#honestly my art has gotten dramatically better because of this man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burberryharold · 4 years ago

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hey, lovies! i’ve been so excited to post this fic because i am in love with Harry and Jules and i hope you will be too (and excuse the lousy banner i just wanted to have something lol)! this is a part of @1dffchallenges’s valentine’s day challenge, so i hope you enjoy reading it and happy valentine’s day, it’s all about spreading love around so here is some love from me to all of you ❤️

a special thank you to @fireproofrry @bodejacketharry @strawberryystyles for beta reading and giving feedback, you are absolute angels <3

word count: 7.7k

warnings: none!

challenge prompt and dialogue: strangers alone on valentine’s day + “I’m allergic to chocolate. And roses.”

It’s official, valentine’s day is the worst.

At least that’s what Jules thought as she adjusted herself on the bar stool, trying to get into a comfortable position while she waited for her drink to be served.

It wasn’t in Jules’ agenda to spend what was supposed to be the most romantic day of the year alone at a bar ten minutes away from her apartment. If she was still with Leon, they would have been having a nice dinner somewhere, laughing over whatever funny story one of them had to share about their day at the company.

But alas, Leon was someone else’s now and Jules was only left with her own company.

Truth be told, though, Jules never minded being alone, in fact, she enjoyed being by herself because people were simply exhausting.

But being alone and being lonely were too completely different things, and Jules hated feeling lonely.

And valentine’s day only made that worse. Seeing loved up couples around her, flashes of red and pink everywhere she glanced, hearing cheesy love songs blasting through the speakers of the shops she passed by. Everything about valentine’s day just seemed to remind her of her lonely status.

Instead of staying at her apartment all night long doing nothing but watching rom coms and feeling sorry for herself, Jules thought of a better alternative, which was to get pissed drunk. So when she got up in the morning to go to work (because even on valentine’s day duty calls), she put on her favourite black dress, one that was sleeveless and had a deep v-neckline, and put on enough makeup to feel confident in the way she looked before pulling on her coat and venturing into the cold streets of London.

If she was going to get pathetically drunk by herself at a bar after work whilst everyone else was being all lovey dovey, then she would look hot doing it.

The sound of a glass coming in contact with the wooden surface broke her out of her reverie and she glanced up, finding that the bartender had placed her drink in front of her and he was beaming at her. “There you go, love, happy valentine’s day.”

After squinting at the name tag (she’s never seen him here before, he must be new), Jules forced herself to return his smile and lifted her glass. “Cheers, Jonah.”

Poor guy must have thought she was waiting for a date or something. Too bad, no one was going to be joining Jules on this fine evening. Just me, myself, and I.

Setting her glass back on the counter after taking a big gulp, Jules scowled as she was reminded of the items she had received earlier in the day. For some reason, Leon thought it was a good idea to give her a box of chocolates and a rose, even though they were no longer together and he had another woman by his side.

She appreciated the thought behind it, he probably just wanted to be nice or maybe he felt guilty, but his gift was staring at her, almost laughing at her misery and she wasn’t having it.

That is why she instantly asked Jonah for a fork, which caused him to send her a confused look but he complied nonetheless, and she proceeded to stab the pieces of chocolate placed perfectly in the box, taking out her frustration on the sweets.

Once satisfied, she dropped the fork with a clunk and heaved out a sigh, lazily resting her chin in her right hand before looking back at Jonah. He was staring at her with wide eyes as he dried off some shot glasses, surely thinking that she was a lunatic, but Jules just flashed him a sweet smile and shifted her eyes back to the chocolates she had just assaulted.

Poor chocolate, but oh well.

“Are you alright there?”

“What the fuc-“ The sudden voice caused her to jump in her seat and she almost fell off the bar stool if it weren’t for the hand that magically materialised behind her, holding her steady.

Before she had a chance to slap the hand off her back, the stranger retracted it and returned to his seat and she had the chance to take a proper look at him.

The man stared back at her with concerned eyes, a stool separating the two of them, but he was still not that far away from her. Jules wondered when he had gotten there because she certainly didn’t feel him arrive. Perhaps it was during her chocolate rampage.

What really surprised her though, more than his sudden appearance, was the fact that she knew who he was. In fact, she believed everyone knew the man sitting beside her because it was none other than Harry Styles.

Many questions ran through Jules’ head, the most important being what on earth was a guy like him doing at this bar on valentine’s day? Jules never believed in the image the media painted of him, but surely he has something better to do than be here, all by himself it seems?

As big of a fan as she was, the fact that he was right before her didn’t faze Jules all that much, her mind was more preoccupied by other matters. So, she ended up doing what she would’ve done if it was any other person: she glared at him and wordlessly turned back in her seat, pretending as if he wasn’t there.

He didn’t seem to take the hint.

“You were quite aggressive with the chocolate there.” His deep voice floated in the empty bar as he pointed at the box in front of her.

Jules inhaled deeply before responding in a flat tone. “I’m allergic to chocolate.” Glaring at the single rose lying beside the box, she grabbed it and tossed it on the floor beneath her, silently cursing Leon once more. “And roses.”

She felt guilty for littering, but she’d pick it up when she leaves. Eventually.

“Are you really?” The man beside her questioned, leaning forward in his seat, his body completely turned towards her at this point. She could tell from her tone that he was skeptical of her supposed allergies and she honestly couldn’t blame him.

“No,” she found herself shaking her head, signalling for Jonah to get her another drink, still keeping her body facing forward and only glancing at him from her peripheral vision, “I’m just fucking with you.”

To her surprise, he let out a small laugh, not seeming to be upset. Jules couldn’t help but turn her head a bit to look at him, finding a dimpled smile on his and she wondered what was wrong with this guy.

“May I ask why you were stabbing the poor sweets then?”

Figuring she should just put him out of his misery and answer his question, Jules huffed and crossed her legs, not missing the way his gaze flickered down for a split second before returning to her face. She ignored it and sighed, “Well if you must know, my ex gave them to me this morning.”

“Trying to get you to take him back?”

