enjoying the time alone right now. 

He pulls out his laptop from his bag, the first time he’s done it the week he’d been gone. He finds his browser is open to his emails and he refreshes the page and looks at the Luxor email, still sitting proudly at the top of the list. 

He reads it over again and sees that they want him to be a brand model for their Instagram page. They want him to model their clothing on their Instagram and his own and they would compensate him for it. He could easily do that. 

Shooting back an email, he agrees to whatever they want him to do and he asks if he can meet up at their headquarters in London sometime this next week. He closes his laptop down and waits for their reply just as soon as a text appears on his phone. 

Sam: Phil’s assistant just got back. Says Phil doesn’t have your necklace. He only has one that belongs to a guy named Ethan...

Sam: I tried to tell her it was probably yours but Phil is adamant on not giving up the necklace to anyone besides Ethan...

Dan felt tears rush to his eyes and he wiped them away stubbornly with the regret of what he did that night with Phil. 

Because fuck Phil Lester and fuck everything else too. 

[dalekofchaos]

An analysis of Michael Myers as he's portrayed only in the original Halloween

From reddit user silviod

When we think of Michael Myers, we think of The Shape - standing, staring, white mask and blue overalls. We think of the music, and the relentless pursuit. We think of the iconography of the killer and his permeation into horror and cinema. What we generally don't think of is the human, and that makes sense: John Carpenter has often described him as being 'almost supernatural' and 'a force of nature.' In Halloween itself, released in 1978, Michael Myers' psychiatrist, Dr. Sam Loomis, describes Myers as being "pure and simply evil." He is evil personified, and that is it. But let's get into a bit more detail here, because despite everything, the Michael Myers that we see in the original Halloween has flesh and blood and hair.

Let's just get one thing out of the way straight away: Michael Myers isn't Laurie Strode's brother. This was, of course, a twist invented by the alcohol-infused mind of Carpenter and Hill for the 1981 sequel and has no relevance here. I'm talking specifically about Michael Myers as he's presented in Halloween and Halloween only. So we open with the POV shot of Myers killing his sister Judith. He walks outside and his mask is removed by his parents - he's near catatonic, and seems shocked at what he's done. Bullshit to all those who say he had a blank expression - that is not the fucking look of an expressionless kid. It might not be much, and his shock doesn't imply he's less evil, it just shows that this is probably his first exposure to anything of the magnitude of murder. Skip to years later, and Michael is 21. Let's outline the moments we spend with Michael, as well as his actions and the way he holds himself. Loomis and a nurse are going to Smiths Grove to pick him up and take him to be tried as an adult. As they approach the sanitarium, they notice many wandering inmates in the darkened fields. As Loomis gets out to investigate, Myers leaps onto the car from behind like an animal. He's swift and quick, and is already playful in his actions. He makes noise on top of the car to startle the nurse, then smashes the side window and tries to grab her. He jumps down, throws her out the car and hops in. He drives away. Now he embarks on his 100 mile plus road trip to Haddonfield.

On the way, he stops at a garage, kills a guy there, and steals his overalls. He arrives in Haddonfield, breaks into a shop and steals a mask. He returns to his old home, eats a dog, and sees Laurie walk up to the door. He decides to start following her, so he hops in the car and does so. He follows little Tommy, Laurie, and Laurie's friends. He stands on the streets and in gardens and intentionally exposes himself, then hides. He's letting them know that he's around. In my head, Myers was always robotic, with surgeon-like stillness, but he really isn't like that. He holds onto the trees as he hides behind them and leers out from the side. He stumbles and knocks a plant over when watching a girl in her house and backs away quickly as it made noise - or was this intentional? Either way, he's not anywhere near as robotic in his mannerisms as I remembered.

His stalking is deliberate and unsubtle. He doesn't give a shit if people notice him, as long as the ones he's targeting do. He's really getting off on this. Eventually, he decides to actually start killing them. He sees Annie naked, as she spills whatever-the-fuck-she-spills on herself. He watches her this entire time - these scenes constantly have Myers presence, because he's constantly there. At this point, he's staying within a tiny radius: just two houses. He's got everything else out the way now His sister's gravestone was successfully retrieved earlier and he's already popped that into the house ready to decorate his house-of-horrors. The killing begins. He's stalked for at least twelve hours, and by now he understands the people he's watching and he's figured out their interpersonal relationships. For a man who does twelve hours of stalking, his kills are pretty quick. A strangulation, a cut throat and a stabbing. It seems this isn't the ultimate goal for him, it's just the final piece in a long chain of excitements. When he killed Judith as a kid, he watched her first. It's probably likely that, for hours, days or weeks before the scene that opens Halloween, he was watching Judith not with eyes of a younger brother, but eyes of a killer.

He kills Annie and then takes her corpse upstairs where he positions her on the bed. He waits again, this time for someone else to arrive. Lynda and her boyfriend rock up soon after, so it's time to start killing. Michael has paid the least attention to these two in terms of stalking, so he gets to business quite a bit quicker. He lets them have sex - yes, this is a matter of him allowing them to, because he was there the entire time. Then, the guy goes downstairs to retrieve some beers. There, Michael makes a noise and then hides in a closet, waiting for the guy to investigate. He lunges out the closet and pierces the guys' chest, nailing him to the wall with the knife. The guy dies, and Myers does what is now considered one of his trademarks: his head tilt. He probably had a similar experience after killing Annie, but it cuts pretty soon after that one so we don't get to see it. Nick Castle - the actor portraying Myers - was told by Carpenter to act like a kid who had pinned a butterfly to a board: it's almost as if there is an element of curiosity here. And that's where we get to an interesting point: Myers has been catatonic and lifeless since the killing of his sister 15 years ago. Not a word spoken. We imagine Myers sat in his room, all day, every day, staring. Staring at the walls. He grew. He went through puberty. He grew into a man. All whilst in this state. It's not unreasonable to surmise from this that he's probably, on some level, in a state of arrested development. What could there be to develop him? He was, presumably, a normal child, in a normal household on a normal street in a normal school, before he murdered Judith. Whatever was brewing inside of him took over when he killed Judith, and he froze in that moment - he'd have to. He spent all of his time thinking about that kill, because if not, why would he instantly start trying to memorialise, to relive? Why bring his sister's gravestone to his new house of mayhem if he didn't have some affinity to it? Michael Myers is still that six year old boy, and he's still got that curiosity. Whatever it is that drives Michael to kill, it's in the same state as it was when he was six: he likely killed Judith out of curiosity, and here he is again. He's amazed that he just pinned someone to a wall! Wow, no longer does he only have one kill to fantasise about, but he's wracking up more and more.

He then follows this firey curiosity with another infamous Myers moment - he takes a bedsheet, cuts out two holes, puts it over his head, puts his recent victim's glasses over it and heads upstairs. He opens the door of the bedroom and stands there, then after a moment, edges himself closer. After a while, he strangles her and she dies. But let's think about this: after killing that guy, whose name I have just completely forgotten, he cuts holes out of a bedsheet and wears it like a ghost. What does this say about Michael Myers? He roamed around the kitchen searching for scissors, cut out eyeholes, put the bedsheet on over the mask he's already wearing and puts the glasses on top of that. Is this his sense of humour? Is this just a method of getting closer to his victim without her knowing, so she's easier to attack? Some people say it's that, but Michael Myers simply wouldn't care about that. She was in bed, naked, a few feet from him. If he opened the door as himself or as the bedsheet, it wouldn't matter. He's just curious, and weird. He wanted to watch her for a while. By doing this, he can see her not just in a state of fear, but in an unalarmed, happy state. He didn't know what she'd do, but he was curious and excited to see it. His decision to do this also shows his creative flair - even if he is celebrating an ode to Judith's original kill 15 years ago, he's doing different things. Lynda was in a bedroom, naked and post-sex with her boyfriend. The environmental factors were almost the same as Judith's original kill. If Michael was simply trying to recreate the kill as an obsession to the original kill, he wouldn't be adding new elements. Hes building on the old memories, he's improving himself, pushing himself.

So he starts piling the bodies in different ways: hanging upside-down in a closet, shoved onto a shelve and laid on the bed below his sister's gravestone. Now he waits for his next victim. Laurie comes, but this time she manages to fight back. There are two schools of thought now: was Laurie his final girl, or was she meant to be another victim? Was his plan supposed to end with Laurie, or was she simply going to be another body? Based on what we see, he wanted to fill that room, and likely the house, with bodies. Clearly, he had planned what he was going to do for a long time. In his head, as he sat at Smiths Grove, he thought specifically: I'm going to take Judith's gravestone and surround it with more bodies. Either that, or this is all just on a whim, but I don't buy that. He escaped for a reason, on the anniversary of her death. He knew what he was going to do all along.

I don't think Laurie was all that important to Michael's plan. If he had successfully killed her too, he'd have continued to just find more and more bodies until he couldn't anymore, setting the house he was in as a giant mousetrap for the people of Haddonfield to fall into. But he couldn't because Laurie kept attacking him and he kept falling.

Now let's look at Michael's invincibility and supposed supernatural abilities. She stabs him in the neck with a sewing needle and he falls to the ground. It takes a while for him to get back up, but a wound like that likely wouldn't kill straight away. Sure, it would incapacitate, but we've learnt that Michael can be very "inhumanly patient" when he wants to be, what with his time at Smiths Grove as an example. He gets up and continues - does he feel pain here? Did it affect him at all? The fact he was down for a while implies, at least to me, that Laurie did manage to strike a fatal blow with that needle, otherwise Myers would get up straight away. Either that, or he didn't feel it, and simply allowed her to get away a bit to continue the chase. We've already established how much Michael enjoys the chase and the stalk, so of course he's going to give her that edge again. Then she stabs him in the eye with a coathanger and then in the chest with his own kitchen knife. Fatal blow. He falls. She gets the kids out of the house, and then he... gets up again. What was he experiencing? What was he thinking? He does think, because he isn't an empty vessel, so what was he thinking? Was he confused that he wasn't dying, or was his single desire to kill so overwhelming that he was able to override everything and continue? Either way, he goes for one last attack, where she demasks him. Here, we see that his eye is messed up. So his body does respond normally to physical stimuli - his eye was stabbed so the eyelid curls up. He bleeds. He's definitely human.

Then he's shot six times, falls out of the window and gets up again. This is the moment that a normal human being couldn't survive, so how did he? He must've been baffled! But anyway, through all this, we have to imagine the same scenes playing out not with the globally-recognised Michael Myers horror icon, but with the man behind the mask. He's a weird 21 year old guy who killed his sister when he was six and now he's back. He does weird shit. He's curious about kills and amused at the ways he does them. He stalks and watches. He used his sister's gravestone in his new rituals. He's just a young guy who really fucking likes killing. I don't want to explain why - it wasn't druids, but it might be that he's a pure incarnation of evil. But even if he is, he isn't just a shape. He clearly has a personality, and enjoys the way he stalks, and understands humans and how to get under their skin. If we imagine the same film but without the mask, it's a different picture. He's just a complete fucking weirdo, and somehow, his pure desire to kill grew so overwhelming that it broke reality and transcended life and death, and allowed him to become something more - his giver of death allowed him to escape it himself. This is Michael Myers. Haddonfield weirdo.

Now, I don't want to denounce the concept of evil here. I don't want to portray the concept of evil as being bound to the supernatural - it's often described Myers is the incarnate of pure evil and therefore he is a force of nature and unstoppable/unkillable - not human. There are many cases in real life of men who are truly evil - or at least commit heinous acts in the same vein Myers does - and this is the real world, where there is no supernatural. His ability to withstand stabbings and gunshots is not related to that, and is, to me, the ambiguity and amalgamation of the character of Michael Myers: all of Michael's personality traits are the perfect bedding for pure evil in a supernatural sense, but this doesn't negate Michael from being a human being who has lived 21 years and has his own personality, thoughts and internal lexicon. There is a precise logic and rhythym to Michael, and that's precisely because of the way he's portrayed: hes curious, playful, intelligent, agile, sadistic and childlike. He's inventive and creative and driven. He's Michael fucking Myers!

[batwake]

Come In From The Cold - chapter three + epilogue

chapter one - chapter two

pairing: clint barton/bucky barnes

ao3 link

It rains.

It rains and it rains and it rains.

The first person they try to send in gets his neck broken. The second and third have their own guns turned against them. The fourth calls out a woman’s name as his head connects with the doorframe. They don’t send any more for a while after that.

There are no windows, but the rain can be heard loud and clear. Which means it’s close. To what, it’s unknown. The surface, if the cell is underground. Some sort of window, if it isn’t. Close to going crazy, close to escape, to a man dressed in purple, to a house.

The fifth person they send is not taken down so easily.

Dodge. Dodge. Punch, miss. Dive, go for the legs. Go for my legs, someone had said. Jump back up, punch when he isn’t expecting—

The man goes down, does not get back up.

The Winter Soldier sits on the floor, and does not feel like he has won.

-

When Clint was a kid, he and Barney used to play a game.

It was like hide and seek. When dad gets home from the bar, you hide. When you wake up at three am and hear him yelling at mom, you seek. Clint isn’t allowed to step between Barney and dad, but can between dad and mom. Don’t talk to dad unless he talks to you first.

The rules of the game went out the window once dad hit Clint’s head too hard and they couldn’t afford hearing aids. Barney stood up for Clint when he hadn’t before, talking to dad out of turn when Clint couldn’t hear him. Shoving him roughly and telling him make everything something to hit with. And hit them until they stop.

Barney hadn’t been a good brother.

But he wasn’t a bad one, either.

So Clint picks up the phone and calls.

~

It rains well into the night, long after Nick Fury has vacated the premises with the barest promise to let Clint know if they learn anything else.

Kate arrives sometime after three am, finding Clint sitting on the floor of his living room, all of the furniture pushed up against the far wall and the carpet rolled up. Clint isn’t dancing, though. Piles of paper sit on the floor around him, all from an overflowing file that Fury had left. It mostly incomprehensible, and what Clint can actually make out doesn’t make sense. There’s a form that appears to be from the army, the name James Buchanan Barnes at the top, and a photo showing a younger and clean cut Bucky dressed in fancy army greens. Another photo is attached to what looks like an essay written in Russian, and has Bucky in a more familiar form, with his long hair and unshaved face. He looks dead, almost, skin tinted blue as he sits in what can only be some sort of freezer. There are other photos, of brain scans and dog tags and chairs that look like the kind of thing an evil dentist would have. Clint can’t make sense of it all. Some pages are written in English and appear to be American, while others must be Russian. 

He hadn’t been able to explain much over the phone, but she looks understanding as she toes over the papers to kneel next to Clint, who is shaking. Kate wraps her arms around him delicately, not paying any attention to her soaking wet rain coat or the papers around them. Clint presses his face into her neck and lets himself cry, her soothing hands pressed to the back of his head. For a fleeting moment, he is reminded of his mother.

“It’ll all be okay,” Kate assures him, snapping Clint out of the fog he had been in. Kate is Kate, and never anyone else. She presses their foreheads together, her wet hair falling into Clint’s face. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We’re calling in the reinforcements,” someone says. Clint’s head snaps up, looking over Kate’s shoulder to see a tall, blonde man standing awkwardly in the doorway. He looks sheepishly between Clint and Kate, like he feels bad for ruining their moment. “Uh, sorry.”

It dawns on Clint exactly who this is. “Katie, were you ever going to tell me that you know Captain America?”

Kate’s hand, which has moved to Clint’s shoulder, tightens its grip. “I ran into him in the stairwell. So somehow he knows where you live.”

Captain America shuffles. He is not at all like the warrior Clint has been picturing. He seems awkward, and carries himself like he isn’t totally sure what to do with his body. Steve is what Bucky had called him. His best friend.

“Bucky told you,” Clint realizes after a beat of silence while Steve searches for his words.

“For emergencies!” Steve hurries out. “I think this is as emergency as it gets.”

Clint presses both of his hands to the wood floor, trying to steady himself. Kate lowers herself so she is sitting beside him, shrugging off her coat and tossing it to the couch a few feet away. She remains close to Clint, their knees and shoulders bumping. Her worried eyes connect with Clint’s as she cuts off Steve’s continued awkward and panicked rambling. “The Captain said that he can help.”

Somewhere between the stairs and Clint’s apartment Kate and Steve had realized who the other was and were planning something. “Reinforcements,” Clint echoes from earlier.

Steve presses forward until he stands at the edge of the circle of papers that Clint has made, glancing over them. He doesn’t look surprised at what he sees. It makes Clint wonder how much of this Steve understands. “We, some of the other fighters and I, can help.”

“I don’t understand.”

Steve crouches down and picks up a few of the papers, looking over them. “Has Bucky told you anything? About his past.”

Clint shakes his head.

“I don’t believe the government, or whoever has Bucky, is planning on killing him anytime soon.”

“But Fury said—”

“Fury is holding his cards close to his chest,” Steve says, passing a paper over to Kate, who holds it in front of both of them. The paper has clearly been kept over years, maybe decades, the edges folding in and the page turning brown instead of white. That’s not what surprises Clint, as most of the papers around them are older than Kate. The page contains a list of some sort, a straight line of black going down the page next to a seperate list of years. The only thing besides the years that isn’t blacked out is one name at the bottom. James Buchanan Barnes sits next to the years 1963-2010. “You’ve heard of the Winter Soldier.”

“That’s Bucky,” Kate says.

Clint looks up. “There were—”

“Others,” Steve finishes, nodding. “Before Bucky. But he was the best.”

“The best at what?” asks Kate, practically reading Clint’s mind.

“The Winter Soldier was an assassin for a nazi organization called Hydra,” Steve explains delicately, sorting through all of the papers closest to him. He appears to know what they all mean. “Hydra got its start in the second World War, and like an infection, it continued to grow even after. They lurked in the shadows and started to gain a cult-like following. Bucky joined the army in ‘61, and well, died during a mission in ‘62. But he hadn't, not in the way it counts. He had been taken into captivity by Hydra and became a brainwashed killing machine who didn’t even know his own name.”

“How is that possible—” Kate starts.

“Bucky hadn’t been the first Winter Soldier, but he was the last. Up until then no other Winter Soldier had acted positively to the serum, or finished the training, or died not too long after they started active duty. But Bucky lasted. For forty seven years.”

“Wait,” Clint chokes out, but Steve continues.

“When they found my body in 2008, I joined SHIELD as Captain America and became an agent. I helped take down Hydra, saved Bucky, and then SHIELD shut down, never to be heard from again.”

They must be wearing twin faces of shock. Kate speaks first while Clint tries not to hyperventilate. “You’re the real Captain America? The one from those war posters in the 60s?”

“Yes.”

Kate presses a hand to her forehead. “Jesus Christ.”

This explains everything that was odd about Bucky, Clint thinks. The arm, the languages. His off days where it’s like he accidentally entered factory reset mode. For nearly fifty years, Bucky had been nothing more than a machine, an asset. Now, he was out of his time, his brain working like a fork in a blender, and was in an underground fighting ring because he had no other options. I don’t even technically exist, he had said. And then, you don’t know what I’ve done.

And now he’s gone.

Clint, suddenly steady and sober, stares at Steve. “You said you don’t think they want to kill him. What does any of this have to do with that?”

Steve manages to hold his gaze. “Hydra wouldn’t kill their greatest weapon.”

Beside Clint, Kate startles, leaning forward. “You’re not saying—”

“I believe Hydra has infiltrated the government, and is very likely the root of the accords.”

~

Steve leaves at 5am and promises to return in a few hours. He doesn’t explain where he is going.

Clint has about as much faith in him as he does with Nick Fury at this point, but lets him leave all the same. What more could he lose?

He looks warily at Kate over his coffee. She looks more put together than he does, and that’s saying something. Her hair sits high on her head in a sloppy bun, likely still wet from the rain, and makeup is smeared down her face. It looks like she’s wearing pajamas, with sweatpants tucked into her rain boots and a t-shirt she probably stole from Clint.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” Clint whispers after a long stretch of silence.

Kate frowns at him. “Don’t be sorry, dumbass.”

“I just—“

“You didn’t just anything, okay?” Kate reaches across the table and grabs his hand. “I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine, right Hawkeye?”

Clint sniffs, looking down at their hands. His chest tightens and constricts. “I don’t know what we’re getting into, here.” Steve talked of reinforcements and Hydra with some sort of optimism, like the fight isn’t over yet.

Like there’s still hope.

“It’s not like we did back then, either,” says Kate. “I didn’t expect to become your sidekick when you broke into my house.”

“You’re not my sidekick, Katie.”

She looks away, her gaze far off. “You got that right.”

More silence falls. Clint tries to keep his shit together, forcing himself to drink more coffee. Kate leaves the kitchen to take Lucky outside as the clock on the microwave approaches 6am.

She returns, hair once again wet and drooping sadly to one side of her head. Lucky shakes the water off right next to Clint, then wanders back into the living room to go back to sleep on the couch that is still pressed up against the wall. Clint is reading Barney’s letter again.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

Clint looks up as she sits down, shedding her coat once more. Kate motions to the letter. “You could leave. I wouldn’t mind.”

He stares at her. “I would mind.” Clint couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t see Katie every day. He needs her to tell him when he’s being stupid, or take care of him when he’s sick. No one makes mac n’ cheese quite like she does, or rolls their eyes so hard it must give them a headache. No one to hold his hand or hug him in exactly the right way or share his bed after long nights. The only other person who could ever come close won’t be coming home anytime soon.

“You deserve to be somewhere with Bucky where you can both exist. You have the opportunity, don’t you want to go before it’s too late?”

“It’s already too late.”

“You heard what Steve said!”

Clint rubs his face, releasing a breath that sends a shake through his body. The truth is that he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. What if they do something, something crazy and stupid and definitely illegal and Clint spends the rest of his sad life in a prison, or worse. All for a ghost.

But doesn’t Bucky deserve that? The fighting chance? The what if?

Clint doesn’t even know how long it’s been since Bucky was taken into custody. Had Fury waited? Or was Clint the first to get the news? There were too many variables, none of it made sense—

“What if I don’t deserve it?” asks Clint after a while. Kate’s face softens as she lifts herself from the chair and rounds the table, wrapping her arms around Clint’s shoulders.

“You, Clint Barton,” she whispers to his hair, “deserve a happy ending most of all.”

~

By 11am, Steve still has not returned. Clint paces worriedly around the apartment, takes two showers, digs through the duffel bag holding all of their supplies, takes out his hearing aids, and sits stock still in the middle of all of Bucky’s papers. Knowing what he now knows about the Winter Soldier, some things click into place. There’s a pack of papers connected by a ring at the corner that’s just full of names and dates, a few censored here and there. Victims, Clint realizes, enemies of Hydra that the Winter Soldier targeted. There are thousands of names.

Clint’s stomach stirs uncomfortably. He sets the packet down and moves to stand, feeling ready for this third shower, when Kate, sitting on the couch, looks over at the front door. Clint follows her gaze, but doesn’t see anything. He looks back over at her as she signs wait, her palms up towards her and fingers wiggling. She is up and moving to the door before Clint can respond.

As she opens the door Clint lets himself slide back onto the floor, his feet tucked underneath him. Kate is stepping back and letting Steve in quickly, followed by two women. Kate is talking hurriedly to them, her mouth moving too quickly to read and her eyes looking between their new arrivals. Clint looks back down at the papers, too tired to get up and sort things out.

A pillow hits the side of his head. When he looks up, Kate is looking at him expectantly, Steve looks awkward, and the women are hard to read. Tall dark and beautiful has her arms folded and a blank expression on her face. The second, with defined muscles and big curly hair, looks like she’s judging Clint. Kate, looking small between the two women, runs her pointer finger across her forehead then places her right hand over her left and wiggles her fingers. After a pause and a glance to the second woman, she slots her fingers together and keeps her thumbs pointed up, moving her hands around in a circle.

Ah. So Steve really had called in the reinforcements, whatever that means. Clint was having a hard time keeping up.

The Black Widow says something, and Miss America begins to respond, but Kate cuts her off and starts to rattle on about whatever it is.

Clint lets out a long exhale, stands, carefully steps over all of the papers, pushes past Steve, heading into the bathroom.

His head hurts.

~

His heart hurts.

This is what’s on his mind after the third shower, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. His blonde hair is disheveled despite being fresh from a shower, and his eyes are red and rimmed with heavy bags. It’s been less than twenty four hour since he’s seen Fury, but it feels like several lifetimes. From finding out that your sort-of boyfriend is as good as dead, to hearing that he used to work for a nazi organization and grew up in the 50s, everything was starting to pile up on Clint’s shoulders.

Clint was starting to feel very, very overwhelmed.

There was hope, supposedly, for Bucky. Steve seemed to think so.

What had Barney said, when they were kids?

Make everything something to hit with, and hit them until they stop.

Clint lets out a long sigh, slipping in his hearing aids and pulling on a t-shirt and sweatpants that don’t fit him right, but are better than nothing.

“Alright,” Clint says as he enter the kitchen. Kate pauses mid coffee pour, her eyebrows raising and disappearing behind her bangs. She scrambles as the mug overflows and spills onto the table, swearing loudly. “How are we doing this?”

-

It can’t tell exactly how much time passes.

Sometimes they say the words, sometimes they don’t.

Either way, everything is foggy. It fades in and out, having lost the energy to fight long ago. There are flashes of, of things, of people and places and sounds. A dark and old apartment filled with nothing except a mattress and some boxes fades into a pleasant living room with pictures of fuzzy faces and a tv that just shows static, a low voice saying something about dancing and arrows and haircuts.

It shakes its head, trying to clear its brain of the fog, the concrete floor coming into focus for a moment underneath it before turning into an ugly green carpet that smells like rosemary and home. This time a woman’s voice is singing something high and sweet that makes it long to crawl into her arms and fall asleep.

It screams, loud enough that it pulls it out of the mist, banging the metal fist onto the floor. It screams so loud that it is sure someone will come to shut it up, to put a bullet in its head to get it over with.

But no one does.

~

There is a time when they try to activate The Asset, but when they say the words, all it can do is bring two fingers to its chin and make a motion pulling them down and away from its face until they inject something that forces it back into the fog.

~

Bucky thinks a lot about the choices he’s made up to this point.

There was a walk home, from, somewhere, he doesn’t remember. An alleyway, a man with a badge and a uniform and a gun that didn’t fire real bullets. Someone in a pristine lab coat saying the words, but, no, that doesn’t make sense, Hydra went down in—

You spend the better part of your life double and triple checking locks, looking underneath beds, taking the long way home, and obsessively honing your self defence skills, and where does that get you?

He’s clearly in a cell of some sort, but whether or not this is the sort of treatment that enhanced people usually get upon arrest is unclear. Instead of bars there is a heavy metal door, and there is no window or bed. All he has is the light in the ceiling and the occasional grunt that comes through the door. He’s pretty sure he had killed the first few people they sent in, but he had been in full Winter Soldier mode, so he’s not totally sure. Whoever had activated him hadn’t known how to turn it off, so he spent some time in an odd state of limbo where he was activated with no purpose, turning him into a foggy mess that didn’t know who to kill or who to trust. Eventually he ran out of steam and they started trying different things on him, like saying the code words and injecting him with something that makes him become loose and pliant, or, once, knocks him straight out.

He wishes they’d just kill him already. Isn’t that what they do to enhanced anyway?

Whoever is running this operation clearly doesn’t understand how the Winter Soldier works. They’re trying to figure that out, what gets him going and what stops it, and just what his limits are. Why had he been arrested just to become a test subject, left to practically rot away in this fucking cell? Or why hasn’t he been killed?

Bucky thumps his head uselessly against the door. He wonders if anyone outside it can hear him.

He shouldn’t have joined the fucking army.

-

Natasha Romanov takes her coffee black. America Chavez likes hers with only a little milk and cinnamon. Kate, per usual, makes hers with lots of milk and sugar. Steve Rogers does not drink coffee, but somehow finds bags of tea hidden in Clint’s cupboards and drinks that instead.

They all manage to fit in Clint’s kitchen. Kate, America, Steve, and Natasha at the table and Clint on the counter, Lucky underneath the table at Kate’s feet. They’re going on thirty hours of whatever it is they’re doing, talking, planning, something. They walk back and forth between the kitchen and the living room every once in a while, looking for something, anything, they can use to figure out exactly what it is that they’re going to do.

Steve explains that he had to visit the facility and steal some files, which is how he figured out how to contact Natasha and America.

“Fury doesn’t know you’re here?” asks Kate.

He takes a long sip of his tea and shakes his head. Steve looks over at Clint on the counter, then says, “I worry that he wouldn’t think it would be worth it. This isn’t the first fighter that’s been arrested, and it will hardly be the last.”

Clint forces himself to look up at the ceiling rather than at Steve’s sad face. Seventy five arrow holes in the kitchen, and twenty two are on the ceiling. He counts them now, each one a tap on the counter.

One, two, three, four…

“There’s not much we can do without the resources at the facility,” Natasha points out. “The combined forces of Stark’s tech and Fury’s information would do us wonders.”

America wanders out of her chair, bringing her mug with her into the living room. “I don’t get how Fury got our information. I certainly didn’t give it to him.” She moves along the edge of papers that Clint has created. They’ve hardly made a dent, even if they’ve already moved a decent amount of papers into the room. Pages that appear to be health updates with locations blacked out, or army files that declare Sergeant James Barnes KIA.

“Why don’t we just get in and get into Stark’s shit then?” Kate keeps her eyes on America through the doorway, her hands nervously fiddling with her own mug.

...fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...

“You’ve seen the security at the damn place, it’s nearly impossible to get in without being detected, much less get in and get out undetected,” Natasha says plainly, as if it’s obvious.

...nineteen, twenty, twenty one…

“There are twenty two points of entry, fifteen exits,” America calls from the living room. “I don’t see why we can’t shut a few down for a little while.”

Clint looks away from the ceiling, over at Kate. She’s looking back at him, and without missing a beat, raises a hand to point at him, then moves her hand down away from her chin. He just nods, hopping off the counter and moving into the living room, where America is crouched over one of the pages.

“There’s nothing we can do that Stark wouldn’t notice immediately,” says Steve.

There’s a paper that America is holding. Every single word is censored, except for a single photo in the top right corner of an empty street.

“Why don’t we just ask him?”

Clint can practically hear all of the heads turning towards him. Steve starts, “Ask—”

“Stark.”

Heavy silence. Lucky’s panting fills it. Then,

“That could—”

“He wouldn’t—”

Steve and Natasha start to talk over each other, Steve adamantly refusing to believe that Tony would help while Natasha makes a case for Clint. America looks over at Clint and gives him a lopsided smile. “They’ll never give in to each other, they’re both too stubborn.”

Clint thinks back to the time he watched Captain America tapout during a fight with Black Widow. “I’m not so sure.”

The paper America was holding lands back on top of something about a man named Helmut Zemo. Clint’s looked at it already, anyway.

“Stark seems like the type of guy who would get a kick out of helping our wayward cause,” Clint continues, moving back into the kitchen and taking the seat that America has abandoned. He takes a drink from Kate’s cup even if he prefers his coffee black. He’s starting to feel like he needs a nap. A nap and a house far, far away from Bed Stuy. “So, why don’t we just ask him. Walk right up to that tower of his, knock on the door, and ask.”

Waving a hand, Kate comes to his defense. “He has a point.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows smugly at Steve. He looks at her for a long minute, some sort of internal turmoil, before he dips his head and says, “fine.”

From inside the living room, America tosses a fist in the air. “Now we’re cooking.”

And with that, Clint stands, leaving the kitchen, walking through the living room, and retreating to his lonely room. He doesn’t need to look to know Lucky has followed, jumping onto the bed and looking up at Clint sadly, as if he is wondering where their third party is.

Clint crouches at the edge of the bed where Lucky lies, his one eye trained on Clint. He runs a hand through Lucky’s fur and rubs behind his ear, his tongue falling out the side of his mouth with a low huff. “I miss him, too,” Clint whispers. He feels like crying but can’t, his body tired of it. Lucky sits up enough press his nose into Clint’s eye, then his tongue against his cheek, as if sensing the imaginary tears that are falling. “We’ll get him back,” Clint promises, to Lucky and to himself, petting the dog once more before removing his hearing aids and crawling into bed, wondering if it truly smells like Bucky, or if he is imagining it.

When Kate slips in beside him, sometime later, Clint realizes that he couldn’t live without Bucky as much as he could not live without Kate.

~

Clint is sitting on a roof somewhere, a younger, clean cut Bucky Barnes beside him. His hair is cut to army regulation but still styled immaculately, and is donned in the same fancy greens Clint had seen in the picture earlier, but the sniper rifle in his hands suggests that he’s in combat . When Clint looks down he sees his bow in his hands, a single arrow sitting innocently on the ledge of the building that they are on.

There’s a cityscape in front of them, but it fades in and out, too hard to make out any details.

“Where are we?” asks Clint, his voice sounding muted and warbled, even in his own head. The young Bucky beside him looks through the scope on his rifle.

“A mission, of course.” He certainly sounds like the Bucky that Clint knows, but there is a smirk in his voice, a hint of playfulness and youth. “Didn’t you read my file?”

Clint startles, grabbing the arrow from the ledge and looking over the edge of the building. Something finally comes into focus, a single door on a building across the street. There are no people on the foggy streets, no one to enter the building and no one to leave it. When Clint looks over at Bucky, he is no longer looking through the rifle and is instead sitting back, his feet kicked up with his arms raised behind his head, all too relaxed.

“A mission,” Clint repeats. With one arrow? “I don’t—”

“Hush,” says Bucky suddenly, sitting up and looking through the scope. Clint looks too, then stands suddenly, shocked at what he sees.

Bucky, the version that Clint knows with long hair and a scruffy face and a metal arm, walks out of the building. He’s nearly moving in slow motion, face blank as he moves forward. He’s dressed all in black, with weapons strapped across his body, and Clint realizes that he’s looking at the Winter Soldier.

Young Bucky pulls Clint back down by his sleeve. “You’ll blow our cover,” he hisses, face twisted into something angry and unrecognizable. “Aren’t you going to take the shot?”

Clint means to grab at Young Bucky’s shoulder, but his hand goes right through him. “I can’t,” Clint pleads, looking into the cold blue eyes of the young man that Clint doesn’t know at all. “He’s still in there.” Bucky rolls his eyes, huffing and lifting his rifle.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he mutters, looking down the scope just for a moment before pulling the trigger.

There is a shot that rings through the air and Clint shouts, throwing out his arm, but he is falling suddenly, over the edge and away from the Bucky that Clint doesn’t know.

He wakes up before he can hit the ground.

~

For a moment Clint just feels someone beside him, and wonders if the last day and a half have been a dream. But Kate’s hair is longer and darker than Bucky’s, splayed out on the pillow beside her head. Lucky is sitting patiently by the door, looking back and forth between the bed and the door, his mouth hanging open.

Clint lets out a long breath that he didn’t know he had been holding, his heart beat steadying into something that makes it easier for him to set his feet on the carpet, put his hearing aids in, and open the door. It’s only once Lucky is rushing out of the bedroom and to the front door that Clint notices the sound of incessant knocking.

It’s hard to say how much time has passed since Clint abandoned the others for his bedroom, but sunlight is spilling through the curtains when it had been dark when he fell asleep, so something tells him it hasn’t been an absurdly long time. Natasha and America being sprawled over the furniture that's crowded together adds to the theory. Steve is nowhere to be seen.

“Wha—”

Tony Stark is already rambling as he steps through the open door and around Clint. “About damn time,” Tony is saying, carrying a cardboard box filled with electronics, “I’ve been knocking for, what, ten minutes?”

“You know I’m deaf right—”

“And at this time of day, no less” he continues, stepping into the kitchen and setting the box on the table. “This isn’t usually the sort of thing I’d do but Stars and Stripes put on his puppy face begged for my assistance.”

Clint stares at Tony. He hadn’t really expected him to be on their side, much less randomly show up to his apartment. “Where’s Steve?” asks Clint skeptically.

Tony waves a hand, pulling out a device that looks like a miniature satellite. “Has to check in with some official government people every morning since he’s on the enhanced list.”

“So that's where he went yesterday morning. He wasn’t just getting…” Clint pauses, looking awkwardly at Tony. “Things.”

“I am well aware that the star spangled man with a plan snuck into the facility.” Clint doesn’t get the reference, but Tony is continuing before he can even ask. “That man doesn’t have an ounce of stealth in that ridiculous body.”

The sound of Tony taking everything out of the box and rambling on about Steve taking what doesn’t belong to him finally wake someone else up, a disheveled Natasha stepping into the kitchen. She takes one look at Stark, heaves a long sigh, then moves to the counter to begin making more coffee. “You miss me, Miss Romanov?” Tony says, raising his eyebrows at her back. Clint takes the seat next to Tony, glancing over all of the equipment he has taken out. Several computers, the thing that’s shaped like a satellite, and a pile of things that just look like junk to Clint.

“Do you think you can find him?” asks Clint.

Shrugging, Tony grabs a cord from one of the computers and reaches around Natasha to plug it in next to the coffee machine. She glares at him as he responds, “Not sure. We tried to put a tracker in that arm of his forever ago, but he destroyed it as soon as he was out of my sight. He would never be found if he didn’t want to.”

Clint thinks back to that first night they met, when he had found one of the fifteen exits from the facility and Bucky had stopped to question him. They had fumbled around each other, neither one of them knowing exactly what to do. Bucky had been pissed off and worried that Clint was going to turn him in, and Clint had been afraid and flustered.

That was months ago.

Look at us now, Clint thinks, rubbing his forehead and glancing over at Tony. Nothing remains of Bucky in the apartment, nothing except that stupid fucking file. No pictures, because Bucky refused to take them. No notes, no traces, nothing to be found, just like Tony says.

“Is it a lost cause?”

Stark looks up, studying Clint. He takes him in, the whole mess of him. Clint can’t tell if there is pity hidden in his gaze.

“Be honest,” continues Clint.

He rubs his facial hair, glancing back down at his unfinished computer setup, then up at the ceiling, before Tony finally settles on Clint again. Over his shoulder, Natasha’s eyes flick around Tony’s person, the shoulders, his hands and feet, analyzing his body language. Finally, Tony says, “I think I can find him. Whether or not he’ll be sane isn’t something I can guarantee.”

That’s enough for Clint. Hope, something he had been trying to shove away, starts to bubble in his chest. Tony Stark, of all people, was giving him hope.

Clint leans back in his chair, letting the feeling settle and his shoulders loosen. Tony was going to find Bucky, they were going to come up with a plan. And then what?

Barney didn’t answer the phone when Clint called hours ago, and had not called back. Clint hadn’t left a message, either, but he didn’t even know what to say. There was promise of a house, a haven far away from New York. Big open fields for Lucky, places for targets for him and Kate. A home for Bucky where he would never have to worry about what may be hiding around the corner. “I’ll be right back,” Clint mutters while Tony takes a breath from talking to Natasha as she sits down. He can feel her careful gaze on him as he reenters the living room and goes back into his bedroom.

Kate is still asleep. He doesn’t bother waking her as he sits on the edge of the bed, digging around the blankets and looking for his cell phone. It’s nearly dead, so he plugs it into the wall and leans in close as he punches in the numbers he has memorized at this point.

It rings for a few seconds. Clint’s leg bounces nervously.

“Y’ello?”

Pause. Clint didn’t think he’d get this far.

“Barney?”

“...Clint?”

He has to mentally slap himself. “Yeah, yeah it’s me. I called earlier, but…”

“Jesus Christ Clint, what time is it over there?”

Clint glances at the clock. 6:38am. “Early. Been a long few days.”

There’s some noise on the other side of the phone, like a gust of wind is blowing past Barney. It’s loud, enough so that it makes Clint pull his ear away from the phone for a moment.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” says Barney. He doesn’t sound sorry, but continues, “so are you calling me this early in the morning just to say hi?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “You know why I’m calling.”

“No need to get snarky. You’re talking to your brother for the first time in years and this is the thanks I get?”

“Barney, please. I told you I’ve had a long few days.”

Another stretch of silence. More wind hits Barney’s phone, but nothing loud enough to hurt. He finally says, “well, it’s like I said. It’s yours if you want it.”