“Oh god no,” Jules laughed at the notion, her hand waving off his wrong assumption, “he’s as happy as can be with his new girlfriend.”

The blatant confusion on his face prompted her to provide more explanation.

“We broke up a couple of months ago, he left me for someone else. So he probably just felt guilty.”

“He left you for someone else? And before the holidays?” When she nodded in confirmation, he shook his head with a frown. “Bastard.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Valentine’s day just sucks, it’s just a reminder of how lonely you are,” she muttered with bitterness, “Of how lonely I am.”

“Well if it’s any consolation,” Harry said, pausing to ask the bartender for another drink, “I’m lonely tonight too.”

“Well, obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t be here getting drunk on your own.” With a few drinks already in her system, Jules practically had no filter whatsoever (not that she really had one in the first place).

“Touché,” he clicked his tongue, then leaned back to chug down the rest of his glass. Jules was almost concerned by how quickly he downed his drink, but she’s not in a position to talk, after all, she’d been doing the same. “But I’m not getting drunk on my own now, am I? You’re right here.”

She scoffed, eyebrows raising at his words. “Who said I’m keeping you company? Or that I’m not leaving any second now?”

“I don’t think you are.” He responded with much conviction that it almost threw Jules off.

“You think too confidently about a stranger you just met.”

“Let’s fix the strangers part then, shall we? I’m Harry.” He extended his ring-clad hand and Jules noticed a coat of red nail polish on his fingers. How ironic.

She sighed before deciding to entertain him, grabbing a firm hold of his surprisingly warm hand. Maybe she’ll allow him to keep her company tonight. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave her alone anyway.

“Jules.” She simply responded before turning back to her drink, swirling the pink straw around. She made a mental note to thank Jonah later for the cute straw.

“Jules” Harry repeated, as if testing the name on his lips and Jules would be lying if she said that she didn’t like the way it rolled off his tongue. “Is that a nickname for Julie? Julia? Short for Juliann-“

“Juliet. It’s Juliet.” She interrupted his ridiculous ramble. He surely was inquisitive. And did she really look like a Julianne?

“Huh,” he hummed, gliding a finger over the rim of his glass, staying silent for a few seconds and Jules thought he was maybe done for the night.

She thought wrong, it seems.

“Oh, Juliet, oh, Juliet, where art thou, Juliet?” He dramatically recited, voice going deeper as he stared upwards at a spot over the bar. Simply put, Jules thought he looked ridiculous.

She could hear Jonah snickering in the background.

“It’s where art thou, Romeo, but nice try.” She rolled her eyes in response to his theatrics. Almost everyone she’s ever encountered has commented on her name and made a reference to the infamous Shakespearean tragedy that she’s never been too fond of. It’s why she mostly went by Jules.

No one’s ever recited that line though, however wrong it was. That was a first.

“I knew that,” the curly-haired man mumbled beside her, swirling his glass and watching the ice cubes swim around, “was just joking, geez, tough crowd.”

Jules couldn’t help but roll her eyes again in response. That joke got old a long time ago.

She’s beginning to regret coming to this bar tonight. Maybe she should’ve just headed straight home and cuddled into her blankets.

“It’s pretty, though,” he added a few moments later, “beautiful name for a beautiful woman”

No way. She huffed, spinning in her seat to face him once again. “That’s your line? Tell me, Mr. Rockstar, has that really worked on anyone before?”

She could tell he was a bit surprised but tried to hide it; unluckily for him, Jules was a very observant person, hardly anything passed her.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that-“

She interrupted him again and leaned in closer, resting her elbow on the countertop and raised an eyebrow. His eyes flickered for a fleeting second to the charm bracelet adorning her wrist. “So you don’t think my name’s beautiful? Or that I’m beautiful? Sheesh, Harry, you’re not looking good here.”

Harry spluttered, staring at her with eyes blown wide in panic and Jules almost felt bad for messing with him; it was just hard not to, she was lonely and he was right there annoying her with his lousy jokes, so he has the unfortunate fate of being her victim tonight (and truthfully, he brought it on himself). And if she was being honest, messing with Harry Styles was just too entertaining of an opportunity for her to pass on.

To be fair, she was a little annoyed by his presence in the beginning, having originally planned to wallow in her misery all by herself, but now she’s having fun. She might just enjoy her time with him.

“No- no of course I think you’re beautiful, y-your name too,” he responded in clear panic, seemingly trying to figure out how he can redeem himself. Jules’ attention was momentarily caught by the way his rings glimmered under the light as he flexed his fingers, still fumbling for a response. “I was just-“

“Styles,” she interrupted him, yet again, with a light-hearted laugh and shook her head, hair falling forward on her shoulders, “Relax, was just messing with you.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he heaved out a sigh of relief; his eyes then narrowed and he lifted his hand, pointer finger wagging in her direction. “You really like messing with people, huh? Not very nice of you.”

“Made you sweat, no? Was just having fun. I can now say that I’ve made the infamous Harry Styles stumble over his words. How much do you think they’ll pay me for that hot gossip? Reckon it would be a lot.” She said as she turned back in her seat, now facing the bar once again, but she knew he caught the smirk on her face and the teasing lilt in her tone.

Coming to the bar was definitely a good decision.

Harry felt like a proper idiot.

Here he was, sitting at a pub with a lovely woman that clearly didn’t want to be bothered, yet he had to fuck things up and be a git.

And the Juliet bit? Harry had never been more embarrassed, he didn’t know what he was thinking, or if he was thinking at all. He made sure to remind himself that he wasn’t that funny and should just stop trying to be. You’re making a fucking fool of yourself.

In spite of his rather embarrassing advances, Harry found himself enjoying Jules’ company immensely, even if she had barely looked his way when he had arrived at his spot.

She might’ve looked irritated by his insistent attempts to start a conversation with her in the beginning, but from the way her body has been facing him for the past half an hour and the smile or two she’d thrown his way, Harry had a feeling she was warming up to him.