He wants it. So desperately, so much that he can feel it in his bones. Clint grabs a fistful of the blanket and closes his eyes, trying to ground himself. If they can just get Bucky, Stark could figure out how to get them there—

“I need some details, first.”

“Three bedrooms, two baths, two floors. A basement for… storage, if you need that. A barn full of junk. All furnished, mostly old stuff that we found for sale around the area. In Ireland, on land built for farming, though I can’t imagine that interests you or your lady.”

Clint looks over at where Kate is on the bed, one arm tossed over her eyes and the other outstretched towards him. He delicately picks up her hand as Barney tells him all about the place they could run away to. She doesn’t want that, he recalls, and sucks in a tight breath. He, Bucky, and Lucky, in a farmhouse in Ireland, both of them away from their best friends.

“She won’t be coming,” says Clint, can practically feel the sadness dripping in his voice. She has a life here, in school, with friends and America Chavez.

“Bad breakup making you wanna run away?”

“What? No! She’s my best friend, and she has a life outside of me.”

“Doesn’t matter to me. So, I’ll mail you the address—”

“There’s not really time for that. If this all goes well, I’ll be there in a few days.”

Another sound on Barney’s end, not wind this time, and not very loud. Clint suspects that Barney accidentally knocked something over. “What the fuck are you getting yourself into?”

“I’ll explain another time.”

“Does this have anything to do with work?”

“No. Well, maybe. In a roundabout way.”

Barney sounds a little out of breath, his voice louder and probably closer to the receiver. “I swear to God, Clint, be careful.” That wasn’t how he expected the sentence to end, but Barney is continuing before Clint can get a word in. “I’m a shitty brother but that doesn't mean I want you dead. Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“Careful, Barn.”

“Do you?” Barney says, more forceful this time. 

Does he? Clint doesn’t know. Tony’s working on locating Bucky. Where they go from there is to be determined. He’s holding on to that hope, that they can figure this out, and maybe live to tell the tale. “It’s like, ah, hide and seek,” Clint breathes. “We’re seeking, right now. Hiding is... well, it’s somewhere down the line.”

For as stupid as Clint once considered Barney, he seems to understand. “Don’t hit so hard that it becomes an issue.”

“I’m going to try not to.”

After a few seconds, Barney questions, “is it worth it, Clint?”

Clint answers without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Well then, I’ll take your word for it. You got an email or something? I can figure out how to get that address to you without… You know.”

He lists off an email that he stopped checking years ago, the hope that had been sitting in his chest shifting into something more like desire. Clint is no longer just hoping for the best— action is settling into his bones and muscles and blood, ready to do this, whatever this is.

“I gotta go, Clint.”

“Alright.”

Barney hesitates, says, “good luck,” and hangs up.

That checks out with how he remembers Barney. Clint exhales, setting his phone on the nightstand and shifting so he lies next to Kate. Her arm is resting across her chest and her eyes are open, trained on the ceiling. Their hands are still linked. His hands are big and scarred, while hers are thin and delicate, the nails painted purple.

“Did you hear very much?”

Kate stares up at the ceiling, waving a hand. “A little.” She sniffs, finally rolling onto her side to look at him. “Enough.”

The silence that settles between them is comfortable, but can hardly be considered silence. Tony can be heard talking in the other room, occasionally America, apparently awake, or Natasha butting in. 

“I’ll miss you,” Kate says lightly, blue eyes searching Clint’s face.

“I’m not…” Clint means to finish with leaving yet, but he chokes on his words. Clearing his throat and knocking their foreheads together, he whispers instead, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You’re running away from this stupid country with the guy you’re head over heels for, you shouldn’t be thinking of me.” Her voice doesn’t waver as she says it, but for a moment Clint can see through the chinks in her well built armour, the way her eyes flicker with worry and her lips pressing firmly together.

“You know I love you, right Katie?” It’s not the first time he’s ever said it, not by a long shot, but he feels the need to remind her, suddenly.

Kate reaches forward with her left hand, the one not holding Clint’s, brushing back his hair with a delicate touch. “If you love something, let it go, right?”

Clint scoffs through a smile, pressing his hand into her face and twisting so he’s on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Kate shifts beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Their hands do not separate even once.

Sixteen arrow holes in the ceiling. He doesn’t bother counting them.

“For what it’s worth, I love you too.”

It’s worth everything.

He has nothing to say to that, so they slip into quiet once more. Clint thinks of the Bucky shaped hole in his heart, of the love that was, is, blossoming there, and where they will go after this whole thing blows over, assuming it does. When they find where Bucky is being kept, when they come up with a plan, when they break him out of there, when, when, when…

Just as Clint starts to think in if, there is a knock at the door. Kate lifts up her head, most of her hair stuck to the side of her face. Clint busies himself with pulling the hairs away carefully as Kate calls, “what?”

Steve says something behind the door that is muffled enough for Clint not to catch it, but Kate does. She presses her hand to her forehead and closes her eyes, shouting back, “alright, we’ll be back out in a second.” Clint follows when she sits up, pressing her mouth to the back of Clint’s hand. “Stark got everything set up, time to get to work.”

Clint just nods, watching as she slips out of bed, their hands coming apart at long last. Their fingers fall away from each other without any attention or fanfare. Clint wonders if maybe there should have been.

~

They all look like shit, Clint notes once they gather in the kitchen. Tony takes up most of the table space, so Kate, Natasha, and America sit further back in their chairs with matching perplexed looks, coffee cups held close to their chests. Steve leans in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, letting Clint take a spot on the counter. What surface Tony hasn’t taken over is covered in papers that Tony and Steve have deemed important, or, rather, readable, snippets of information slipping through the cracks here and there.

They’re going to run out of coffee soon.

“If your theory is true, that Hydra is running the government and started the accords, that still doesn’t tell us where they could have a base.” Tony rubs his forehead, looking over his computer at Steve. “Who's to say they’re not just keeping him in a police station?”

“They wouldn’t do that, not with…” A dangerous weapon. “Not with Bucky.”

“It’s been two days,” Natasha points out, “why are we assuming they’re even in this country?”

“Hydra wouldn’t risk getting him out of the country, not yet at least,” Steve swears, looking confident.

Clint can feel his heart beat in his ears. “It’s not like the police have a missing persons case on their hands,” he says, bitterly. “No one except us knew he existed.”

“And Hydra, apparently,” America interjects, looking pointedly at Steve from behind her mug. “We’re working off a lot of assumptions, maybe he’s just arrested and sitting in a jail somewhere?”

“That’s what Fury seemed to think,” Clint recalls. Fury had said something about death’s row and government custody. At that point, Bucky is as good as dead.

He didn’t know what was worse— the thought of Bucky arrested, a death sentence awaiting him, or having Hydra in control, turning him back into the Winter Soldier.  

“What I don’t understand,” says Kate, “is why Hydra, an organization that you supposedly brought down,” she points at Steve, not unacccusingly but not mean either, “suddenly reappears ten years later with a personal vendetta out for enhanced people.”

Steve opens his mouth, but Natasha cuts in before he can say anything. “‘Cut off one head, two more will take its place’,” she recites, ignoring everyone’s watchful gaze. “That’s Hydra’s slogan. They’re based on the principle that it’s impossible to get rid of them all.”

“Like the worst case of bedbugs you’ve ever seen,” replies Tony. Clint can’t tell how seriously he’s taking the situation.

Natasha twists in her chair to look at Steve, ignoring Tony’s comment. “Ten years ago, you wiped out most of Hydra, when you pulled Bucky out of the brainwashing. A few years later, the accords are put in place, and SHIELD, the government organization in charge of handling the enhanced, whose poster boy is their worst enemy, and his best friend is Hydra’s greatest weapon, goes down with the ship. Hydra, who has infiltrated our government, uses the accords to start taking down its greatest threats.”

“But that’s me,” Steve says, visibly confused. “I was just put on the watch list, not put in a prison or killed like they do with nearly everyone else.”

The pieces start to fall into place in Clint’s brain. “They didn’t execute or imprison Steve because they knew that he would know Bucky’s whereabouts.”

Tony stops typing, sitting straight and stock still as he stares at Clint. “Are you saying—”

“Bucky is the reason for the accords.” Clint’s voice sounds so quiet in his own head that he’s not sure anyone else hears it. There is a moment, just a millisecond for the pin to drop. Everyone runs the revelation over in their heads, and then, movement. Steve presses a hand to his face and promptly turns away and out of the room. Natasha manages to find a spot on the table for his coffee, moving swiftly after him. Tony leans back in his chair, a perplexed look gracing his features, speechless for maybe the first time ever. America presses her fingers to her temples and squeezes her eyes shut. Kate, her mouth hanging open, looks worriedly at Clint.

Clint cannot find it within himself to feel anything.

~

“You call that a shot?” Bucky laughs, leaning over the ledge to look down at the busy street. A group of pigeons investigate the apple slice that Clint just threw at them, pecking at it incessantly.

“Oh please, that was perfect and you know it.” Clint reaches for the plate of sliced apples that sits on the ground between them, grabbing and slipping one into his mouth this time, instead of down onto the street for the pigeons. “I’d like to see you do better.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows and gives Clint a sly smirk. “Pick a target, baby, I’ll hit it every time.”

The smirk slips into a warm laugh as Clint shoves at his shoulder. “Shut up.” His teasing tone can’t hide the pink of his cheeks. Clint doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, to Bucky. Still, he leans forward and to the side a little, enough to press their shoulders together. “That brick, the one that’s lighter than all the other ones.” Clint points to the building next door, stretching his arm across Bucky’s body. Sure enough, there is a pink brick amongst dark red ones. “Think you could hit that with your eyes closed?”

A scoff slips out of Bucky’s mouth, close to Clint’s ear. They’re nearly on top of each other, now, comfortable and knowing. “Obviously.”

Bucky grabs one of the apple slices, breaking it in half. He holds the piece in his right hand, shifting his shoulder back and raising his arm. Clint, on his left side, hovers close, pressing his mouth to the soft bit of skin behind Bucky’s ear. He stills, arm still in the air but not stiff like he’s tense. Just unmoving.

“Aren’t you going to take the shot?” Clint teases.

Their lips connect in a second, Bucky’s arm lowering and wrapping around Clint’s neck, placing him nicely in the crook of his elbow. “I can’t,” Bucky jokes, pulling away for a moment to look into Clint’s eyes. Blue meets blue, warm and inviting. “Not with you there, asshole.”

They both taste like apples, but that’s no surprise, mouths slipping together once again. “Fine, I’ll do it,” says Clint between their breaths, left hand moving up to Bucky’s hand that’s still holding the apple piece, reaching around him and tossing the slice without bothering to look. Bucky turns his head just as the apple connects with the pink brick and falls into a garbage can below.

Bucky laughs, something high and sweet, his hand at the back of Clint’s neck pressing into his hair and bringing their mouths together once more. Clint loses himself in Bucky’s touch, in the warm hand on the back of his head and the nudge of his nose against Clint’s cheek. He throws an arm out, holding onto the ledge of the building so he does not slip any further into Bucky than he already has.

Clint would not mind hitting the ground, if this is what falling feels like.

~

New York feels oddly quiet and lonely.

It’s nearing 8am, meaning the streets will start to get busy as people begin their commute to work, but for now, there isn’t much more than a dozen cars on the street at a time and one or two people leaving buildings. 

Clint rests his elbows on the ledge, both of his legs tucked up underneath him. The rain stopped sometime while he was asleep, he thinks, leaving behind a cloudy sky and the murky sort of heat that warns of the summer to come. Nothing like summer in Bed Stuy, Clint thinks bitterly, when the air conditioning in his apartment doesn’t work and all the tenants of the building gather up here on the roof to grill food and pretend that the world isn’t falling apart around them.

Maybe he’s just being pessimistic.

He groans, loudly enough to startle a pigeon that had settled a few feet away, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes so hard he sees white spots. Clint should have known that it was too good to last. He shouldn’t have gotten so attached, he shouldn’t have kissed him, he shouldn’t have taken Bucky out for a beer, he shouldn’t have let Kate take him to the Initiative. There were so many moments, so many times where if it had stopped, they would not be where they are now. Bucky would not be in the hands of Hydra, or the government, or whoever, and Clint would not be sitting by himself on the roof of his building, thinking about this.

Yet, he wouldn’t take any of it back. Every touch, every kiss, was worth it.

“God,” Clint mutters, pulling his hands away from his face and staring up at the grey clouds, squinting and focusing on the flickering spots that remain. “This is the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” calls someone. Clint whips around, one hand going to touch a hearing aid as he stares at Steve.

“Not very many people can sneak up on me,” he says bitterly, thinking of how often Bucky did and turning back to look over the ledge. Steve must take that as an invitation to approach, stopping next to Clint but not sitting down. “Stark said you’re not stealthy.”

“Tony doesn’t know me very well.”

Clint looks up and over at Steve, raising his eyebrows. Steve returns the gaze, no pity in his eyes. He repeats, “I’m sorry.”

Sniffing, Clint wipes at his face and averts his eyes. “You lost him too.”

Steve apparently has nothing to say to that, moving on. “He doesn’t like to talk about you, you know.” Clint doesn’t. “You’re like something sacred to him.”

He’s careful with his words, saying doesn’t instead of didn’t, clinging to hope like Clint clings to their memories. Clint doesn’t know what to say to him, so lets his words settle in his brain. Something sacred. His mouth tastes like apples.

“But, he had said that you guys were planning on… running away together.”

Clint scoffs. Hopeful is the word that comes to mind. They were hopeful, that they’d figure out a way to get Bucky out of the country and to Barney’s house. Hopeful and blissfully falling in love.

The ground doesn’t feel so nice.

“And Kate had said, that you’d do it, if you figured out how.”

So that’s where he’s going with this.

Clint rubs his face and speaks into his hands instead of Steve. “I don’t know how much faith I have in myself to get us there.”

“You’re not alone in this. Tony’s going to track him down, America, Nat, and I are some of the best hand to hand fighters in the Initiative that aren’t Bucky, and, well, you know Kate. You don’t need me to tell you that she has your six.”

When Clint looks over at Steve once more, his hand is extended. “What about you?” Clint asks, once he has had a moment to stare at the hand. “We make it out of this, we get Bucky and I to Europe. What do the rest of you guys do?”

Steve doesn’t lower his hand, but looks pensive before he answers. “Take down a regime, expose Hydra for everything that they are and what they’ve done to this country. Maybe go on vacation.”

With that, Clint take’s Steve’s hand, pulling himself up until they’re eye to eye. “I think we’ve earned one, Captain.”

~

It takes three days.

Clint receives an email on the second day from a user that is just a string of letters and numbers, the contents of the email just names of books, which Clint pieces together to be the coordinates for the house once he searches for them online and does some digging. Tony stays in the apartment for the most part, sending Kate or America to his tower to get something if he needs it. Steve leaves every morning and always returns around noon, ready to help Clint and Natasha sort through all of Bucky’s files. One night, the same day Barney emails, the three fighters and Tony have to go to the facility to participate in the Initiative, returning battered and bruised but with duffels and backpacks containing tactical gear, jumping back into it without another word. They found a system that works, all the way up until the point that Stark makes the call. 

Apparently Tony had been digging through the government’s data files, how he got access to those Clint doesn’t know, when he had found a secure folder hidden in another series of folders. Natasha had left that morning with Steve, so they aren’t around when Tony finally says, “I think I found it.”

America, who was sitting beside Stark, bolts up and out of her chair so quickly that she becomes a blur of red, white, and blue, the papers on the counter going flying. Clint scrambles to catch them as Kate hurries over to Tony as well. “Found what,” America says, leaning over Tony’s shoulder to look at the screen.

“Evidence of Hydra in the United States government, what do you think?” Tony looks up and over the computer to focus on Clint, who has very purposefully been keeping his movements to fix the papers on the counter controlled and calm. “If I can get into this, I can figure out where he is, or find someone who does, at least.”

Slowly, Clint meets his gaze. “Are you one hundred percent positive?”

Be honest, Clint had said four days ago, when Tony first arrived. He looks the same way he had then, rubbing his facial hair pensively, looking anywhere but at Clint, then settling on him. “If this file is what I think it is, and if it contains the information that I hope it will… then, yes. One hundred percent.”

Over Tony’s shoulder, Kate’s face slips into something like relief. Whether it’s for Clint or just for the fact that the whole ordeal will be over soon, he can’t tell for sure.

America nudges Tony. “Well, get at it Stark, we’re don’t exactly have a ton of time.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Steve and Nat to get back?” Kate asks, eyes moving between Tony and Clint.

“Yes, let’s.” Tony pushes his chair away from the table, stretching as he stands. “First, nap, then I’ll expose our corrupt government and a nazi organization.” He waves a finger at Clint as he moves into the living room. “And hopefully save your boyfriend along the way.”

With that, Tony promptly walks to the couch, which is back in the middle of the room where it belongs, and crashes.

Kate lowers herself into the chair next to America, crossing one leg over the other and leaning an elbow on the table. “He’s certainly nothing like I expected him to be,” she notes.

“You get used to him,” replies America, shooting Kate a look. It’s Clint’s turn to look between them, raising his eyebrows. Catching Kate’s eye, he signs cute, a smile tugging at his lips. She glares at him, raising her hand and pulling all of her fingers together in front of her mouth, telling him to shut up. Her cheeks are a suspicious shade of pink.

It’s only 8am so Clint tries to busy himself while they wait for Natasha and Steve to return. The sink is leaking again so he fixes it while Kate and America chat at the table. The sink doesn’t take very long so he takes Lucky on a walk, one of the few times he has bothered leaving the apartment, but he’s back before ten, so he sits by himself on the roof and tries not to think about Bucky.

When that doesn’t work he heads back to the apartment, Kate and America still at the table, unmoved. He walks right past them, through the living room and into his bedroom, stopping at the foot of his bed and crouching to grab the duffel bag from where it sits underneath the bed. The contents rattle as he sets it on the bed, pulling out his bow and an arrow.

He crawls on top of the unmade bed, settling on his back in the middle, face up towards the ceiling. Counting to sixteen over and over, Clint begins to lose track of time. The bow in one hand and the arrow in the other.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…

Clint twists his body and raises the bow, pulling back his arm holding the air, pressing uncomfortably into the mattress, taking the shot.

Seventeen arrow holes in the ceiling of the bedroom.

The arrow sticks in the ceiling, reverbing a few times before coming to a stop. Clint stares at it, sighing as he lays back down fully on the bed, lying on his stomach and shoving his face into the pillow.

Just as he begins to relax, his heartbeat slowing down and thoughts turning to a more manageable topic (whether or not he should do laundry), Kate calls his name. Rolling over and bringing his pillow with him, Clint tosses his arms across it to press it further into his face. It does a decent job at muffling the frustrated scream that falls out of his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make him feel any better.

Slowly pulling himself up, Clint starts to feel as if he had been sleeping for twenty hours, rather than lying down and staring at the ceiling for forty minutes. He stands on the bed, pulling the arrow from the ceiling before jumping down and putting the arrow and the duffel back where they belong, under the bed.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Natasha says as Clint steps out of the room. It takes him a moment to realize that she isn’t talking to him, but rather to Stark, who is still laying on the couch, but his eyes are open and squinting at the redhead leaning over the back and staring down at him. Steve is beside her, but isn’t looking at Tony. He talks over his shoulder to Kate in the kitchen, a slight frown gracing his features.

If they heard Clint in the bedroom they don’t say anything as he moves into the kitchen. The clock on the microwave says it’s 11:12am, so Steve and Natasha are back earlier than usual.

“Have you told them yet?” asks Clint as he grabs the bag of bread from where it sits on top of the fridge.

“Well,” America starts.

“Told us what?” Steve cuts in abruptly, bringing an end to he and Kate’s conversation.

Tony appears from behind the couch, tossing his legs over the side and standing. “Hold your horses, soldier.” He takes a long, agonizing moment to stretch, his back popping audibly. Clint puts the bread in the toaster just as Tony finishes, continuing, “I may have found some Hydra files while perusing through Government and old SHIELD files. Give me a little while to get into them, and I can hopefully find your guy in a few hours.”