He discovered that she was an accountant, which thoroughly surprised him because she didn’t seem like one. Harry doesn’t like to judge a book by its cover, but Jules definitely didn’t scream accountant, more like a Greek goddess or something. Her black dress hugged her body in a way that almost made Harry dizzy; he had noticed her the second he walked into the nearly empty pub – and before he could even think about it, he found his legs carrying him in her direction (he was already headed to the bar anyway, or so he told himself).

Admittedly, the way she was stabbing the chocolates had him fearing for his life for a split second, but Harry brushed it off and figured she just wasn’t a fan of valentine’s day, if her apparent disdain for the sweets and the rose before her was any indication.

He was also surprised to learn that she’d moved here from America about five years ago and this pub was one she often frequented, yet Harry had never run into her somehow despite coming here a lot and living not too far himself.

He’s glad their paths have finally crossed tonight, though.

That being said, Jules was definitely keeping him on his toes. He never knew what she was going to say next, and she certainly did not hold back from saying exactly what was on her mind.

Harry found himself liking that about her, even if her forwardness came at his expense sometimes (he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it). Oftentimes, people acted cautious around him and treated him differently just because of his status. Not Jules, though.

But now he could tell that she had something on her mind, from the way she looked at him then shifted her eyes elsewhere a second later.

“What is it?” He questioned, deciding to put her out of her fidgety state. He wasn’t sure what was holding her back, she certainly had no problem handing his ass to him earlier.

“It’s just,” she started, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, the movement catching Harry attention for a second before he reminded himself to be respectful, “what are you doing here by yourself tonight? I find it hard to believe that someone like you doesn’t have anyone to hang around on a day like this.”

Someone like him? Harry furrowed his eyebrows, not sure what she was implying with her words but he didn’t believe she meant it in a negative manner necessarily.

“That came out wrong, I didn’t mean anything like that,” she quickly defended, face becoming redder by the second and Harry was a little endeared by the sight. The woman before him was confident all throughout their conversation, having no fear in expressing her thoughts, yet now she was the flustered one. And Harry couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Time to give her a taste of her own medicine.

“What, thought someone like me had a flock of women at their beck and call and that I’d be off with one or some of them tonight?”

He gave her a blank look afterwards, pretending that he found offence in her words and he almost blew his cover at the way her face visibly fell.

“N-no!” she exclaimed, voice rising a few octaves and Harry could see the bartender, Jonah, suddenly flinch behind her from the sound. He pressed his lips together to silence the chuckle that threatened to escape and continued to stare Jules down.

“Of course I didn’t mean it like that,” she added in a much calmer tone, though Harry could detect that panic lacing her voice and he was starting to feel guilty. “I never believed that you were like that, I just,” she paused, averting her gaze away and staring at the lights above them instead, “never mind, just ignore me.”

Harry figured that she already knew of who he was and his status, and despite having just met her, the fact that she just said she doesn’t believe the rumours about him filled him with inexplicable warmth and he had to remind himself again that he’d only just met this woman. He shouldn’t feel anything of the sort towards her.

He could tell by the way her eyebrows were furrowed that she felt bad about what she’d said, so Harry called out her name and waited for her to look at him again.

When she did, her face holding an apprehensive look, he smiled at her and leaned a bit closer, which made little difference because there was still some space separating them.

“I was just messing with you, Jules,” he reached forward and flicked her nose, causing her to instinctively scrunch her face in a cute manner that had Harry’s stomach fluttering. “Doesn’t feel that nice now, does it?”

Jules chuckled in disbelief, wide eyes staring back at him and a smile was slowly stretching on her lips. “Touché. I see how it is then.”

Harry just shrugged, his own lips twitching as another smile threatened to appear. “Just having some fun, eh?”

Jules was now beaming at him and if Harry was standing, he was certain that his knees would’ve buckled at the sight. He already knew that Jules was gorgeous, and he was sure anyone would agree with him, but when as she smiled at him like that, eyes shining bright under the warm orange lights, brown hair cascading loosely yet somehow perfectly on her shoulders, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that there was an angel sitting before him.

“Truce then?”

Her voice brought him back to earth and Harry chuckled before he shook her outstretched hand, marvelling for a moment at the way it felt enveloped in his. “Truce.”

“But to answer your question,” Harry said after a few beats of silence, glancing at her to find her eyes already set on him. “I didn’t have anything planned, haven’t been on many dates recently to be honest, so I just figured I’d come here and spend time with my good friend,” he lifted his drink with a wide grin on his face, “alcohol, the one thing that never let me down.”

Jules threw her head back in a laugh, the sound being music to Harry’s ears and he wished he could record it just to hear it again and again. “Amen to that.”

The two clinked their glasses together, laughing stupidly for no reason, before they threw their heads back to drink.

“Another round, then?”

Jonah suddenly appeared in front of them, startling Harry a bit. Sometimes he forgot that the man was lingering around behind the bar.

Jules took the liberty to respond for the both of them, exclaiming a “hell yeah, buddy!” that had the two men laughing, and soon enough their glasses were refilled.

After taking a sip, Harry leaned his head on the palm of his hand and set his eyes on Jules again, “So, are you a fan? Of me or of the band?”

He had to ask, he couldn’t help but wonder. If she was indeed a fan, she certainly didn’t show it.

Jules shrugged, playing nonchalant it seemed, but it didn’t escape him the way her cheeks seemed to redden. “Eh, I dabble. You’re alright.”

Her response made him chuckle. “Good to know.” Call him a narcissist, but he really wanted to know whether or not she liked his music. Perhaps he’ll inquire further later.

Because Harry knows that there’s no way he’s letting Jules go anytime soon.

Getting to know Harry was fun.

Sometime during the night, Harry had migrated from his seat onto the bar stool beside her, their thighs brushing against each other every now and then.

Tapping his fingers around his glass, Harry’s rings clinked against it and Jules couldn’t help but be slightly captivated by the action. She wasn’t one to stare at anyone’s hands, but she had to admit that Harry’s were fascinating to look at; his long and slender fingers, adorned by a number of his infamous rings, were truly a sight to see.

She took the chance to also admire his outfit, something she was too busy to do earlier on. His coat was long discarded on the stool beside him, which allowed her eyes to run over his figure. His upper body was covered by a plain white t-shirt with the word “Sex” displayed on his chest, a pair of pair of wide-legged black pants covering his long limbs; it was a simple fit yet it made it difficult for Jules to take her eyes off him. And his hair just looked so soft that her fingers were begging her to touch the fallen strands on his forehead.

Hearing Harry clear his throat broke her out of her trance and Jules realised from the smirk that stretched on his lips that she’d been caught in the act.

She tried playing it off, as if she hadn’t been shamelessly checking him out for the last couple of minutes and smoothed her hands down her dress, adjusting in her seat because honestly, her butt was starting to ache.

But she didn’t want to leave just yet.

Seeming to notice her discomfort, however, Harry downed the last bit of his drink before setting his glass down with a smack, causing Jonah, who was still lingering around them, to shoot Harry a warning glance and a low “careful!”, to which Harry smiled sheepishly before turning to face her again.

“Want to get out of here?”

Jules’ eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, having not expected him to want to continue spending the night with her.

“Sure there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?” She couldn’t help but question, still struggling to grasp the fact that he still wanted to be around her. Her hands were fidgeting with the hem of her dress, eyes staring into his emerald ones as she waited to hear his response.

Truth be told, she was enjoying his company far much more than she had anticipated and she didn’t want to part from him just yet.

To her relief, a dimpled smile adorned Harry’s face as he took in her words before he shook his head, “Trust me, Jules, there’s no one else I’d rather be with tonight.”

She’d be lying if she said her heart didn’t skip a beat at that.

The two got up from their seats after thanking Jonah and fighting over who’s paying because Harry insisted on paying for her drinks. As she was gathering her things, she felt Harry’s presence behind her and she realised, after looking at him over her shoulders, that he was holding her coat up for her.

Heat rushed into her cheeks at the gesture, finding it sweet that he was helping her when he didn’t really have to. “Thank you,” she whispered, turning to him with a smile after feeling him adjust her hair.

His only response was a faint “No need” and he quickly turned to shrug on his own coat, the bashful smile on his lips not going unnoticed by her.

Flashing Jonah another smile, Harry extended his arm towards her and nodded his head towards the exit. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

The two stepped into the night, the biting London air hitting Jules’ cheeks immediately and she was positive her nose was already red from the cold.

Jules reached into her pocket to grab her phone, realising that she hasn’t checked the device since she walked into the bar. There weren’t any notifications that she missed, which wasn’t surprising since her friends (all four of them) were out on dates or staying at home with their partners, so she was sure no one was thinking of her at the moment.

Noticing that it was already 8 in the evening and they were aimlessly walking down the street, Jules turned to Harry with a questioning gaze. “Where are we going?”

Leaning his head down to look at her (or perhaps to be closer, Jules wasn’t sure), he paused, seeming to think, before shrugging his shoulders. “Dunno if I’m quite honest.”

Jules found herself chuckling at him. How did her day end with her walking around with no purpose with a man she’d just met?

She looked at the sign closest to them before she turned to him and did something she rarely ever did. She found herself inviting him to her apartment because they were quite close.

A smirk found its way onto Harry’s lips and she started to regret her decision. “Already trying to get me into your bed, Juliet?”

She mentally cursed at the way her heart leaped upon hearing her name roll off his tongue. Almost no one called her Juliet anymore, except for her parents when they were being serious, but she found herself wanting to hear him say her name over and over again.

Shaking her head at the thought, Jules reached her arm out and lightly slapped his shoulder. “Oh come off it, you idiot. You can just go ahead and cry alone in your mansion if you want.”

Harry raised his hands in surrender and muttered an apology, although the smile lingered on his lips and Jules tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in her chest.

“Lead the way, then.”

“Make yourself at home, I’ll get us something to drink.”

The walk to her apartment was full of smiles and laughter. She’s come to the conclusion that Harry loves making people laugh, even if his jokes were actually awful, but she found it endearing; he was like a ray of sunshine bringing joy to those around him.

She was glad that she had cleaned up the place a couple of days ago, it would’ve been embarrassing to have someone over to see pyjamas and junk strewn over her furniture. Suffice to say, Jules was a bit of a mess around the house.

After hanging up her coat and Harry’s, she made her way into her kitchen and looked for the good wine she reserved for special occasions. She easily grabbed it, along with two glasses, but then Jules found herself lingering by the kitchen island.

It dawned on her that there was a man in her living room, and he wasn’t just anyone. This was Harry Styles, someone she’d long admired and holy shit was this really happening?

And as sad as it may sound, she’s never felt this connection with anyone before, never felt like the person before her got her and could keep up with her. Yet with Harry, it felt different, and that scared her because she’d only just met him a couple of hours ago.

And he was bound to forget all about her after tonight. He’s just looking for some company, and Jules didn’t think she was that special. Eventually, he’s going to leave. Just like everyone else.

Feeling like the black marble of the island was starting to swirl in her vision, Jules snapped out of her thoughts and sucked in a deep breath before moving back towards the living room.

Harry had his hands interlocked behind his back, perusing through her record collection and it made her inadvertently smile. She was proud of her vast collection of vinyl records, a good portion of them handed down to her by her father; they both had a deep appreciation for records that her mum often made fun of them for.

“Found anything you like?” He jolted at her voice, not having noticed her presence behind him, but then his shoulders immediately relaxed.

Turning towards her with a wide grin, Harry gestured to the shelf behind him. Jules liked the way he seemed to glow underneath the dim lights and she wished she could take a picture of this moment as a keepsake. “This is amazing, there are records here that I couldn’t even find.”

“You can thank my dad for that,” she told him, making herself comfortable on the couch but not breaking eye contact once, “he’s been collecting them for decades and I’m so glad he let me have some, like you should see his collection back home, it’s even more impressive.”

“Hope I’ll get to someday.”