The frown that Steve had been wearing slips into something akin to determination. “And you were taking a nap?” he says, mostly joking. Tony shoot him a look, stepping around him and into the kitchen. The toaster ticks away.

Natasha trails behind Tony as he steps into the kitchen and sits in his usual spot. Steve stares at her back, watching her movements carefully. She leans over Stark as he sits down and opens all of his computers, eyes trained on the screen directly in front of him. Kate huffs, standing and stepping into Clint’s space, squinting her eyes as she looks through him. There’s nothing she can’t see and doesn’t know already, so he just raises his eyebrows at her and grabs the toast when it pops up. She points at him, taps her right pointer finger to the left with a slight shake of the head, moves her thumb from underneath her chin to underneath her hand, hooks her finger and moves it away from her hand, then points at herself. You cannot hide from me.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint mutters, stepping around her and getting into the fridge. “I know.”

Toast with jam tastes good when you’ve hardly eaten in five days.

Tony glances up at the five of them. “I’d suggest making some plans, if you haven’t already. As soon as I open this thing, I imagine it won’t be long before they figure out someone is snooping where they shouldn’t be.”

They all look at each other, as if waiting for someone to move first. Then, they’re all moving, Natasha stepping away from Tony and beginning to dig through one of the drawers. America appears next to Kate and drags her away towards the living room, followed closely by Steve. 

Clint shoves the rest of the toast into his mouth, barely tasting it as he chews and swallows. He opens the drawer closes to him, pulling out a pen and notepad. Natasha takes it when he passes it to her, looking at him, not through him like Kate did, but certainly strongly and intensely enough to make his stomach stir. When she breaks her stare, stepping around him and into the living room, he feels inclined to join.

~

By 4pm, they have a plan.

By 6, a location.

Tony finds documents detailing a complicated route to a maximum security prison in Connecticut. Google says that when the accords came into place they transferred civilian prisoners elsewhere, renovating the prison for enhanced. It was mysteriously never filled and disappeared into history, replaced instead by the more practical Raft (Clint had always believed the Raft to be a myth. Steve confirms that its existence is very, very real). There has supposedly been activity around the old prison; lights on around the area, trucks that move from the location to the city at routine times, and people decked out in gear hovering around the place. Tony matches this convoy to the one talked about in the Hydra files, used for transporting The Asset. No one has to speak up or check the files to know that that is referring to Bucky.

From there they break, agreeing to meet at Stark Tower in an hour and a half. Kate stays with Clint, and Tony takes Lucky, promising to take good care of him in the short amount of time he will be away from them. 

Kate comes out of the bedroom donned in her purple jumpsuit, sans shoes and some clothes tossed over her shoulder, tugging at the belt around her hips, possibly fitting more snug than it had years ago. “You know, I had hoped that the first time I put this thing on it would be in better circumstances. And that maybe I’d have lost weight.”

“We’re not as spry as we used to be,” says Clint, stretching and cracking his back. He digs around in the duffel bag, finding and passing Kate her gloves. She stuffs them into the top of the suit, where her arm meets her chest, part of them poking out of the hole on her shoulder. Her hair falls across one side of her shoulder, pushed back by the purple headband. Clint feels about six years younger, for a moment, watching Kate reach around him to dig around in the bag. They’ve done this, get ready to do something heroic and dangerous, thousands of times.

“It’s probably too dark for these, right?” She holds up the purple sunglasses, the small smile she saves for Clint gracing her mouth. “What about you?”

Clint’s own pair are in her other hand. “Too dark,” he agrees, but takes them and slips them into his quiver, which sits in the bottom of the bag next to hers. They can’t take them out, not yet.

The sound of the chair beside him scraping against the floor forces him to look over at her. She pokes his chest, right at the midpoint of the arrow as it starts to point down. “Are you ready, Hawkeye?”

He meets her eye. “Are you ready, Hawkeye?”

“Clint.”

“I don’t know, ready for what?”

“For… all of it. The fight. Seeing Bucky. Running away.”

Clint taps his hand on his thigh to keep it from shaking. “Do you think I should pack another bag, or something?”

She snorts. “A duffel bag full of pointy sticks from the paleolithic era is hardly enough to run away—” Kate cuts herself off, exhaling and looking at the clock on the microwave. “If you see Bucky, like that, you know what to do. You won’t freeze?”

“No.” His voice wavers as he says it.

Kate pats his face affectionately despite the wary look on her face. “I’ll take good care of the apartment. I’ll write, or call, whatever we can do...” She stands, suddenly, stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. When she returns, not long after, her hands are full of picture frames. A small pile of sticky notes sit on top.

Gingerly, she sets them into the bag, between their arrows and quivers. Clint stands, pulling her into his arms and pressing his mouth to the side of her face. It feels final, even though they have a few hours left.

Ten minutes later, they have t-shirts and jeans thrown over their tactical gear, Clint’s hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and the duffel bag hanging from Kate’s shoulder. The keys are in her hand as he takes one last glance around the apartment. The crack in the mirror, the remaining sticky notes on the nightstand, three hundred and twenty eight arrow holes. Old furniture that has somehow remained comfortable, and a TV that's broken too many times. “Don’t redecorate too much,” Clint chokes out as Kate locks the door behind them.

She bumps his shoulder with her own. “I told you I’ll take good care of it.”

Clint smiles at her, his first one in hours, and knows that she will.

-

A far away sound wakes Bucky up.

It’s not close, not yet, at least. But it was loud enough to startle Bucky’s well trained ears. He pulls himself up from the floor, stumbling to the door until he can steady himself by pressing his hands against it. Hair hangs in front of his eyes as he focuses on what may lie beyond the walls of this cell. Sounds, loud sounds, yelling, maybe, or screaming? The haze in his mind begins to clear, his left hand scratching hard enough at the door to leave scrapes, but nothing substantial enough to get him out. He groans, shoving his shoulder against the door. There isn’t much strength left in him, it’s been a while since they’ve fed him but longer since they’ve activated him.

The screech of the metal hand on the door almost masks another sound coming from outside the door. This one is close, and repeated, over and over and over, getting louder—

Bucky takes a long, staggered step back as the familiar sound of metal creaking fills his ears, the door swinging open. It’s not one of the usual agents they send in like he expects. A small, balding man rushes in, his white labcoat stained with blood on his arms. Another explosion comes from somewhere, louder now that the door is open and close enough that the walls shakes and dust falls from the ceiling. Bucky is startled enough to not immediately attack the scientist or rush around him to the door, but barely has a chance to step forward before the man is speaking.

“Желание, cемнадцать—”

A scream slips past Bucky’s mouth, his hands immediately covering his ears instead of to the neck of the scientist like he wishes he could do. Not again, I’m too tired—

“—oдин, tоварный вагон,” finishes the scientist.

“готов соблюдать,” responds The Asset, its’ hands falling to its’ sides.

The scientist just manages to get out the word kill before an arrow pierces his skull, his body collapsing pathetically to the floor. The Asset barely spares a glance at the body as it steps over it.

Past the doorway and in the hallway, a man stands nearly up against the wall, his arm drawn back and an arrow pointed at The Asset. Blood runs down one side of his face, soaking his blonde hair. The Asset can’t find any other external injuries, so it goes for the hands first, lunging forward to knock over the man and grab at the fingers with the metal hand.

He’s a surprisingly good fighter, though, taking The Asset by surprise. “Bucky!” he says through gritted teeth, grabbing The Asset’s flesh hand and shoving it away, rolling until he is on top, a knee pressed to The Asset’s gut. It’s only incapacitated for a moment or two, something in its brain stuttering before it can reach up and grasp the side of the man’s head, the bloodied side, digging its’ fingers into whatever it finds there. The man shouts, the hand that had been holding The Asset’s neck automatically going to grasp at it’s wrist, tugging it away until something small, purple, and bloody goes with it. The hearing aid lands on the floor a few feet away from them.

Kill echoes through The Asset’s mind as its bloodied hand moves back and around the man while he is distracted, grabbing an arrow from the quiver on his back and pulling it from the sheath.

The man takes one look at the arrow that The Asset has pulled, his eyes widening as he drops the bow and tugs out the other hearing aid just as The Asset registers the light click that the arrow emits before it explodes.

It doesn’t explode, it realizes, not really, but the sound it makes is so loud that The Asset’s eyes roll back into its head, hands going back to its ears as they had before, why had I been doing that in the first place is Clint okay—

The man’s face appears in The Asset’s line of sight from where it lies prone on the floor, ringing so loud in its ears that it could be vibrating. His mouth moves, but The Asset can’t hear it. Kill uttered again, but when The Asset lifts its metal hand it makes no move to attack, lightly brushing the back of it against the man’s neck. The Asset expects him to smile, for some reason, something soft and warm and saved only for him, but he doesn’t. Instead he grabs the bow from where he had dropped it nearby, retrieves his hearing aids, stuffing them into a pocket, then hauls The Asset up. Again, it moves to kill, like it had been told, but it just presses two fingers to its chin, pulling them down.

He holds up the hand that is holding loosely to the bow and isn’t holding up The Asset, moving his hand up and down like he’s knocking on a door, then repeats the move that The Asset had done. Yes, cute.

Kill, The Asset tries to form the words in its mouth but can’t, and its metal hand isn’t moving like how it wants. The man isn’t paying enough attention to it as he forces them around a corner, promptly dropping The Asset and raising his bow towards something it cannot see as its head connects with the floor.

~

The next thing Bucky knows, he’s leaning against Clint’s shoulder, face pressed to his back. They’re outside, he thinks, up against a wall as Clint looks around a corner, an arrow notched but not drawn back. “Clint,” he mutters, lips pressed to the leathery fabric of Clint’s shirt. Bucky’s mouth tastes like copper and his ears are ringing, distant sounds of an alarm and yelling muffled like there is cotton stuffed in there. Despite all of that, the worst feeling is that of his head, like someone had taken a fork and had mashed to their heart’s content. “Clint,” Bucky repeats, with more force, his bloodstained right hand pressing at Clint’s side.

Clint leans, just a little, into Bucky’s touch, but does not acknowledge his voice. The last he had known, Bucky was in a hazy Winter Soldier mode, the sonic arrow throwing him into a state of disrepair. Bucky tries to roll his head to the side, just a little, to get a better look at Clint’s face, but he’s a good few inches taller than Bucky is, so it’s a harder feat than it should be. Blood is running down the side of his head that Bucky is on, from a cut or gash that must be hidden in his blonde hair. His cheekbone is bruised, and there’s a cut on his lip, but other than that…

There’s blood, dry and crusted over on the skin behind Clint’s ear, but no familiar purple block underneath the crimson. “Oh,” Bucky groans, feeling stupid. The hand that was pressed to Clint’s side creeps up to the shoulder that Bucky isn’t leaning on. In morse, Bucky taps, H-E-R-E.

Without missing a beat, Clint’s head whips around, eyes brightening. He pushes them away from the corner, closer to the middle of the wall. “Christ,” he breathes, strong hands clutching at Bucky’s shoulders, then up to his neck and face. Bucky tries not to collapse when his grip loosens, but focuses on Clint’s slightly muffled words. “I thought I had lost you.” His voice is slightly warped, as he struggles to hear his own voice.

“I’m harder to get rid of than this,” Bucky says weakly. His throat feels like sandpaper as he speaks, and wonders if Clint can even hear him. Both of his hands hold up their thumbs, moving down and out towards Clint, then two fingers posed like a claw connecting with his fist. Try hard.

That’s enough for Clint, his shoulders hunching to lean down to press his mouth to the side of Bucky’s head. It doesn’t last long before he pulls away, and Clint’s stubble scratches the side of his face, but Bucky relishes in it. The first real, loving touch he’s felt in… who knows how long.

Clint seems to force himself to turn away, back to where he had been before Bucky woke up. “I’m waiting for a signal from Kate or America, that’ll decide the route we take. Steve—”

“Steve,” Bucky sighs, but Clint continues without pause.

“—and Nat will meet us somewhere out there,” he motions to what looks like some sort of courtyard, agents and vehicles rushing between buildings, foolishly ignoring the wall where they hide, “to provide backup and distraction. Then... through the woods, meetup with Stark. I’ll explain once we’re there.”

Bucky doesn’t bother responding, knowing he wouldn’t hear. Instead he focuses on something else, forces his thoughts away while Clint waits for the signal. Nat is a name he doesn’t recognize, but America must be referring to Miss America. And Stark, as in Tony? Tony Stark? Helping them? He can’t imagine he and Steve ever getting along long enough for them to come up with an escape plan, yet…

Something lights up the sky above the base. It takes Bucky a moment to realize that it’s a bright, glimmering star.

Clint doesn’t have to look twice, reaching back and finding one of Bucky’s hands before breaking off into a sprint, right into the courtyard where their enemies wait. It’s not long before they stop paying attention to the giant star in the sky and instead turn their focus to the man running through them with their prisoner. Clint’s no good with just one hand, Bucky realizes, wiggling his fingers until Clint gets the hint and lets go, knocking an arrow and letting it fly, a small explosion lighting up trucks not too far away. Bucky grabs a gun from someone as they pass, remembering how to use it without a second thought as he shoots a man between the eyes. There is no satisfaction as he pulls the trigger.

They stop abruptly at a tall fence, their backs up against it as more men flood out from the east building.

“Hydra,” Clint says, loudly so both of them can hear it.

“That makes sense,” Bucky mutters, mostly to himself. He’d be dead by now, if he had been actually arrested. Or worse, rotting away in the raft. Clint, despite the impending doom in front of them, wears a stoic expression.

This, Bucky knows, is better than both Hydra and the American government combined. They gave a valiant effort.

“Anytime now, please.” Clint’s eyes are turned up towards the prison watch towers, looking at something Bucky can’t focus on.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but before he can stumble through some sort of apology that Clint won’t even hear, a heavy clang ceases most of the action in front of them. He drops his gun as he automatically raises his metal arm to catch the shield as it rikoshet’s off of the side of the closest Hydra agent’s head.

“For once I’m glad to see you throwing this.” Bucky doesn’t need to look to know Steve has landed beside them. Clint continues shooting, either ignoring Steve’s new presence or not noticing him. They fall into each other’s arms, Steve letting out a quiet “Buck.”

The stupid Captain America uniform feels like it always does, smelling like sweat and blood and smoke, feeling rough on Bucky’s face. Yet it feels soft, compared to everything else he’s felt in… however long he’s been here. Feels like how it did in the 60s during the war, how it felt when they fought on a highway, then a helicarrier, and then in a glorified boxing ring. Bucky breathes it in, relishes in the familiarness.

“Hate to interrupt boys, but you need to get moving.”

Bucky looks up at the voice behind Steve. The Black Widow is shooting at agents and the tires of cars, a gun in each hand, sparing quick glances over at them between fires.

“Nat,” Bucky realizes.

“Natasha, actually,” she muses, all too casual for the situation. Steve looks at her, pulling away but still holding Bucky steady. Natasha doesn’t look at them, even though she has the opportunity to as she reloads one of her guns. It seems intentional. “Clint, take Bucky out of here and get to the rendezvous point, we’ll meet you there.”

“He can’t hear you,” he says, wincing as Steve reaches around him to cover them with the shield. The agents or whoever they are are getting closer, and there’s only four of them, Bucky weakened and Clint without his ears. Whey they haven’t just tossed a grenade at them is anyone’s guess. “He seemed to think that this was the best route, that America had somehow—”

The fence rattles behind them. Bucky is the only one who turns and looks, startled by the glowing hands and eyes that await him. America’s face is lit up with the glow from her hands and her jacket, red lips quirked up in a smile. “Hey, soldier.”

Beside America, Kate is knocking an arrow and shooting it between the holes in the fence. One of the watchtowers explodes.

“Took you long enough,” Steve grits out. The explosion forces Clint to turn his head and look at everyone who has joined them, though he doesn’t seem surprised.

“We got a little caught up,” calls Kate. There is an ugly gash across her nose, another next to her lip. One of the metal loops in the fence breaks under America’s glowing pull, others following suit. She successfully pulls apart the fence and creates a chink large enough for them to fit through, stepping back as the light fades from her person.

“Vamos,” America hisses. Natasha is the first one in, followed by Bucky, who grabs the back of Clint’s shirt, Steve bringing up the rear, covering their six. Once past the fence they start running, apparently knowing which routes to take. There are others, following them, but Natasha and Clint tag team in taking them down, running as they shoot. The woods are thick and dark, the only light coming from the moon poking through the treetops and America’s glowing fists as she occasionally sends a blast behind them.

Bucky stumbles. Steve is quick to catch him by the shoulders, forcing him to keep moving.

There comes a point when the shooting stops, all of the lackeys dead or giving up, and the trees start to thin until they come to a clearing, slowing to a walk. A quinjet sits there, turned off and non threatening. Natasha and Steve get to it first, Clint slowing to match Bucky’s staggering pace, wrapping an arm around his waist. His expression is stony as he gets a long, good look at Bucky’s face, possibly his first since… before.

It’s enough to stop Clint in his tracks, pressing a dirty hand to the side of Bucky’s face. It feels like earlier, he thinks. But the danger has passed. At least for a little while.

Clint’s eyes are soft as he looks at Bucky. “I had…” he trails off, stuttering, mouth moving uselessly. The hand holding Bucky’s side tightens, speaking the words that Clint cannot. Bucky lets his own hands slip up to the back of Clint’s head, pulling him down and pressing their mouths together at long last.

“It’s okay,” Bucky breathes into Clint’s mouth when they separate. “I love you.”

It feels good to say it aloud, even if Bucky isn’t totally sure Clint can hear it. He repeats the words, over and over, liking the way they feel in his mouth. Like a breath of fresh air, or a weight lifted off his shoulders that had never really been a weight in the first place. A comfortable presence, a source of light in the growing darkness.

He must know, or sense it somehow. Clint is laughing, despite the situation, pulling Bucky flush against his chest into a hug. He doesn’t say anything, just presses his cold nose to the side of Bucky’s head.

It’s enough.

“Come on, kids! We’re running on borrowed time,” Tony calls from the open door to the quinjet.

They kiss once more before Bucky grab’s Clint’s bicep and hurries them into the back of the quinjet. The others are all strapped in along the walls already, Natasha and Steve on one side, Kate and America on the other. Most surprising, Lucky sits in the copilot seat beside Tony, his head tipped back and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Clint lets go of Bucky when he steps forward, sitting down beside Kate and digging around the bag at his feet.

Lucky pants happily when Bucky rubs behind his ear. “I missed you too, buddy.”

Tony taps some buttons on his dashboard. “We got a three hour ride ahead of us, my robo-friend. You may want to get caught up.”

He’s right, Bucky hates to admit, returning to the cockpit and placing himself delicately next to Clint. His whole body aches, even the shitty seating in the quinjet feels comfortable. The jets rumble beneath them as Bucky buckles his seatbelt.

“So,” Clint starts, his head tipped to the side as he inserts a different pair of hearing aids, these ones a normal tan color. One stands out amongst the blood behind his ear. “It’s been about five days, give or take.”

“It’s felt like way more,” he confesses, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Bucky was barely functioning for most of it.

“What did they do to you?” Kate asks.

Bucky sucks in a shaky breath. “They activated me, struggled to figure out how to turn me off… No one seemed to really know how to properly handle me.”

Steve leans forward a bit, the straps of the seatbelt constricting against his chest. “They were supposed to be moving you soon, probably to someone with more expertise. We took down most of, if not all, of the agents who knew how you worked way back when.”

“Why now?”

“We don’t know what changed, but we discovered that Hydra has been hiding in our government, poisoning it, starting the accords as a way to get to you.”

“To me?”

Natasha nods grimly. She crosses her arms and looks downward, continuing, “they must’ve wanted you to take out other enhanced. A means to an end.”

“So now what?”

“The good news is that we can use this to put an end to the accords, at least within the next few years. I have some of the Hydra files.” Tony waves a hand high enough that Bucky can see it from where they sit. “Explaining the secret underground mutant fight club might be a bit harder to work around.”

Something nudges his thigh. Bucky looks over at Clint, whose gaze is unreadable. “Tony’s taking you and I to my brother’s house. Remember? The one we talked about?”

Bucky does remember. The place where the past doesn’t matter.