His response caught her off-guard. Before Jules could react, Harry’s teasing voice carried through the room.

“You dabble, you said?” He smirked, turning the Fine Line record in hand to show her and also nodding to the space that held One Direction records. Jules groaned out loud and flopped against the back of the couch.

“A little yeah. Sue me.”

She blushed under his amused gaze, a little embarrassed that he’d found her collection of the band’s records and his own solo music.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, dimples adorning his cheeks, “think it’s cute that you’re a big fan.”

“Don’t know why that makes me cute but okay if you say so.” She mumbled under her breath, realising that he heard her when he chuckled.

“Mind if I put on something then?”

Jules shook her head, signalling for him to go ahead while she poured their drinks. Soon afterwards Stevie Nicks’ voice filled the silence and her lips tugged up at the choice.

The couch dipped beside her when Harry sat down, the scent of his cologne invading her senses. Jules doesn’t think anyone has ever smelled as good as him, but she chose to keep that thought to herself and instead handed him his drink.

A few moments of silence passed after he quietly thanked her, Stevie’s voice the only thing that can be heard.

“So,” he started, throwing an arm on the back of the couch, a shit-eating grin on his handsome face, “would I find any 1D posters if I went into your room?”

“Oh fuck you.” She threw one of the cushions at him, smiling at the way he threw his head back in laughter.

Jules did not mind his company at all.

“Hold on a minute,” Harry straightened up from his previously relaxed position on the couch, “you all work together and you see him and his new girlfriend every day?”

“Yup, you can imagine how fun that is.” She loved her job as an accountant, having always been fascinated with numbers, but she hated having to see him every day in the office across from hers.

It’s not like she hated him, they actually ended on good terms, all things considered. Leon wasn’t bad, he never cheated on her, but the feelings between them just died out, a flicker of something that dwindled into nothing. So, they were friendly with each other and that’s probably the reason why he brought her a box of chocolate and a rose.

But Juliet just didn’t like the daily reminder that she was in fact much lonelier than he was; it’s like rubbing salt in the wound.

“Shit, Jules, that must be hard,” he frowns, leaning forward to pat her hand, “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”

“It’s not that serious,” she mumbles, feeling heat rushing to her cheeks at the simple touch and she mentally cursed herself. She had sworn off men for the unforeseeable future. “I’m over him. You know, I actually think I was never really in love with him to begin with.”

“Why’d you think that?” He questions, his thumb still softly caressing her hand; Jules wasn’t sure if he was aware of that or was absentmindedly doing it. Either way, the touch warmed her.

“I think,” she started, setting her glass of wine on the coffee table so she could sink in further into the couch, the move unintentionally bringing her body closer to Harry’s. “I think I was just happy to have someone around, someone to spend time with. I’ve spent a lot of my life alone and I think I just clung onto him because he kept me company.”

A few beats of silence passed before she continued. “That makes me sound horrible, no, it’s not like I used him, I did enjoy his company and we had a lot of fun together, but I think I was just in love with the idea of him, not him.”

Harry nodded his head, leaning back and mirroring her position, “I understand. That’s how I felt in most of my relationships actually. I longed to have someone around so I wouldn’t be lonely, but I’ve learned over the years that having company doesn’t mean that you won’t feel lonely.”

“You sounded pretty heartbroken on your last record though.” If she wasn’t as inebriated as she was, Jules would have probably had some filter and wouldn’t have said that.

Luckily, Harry chuckled in response and relaxed further into the couch, retracting his hand from hers (she instantly missed the warmth), but he didn’t seem upset. “I was. I would say that I was actually falling in love with her, so I was a bit of a mess when she left me.”

His words made her frown. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t know how anyone could leave you.” She muttered under her breath, forgetting that she was usually louder than normal after she’s had a few drinks.

“Could say the same thing about you.”

With her cheeks flushed, Jules forced herself to look him in the eye again. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I’d like to get to know you.” He almost instantly shot back, resting his chin on his hand and his dimples made an appearance, “I think you’re very interesting.”

“Pfft, me? Interesting?” She laughed, waving him off with her hand. “I am anything but.”

“That’s not true!” Harry vehemently denied, sounding almost offended at the thought, which admittedly made Jules’ heart skip a beat. Just a little.

“I’ve spent a few hours with you now and I can already confidently say that you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met,” his eyes shone bright as she stared into them and she could somehow tell he was being sincere, “and trust me, I’ve met a lot of people.”

Dramatically placing a hand over her heart, Jules flashed him her biggest smile. “Oh how special that makes me feel, I can just die happily now.”

Even though she was being melodramatic, his words did cause Jules’ heart to flutter. In the past, some people told her she was annoying, or brash, and some others would make her feel invisible and undeserving of attention.

Harry, though, was unlike anyone she had ever known. From the moment they met, Harry made her feel like the centre of his attention, never once ignored her or brushed her off, even when she was taking the piss; his emerald eyes were always set on her, giving her his undivided attention as he listened to every word that came out of her mouth.

Jules was definitely not used to that.

Harry threw his head back in laughter, a sound that Jules found to be a beautiful melody, and gazed at her with those bright eyes. “Oh you’re insufferable, I take it back.”

She gasped in feigned shock, crossing her arms with force. “No backsies.”

Another melodic laugh left Harry’s mouth and she couldn’t stop the smile forming on her lips; right then and there, Jules decided that his laugh was one of her favourite sounds.

“Backsies?” He echoed, his tone still laced with laughter, “what are you, five?”

“Shut your pretty mouth.”

“Oh so you think I have a pretty mouth?” His smirk caused his skin to flush and she cursed herself for saying those words. She really needed to think before she spoke, something her parents always reminded her of.

She recovered quickly, bringing her glass closer to her mouth. “I mean, it’s fine, your lips are a little on the thin side but-“

“Heyyy now,” he protested, pink lips forming a pout and Jules definitely thought about kissing them at that moment. “That’s not nice.”

“Never claimed I was nice now, did I?” Jules smirked, feeling a sudden surge of confidence as she took another sip from her drink.

Jules did not miss the way Harry’s eyes seemed to darken just a little, his jaw tensing as she continued to stare him down. Harry leaned forward, mouth opening to respond when suddenly a shrill tone burst their bubble.

Patting the couch cushions, Jules was trying her hardest to forget the look on Harry’s face as she searched for her phone. Stop it, Jules, he’s an international rockstar and he won’t even remember you after tonight.

She sighed in relief when her hand made contact with the device, but that quickly turned into a groan upon seeing who the caller was. Looking back at Harry, who was leaning against the armrest simply staring at her, she shot him an apologetic look before she answered the call.

“Hey, mama” she closed her eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Not that she was expecting anything to happen between her and Harry, but the mood was definitely ruined now.

“Hello, honey, how are you? Are you home yet?” Her mother’s calming voice sounded from the other side of the line, making her smile a bit despite the interruption. Ever since the breakup, her mom made sure to call her frequently to check up on her, even though Jules insisted that she didn’t have to.

“I am home, mom, yes,” she responded, shifting her gaze back to Harry who was now leaning his head against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed.

“Good, good. Just checking on you, cariña, how was your night then?”

“It was fine,” she paused for a second, not sure if she should mention meeting Harry now, but she decided it was best not to, “had a few drinks then went straight home. Think I’m gonna go to bed in a few actually.”

She could tell by the way Harry’s lips twitched that he was awake and listening.

“I won’t keep you up then,” some noise was in the background and she heard her mother whisper to someone, “okay, honey, good night! And your dad says good night too.”

“Good night, mama,” Jules smiled, finding herself suddenly missing her family that she hasn’t seen since the holiday season. “Tell dad I said good night too, and that he better spoil you today.”

Her mother’s laugh ringed loud on the other side, “We’re going to dinner tonight, cariña, and he even got me a large bouquet of my favourite roses! Joseph shh- Alright then, bye bye, sweets, love you!”

“Bye, mama, love you too.”

A few seconds passed after she ended the call before Harry spoke up, head tilted to the side. “That sounded sweet. Does she check up on you often?”

Jules hummed in response, resting her head sideways on the sofa so was mirroring his position. “Especially after the breakup. She just worries too much about me.”

“I don’t think she needs to,” he shot her a gentle smile, one that made her want to wrap her arms around him and bask in his warmth, “her daughter’s a very strong woman.”

Not finding any words to say in response, Jules continued tracing Harry’s features, lazily admiring the slope of his nose, the curve of his brows, the sharpness of his jawline; everything about the man before her was mesmerising.

Turning her gaze back to his eyes, Harry flashed her another smile before sitting up straight, the smile slowly dropping. “I should probably go now, it’s getting late.”

Jules immediately wanted to shout “no!” and ask him to stay, but the rational part of her mind told her that she shouldn’t, that she would only set herself up for heartbreak when he finally leaves her.

So the only thing she could say was a faint “Okay.”

As they stood up, it seemed like Harry was holding back from saying something, but she didn’t know if she was just reading too much into things. It was probably just her hazy mind (though she’d argue her head has never been clearer)

They silently made their way to her door, Jules feeling deflated at the prospect of his departure. Would they keep in touch? Would she just become a distant memory, a miserable woman he spent a lonely valentine’s day with?

“Can I-“ Harry abruptly stopped in his tracks, causing Jules to almost run into his back because she was trailing behind him. His demeanour was suddenly all shy when he turned to face her, cheeks flushed crimson.

Jules waited with bated breath and wide eyes for him to continue, heart beating loudly in her chest.

“Can I have your number?”

Relief washed over Jules and Harry visibly relaxed at the bashful smile on her lips. Jules didn’t know why he was so nervous, but the sight was so endearing to her.

She added her number after he handed her the device, secretly smiling at her contact name Juliet x. She already earned herself an x after her name after a few hours? Jules’ heart was beating so loudly she feared Harry would hear its calls for him.

Jules watched him put his shoes on, wishing the night wouldn’t end so soon and wondering if it would be too forward to ask him to stay longer.

Deep in her thoughts, Jules didn’t register that Harry was standing in front of her, bodies close enough that the scent of his cologne engulfed her senses once more.

“I should go now.” Harry whispered, leaning down and wrapping his arms around her and Jules had never felt so whole. She’s heard about Harry’s incredible hugs and now that she’s experiencing it, she never wanted to let go of his warmth.

Harry broke their embrace much too soon for her liking, but not before peppering a gentle kiss on the side of her head. “Good night, Juliet.”

Say something. Don’t let him leave. “Good night, H.”

And then he was gone and Jules was left on her own once more.

After staring longingly at the closed door, as if he would suddenly appear behind it, Jules sighed and made her way back to the living room, slumping against the couch cushions and wishing Harry’s arms were around her again.

Her phone dinged on the coffee table, signalling the arrival of a text. A simple “Hey. I really enjoyed tonight. H” was staring back at her.

Jules contemplated for a few seconds, heartbeats picking up their speed again, before she whispered “fuck it” and clicked on his number.

“Juliet?”

Deciding to go after what her heart wants for once, Jules didn’t hesitate to respond, “Do you want to-“

But an insistent knock interrupted her and Jules wanted to scream at the intrusion. Who on earth would be knocking at her door at this hour?

“Harry, hold on just-“

She takes frustrated strides to the door, ready to yell, but the sight behind it made her anger immediately evaporate.

“H-Harry? What are you doin-“

“What were you going to ask me?” He interrupted, sounding a little out of breath and she wondered if he ran all the way back to her apartment.

Feeling emboldened by his return, Jules took a few steps towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, his hands immediately grabbing her face and pulling her closer, their lips joining together in a gentle yet eager kiss.

Jules felt her body melt in his hold. Their kiss only lasted for a few seconds before they pulled apart, still lingering so close that she could taste his wine-stained lips.

“Stay?” Jules asked, rubbing her nose against his, her heart thudding in her chest as she waited for his answer. Her words carried more weight than she had intended them to and she hoped they wouldn’t scare him off. But her worries vanished when she felt him smile widely against her lips.