His gaze falls on Steve, who nods encouragingly. “You and Clint go to Ireland, live without worry. America, Kate, and Tony are going to work on bringing down the accords with Fury, back in New York.”

“What about you?” Bucky likes to think that his voice doesn’t waver as he says it.

“Nat and I have plans… elsewhere.”

There’s something Steve isn’t saying, but he also isn’t one to lie. Bucky trusts him.

They’re finally going to get their later, Bucky realizes, looking back over at Clint. His chest tightens at the sight of him, bloodied and bruised but smiling. There is no part of Bucky that doesn’t want to go with him, to wake up next to him every morning and waste their days together, with nothing to worry about except for a broken lightbulb, or when they need to get groceries next.

Bucky looks back at Steve, worriedly.

“I’ll be okay, Buck. It’s not the sixties, I can fend for myself these days.”

“And if you don’t think he can, rest easy knowing that I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Natasha adds, her sly smile somehow reassuring the unease settling in Bucky’s heart.

The hand on Bucky’s thigh shifts until it finds purchase in his own, their fingers intertwining. Clint looks at him like he’s worth it.

Maybe he is.

“Alright,” he starts, Clint’s mouth on his before he can even really begin.

~

The quinjet lands in what looks like a field, rolling hills surrounded by thick forests. A house sits in the middle of the peaceful land, an old barn sitting behind it. The place looks old and well-lived in, miscellaneous objects lying around on the porch and outside the barn. Bucky stands on the edge of the ramp, watching as the sun begins to creep over the trees. It’s earlier in Ireland than it is in Connecticut, and colder, yet not enough so for it to feel too bad yet.

Steve steps up from behind, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder affectionately. “You know, if someone told me sixty years ago that Bucky Barnes is settling down, I would’ve called them crazy.”

Bucky laughs lightly. “You and me both pal. And hey, you’ve got a lady of your own.”

“Miracle of miracles.”

They slot together once more, Steve’s arms wrapping around Bucky’s shoulders, his metal hand pressing at the small of Steve’s back. The hug lingers, not rushed as it had been when he first arrived in the courtyard of the Hydra prison, but they eventually pull away. “You take care of him,” says Steve. “I’ve been around him enough these past few days to know he needs you.”

Bucky steps off the ramp and onto the grass. He takes a moment to breathe in the fresh air, focusing on the feeling of the light breeze that pushes strands of his hair into his eyes. For nearly the first time in his life as Bucky Barnes, there are no towering buildings or honking cars to disturb the peace.

Kate and Clint talk a few feet away, near the wood fence and waist high grass, using a mixture of their voices and sign language, Lucky going back and forth between running around the two of them and trying to get into the house. Bucky feels a sudden sense of fondness. “I need him, too.”

Understanding, Steve nods. “I’ll write,” he promises.

Bucky takes a step, turning and walking backwards as he speaks to Steve. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

The smile on Steve’s face is golden. “How can I?” His voice is high and there is laughter bubbling beneath the surface. “You’re taking all the stupid with you!”

Conversation between Kate and Clint stops once Bucky reaches them. It doesn’t appear to be his fault, just the air of time running out. She stands on her toes, hands on either side of Clint’s head, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Your happy ending, Hawkeye.”

Clint’s hands hold onto her wrists as she settles back onto flat footing. “Now go get yours, Hawkeye.”

She smiles, up at Clint then over at Bucky. “Thank you,” Kate says earnestly. Bucky can’t tell which one of them she is referring to. “For everything.”

Lucky rushes over, licking her face when she crouches down to wrap her arms around his scruffy neck. “Good boy, good boy,” she mutters into his collar. Bucky only just catches it, meaning Clint probably didn’t.

With a final smile and a wave, she moves back up the hill, towards the quinjet where the others stand at the base of the ramp, watching. Bucky picks up the duffel bag from the ground, slinging it over his shoulder and averting his gaze. Clint takes his hand, tugging him along to follow Lucky to the porch.

“Are you worried?” Bucky asks. Clint glances over his shoulder at him, shrugging.

“No. Not anymore.”

They reach the porch and walk up the few steps, old wood creaking beneath them. Lucky waits patiently by the door.

Clint looks up and around the porch, at the peeling siding and broken light that hangs over them. Bucky looks behind him, at the quinjet as the jets start up. He feels inclined to wave, even if there are no windows they could see them from.

“Are you?”

He tears his eyes away from the quinjet as it takes off. Clint squeezes Bucky’s hand, his gaze careful and calculating.

“What?”

“Worried. Are you worried?”

When Bucky looks back over at where the quinjet was, where they had been standing less than two minutes ago, there is nothing there to show for it. Your past wouldn’t matter.

“No,” Bucky says, and means it.

That reassures Clint, settles and straightens his shoulders. “Good. Cause that was your last chance to run for the hills. Now you have to look at this ugly mug everyday.” He gives Bucky a goofy grin, showing off his slightly crooked teeth, bruised face, and heavy stubble. Despite that, Bucky knows that he is beautiful.

“Ah, it’s not so bad.”

Clint crouches, letting go of Bucky’s hand and pulling up one of the floorboards, finding a ring of keys. “Yeah, well, I love you too.” His tone is joking but his smile tells Bucky it reigns true. He straightens, pulling out a particular key and putting it into the lock, twisting and pushing as the door creaks open. Lucky doesn’t hesitate to slip inside and explore, Clint following soon after.

The entryway is visible, stairs leading up to the second level, open doors on either wall, one leading to a living room and kitchen, the other to a bedroom. A rug on the floor, picture frames containing photos that Bucky can’t make out from where he stands. A homey, warm and welcoming place. Bucky hasn’t been in one of those since before the war, not counting Clint’s apartment, which had a sense of a self made home, Clint and Kate adapting to the city life and crafting a place for themselves. This house was built to be a home, a real one, with a wife and kids and a dog.

Well, they have one of those things.

Clint reappears from the door to the right. “You coming?”

Pulling himself out of the fog, Bucky nods fervently. He takes a long stride forward, crossing the threshold, out of the cold and into their home, where Clint is waiting for him.

.Epilogue.

“We are not special.

We are not crap or trash, either.

We just are.

We just are, and what happens just happens.

And God says, “No, that’s not right.”

Yeah, well. Whatever. 

You can’t teach God anything.”

 —Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Bucky wakes slowly and languidly, letting his eyes adjust to the sunlight drifting through the crack in the curtains and to the hand that is wrapped around his neck.

It’s non-threatening, of course, Clint’s left arm tossed over Bucky’s chest and his hand caressing his neck lightly, thumb resting right underneath his jaw. Their legs are pressed together and Lucky is peacefully asleep on Clint’s side, unaware of Bucky slowly pulling himself out of bed.

Clint’s hand falls limply onto the bed once Bucky retreats. He places a long kiss to the side of Clint’s head, into his blonde hair near a scar that is just beginning to heal, then leaves the bedroom, beginning his usual morning routine. Shrug on clothes, head downstairs, add a few layers as the mornings grow colder, resist the instinct to wear a glove.

The sun is just beginning to rise and the cold morning air is leaving a dewey fog over the grass.

Lucky follows him out of the house, trailing behind while Bucky circles it a few times and checks for any signs of bugging or intrusion, in bushes and in the miscellaneous objects on the porch, his tail wagging all the same. He does his own business as Bucky counts all the things in the barn, firewood and targets and tools and other various machinery, returning when Bucky moves to go inside when he finds nothing amiss.

Inside, Bucky checks the windows, cabinets, smoke alarms, chairs, and pretty much everything else he can think of, satisfied when nothing unusual turns up. He digs around in the fridge, taking a moment to look at all the things they have hanging on it. A newspaper clipping with the headline ACCORDS THE RESULT OF NAZI INFULTRATION? VICE PRESIDENT PLEADS GUILTY! next to a postcard with Wish You Were Here! written over the New York skyline. It is signed xoxo Kate as she had once done with all of the sticky notes in Clint’s apartment (the ones that currently hang around the mirror in their bathroom), but is now accompanied by the neat signature of America Chavez. Steve and Nat write letters, but don’t disclose their location, though Bucky suspects they move around a lot, wary of the lasting effects of Hydra and the accords. Every once in a while Tony Stark calls the landline that’s connected to the wall and asks if their “tv” needs to be repaired or tuned up. Bucky always tells him no, he can do it himself, thank you.

Clint says that Tony is probably lonely, with the Initiative shut down. Bucky is inclined to agree.

A letter from Barney also hangs proudly on the fridge. A new one, written just a few weeks ago, the old one in a drawer somewhere where it will inevitably be forgotten. He details faking his death and running away from the tracksuit Draculas, living here with a woman named Simone and her kids, but moving recently after the boys grew up. He figured it was time to reconnect with his brother— but had not been anticipating a boyfriend instead of Kate. Either way, Barney signed the letter with a promise to write again.

Bucky’s not sure if he trusts Barney to follow up on that promise, but the house is nice and has felt more like home than the apartment he had in New York ever did.

He compensates Lucky by feeding him some leftover meatloaf and rubbing his belly affectionately, then leads them back upstairs where Clint still sleeps. He’s on his side now, his back to Bucky’s side of the bed and the window. The clock on the bedside table tells Bucky that he’s been gone for an hour and twenty eight minutes.

The routine gets shorter every day.

Carefully and quietly Bucky removes all of his layers, back down to his t-shirt and boxers again. Lucky hops up while Bucky slips back into the pleasantly warm bed, pressing his front to Clint’s back, cold nose at the nape of his neck.

“Jesus,” Clint breathes as he shudders, keeping his eyes closed but shifting so Bucky can fully wrap himself around him. “How’s the perimeter?” His voice is teasing, but mostly clouded with sleep.

“The same.” He presses his mouth close to Clint’s ear so he can hear him without the hearing aids. “Cold,” Bucky adds, his arm moving over Clint’s waist and finding his hands, the left arm moving up and under their pillows. “Autumn is almost here.”

Clint huffs, moving his head back slightly so it connects briefly with Bucky’s, then turns to look at him, their faces close. “We’ll be okay.”

[mischief-lupin]

10:45

The platform was as busy as ever with families bustling around from one end of the scarlet train all the way down to the other. Smoke was puffing out of the chimney but it wasn’t thick or cloggy like normal. Instead, it was thin and wispy, dancing over people’s heads and weaving between their legs.

From the platform barrier emerged a boy. A boy with faded brown hair and tired green eyes. He was tall, much taller than many of the other eleven year olds around him. He was however, noticeably thinner and paler than the rest of them almost as if he had not had a decent meal in months. His clothes- looking like they had been sown back together many times- hung loosely off his shoulders and around his waist. Wandering forwards, he stared at the train in wonder, still not believing that someone like himself was being given this opportunity.

‘Don’t mess this up. Just act normal and everything will work out just fine-“

"Remus!” A woman’s voice called behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and only just realised how far he’d gone and left his parents behind. He stopped and waited for them to catch up, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Now remember: be careful, if you have any problems go straight to Dumbledore- no one else-, make sure you follow every rule-” Remus’s mother rambled through her speech once again, ignoring her son’s interjections 'I know, yes, okay’ before pulling him into a tight hug.

Once she finally let go, Remus turned to his father who was shaking his head and trying to hide the grin that was creeping across his face. “Do everything you’re mother said but more importantly: don’t forget to have fun okay?” Remus nodded and waved both his parents goodbye before setting off once again down the platform to climb onboard the train.

A quick search, Remus found an empty compartment and settled down next to the window; resting his head against the glass he listened to the chatter of people outside and closed his eyes, excited to arrive at his new school.

10:50

People were still appearing through the barrier despite the fact that the train was due to leave at exactly 11 o'clock. Many who were arriving at this time were running around maniacally, try to store their cases away and say goodbye to their families.

One person who was not rushing around however, was another young boy. He was of an average height but had an athletic build. Even at eleven years of age, he was quite handsome. And he knew it. He had a head of dark hair that stuck up wildly (even though his mother had spent most of the morning trying to stick it down). Perhaps the most prominent feature of this boy though was his smile; it was a charming smirk that suggested he was planning trouble and lured you in, tempting you to take part in the mischief.

“James! Come and say goodbye!” The boy’s mother beckoned him back towards her. Rolling his eyes, he dragged his feet back to his parents.

“I just want to get on, mum!” James whined, embarrassed at how much fuss his mum was making. After letting his parents hug him goodbye, he made a swift exit and began searching for some people to join on the long train ride ahead.

10:57

The train was almost ready to leave, each compartment filled with eleven to seventeen year olds, buzzing with energy to be starting school again.

With only a few minutes to spare, a third boy burst onto the platform. Scanning around, he tried to find someone who could show his where to put his trunk. There was someone, right at the other end of the platform. Another mad dash and with only a minute to spare, he got his things stored away.

A harmony of closimg doors sounded around him and the slow churning of the engine began to rise through the platform.

He needed to get on the train. Fast.

Just there. A door that hadn’t been shut yet.

“Hey! Hold the door!” He called out as he sprinted over, hoping someone would hear him over the growing noise of the train. Out of the door poked a head. James stuck out a hand and just in the nick of time, the boy grabbed hold and James pulled him onboard. “Thanks” The boy began to straighten himself out, pushing black curls of hair out of his face.

“No problem. I’m James by the way, James Potter”

“Sirius. Black” The two boys, stood next to each other could have passed as brothers- or cousins at least- Sirius was of the same height as James- although more slender than Potter- and both shared the mischievous smirk which instantly cracked across their faces.

“You want to find a seat?” James asked confidently, not bothering to ask if Sirius had anyone to sit with beforehand. Sirius shrugged and nodded. They made their way to the end of the compartment and pulled open a door that was occupied by only one other person. The occupant almost jumped out of his seat, his eyes wide and his loud gasp filled the air.

“Sorry mate, were you asleep?” James checked, sliding into the seat opposite with Sirius following suit.

“No, no, it’s alright.” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to make himself more lively.

“I’m James, this is Sirius. You mind if we join?” Before the boy had a chance to answer James pulled off his coat and chucked it on the shelf above his head, getting comfy in his seat and making himself at home.

“I’m Remus, Lupin” Remus, unlike James, was soft-spoken and well-mannered, a quiet one who was more than happy to blend into the back of a crowd.

The three boys looked out the window and watched the city fade into the country; blurred green fields and vast crystal lakes flashed past their eyes.

"You want some?" James' voice broke the silence. Sirius and Remus turned to him and were greeted by his hand, stuck out and holding a bag full of sweets. "Take as many as you want" He encouraged as Sirius reached in and grabbed a handful, dropping them in his lap and happily digging in. "Got into a fight recently?" James joked nodding at Remus's hand; his knuckles were bruised and bandages were poking past the sleeves of his shirt. Remus laughed nervously and quickly retracted his hand. The carriage went quiet again.

Just as the atmosphere began to get uncomfortable, there was a loud crash outside the door, followed by a loud squeal. Sirius leapt to his feet while James and Remus peered curiously at what had just happened.

" 'Scuse me? You alright?" Sirius pulled open the door to see a very small, plump boy picking himself off the floor and dusting off his shoulders. He had mouse-like features; with a long nose and wonky teeth and short, thin dirty blonde hair.

"Y-yeah, just tripped. Th-thanks." Sirius flashed him a smile to say ' you're welcome ' and went to return to his seat when the boy piped up again. "S-sorry, do you mind if I sat with you? All the other carriages are full"

"Course! Come on in" Sirius tapped the empty seat opposite him, welcoming the fourth boy into their group.

After he had settled down, the new boy took in the sight of the others, almost star-struck that they were allowing him to sit with them. "I'm Peter, by the way" The other three introduced themselves and then conversation turned to school. "S-so, what house d'you reckon you'll be sorted into?"

"Gryffindor. No doubt. Easily the best house too." James said, almost lazily as he learnt back in his seat.

"Mum reckons I'll be a Ravenclaw but Dad says I'll be in Gryffindor... Not that I mind either way." Remus explained, yawning mid-sentence. The lack of sleep from a few nights before was catching up to him. He couldn't wait to arrive at the school and get to bed.

"All of my family were in Slytherin-" Sirius stopped as the others silently expressed their dislike for the house. Slytherin, the house believed to create the most evil of people. "I don't agree with my family much. They're values are a bit... Medieval should I say? I would like to be in Gryffindor but if anyone knows anything about the Black family, I'm sure to be in Slytherin."

The train journey stretched well into the evening, Remus had eventually drifted off and James, Sirius and Peter had begun to talk in hushed voices as not to wake him.

"Does he look alright to you?" James asked.

"He does look a bit pale. Maybe he's just under the weather. I'm sure a bit of dinner will perk him up when we get there." Sirius assured, hoping it was just 'new school nerves' that was making their new acquaintance unwell.

At long last, the train pulled to a stop and students began to filter off, most heading right and climbing into carriages that trundled down bumpy roads whilst the rest- presumably all the first years- clambered into boats and floated along the vast lake up to the entrance of the castle.

They were greeted at the tall oak doors by a witch who looked strict, wearing green robes with her dark hair tied into a tight bun. She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall and informed the group of first years that they were about to sorted into their houses. A mix of nervous and excited chatter seeped through the first years.

"Hey, whether we're all in the same house of not, we should try and hang out sometime." James whispered to other three, but mainly to Sirius who seemed to be the most worried by the looming anticipation of the sorting ceremony.

Eventually, they were in the hall with the rest of the students and all the first years were lined up as McGonagall went through a long list of names.

"Black, Sirius." The four boys exchanged hopeful glances as Sirius stepped up to the sorting hat. He sat on the stool as the tattered old hat muttered to itself. 'Slytherin... But... No, apparently not... Well then... Must be... Gryffindor!'

A relieved, beaming grin lit up Sirius's face as James and the others cheered loudly, watching him march proudly over to the Gryffindor table.

More names: Ravenclaw, two Slytherins, Hufflepuff, the list went on until...

"Lupin, Remus." James clapped Remus on the back as Peter wished him a quiet good luck. He perched on the stool and once again the hat began talking. 'Well, this is new... Let's see, very clever indeed, however also very loyal and true. But then again, I see a lot of courage in such a young person.'

Remus's sorting seemed to take an incredibly long time until at last, the hat decided and triumphantly cried 'Gryffindor'. Remus eagerly jumped off the stool and joined Sirius at the long table for the Gryffindor students.

A little while after, McGonagall called up Peter. He nervously stumbled up to the stool and sat, timidly waiting for the hat to sort him. And he waited... And waited... For even longer than Remus, the hat debated between houses.

"It's been thinking for almost six minutes." Remus said, looking at his watch, the hat still pondering thoughtfully until finally

Gryffindor!

Sirius got to his feet, clapping wildly as Peter joined their table and congratulating him for making the hat think so hard.

Right after Peter was James. He approached the stool with a calm swagger and waited for the hat to placed on his head. No sooner than it had touched James' head, it was being lifted off again and James was dashing over to the other three. He had made it into Gryffindor.

The four boys, amazed by their luck, celebrated by stuffing themselves full with food, enjoying every morsel that they ate (even Remus seemed to brighten up as he tucked into the feast in front of him).

It was the night that sealed the deal. The four boys; James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew would be inseparable whilst at school.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Out of Nowhere Girl - Talos/Keller/OC (Captain Marvel)

Set In Canon MCU Captain Marvel / Guardian’s of the Galaxy Universe with a few out-of-canon ‘twists’...

Author’s Note:  Posting this a week after I see Captain Marvel (AS FOLLOWS CANON!) but still tagging with spoilers.

Oh my god. I was having an existential crisis after the movie and the fic that I posted that is not canon (Science & Faith. If you want to read you can click the thing) That I wrote this between acts at the C2C country music festival on 9th March... That makes this the quickest write and edit I have EVER done. It’s probably quite telling... (It’s 10/3/19 @ 8:26 PM GMT.) She is with Keller, Talos just simed him. I’m making that clear right now! It’ll make sense when you read!   This is an alternate version to ‘Science & Faith’ - so that characters there are the same. This one just follows actual movie canon.

Don’t worry it’s not the same story. It has a few similar elements... It will likely go back and forth between the two time periods. Please someone get what I did with his full name... 😂😭

NOT reader insert. Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC... I am slightly bending canon on Supernova; but I liked the concept. Maybe I've set it so there's more than one? Like a special forces part of the Nova Corp? (Tbh still figuring this out) So you can have it coming from another Saal... sorry not sorry Expositional conversation-narrative heavy... Sorry!

Simmed? Simed? Sim-ed? Which is it!?

Premise: When Keller gets sim-ed by Talos as a result of the Kree-Skrull war the aftermath is of no great consequence to his partner... However, when exploring on behalf of the Nova Corps Keller’s distress signature coming from a planet half way across the galaxy leads her to investigate...

Word Count: 4384

Warnings: Spoilers! Murder (I guess) Actually this might assume you know about her from Science & Faith...

My little out, out of nowhere girl Where you been all my life? Where you been trying to hide? It's like you’ve come Come from another world Fell right out of the sky And landed right here tonight...  

Keller had had a day. He’s had days before, as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and sometime-Scientist he expected for days to be a part of his life.  But this had been something else entirely. When he opened the door to his apartment, he was at least glad to be greeted by an essence of normality. Well, as normal as it could get he supposed…

Maliyah was pouring over drawing after drawing and ship schematics. She still couldn’t get something on that ship of hers to work right. Or, maybe she knew she was just stalling for time… She looked up with a smile; “I can already tell you have a lot to tell me…” “Yeah…” He sighed, throwing his keys on the counter and allowing a pause. “It’s where to start…” He looked across to her, at the way her skin sparkled just at his presence… She’d crash landed to Earth nearly two years previously. Through studying her they had built a friendship – and now it was a lot more than that. The blue lights across her skin; because, all of his were blue or white, or purple… used to only light up when he touched her. Or, when he was feeling something at the extreme end of the spectrum. They turned red every time he got hurt, and that hurt her too… So he’d tried to make his life easier. Tried. Now the lights appeared just because he was in proximity… She said that showed they had a strong bond. Keller was only human, so he felt proud of that. He hadn’t ever expected to see anything else otherworldly – until today happened. “Maliyah… You know a lot about the other species out there… right?” She put her pen down and turned her full attention on him; “Yes. Enough. Why?” “Because you were the only other race I thought I’d ever see. But clearly, I was wrong. Because-” He faltered, squinted in remembering and then tried again “…Tell me about shapeshifters?” “Narrow that down. It isn’t an exclusive trait…” She tilted her head “…But now I’m worried.” “Okay, uh… Green… pointed ears… Like… linear markings or patterns…or…” “Skrulls!?” She was takenaback “Skrulls on Earth!?” Then she slammed her hands on the table, more in interest that anger; “WAIT! Did you get SIMED by a Skrull!?!??!” Clearly he had no idea what that meant by the look on his face, but she couldn’t hide her laugh; “…Wait. Skrulls are on Earth? Okay, I’ll roll with it… Did a Skrull shapeshift into YOU.” “…Yes.” She laughed again “Oh God!” Then she attempted to stop herself “Oh! Baby, that’s terrible!” “Doesn’t sound like you mean it.” She cleared her throat, “Whilst it’s funny it’s not exactly good news…” She rested her hands on her thighs and chewed her lip “…What did you think about..?” “Huh?” “Your last thoughts. Before they simed you.” “Probably something like: Oh GOD I hope I don’t die?!” “You didn’t think about me, at all?” He hesitated, it probably wasn’t the best idea to confess to his other half he hadn’t thought about her whilst waiting on the fate of his own life… “…Uh…No…?” “Good.” “Good?!” She was clearly as full of surprises. As any ‘alien’ should be, he guessed. “Yes. I’m an Auron, my race and my planet are dying… Sightings of us are rare even in our part of the galaxy… As an adult female I am worth a hell of a lot to my home planet – And a lot of my abilities will be worth something to a race like to Skrulls.” “…So you’re telling me that not talking about you – like you asked - and therefore obviously not consciously thinking of you is good?” She nodded; “I wonder if the Kree war has come all the way out here?” She almost laughed again “That’s no good for me either… Considering my affinity with Xandar… You’ve done very well if they don’t know a THING.” “…Have you seen me today!?” Her sentence sparked panic in him. “Right now and when you left. I haven’t been out of here even once. I’ve been working this algorithm…” she shook her head “You haven’t come back, I haven’t called you… Zip. I promise.” “…Okay…” “Don’t worry about me… I’m more worried about you… Getting Simed is not the experience you want to have… are you okay?” “Seeing someone change into me… That’s bad, getting tied up and left in a Blockbuster though… Ehhhhh….!” She shook her head “…You really went through it then, huh?” She beckoned him over, and he was all too glad to walk into her arms… She brushed some stray hairs out of his face, her touch gentle and welcoming… A different set of colours formed on her skin – these lights pale and milky… pastels… enveloping him in her arms the effect was instantly calming… “I’m sorry…” “…You don’t need to be sorry…” “I told you, nothing about another race coming to Earth is good…” He almost laughed; “That makes you an anomaly then… You must be the one good thing.” ** Nick Fury almost jumped at the next knock at his door. This time it was Keller that opened it. "Oh! SIR!!!" He looked more than a little weary and Keller knew why. "Nick, I swear it's actually me! And I can prove it, but to do so you have to come with me." "Yeah that sounds... Safe." "Unfortunately I'm not the one who needs to information in your head. Or I could just stand here." He winced as he realised it maybe wasn't the best choice of words "Urm. Look just... Come to my office..." He backed out with an attempt at a convincing smile and wandered down the corridor to his own work space.

As usual it was hard to get Maliyah to look inconspicuous. This time she put up a fair argument of she'd only be going car, to security door, and then to his office. Still, she was sitting in a top that cut across her shoulders AND exposed her stomach and a short, layered skirt that showed off her legs. The marks across her skin, and all his fault, were more than just visible. And the jacket she'd brought because he insisted she wore one, was of course emblazoned with her Nova Corp rank insignia. Geez... He almost thought about loosening his tie just looking at her. She was curled up in one of his chairs reading a file of his. He rolled his eyes, of course the first thing Maliyah would do was break into his cabinet. She had a stack in front of her too. Her shoes kicked off and left by the chair. "I've asked him. The rest is up to you." "Does he trust you?" She didn’t look up "Would you?!" "...Not entirely. Depends what Sim Keller did!!!" "Well it probably wasn't GOOD!!" He sat behind his desk and nodded to her files; "Careful with those." She turned a page towards him "Why do you have a Nova symbol?" "It’s a very complicated astrological algorithm..." Why she thought everything centred around the 8-point star of Xandar was beyond him. "... Did you do this..." she nodded to the algorithm itself "Yes" "You're a scientist!?" "Part time... I don't... Not all the time... I dabble..." "That's why you wanted my blood. Right?" "Your bloodwork is... Incredible." "You should have tried some Skrull blood if you think MINE is interesting." He was at least amused; "... Bit late for that advice!!" then tilted his head; "Does it… Change? Now we are... Now we have a...?" connection? Did her race give that a name? "Yes?" "We should do yours again." "Worry about your own." She noticed the way he furrowed his eyebrows in concern; "... What we did... It'll affect yours too." He stared at his hands with wide eyes "And I'm not entirely sure what being simed will do to you…" "Geez! I clearly just need to take you everywhere with me don't I!?" "I don’t wanna get Simed...!!!!" That was the wrong thing to say as his door opened.

Jonathan knew it, and Malyiah knew it by the way he put his head in his hands. She thought it was cute. She thought a lot of things humans did to display their emotions were cute. She hadn't known a race feel so acutely as this. She'd chosen well, she couldn't have ever expected to. He was the best surprise.   Nick looked across to the female voice that had spoken and almost had a heart attack; He wasn’t faced with a straight-laced, suited, female S.H.I.E.L.D agent. Instead her purple fading to pink hair, eyes so deep blue they were purple, the mish-mash of clothes she was wearing - that still strangely matched - and the foreign markings visible every so often on her skin, like someone had tattooed her with white ink, made him think she wasn’t human at all. "Who the hell are--!?!" Jonathan Keller jumped quickly to her rescue; "Nick there's a lot of classified stuff that's happened in the last two years..." "Two years!? WHAT!?" "Remember that crash we were called to in Utah?" "... Yeah. Highest level. You were there ages... No-one ever spoke about it." "Yeah... Uh..." he brought his hands together and pointed across to the girl in the chair. "...Hi!" she smiled "You must be Nick Fury." He turned to Keller "Sir!!! Don't start telling me there's more of them!!! What is she S.H.I.E.L.D intelligence!?!" "... The fact there IS more of them is exactly why we NEED to tell her everything. But I was tied up in a Blockbuster ok, so I'm no help! You are." She was looking down at herself; did she look like S.H.I.E.L.D intelligence? Nick wasn’t sure he was following; "He employed you... Right? That's why you're here and you know everything...?" "No I'm not employed. HEY! Jonathan there's a thought!" "I'm not paying you. That's got implications I'd rather not have...!" If Maliyah didn’t catch on, Keller's agent did; "Wait---!! Are you two!?" Nick quickly grasped the situation as he pointed between the two of them. Keller nodded in silent admittance "It wasn't meant to be like that. I had to study her... But they were... It was inhumane Nick. I moved her out here... She's trying to get her ship back in order."   Malyiah shrugged as if that wasn’t the explanation she would give; "I won't know what I'm gonna do until it's fixed. At the moment it's in a high security area back in Utah..." "Yeah, I've seen it. I didn't know there was anyone involved... So you know about the Kree? And Skrulls." Her jaw tightened at the mention of the Kree; "So they DID bring their war here." "I'm not sure it was intentional." she hummed, fingering the pages of the file she was reading for a second "And what happened? Where are they now?" "Gone. Why..." "Gone where!? Like gone, gone!?" Keller looked glad of that, juxtaposing Maliyah’s sudden panic. "She didn't say where she was taking them..." he narrowed his eyes "Whose side are you on!?" Fury wouldn’t risk Carol’s life. Never. "... I'm not really on anyone's side... BUT... I guess I align better with the Skrulls..." She gave a shrug. "... The war isn't my problem. Them siming Keller is my problem. The Kree out here with me here that's ALSO my problem. " " Maliyah..." It was Keller’s warning " I'm not trying to start anything!" she held her hands up and turned back to Nick; "You can't help me, but you know they’re all gone? " " We have a Flerken though... " "I can tell by your eye... " she tilted her head, reading Fury’s own emotions; "What are you afraid of?? Is it him or me?? I'm stronger than you Terrans are but I'm not dangerous... And he's him. But I can understand the wary feeling there... " Nick tried to make it look like he wouldn't be afraid of Keller and he didn't know what she was talking about... And it worked. For around half a second. He took a breath and pointed to his boss; "Prove he isn't one." "He's not. He reacts to me." "Prove you aren't one." "I doubt they can get my empathic abilities spot on... They can probably try, but I doubt that they can get their skin to react exactly the same... It’s a unique pattern... And it's triggered through a DNA reaction. A Skrull would need both, but it can only sim to one set of DNA... " "Hang on... What?! And - WHAT!?" Nick realised he hadn’t listened to her first explanation clearly. She took a breath; "Like this..."  She watched him carefully as she guided years of evolution through her race to latch onto Keller... The feel of him around her was intense enough to let the bright lights flicker over her skin in all his shades. Nick was at least staring at her in wonder.  "That's how you know I'm not one.” "... How does... That work?" She tilted her head "At first instance. For these unique patterns... Intimacy. Real physical intimacy. For anything more than that... For a real connection... Blood. His mixed with mine, mine with his." "That sounds... Painful…” His eyes flicked to Keller again, who was keeping his gaze locked on Maliyah; "Have you..." "No. I wouldn't ask that of him." She didn't like that Nick would insinuate that she would "It is by far a conversation for another time..." Nick at least noticed that Keller look uneasy, which settled him a little. He changed the flow of the conversation again; "Why are you so intent on knowing where they went?" She shook her head "I'm just trying to make sure they don't know about me. And the only way to do that is to check in on their simed memories." "I don't think they are much of a threat to you... Right?" "Huh." Maliyah folded her arms "I'd rather they didn't tie him up and sim him. Guess we'll let that one go too, huh?" He had to crack a smile, she wasn’t human. Obviously, but she was so human. He wondered if that was her upbringing or Keller’s influence; "Nick Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D Agent.” She stood to shake his hand; "Maliyah Saal. Nova Corps. Ravager Captain... Auron by way of Xandar... Pleasure to meet you." She gave him a warm smile, and it was like he instantly got why Keller had been taken in. She seemed strong, she had a sass about her that clearly EVERY extra terrestrial had... But she had an instant warmth... She turned to Keller which made Nick do the same; " I think we could be in the clear... Guess we'll need to keep a check on everything. " "You'd make a good agent. Are you sure we can't hire her!? " "Absolutely not." Keller let him know he thought he must be joking. She laughed, with a wink; "It's okay, Nick. My duty is to the Nova Corps. I leave S.H.I.E.L.D in the capable hands of its Human workers... "

 **

 " I think I've figured it out. " "What? " "The problem with your ship...? " "... At 3am!?" "You’re clearly not sleeping either..." She rolled over to stare at him. He was looking at the ceiling. His glasses were pushed up into his hairline and he was squinting "... No, I really think I've cracked it." "At least I was awake for something that wasn't stupidly thinking about fixing my damn ship." "No... But... I looked at your notes. You've been working on them for two years... I wanted to help... And formulate some for myself. I think I've got it Maliyah. I think I can get you home..." He turned to face her, but the look she gave was one of fear. "Don't you dare say that like I want to leave!" "Maliyah... You know it is dangerous for you to stay here... " He was extraordinarily calm. Like he was already letting her go. It only caused her to shake her head. "NO!" She buried herself in him; digging her nails into the skin of his arms and her head on his chest her colours burst into life and illuminated his darkened room. "Maliyah..." He ran a hand through her hair "... Let me let you go... Earth is not where you belong." She shook her head again; "Look at this..." He took her hand in his free one and lifted her arm, the way the colours danced for him. "Jonathan. I don't belong out there either... I belong with you." "I cannot protect you from your planet..." "Do not ask me to leave. I will not leave you." He was pretty sure she was crying... He gathered her close in his arms. "I'm human.... Maliyah... My race is breakable. It's vulnerable... It’s clear to me we have NO idea what’s really out there... You don't want this..." "Stop telling me what I want. I HAVE what I want." "Anywhere else in the world and I would believe that." "... What about anywhere else in the universe?" "Huh?" She looked at him, sadness in those purple-blue eyes... But something else too. An idea sparking to life: "If you can really help me fix my ship... Come with me. Come back to Xandar with me..." "Mali... I can't just leave..." "WHY!? Everything in your head we could use on Xandar." "Maybe... Maybe one day..." He said it softly "But your planet... If it’s at war.... It needs YOU and until you win; and you will win it my supernova... Until Earth gets a good grip on things out there... You cannot stay. And I cannot go."

** …10 Years Later… Maliyah piloted the Milano very cautiously. She knew the sector of space; just not as well as she would have liked. Kree these days were still running havok. Maybe not too much around Xandar... But things were shaky at best, which is why she was piloting her tiny Milano though this, rather than her Nova Corps star ship. The planet that Keller’s "distress signal" was coming from looked small and harmless. But it was the other side of the galaxy. Keller, even on Earth’s best space day, was not reaching here any time soon.

It made her hesitate. She shouldn't trust it, but what choice did she have? It didn't mean that someone hadn't taken Jonathan here, although that was unlikely it was not impossible. And it wasn't like it was a signal to her ship... Or any communications device. Keller’s very DNA and feelings were sending a direct signal to her. And for nothing in this known universe would she ignore something like that. Entering the planet’s atmosphere she knew exactly why the feeling was of distress. It looked dead. Or at least incinerated. The earth was scorched and there wasn't a trace of greenery or life anywhere. Yet, the feeling persisted. Which meant whatever was giving off Keller’s signal was here. And was very much alive.

 She landed on about the clearest strip of land she could find that the Milano would fit into and took a deep breath. Whatever she was about to face would not be good. She was already suited up for Supernova... Hopefully she wouldn't have to use it. Exiting the Milano she kept her blaster holstered. She wouldn't fire unless fired upon and whoever did that would be making a big mistake.

Pillars of smoke rising from the debris made the perfect cover... She breathed in and out, closing her eyes she focused on what ‘Keller’ was feeling. It wasn't nice for her to feel it, either. She pinpointed a location in a matter of seconds and headed towards it. Only for her to start noticing the purple, everywhere. And it was blood.  She continued through the mess of debris, every so often a body or two would present itself. They're Skrulls. She realised. The bodies were Skrulls. She knitted her eyebrows together. Carol Danvers, who she had met a few times whilst traversing the galaxy, had told her nearly everything to help her piece together what had happened when they were on Earth. She had given them a home, and finished the war. Clearly someone was trying to start it up again... And if this was the planet that Carol had made their haven. The Skrulls were from Earth. Which meant one thing... From what Keller had confessed to her that could mean only one thing... And it was something she didn't even think possible.

 She sprinted to the signal on that notion alone; across the ground that kicked up with every step she took. What had the Kree done here!? Why was he still alive when so many others were not!?! She stopped. Suddenly tense. He was walking toward her. His stance was fighting and she could read those emotions a lot clearer now. Her race and its engineering had failed her. It was confusing Keller’s real DNA with simed DNA from years gone by. Hopefully that wasn't about to cost her her life. Upon recognising him, she took two steps back. She'd made a point of studying Skrulls as soon as Keller had mentioned them. Talos. And he was big news. Huge news. He was a General that ran a whole sector, he was a good leader. He'd simed her life partner. Maliyah held her hands up in an attempt to show she wasn't trouble, as far away from her weapon as possible... "I've come from Xandar. So... I'm not here to destroy you like everything else... Unless you don't care; in which case... You're much more of a threat to me..." He took a step forward, which made her concede another, he was studying her uniform carefully. The eight-point shining yellow star running from her chest down her abdomen, framed by a metallic light blue.  The three-point ‘V’ of the Nova Corps shimmering just behind it, glowing faintly every so often. The rest of the uniform navy. Except the gold stripes up her boots. She thought she should have worn her Nova Corps over-jacket; multicoloured rank ribbons and clearer Corp red star emblazoned sleeves. Too late now, though.