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

Maybe valentine’s day isn’t so bad after all.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed it and please come talk to me about Harry and Jules and tell me your thoughts!

#1dffvalentine #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x ofc #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic

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unmaskedagain · 5 years ago

Text

Ladybug: A Young Avenger

Hey Everyone, I got prompt for a civil war ML crossover fic but I was really into Team Iron Man on Ao3 for longest of times and, after endgame, I kind of need some team fluff. So I tweaked the prompt. It’s still team Iron man; just… not the way you’d expect. (Also did anyone know else know that Penny’s last name was Rolling?)

It took Tony Stark all of five minutes to figure out Ladybug’s identity.

“Jarvis, buddy?” Tony called out.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s up with teenagers and being bug-themed heroes wearing inappropriate costumes?”

The A.I took a moment before answering, “…I, for one, blame Vine.”

Tony sighed. First fifteen-year-old Peter Parker aka Spiderman. He took the kid on an as an intern the second he learned about Spiderman. Now fifteen-year-old Marinette Dupain-Cheng aka Ladybug.

He groaned.

What could he do? He needed help.

Captain America needed to be stopped. The Winter Solider needed to be taken down. Team Cap had gone too far.

It was war.

Getting Harley Keener, a mechanical mastermind to agree to be his intern was a bit like chewing nails but Tony always knew the kit would agree. Getting Peter Parker, a child genius with a bright future as a scientist, to agree to be his intern was a piece of cake. Honestly Tony could’ve asked for the kid’s soul in repayment and Peter would’ve asked if he wanted on a silver plate or if plastic was okay? Getting Riri Williams, an engineering prodigy to be his intern, was easy. Too easy; her mom practically threw her at him, all while making him swear into a recorder that he wouldn’t sue. No matter what. Introducing the kids to his labs made him feel like Willie Wonka hand-delivering the golden tickets.

They were all future scientists and engineers like Tony. They grew up worshiping at the altar of Stark Industries like ever future MIT graduate did.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast who played an entirely different game. She was a fashion prodigy who had designed for stars like Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. She had interned for Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois, had her clothes walk the runway during Paris fashion week, and had a summer job that somehow lasted over a year, working for Miranda Priestly, the editor-in-Chief for Runway Magazine when the scary woman took over Paris: Runaway. Said job ended when Miranda when back to New York. Marinette only prayed to the fashion gods. So when Tony Stark, god of the nerds, showed up at her door, she only blinked once.

Said girl sat between her parents, with cool blue eyes glaring at him suspiciously. Luckily Tony was smart enough to bring Pepper with him.

Pepper Potts smiled at the family in front of her; two bakers and the daughter, who made the most delicious macarons that she ever tasted. “So you see, after Tony came across Marinette’s wonderful re-design sketch of his suit on her website, he was very impressed with her talent.”

“But to take Marinette on as an intern?” Sabine asked. “Excuse me, but Marinette has always leaned towards the arts than science.”

Tony gave the woman his best charming smile, “What is science if not another form of art. We both create, strive to better our talents, work to make names for ourselves; experiment and test out hypothesizes. Granted no one in my field ever created the disaster that was crocs.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes, “Didn’t your father help on the Manhattan Project?”

Silence.

Pepper cleared on her throat. “Tom, Sabine, before anyone agrees to anything I’d like to go over safety procedures in place. Would you mind stepping outside with me, I could use a bit of fresh air.”

Tony and Marinette just stared at each other as the three left the room. When the front door closed behind them, Marinette leaned forward, “What do you want?” Her patience had reached its end.

“Aren’t you being a little rude?” Tony smirked.

“Aren’t you a little old?” Marinette snapped back. “What do you want?”

“I want Ladybug’s help.”

Marinette flinched back in shock. Her heart raced in her chest. “How do you know?”

“I’m Tony Stark,” He shrugged easily, picking up a mint chocolate Macron. “I know everything.”

Marinette fought the fear racing through her, and steeled herself like Miranda and Audrey had taught her, “So Iron Man’s wanted Ladybug as an intern? So what does Iron Man get? What does Ladybug get? What does Tony get? And what does Marinette get?”

“You made clear distinctions,” Tony said approvingly, his business-side gearing up. “But I am Iron Man.” He said. “You come to New York for this spring break and for the summer. I get Ladybug’s help in handling a personal issue that has developed within the Avengers. Ladybug gets training from the Avengers. Marinette gets to add Stark Industries and a personal letter of recommendation from Tony Stark to her resume.”

“On the condition, that identities stay secret from the media,” Marinette crossed her arms. “I don’t suppose I can hide it from the rest Avengers for very long. And I get an additional letter of recommendation from Pepper Potts. Pepper takes my friend Chloe on as an intern; she’s the hero, Queen Bee. And only one who knows my identity, besides you. Also, I actually do get to help design your next suit. My expenses?”

Tony smirk widened. The girl knew how to cover her bases. She even wanted to have an Ally with her should things take a turn. “All paid for by me. First-class all the way. You and Chloe will stay in the Stark Tower on the same floor as the other interns.”

“Other young superheroes, you mean?” Marinette guessed, causing Tony’s eyes to twinkle in joy. “Spiderman, Iron Heart, and WarIron. Based on their sizes, I had guessed they were young; teenagers probably. Why didn’t you ask Chat Noir too? Or why aren’t you? Because you’re not, you would’ve mentioned it by now?”

“You mean the Agreste kid?” Tony said, not noticing Marinette’s eyes widen in surprise. “He’s not serious enough for me. I play games but he goes too far. Surprised you haven’t dumped him yet. Get a better partner.”

Marinette took a bit of a macron to get a moment to think. Adrien was Chat Noir. In retrospect, it made a lot of sense. Both were socially immature, and a bit naïve. Each had an idealistic view of things and didn’t let the real world break them of it. For example Adrien and his dealing with Lila’s lies. Chat Noir and Ladybug turning down his advances.