He straightened, seeming satisfied but tilted his head. “Who are you?” She tilted hers in turn; “You should know. The fact that you don’t means he did real good to keep me out of his thoughts…” Or any part of his life. Keller’s desk, his car, his pager, his wallet. If nothing held the slightest trace of her then she owed Jonathan her very life. God, she knew that already. He looked confused, as he rightly should. “My name is Maliyah. Quite a few years ago when you were on Earth you simed a Terran known as Jonathan Richard Keller. Unbeknownst to YOU at the time of doing so I had already formed a connection with his DNA. Now, apparently, because siming creates an exact DNA copy of his - I have got some kind of connection with you.” “…You’re Auron.” She was more than a little surprised that he knew that, it made her smile; “Correct.” “Keller… Fury’s boss? How is he and his beautiful blue eyes.” She raised an eyebrow to a phrase she didn’t expect; “…That’s the man. And he’s well… No thanks to you and his constant reoccurring nightmare…” Every so often Jonathan would still wake up in cold sweats with the word simed coming off his lips – Usually it was drink induced, but telling him to stop drinking was pointless. She smiled, but it faded as she looked around her “…So… About this distress that I felt from half way across the Galaxy and came to investigate because Jonathan should be nowhere NEAR this sector… Human’s still haven’t figured out their space travel, God bless ‘em…” “…Well. It’s pretty obvious isn’t it.” “Yeah… Your distress signal tells me one thing I am grateful for. You need help. It looks like a lot of it. And I am here to offer my services... First off, you need to tell me what happened.” “Why should I trust you.” “You have no reason to, and I have no reason to trust you either – In fact I have LESS reason to trust you considering Keller – But Fury trusts you, and so does Carol. So. Yeah, I trust you. Just put a little faith in me…” His eyes flicked back to the Star emblazoned on her uniform and he nodded to it; "If you are really from Xandar then you know what happened." She swept the landscape with her eyes again "Kree... WHY!? It's over, your wars are over..." "There are those in the outside that think they should just end it." "... Is this planet all that’s left!?" "No... Thank god. There are still some of us back home..." She turned again, not wanting to voice it but feeling like she should know everything; "Are you...?? Did they..." "Not everyone. A few, as a statement. An example. My family... They are..." He looked to the stars for a minute "I don't know where they will have taken them but for now they are alive..." She followed the trace of his eyes "I can track that... I'm sure I can track that." She turned back to him; "Obviously first things first. I can't leave you here." "Oh really." She tilted her head at the sarcasm he was displaying. It wasn’t unlike that of her older brother. She couldn’t help but smile, Perhaps she would have more affinity with him than just Keller… "One, you're alone. Two, whatever this connection to Keller you have is... It won't let me leave "Keller" here. So. You simed the right guy. I guess... " Maliyah half turned back to her ship; but kept her eyes on him. He knew the reason she was putting faith in him was the same reason she was still standing over there looking at him like any moment he might change. Or change form. It looked more like a stand off than a potential team-up. Because Jonathan Keller for him was just a Terran male that worked for S.H.I.E.L.D had all the access codes and clearances he needed and eventually got him to his family. For Maliyah, Talos had inadvertently intervened with something sacred. The very fabric of her race’s evolution. Her relationship with Keller now blurred into him. And without this travesty none of them would be any the wiser. "Does he know?" "Jonathan? No. Why would he? I'm the only one that feels anything... He knows all the intricacies of what I am. Whether he understands them...” She afforded explanation with a shrug "He’s human. After all. About the only race out there not involved in the rest of the universe. And integrating even one of them isn't easy... But you should know that." She gave a small, mysterious smile, “So, congratulations. Siming Keller had consequences that you and I are both stuck with.” Talos folded his arms; for all her talk of helping, he hadn’t seen anything that would actually help them out yet. He decided to test that one; “How do we even get out of here… They’ve destroyed all the technology we had. You are some kind of… Supernova. So…” “Supernova is just the name, Jonathan used it all the time it kinda stuck, And I didn’t get here via the Nova Force...” Yet again Talos surprised her with just how much he knew… She wondered if he’d ever been to Xandar… If he’d ever Simed someone from there. Now was not the time to ask the question. “Then how DID you get here?!” She looked back at her Milano, now at least partially visible through the dust clouds as the sun hit the shiny paintwork, then turned to him with a significant look; “…Are we going to save your family, or not?”

[punkpoemprose]

Luck and the Lady- A Kristanna Oneshot

Merry Christmas @the-blue-fairie!!! I’m your secret Santa! As a 19th Century Scholar/ Nerd I had to write a Victorian England AU for you! My specialty is really more US-centric, so this may be a bit off, but Kristanna kisses hide a lot of historical inaccuracy crimes! I hope you enjoy it!

Universe: Victorian England AU

Rating: G (General Audiences)

Length:4885 Words

Kristoff Bjorgman had always considered himself extremely fortunate, particularly when he took a moment to think just how differently his life could have gone. Orphaned at the age of five, so small that he couldn’t remember the face of his mother, but not so small that he could not recall the pangs of hunger he felt in the first week of her absence, one he spent in an overcrowded orphanage. After running from it’s walls, he imagined he would have had a quite colorful and unique career as a street urchin, but he’d had no such luck in staying on the streets. He’d tried to nick a few pence from a lady’s pocket and had ended up with his wrist caught up in her hand and had expected her to beat him with the other. She hadn’t.

Duchess Arendelle with her fashionable features, perfectly in place chestnut hair and soft eyes had been as kind as she was lovely, and perhaps even more than that she was practical. She hadn’t let him take so much as a coin from her pocket, but she had instead stooped down to his height and invited him to walk with her to the home of a good friend who would see him fed and washed. Half fearing what would happen if he denied her, he’d walked at her side, his filthy bare feet keeping pace with her shining leather boots as they went along.

She’d seen him taken care of, as she’d promised, and then instead of turning him back out onto the streets, she’d taken him to have tea with her in the parlor of Duchess Corona’s city estate. The pair of women, both as fair and polite to him as if he were one of their own, asked him of his plight and then turned their conversations back to their children.

When their visit ended Kristoff was given a seat beside Duchess Arendelle in her carriage and was treated to a bit of apple as they set off for Fjordside Manor. She’d made up her mind the moment she’d heard he was without any kin, and he had been made aware of her plans for him on their way back to her husband’s estate. He was to work as an apprentice under the farrier and stablemaster that tended to their prized team, he might also be called from time to time to help in the kitchens but would be fed and housed and given an education.

He could still recall her telling him how he was the same age as her eldest daughter and that she’d like him to take lessons with her and that he’d find that the staff was treated kindly and that the stablemaster’s wife Bulda would take good care of him. She hadn’t lied about any of it, and now a man of twenty-one he couldn’t help but to look back upon her kindness fondly. He’d been lucky that it was her purse that he’d tried to steal from, something that she never brought up to him or anyone else even in her dying breath. Had it been anyone else he knew he’d still be on the streets or that he’d be dead.

“Good afternoon Kristoff,” a soft feminine voice called from behind him, and when he turned, he tipped his hat to the new Duchess, his longtime schoolmate and now employer. She was accompanied with her sister Lady Arendelle, a red haired beauty who was due to make her debut season at the age of 18, two years late due to the chaos surrounding their parents sudden and tragic death as well as the constraints placed upon her from the corresponding year long mourning period.

“Your horse is prepared Your Grace, however I must apologize as one of the grooms is ill and I was only able to make one horse ready without the help,” he turned then to Lady Arendelle and lowered his head, “I’m afraid I’ll need another moment your ladyship.”

Lady Arendelle, for her part, barely contained a snort laugh. The Duchess shot her a look that lasted only a moment before she softened and barely hid a grin herself. Despite the fact that they were much above him in rank, they never felt the need to maintain decorum around him for long. It was difficult for all of them to maintain the “necessary” distance when they’d been on a first name basis for years.

“I’ll leave Anna in your… capable hands then,” Elsa said with a smirk as she mounted her horse without assistance and took off.

Kristoff saw his own blush reflected in Anna’s face as they stood alone together and watched Elsa ride off on her own out of sight.

“You think she knows about us then?” Anna asked, and he knew that she was joking, because of course Elsa had known. She’d spent the entire year hinting to the fact and slipping away to ensure they were given free time that was hardly proper. He supposed it was just another bit of luck that Elsa, who could be cold to many, still considered him a friend enough to trust him to treat her sister nicely and respectfully.

It was a kind torture.

“Shall I ready your horse then?”

She rolled her eyes and he couldn’t help but to smile. For someone who was about to make their debut in society Anna certainly was acting a bit common, he blamed it on too much fraternization with the help.

“Well my lady if you aren’t planning to go riding this morning, why did you dress in your riding habit and follow your sister out to the stables?”

Anna grinned broadly and closed the space between them, hips sauntering as she did so in a manner that was anything but ladylike but certainly very womanly. He couldn’t help himself but to watch, she was gorgeous. She always was, but in the morning light her red hair, even up in a bun and partially obscured by her hat, was ablaze. Her blue eyes, as always, held a feisty mixture of confidence and curiosity. It was a combination that often got her into trouble when they were young, and he knew first hand how much trouble she could get up to now. Her skin was pale against the emerald green of her habit, but it didn’t make her look gaunt or garish, in fact it added to her beauty as if she were a creature made of precious gems and snow. The only interruption of the image was the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks. He also knew they were on her shoulders and he’d spent a few stolen moments counting them in the relative safety and privacy of the hayloft on evenings she managed to sneak out to see him. He’d even kissed a few on her nose on a particular winter evening several months before when she’d been tired of being stuck indoors and had found him in his home in the carriage house. He’d managed to get ahold of himself before he started to do the same to the ones on her décolletage. She hadn’t wanted him to stop.

“Because Mr. Bjorgman,” she said haughtily, “I happen to have it on very good authority that you like to look at my bum when I’m wearing a slim skirt. God only knows whether you’d still be standing if I forewent the overskirt and arrived in your stables wearing only the trousers I’ve got beneath, you’d be passed out surely.”

His mouth went dry. Oh how she loved to tease him, and yet she wasn’t incorrect in the slightest. He did like the look of her silhouette without all the bustles, skirt layers, and overly restrictive corsets. He probably would pass out if he ever saw her in the tight leggings of her riding costume, he was certain he’d perish if he ever had the opportunity to see anything more than that.

She sighed, dropping the teasing act and slipping her fingers between his as he held them at his sides. They were close, but not too close. They were good at that, close enough to be intimate in the most chaste sense of the word, but not so close that they couldn’t suddenly part should someone go looking for Anna and be curious of where her chaperone had gotten off to.

It was rare that they were able to be anything more than chaste in their affections for one another, and since Anna had turned sixteen any time they spent together was usually brief or by night behind a locked door or in the dark hayloft lit by a carefully guarded lantern.

“Surely you know by now that I only come here for you,” she mused, giving him a look of love that always made him feel conflicted. He knew that by rights he didn’t deserve it, his station didn’t allow it, but by action he perhaps came close. He cared for her deeply, looked out for her, always kept his affections gentle, and treated her with great care. He had no intentions of ruining her and he’d strangle any man who might care to with his bare hands.

“Sven is certainly aware of that,” he said with a sigh referring to the grey stallion in the stables behind them, “he’s growing fat from a lack of exercise and an excess of carrots. I know I shouldn’t overstep my lady, but you really do need to stop spoiling him.”

Anna pouted, “None of that ‘my lady’, no one’s in earshot, I’ve always been Anna to you and I’ll have you continue to call me that. If you’d like to claim me in an address you may call me your Anna, but not your lady. I’m the court’s lady, damned that I be presented soon, but I will always be your Anna.”

He looked to the ground, unable to look her in the eye. How easily it had always come to him to think of Anna as his when they were young, how easy it had been when she was still mourning, coming to him for comfort and the ease of the relationship they’d developed since he’d come into her life when she was just a babe. It was hardly so easy now when he was fully aware of the fact that she’d soon be someone else’s wife. The sheer thought of such a thing made him want to expire but given that it would upset her more than anything he would settle for punching something later.

He glanced behind to the stable, unwilling still to release her hands from his even knowing that he should, that despite Elsa’s willingness to leave them alone, someone else might come along at any moment and cause a mess for them both.

“I should really prepare a horse for you my…” he let the phrase trail off, unable to bring himself to finish either address.

“Kristoff,” she said, her voice so low that he couldn’t help himself but to look at her.

It was a fatal mistake on his part because as soon as he saw her face he lost all restraint. Her sparkling blue eyes were filling with tears, she was frowning and he knew that there was something seriously wrong. His Anna was never so distraught without good reason, and it split his heart in two to imagine that he might have something to do with it.

“Kristoff,” she repeated, voice a bit stronger, “You love me, don’t you?”

He froze on the spot. There was no good answer. The honest answer would only make matters worse for her and a lie would be cruel, and he wasn’t sure that he could live with himself if he did. There was no easy way to ease the pain of the situation for either of them, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“That’s an unfair question and you know it.”

She looked a bit mad when she heard him respond, and for a half a second, he sighed in relief. If she got mad and stomped off, he wouldn’t have to say anything that would hurt her. He was forever avoiding hurting her in any way.

“Life isn’t fair,” she said, face scrunched in anger, but clearly not going anywhere as the tears in her eyes started to leak from the corners, “Answer the question.”

He shot her a look in return and slipped his hands from hers to turn away, but was caught by her hand wrapping around his wrist. The half a moment of relief he had been feeling was replaced with dread. They were both too emotional and he knew that it was going to get one of them hurt.

“Are you commanding me my lady?”

The words were combative, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help but say them. When she let him go he supposed that it should feel like a victory, but it didn’t because he wasn’t smart enough not to turn back to look at her. He wasn’t smart enough to walk away from her as she cried, because there was an ache in his chest that he’d caused in her as well. He’d caused exactly the sort of situation he was attempting to avoid.

“You know I would never…” she trailed off as her voice cracked and tears flowed down her cheeks. He could see how flushed she looked, and he wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into his arms and apologize, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk someone seeing them and ruining her reputation for being seen embracing her stable master.

Even more so he couldn’t risk breaking her heart, so he caught her hand in his and brought her into the stable with him, up the ladder to the hayloft where he never brought her in the light of day, and then he pulled her into his arms as he sat atop a bale of straw.

He shushed her softly as she wept, sweeping tears off her freckled cheeks with his fingers as she leaned into him.

“I’m sorry Anna, I’m so sorry my dove,” he whispered into her hair, holding her close, “I’m sorry it’s always like this. I’m sorry I can’t be what you need.”

“All I need is for you to love me,” she cried, only somewhat soothed by his attentions.

He shushed her again and pressed his lips to her part.

“No my dove, you need more than that.”

He felt awful on all accounts. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. It felt so good to hold her despite the circumstances, and to have her so close and so out of reach in the same moment drove him mad.

“You’ve known me my whole life Kris,” she said, shifting her head up so that he was forced to remove his lips from her hair and instead look at her face as she spoke, “what else have I ever wanted? What else have I ever needed?”

He was trying to hold back tears of his own. He knew that she understood, somewhere she had to understand. Her affections for him and his for her were a fantasy that they’d been able to play out briefly due to childish innocence, a need for support, and due to the grace of her sister. Society would hardly be so kind to them should it go on, and yet he sat with her on his lap, in his arms, unable as he always was, to put a stop to things.

“Anna, you must understand…” he trailed off before rubbing a palm over his own wet eyes, “you must know that this would never be accepted. You belong upstairs and I down. I could never give you a life befitting of a lady. We’ve discussed this before…”

He sighed, knowing none of it mattered to her in the moment.

“And what I’m about to say will change nothing of it. You’ll be presented to court in a month or more and you’ll wed a man befitting of your station. Elsa still has enough affection for me that she might let me see that he’s a good man before you’re seen off with him to some estate on the other side of the country with your dowry and the promise of more in pin money than I could make in months to take care of us both.”

She was looking at him blankly. He knew she understood what he was saying, but she wasn’t letting him off the hook. He snuggled her closer and closed his eyes as he let his tears fall. He could be weak before her, and it wasn’t unexpected when her small hand reached up and wiped at his cheeks.

He caught her hand in his and opened his eyes, looking at her. She was lovely even disheveled and with tear-stained cheeks. She was so much more than a beauty and it was something that her upperclass husband would likely never know. Few would take the time to listen to her speak on subjects she’d been educated in beyond asking her to sing them to sleep or perhaps play the piano. They would never listen to her fiery opinions on politics, they would never hear her speak about anything but homemaking and trifle bits of gossip. Even if she found someone who did care, he was willing to bet, albeit selfishly, that they would never know her as well as he did.

“It really won’t change a single thing,” he said, his voice cracking as he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm, “but… Mercy…”

He sighed, taking a moment to breathe before he said the words that would damn them both.

“I love you my Anna, I’ve always loved you since we were schoolmates and you would spend hours toddling after your sister and I and I’ve never stopped loving you a single day.”

She only looked surprised for a moment and he was only surprised for a moment in return when he felt her lips press into his. He’d fallen for her hard and recklessly everyday of his life and now he was pulling her closer and closer, cradling her into his arms as he kissed her back in the middle of the hayloft.

“Marry me,” she whispered against his lips, “please. I don’t care about pin money or a grand home or any of it. I just want you.”

He had no time to answer or even process what she was saying because they’d been found. The sound of a throat clearing from the top of the nearby ladder caused them both to freeze, and when Kristoff saw who was standing before them he wondered whether he was about to be politely asked to unhand Anna, whether he would be politely asked to leave his post and never return, or whether he was going to be politely murdered. Everything Duchess Arendelle ever did was polite with an edge of ice, and that was what made her so absolutely terrifying.

“Mr. Bjorman,” she said calmly, “If you could kindly release the lady and accompany me to my office…”

He carefully helped Anna to stand from her place on his lap and then followed her sister. He was wondering whether it was possible that he was about to be both fired and murderd as he followed the blonde down the ladder and up the short walk to the estate’s large central mansion. They’d likely have to buy a new carpet for her office, he thought morbidly that even Gerda the head maid would be unable to remove his blood from it.

                                                              ***

Elsa was far too quiet for Kristoff’s taste as she sat on the opposite side of a large oak desk from him. He felt too large in the small wooden chair she’d gestured for him to take a seat in and simultaneously far smaller than he actually was once she looked upon him. She, for her part, filled the space of her high-backed chair gracefully. He wondered if even Queen Victoria could look as fierce as Elsa could. He sincerely doubted it, even the sovereign herself would likely defer to Elsa’s judgement if she were levelled a cold glare like the one he was on the receiving end of. A royal pardon wouldn’t even save him now.

“No need to waste time,” she said leaning forward and seeming somehow larger to him than he was, “I have a decision to make here Mr. Bjorgman but first I need to ask you a few questions. You will answer me honestly. I have a keen sense of when I’m being lied to, and as you might recall I already know your tells. You will be truthful or you will not like what happens.”

She didn’t wait for his agreement. He knew that she knew that she didn’t need to. She had given him no other option and he thought once again about the beautiful oriental rug beneath them and how impossible it would be to clean of blood.

“What are your intentions with my sister?”

He swallowed, and he felt his mouth go entirely dry. Straight and to the point but phrased politely. It was Elsa to a t and he recalled a similar interrogation by her when he’d taken a cookie from her when they were children. He’d thought she was going to kill him then as well.

“I’m not certain I’m in the place to have any intentions at all Your Grace.”

She smirked at that and he almost relaxed. Almost.

“Let me be more clear,” she said staring through him, “Would you, or would you not like to marry Lady Anna Arendelle?”

He cleared his throat to cover the sound of shock that he felt himself making as she asked him such a serious question with a terrifyingly straight face.

“I… pardon me… I don’t know how to respond…”

She shot him a sharp look and reminded him in a single word exactly how he should be answering.

“Honestly.”

He maintained eye contact with her although he wanted to do nothing more than look away. He wouldn’t disrespect her so.

“Despite its impossibility I would like nothing more.”

She nodded gravely.

“She has no dowry; would that change your mind?”

It made little sense to him, but he shook his head.

“No. My interest in her isn’t and has never been financially tied.”

“Would you stay with her if I chose not to name her my heir?”

“Yes. Titles mean little to me…” he trailed off and then added, “Except for yours My Grace.”

Elsa smirked again, “You give pretty answers Mr. Bjorgman, but before we finish our business here I have one last question. Do you love her?”

He didn’t think. He didn’t skip a beat. If Elsa wanted the truth from him, she would receive it.

“Irrevocably.”

“I’d like to hear you say it.”

He nodded. If she was going to fire him for the truth, he may as well state it outright.

“I am, always have been, always will be in love with Lady Anna Arendelle.”

There was no smirk this time, but instead a very full smile that Kristoff had not seen appear on the woman’s face in quite some time. It was the sort of smile she’d had as a child when she’d snuck cookies out of the kitchen in her pinafore and was about to turn out her pockets to share. It was the smile of “I know something you don’t know” mixed with the sheer glee of someone about to see another get a gift.

“Well then, I’d like it very much if you both continued to stay here, but the summer home may be more to your liking should you like to run a household of your own. There’s money to be made on wheat, but the Americans will likely outpace us on it soon and I believe you’d do well to hire a few tenant shepherds as you truly can’t beat wool, it’s always profitable. Most of the nobles don’t care for it because it requires a bit of knowledge about animals but given your work thus far I doubt you’d have a rough go of it. You should have more than enough assets to get that going, not to mention that there’s a quite nice sum that comes in every couple months from the trading house. Really Anna’s been educated in most of this so she’ll get you both settled and she’ll take the maids with her. I’m sure Bulda and Cliff wouldn’t mind coming out of retirement to help you figure out the specifics with the land…”

She trailed off, realizing how lost he looked.

“Seems as though I’m lost you? It is a lot to take in at once, but like I said Anna will be happy to take charge, put all those lessons to good use.”

“I’m sorry Duchess Arendelle, but I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Elsa snorted as she laughed and Kristoff was subject to a rather sharp case of emotional whiplash when she spoke through her laughter.

“Oh Kristoff if I’m going to be your sister-in-law you’ll have to start calling me Elsa again.”

“Sister-in… Elsa? What do you…?”

When he finally saw the light, he jumped from his seat.

“Surely you can’t be serious… I’m hardly suitable…”

Elsa, still gleeful, narrowed her eyes.

“Surely you know that I could care less about what the aristocracy finds ‘suitable’ for my family. Kristoff Bjorgman you are the most suitable man I could ever imagine for my sister. You dote on her terribly, listening to her long-winded stories, using your pay to buy her chocolates that you pretend aren’t from you but everyone knows, and you spent hours braiding matching ribbons into Sven’s mane on the first day she was able to ride in green again at the end of our mourning. You have a good head on your shoulders, you work hard and most importantly you love her. You have my permission.”

“If you already had your mind made up, why did you ask me those questions?”

She gave another wicked grin, “Beyond just enjoying teasing you like I did when we were children, I had to be sure and there’s going to be someone who complains and people talk so I needed to be able to say that I interrogated you and you’re not just after our money…”

“Ah! About that, I thought you said Anna doesn’t have a dowry, why are you talking about sheep and houses?”

Elsa waved him off, “Well technically she doesn’t. My parents were going to worry about such business when she turned sixteen and when they passed it just never got done. Given I fully intend on Anna being named my heir and my disinterest in society, I doubt I’ll ever marry and so rather than mess about with the figuring of it all I’ve determined it’s best if she have my dowry.”

He nodded, understanding now, but still entirely in shock.

“I’ve also taken the liberty of having one of my grandmother’s rings sized for my sister. I think betrothal rings are a bit silly, but it should please Anna,” she said handing him a box. “Additionally, if you plan to ask her to marry you today it may as well be now as she’s undoubtedly listening through the door like a child.”

A stomp came from the ceiling above them and Elsa chuckled to herself, “Or perhaps through the floor above. I forget her bedroom is directly over the study.”

                                                              ***

Kristoff slipped the ring onto her left ring finger and kissed the back of her hand.

He grinned as Anna flushed. While she had been the one who had more faith in their ability to wed, she seemed just as blown away as he was in the moment. He’d had a bit more processing time and was already thinking of what this all meant for them. He was to select a new stablemaster soon and while they would be living with Elsa in Fjordside Manor he’d soon be planning for a herd of sheep to be delivered to North Mountain House, the family summer home that would soon be his and Anna’s. It made little sense to him that he would so suddenly find himself thinking about a household but having Anna at his side told him that there was no place he’d rather be.

“Now that you’re going to marry me,” Anna said softly, walking into his awaiting arms for an embrace, “Do you love me?”

He pulled her in close and kissed her forehead.

“That’s an unfair question,” he teased, feeling odd that the same conversation had taken place under very different circumstances just hours before.

“Kristoff Bjorgman!” she scolded, but there was no real bite to it. He ducked down to steal a kiss and she softened immediately to his kiss.

“I love you my Anna.”

She smiled and pressed another kiss to his lips, “And I you my Kristoff.”

He kissed her fully, not caring if anyone saw, considering himself the luckiest man who ever lived.

[abcreid]

Wrong Choice Ruins Everything

Spencer Reid x Reader.

Hi all, i tried to make a long title for this story. But i think it’s not really good as I thought lol. Well enjoy this story with a very bad grammar. Better check my bio before you judge me babe.

Masterlist

-

“Cat Adams?” You heard that name very clear and loud when you just arrived at conference room. You were taking your a week break so you don’t know anything about what case the team is doing right now.

“Oh hi Babe.” Spencer greeted you. “Yeah, we will chase her tonight, well actually just myself, because i’m going to meet her face to face after all this time we chatted through online message. I will be her customer, pretending to be a husband who wants his pregnant wife dead. Oh and look i wear a wedding ring.” He showed you his ring finger.

“Catherine Adams?”

He frowned. He probably smells something suspicious by looking at your expression. “Yeah, she is a hit woman. Why?” He keep touching his fake wedding ring. Lol at your boyfriend. He’s so cute, and you got distracted for a while.

“A hit woman? That Catherine Adams is a hit woman?” You asked him again because you didn’t believe about it. You knew her. She’s a good girl, smart, outgoing, cheerful, until she was gone missing.

“Yes, take a look at her.” Garcia shows you the picture of Cat Adams. She’s definitely your long lost cousin. “Why YN? You know this bitch?”

You silent for a minute. You doubting yourself right now if you want to tell the team or not.

“She’s my cousin.” You paused. “Wow, she disappeared for ten years and now she killed people? Wow.” You just look at her picture. Her blonde hair dyed into black, she cutted her hair short, so different when the last time you saw her.

“She what?” Everyone is this room asked you the same question at the same time. You don’t have to answer that because you just told them at the first.

“That’s a wonderful.” Everyone’s looking at Tara. “I mean we have another hint for facing this hit woman. YN tell us everything about this bitch.”

“Actually i hate to hear that she’s a bitch, because she’s my cousin. But yeah, you can say that,” you smirked at Tara. “She... i don’t really remember her. You know she was gone a long time ago. But... she was a good girl. My bestfriend. She...,” you tried hard to remember her. “Okay... so the scenario is Spencer is going to meet her tonight. No guns allowed, just regular talk, she will judging you Spencer, absolutely. Spencer will be a married man, who wants to kill his pregnant wife after four years of marriage. four years is a long time... let me see your ring.”

You finally realized something. He took off the ring and handed it to you. “See? This ring is a brand new thing, you’ve been married for four years. Did you know what a four years ring looks like? Dinged and nicked.” You took JJ hands who apparently wears hers. “Like her. It’s a huge difference she will find out. She was a perfectionist, she was detailed at everything. Oh my god why i never realized this whole time? What else you told her about yourself babe?”

“Just that. Nothing else.”

“Oh, the com. The com where you put it? On your tie?” You found that small mic on his tie. It was very obvious. Everyone knew the safest place to put that tiny thing is on tie. “You can’t.” You look at the team very carefully. “This bitch is a hit woman. She will find out, because she’s not a fool.”

Everyone is keep silent while you talk. You are nervous as hell.

“Put the mic in somewhere safe, please. Please for everyone’s sake. And the ring, is anyone willingly to borrow Spencer? No, no. She will take it because you want to kill your wife. Oh shit.” Your nervousness take over your body. You think all the possibilities that will happen in next hour. What if she found out it was a set up?

“YN calm down. Everything is already set up. We handle it already.” Hotch try to calm you but he failed. You throw up in a basket can, thanks to Morgan. You always puke when you are nervous.

“Shit. I will do something to scratch this ring.” You went out from conference room and walk to your desk to find something sharp.

“YN... YN... please calm down.” Spencer’s following you around. He keep calling your name but you ignore him.

“YN YLN listen to me.” He snapped you at your desk. “Please calm the fuck down.”

Your tears falls down when he yells at you. “I don’t want you to die, Spencer. You will die. And this ring is the ticket of your suicide.” You gave him the brand new ring you hold since.

“Here. Use mine.” Hotch showed up and gave Spencer his ring. “I’m sure that bitch will believe our set up.”

Spencer finally wears it and it fits perfectly on his finger, thankfully.

“Alright, you will stay here with me and Garcia, while everyone is on the field. I was going to put you on the restaurant, but you know her. She would recognized you.”

“No thanks. I will wait outside the restaurant with the back up team.” You disprove him and he nodded. Then he left you two alone.

“Please act normally like you really want to kill your wife.” You sighed. “I can’t believe I’m stuck in this situation. Just... be careful okay? And i have to remind you, she would do everything, risk everyone to chase you back.”

-

You are on the car waiting Cat and Spencer talking inside. You are throw up again because you listening to every conversation they have. But you don’t get any visual. You are the only one who can’t see him and her. It really frustated you the most. They seem enjoying the talk. They ordered food, they talked about Spencer’s wife, how they met, when they married. You smiled when Spencer told Cat the story. Because he told how you met him, how he asked you to be his girlfriend.

But when he told her about why he wants to kill his wife, she got suspicious. “You said 6 months, and now you said 5 months. Oo, you lied. This is a set up.” When she found out, you heard a gun being cock.

“What’s happening? Hotch what’s going on? I got no visual.” You voice is rising when no one answer your question. “JJ? Rossi? Tara? Morgan? Anyone? Anyone please answer me what is going on?”

You scream to yourself when you still got no answe from them. “Fuck it I’m going inside.”

Hotch finally speak. “Stay where you are, unsub is knew. She pull out her gun under the table.”

“I can’t stay-“

“YN, stay where you are! That’s an order!” Hotch yelled at you. You shocked when he did that to youz you didn’t asnwer him and stay remain on the car.

You heard Cat is trying to play a game with Spencer. That’s what she is back 10 years ago. A manipulative person. She likes to make her target fool. You never took anything serious until today. How bad she was before she went missing. You just can’t wait until the day she take her revenge to us, to the BAU.

30 minutes later, she walks out of the building with her hand handcuffed, she walked beside Spencer into a police car. You get out from the car and ran to Spencer.

“Thank God you’re okay.” You hugged him very hard.

“YN?” You heard she called your name. She looked at you cynical. “YN YLN? You’re behind all of this? You’re his girlfriend? You’re the one who wants me to suffer. Yes you, the hero of FBI. Listen YN, i will pay back what you did to me. And for you, Spencer, you will suffer for lying to me.”

The car’s door is closed by officer, and you seeing her went away from your eyes.

“She will do it, no matter what it takes, Spencer. We have to get ready.”

Next Part

[my-words-are-light]

Ngawooin: Chapter 3 — Stillness

I commissioned this image from NOPEYS

Click here to go to Chapter 2

Destiny dropped Neil off somewhere close to his home and allowed him to find his way back without her drawing attention to him. Now she could get back to her place, have a nice sit down to relax from Judgement whopping her, and then go to bed.

But first, she had to turn off this hero mode. One question: how?

She looked at her bow. Maybe she could get rid of it the same way she got it but in reverse? Maybe she could unsummon her weapon like she wanted to do with her armour or something? Nothing would do, just something that she could avoid using so she’d have a free hand. Nothing, nothing she could use to protect herself and fight, she couldn’t just go home looking like an extremely intricate cosplayer…

… Nope, her bow was still in her hand. You’ve got to be kidding.

Destiny fell to the ground on her back. She just wanted the day to be over. She was sore, tired, creeped out, shocked, surprised, irritable, hungry… the list could go on forever if she had the patience but she didn’t; she’d had enough of Judgement, had enough of Goetius, had enough of Riley for causing all this, had enough of her new power for falling into her and not someone else, had enough of this day as a whole and all she wanted was for it to just stop.

She closed her eyes.

She opened them soon after she felt another change to her body, to a… familiar state?

Her vision wasn’t tinted blue anymore. Her arms were bare again. So were her legs. She was back in her school uniform and the bow was nowhere to be found. Her hands went to her hair and, oh thank everything; it was short and blonde again.

She was back to normal. No more fighting monsters, no more… anything. All that remained was home. And the pain, too; Judgement’s hit still lingered in her stomach.

She got up, which took a bit more time than she expected. She winced and gasped as she felt the pain from her fight linger in her abdomen. Her pain tolerance must’ve been huge when she was transformed but now, back as her old self, it was really starting to smart.

As she walked home, holding her stomach, the night was oddly hushed. People were usually more active and loud, even at this time of night. Plenty of people would stay inside but at least the streets weren’t deserted. Maybe they were still worried about Judgement?

Meh, not her problem anymore. She approached her home, which was a simple weatherboard house only a single story tall with a roof of rusty corrugated iron and the walls covered in flaking, burnt amber paint. Like every house in Stillgate Street, really, except they all had their own unique paint jobs with different shades of yellow, orange, brown, or white.

There was one aspect aside from colour in which the Pride household was different from the others; Sergeant Judy Coles’ car was parked on the nature strip right outside. It should be noted that such was not usually the case, however, and that only happened when Coles was visiting for one reason for another, which didn’t help Destiny’s fatigue. As if tonight couldn’t be any more of a hassle.

Destiny took a breath and entered her house. In the entryway, she took off her school shoes and placed them on the shoe rack, which was just a wooden rectangle that her dad nailed two small wooden squares to and placed on the ground. Crude but it did its job.

“Who’s that?” called her dad, Saul Pride, from the dining room on the entryway’s left.

She sighed. She didn’t want to make a fuss but what could she do? “‘ey Dad, it’s me.”

A chair squeaked from scooting along the floor and her dad’s footsteps quickly carried him to the entryway. As soon as he saw her, his frantic eyes and the tense expression on his red face softened into tremendous relief. Saul was a heavyset man who chose to be a stay-at-home dad; he was rarely dressed for anything serious, preferring to wear a loose pair of navy blue pants and an unbuttoned red plaid shirt over a white singlet.

“Oh, Dezzie...!” he said with a cracking voice as he pulled her into a great big hug, making her wince. “Jude told me how some great big monster found you! I’m so happy you’re okay...”

Speak of the devil, Judy Coles had just stepped into the entryway. Compared to when she came across Destiny and Judgement, she was a lot less panicked and confused, although she still looked tired and irritated. She looked more at home with her typical frown and her arms in the pockets of her police jacket. She wasn’t the warmest police officer but that was something Ngawooin got used to.

Destiny grunted from the hug. She was a bit too sore for this sort of affection right now. “Sorry, Dad...” She returned the hug as lightly as she could manage. “I was just hiding.”

“Good, good on ya. It’s important you’re safe.” Dad pulled away and placed his hands tight on her shoulders. He looked her up and down, inspecting her with worry. “What happened? You’re acting like you’ve been kicked around a fair bit. Did anyone hurt you?”

Destiny rubbed her stomach. “I’m a bit raw but nothing too bad. The monster never got me. Coles came in the nick of time and I ran to the park and hid there.”

“I looked for you there,” said Coles. “I searched every bush, nook, and cranny and you were nowhere to be found. Exactly where were you?”

Destiny gulped. “Well, I, uh, left at some point. Didn’t know if the big guy was going to find me there and I wanted to get away.”

Coles crossed her arms. “But why didn’t you head straight home?”

“Oi,” said Dad, raising a finger at the police officer while keeping his other hand firmly on Destiny’s shoulder. “Not now. Back off.”

Coles’ face flashed with irritation for a moment, but she then calmly raised her hands in assurance. “Sorry. Long night.”

“I can relate,” sighed Destiny.

Coles smirked. “Fair. You sure you’re alright, though? You do look really sore.”

“Yeah, nothing serious. Just need a bath to deal with some aches.”

“Well alright then. You dropped your shopping, by the way, so I brought it back. Late night dinner, I suppose.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Jude,” said Dad. “Wanna stay around for dinner? I reckon we’ll have enough for you too.”

“That sounds great but I have to say no.” Coles walked to the door. “Need to ask around, see who else saw that monster and pick up statements.”

“Sure it can’t wait? You’re going to need a lot of energy for tonight after everything.”

“Actually, no. It can’t wait. I need to do it now while everyone’s still awake and they can’t pass it off as a dream or something.” She grabbed the handle. “Oh, Des?”

“Yeah?” said Destiny.

Coles fixed Destiny with a serious stare. “I saw you with the big guy and I saw you run off. That’s all good but, just to be sure, did you see anything else?”

Destiny was confused but she slowly shook her head. Maybe she was talking about the whole superhero thing. “No… I just stayed hidden.”

Coles sighed. “A’ight. Stay safe. And I never thought I’d say that in Ngawooin.”

“First time for everything,” said Dad. “G’night, Jude.”

“And to you, Saul. Both of you get a good sleep tonight.” Coles left and shut the door behind her.

Destiny hissed in pain as she walked into the dining room. She pulled out one of the wooden chairs at the table and slumped down, resting her head on her folded arms. The lounge room had a sofa but she just needed to sit down right now. “First time for everything. Including giant monsters, huh?”

Dad rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, that was pretty stupid. But I think everyone’s tired and scared. Just what happened today? Where did that big guy come from?”

“Bugger if I know. Is mum home yet?”

“Nah, she’s back tomorrow. Good thing you weren’t hurt that badly, otherwise she’d have been back yesterday.”

“Hi Des!” called Destiny’s little brother as he ran into the room. Milo, only seven years old, had very short brown hair and wide brown eyes. “Are you okay? Dad and Jude said there was a monster and a superhero outside!”

“Hey Milo,” said Destiny, not lifting her head. “Yeah, that’s about it. That’s why dinner’s late, sorry.”

“Did you see ‘em?” Milo asked, sitting next to Destiny. “What was the monster like? What about the hero? Did you talk to them?”

“Milo, let your sis be,” said Dad. “She had a run in with that monster and she’s lucky she wasn’t hurt.”

“It’s good.” Destiny waved him off tiredly. “The monster was like a big knight with a big black robe and it had this big axe that looked like a judge’s hammer…”

“Those are gavels,” said Dad.

“Whoa!” said Milo. “What about the hero?”

“Ugh…” Destiny rubbed her eyes against her arms. So much had happened tonight and it was hard to get her thoughts in order. “I dunno. Didn’t see ‘em.”

“Des, kiddo.” Dad was setting up the dinner ingredients on the bench. “You’ve had a rough night. We all have. Maybe it’ll be good for you to have a bath and relax before dinner.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” With a groan, Destiny pushed herself up from the table and stretched. “Need to clean myself from sitting on dirt for half an hour too.”

“Hey Dad,” said Milo, “since there was a monster, can I stay home from school tomorrow?”

Dad turned around quickly to refuse as he normally would but then he paused. “Actually, that might be a good idea. It’s quiet now but it might come back...”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” said Destiny right before she wished she didn’t. How could she possibly sound sure of that? That’d be suspicious at the very least…

Dad shook his head. “I know you like to underplay problems but you have to admit this is kind of a big deal.”

Oh thank goodness; her apathy protected her from scrutiny. “Yeah but, like, what about the hero? Didn’t they take care of it?”

Dad pursed his lips. “Y’know what? Tomorrow morning, I’ll call Jude and ask if it’s safe for you two to go to school. If she says that monster’s still a risk, we’ll just hang out here at home and play games or something.”

“Yes!” Milo pumped his fist. “I hope she says it’s still a problem.”

“I don’t,” grumbled Dad. “But it’s still important you go to school. You need to get out of the house from time to time so you can learn and make friends.”

“But you stay home all the time.”

“That’s because I went to school.” Dad grinned and placed a plastic bowl on the bench. “And I do all the work around the house. I cook, I clean, I wash the clothes, I’m basically always busy. You’re lucky you don’t need to do anything for stay-at-home days and you can just lie about all day.”

“Aw…” groaned Milo. “Does that mean I won’t be allowed to have fun if I grow up?”

“Oh you’ll be allowed. You’ll just need to make time for it.”

“Alright,” said Destiny. “As fun as this conversation isn’t, I need a bath. See ya.”

“Take care, Des,” said Dad. “Dinner’s going to be a while so take your time and relax. You’ve had a long day; you’ve earned the rest.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Destiny. “Looking forward to something to eat.”

She made her way to her bedroom first. After the bath, she was going to want to change into something comfortable for the rest of the night so she was going to get her pyjamas ready.

Her bedroom was very simple. She had no posters or paintings or anything on her beige walls, preferring to leave them bare. Her single bed had white pillows with a pale green blanket and a doona cover depicting sheep-shaped clouds with a sun in the middle. Aside from that, she also had a small desk with an office chair and her laptop, which was very old and couldn’t stay powered for over an hour unplugged so it basically served as her desktop.

Her fitted closet was opposite her bed. Her pyjamas were in the bottom drawer. It would be simple to retrieve her sleepwear and continue onto the bathroom but Destiny had spent the night getting superpowers and fighting her classmate who was possessed and transformed. Being hurt and truly spent of energy, she collapsed onto her bed.

She had never felt this tired before. She had never exercised a lot or even done much in P.E. but she never thought that this sort of fatigue was humanly possible. It was hard to even think, let alone move. She held herself together in the conversation with Dad and Milo but, on her own in her bedroom, she let it all go. She stopped trying to hold it all together and fell as she pleased.

Forget the heroics. Forget Judgement. Forget Goetius and Neil. All she could think was that her bed had never felt so comfortable in her life.