“Very well,” The bluenette finally agreed. “I agree to be your intern. Shall we discuss my salary now or later? Well, need to before I or my parents sign any contracts.”

It was Tony’s turn to narrow his eyes. Not one; not a single one of his interns: Harley, Peter, or Riri ever asked about how much they’d get paid. They’d all assumed it was an unpaid internship and was surprised when their contracts included a salary. “You’re a shark.”

Marinette hummed, “You should see me when there’s blood in the water.”

That was something Tony was looking forward to seeing.

The official paperwork was signed three days later; Marinette was officially a Stark intern. Due to go to Orientation for spring break in New York in a few weeks.

Those weeks flew by. She let Fu know she’d have to go back and forth for a few weeks. She didn’t bother telling anyone else. Her friendships in the class had dwindled dramatically. While most weren’t her outright enemies, her classmates tended to avoid her. If they couldn’t do that, they were beyond cold to her. It was Lila’s doing. She got her hooks into the class, who all wanted to tie themselves to the golden goose, and when it was clear that Lila and Marinette didn’t like each other, they picked sides. They chose their meal ticket over their lifelong friend.

Honestly, it made Marinette almost wish that Lila had lied about her instead; accused her of being a bully or something. Anything. Because at least then her ex-friends would have somewhat of a reason to be ex-friends. Even if it wasn’t a very good one. Instead, they were just bad friends all on their own.

Still, Marinette didn’t mourn their loss as she sat in the back of the class with Chloe on a Sunny Tuesday morning, and they were living for New York that Friday. She had a steadily rising career in Fashion. She had worked under Miranda Priestly and Audrey. From them, she learned it was best to drop fair-weather friends and how to spot wannabes, fame-seekers, and gold-diggers from three miles away.

She was happy with Chloe as her bestie. The girl had turned a new leaf and proven her loyalty to the point where Fu made her a permanent hero. And the Blond had been ecstatic when Pepper Potts had shown up at their door. She had hugged Marinette a full five minutes for getting her the internship. All while screaming with joy.

Both girls were excited to go. Though Marinette did encounter one downside. The night before, Jagged Stone and Penny Rolling; or as Marinette deemed them #RollingStone, called her. Or rather Penny did the talking. Jagged was trying to wrestle his newest jacket away from Fang’s teeth. Penny offered Marinette a chance to spend her spring break traveling around on tour with Jagged, as his personal stylist. Marinette had no choice but to turn the job down. She loved her honorary Uncle Jagged but she already signed the contract.

That morning Lila had spun another set of lies. The first was about helping Tony Stark fix his Iron man suit when she was traveling in America. The second was about the newest song Jagged Stone wrote about her. It was exhausting to listen to but the class hung on every word.

Bustier had just finished her first lesson of the day when she invited Alya to stand up.

The glasses-wearing girl grinned at the class, “So as everyone’s aware; there’s a class pool party is this Saturday; first day of spring break, baby!” The class cheered. “Everyone who’s invited should’ve gotten their invitation. Don’t want any drama,” She cast a cold look to the two girls at the back of the class. “Invite only. So no party crashers. Marinette, Chloe what are you doing this Saturday?” Alya smirked at her call out that the two girls weren’t invited; that they were the only ones who weren’t.

As if on cue, the classroom’s door burst opened and in walked Tony Stark, followed by a very apologetic looking Pepper, “Marinette; it’s time to go! Grab Pepper’s minion and let’s go.”

There were gasps from the class. Max sat up straight. Iron Man was in front of him, in his class, this was the best day of his life.

Marinette just sighed, “Did you kick the door open, Tony?” Disapproval clear in her voice.

“…No?”

“I can’t go now!” Marinette explained. “I have class. We weren’t supposed to leave until Friday, remember.”

Tony waved her off, “Details. Spring Break starts now. Queenie, Mari; chop-chop! New York is waiting!”

Bustier decided to step in. She may not always be the best teacher but she refused to allow a strange man, even if that man was Tony Stark, to take away any of her students. “Mr. Stark, can I ask what you want Marinette and Chloe for?”

Thankfully, it was Pepper that answered as she closed back the classroom door, “They have been employed as interns for Stark Industries. They’ll be attending orientation during their spring break at Stark Tower.”

Max actually fell out of his seat. Because this couldn’t be happening. Stark industries rarely ever took high schoolers’ as interns. Tony Stark only chose the best of the best. How could Marinette land the job?

“Marinette’s my intern,” Tony grinned. “Blondie’s Pepper’s. Who else is gonna teach her how to rule the world.”

A slow smile spread across Chloe’s face, “With an iron fist.”

Tony pointed at her, “You scare me. Pepper get your intern!”

The other students were amazed. Marinette was Tony Stark’s intern. Chloe somehow got Pepper Pott's attention. What had they missed? Why didn’t Marinette tell them? How?

“That’s what we’ll be doing this Saturday, Alya,” Chloe drawled. “In New York, hanging with the Avengers.” Causing Alya to flush with anger. “We couldn’t come to your pool party even if we wanted to. Which we don’t.”

“He found my sketch of a potential Iron man suit design,” Marinette explained, continuing the story Tony had told her parents. “He loved it and offered me the job a few weeks ago.”

“Weeks?” Nino asked. “And you didn’t tell us? Dudette, not cool.”

Alix nodded, her arms crossed, “Yeah I thought we were friends!”

Marinette and Chloe just looked at them like they were stupid.

Alya put her hands on her hips, “Mr. Stark, why didn’t you ask Lila Rossi to be your intern? She helped you with your suit before. She’d be much better than Marinette!”

The girl in question face turned bright red, “This can’t be happening.” Lila muttered.

Tony looked honestly confused, “Lila? Who’s Lila? No one ever helped me with my suit except the kids I already got as interns.” He looked at Pepper. “Do I know a Lila Rossi?”

Pepper shook her head, and turned fierce eyes towards Lila, “Miss Rossi, please refrain from lying about Tony Stark and or Stark Industries. Or we will sue you on the grounds of defamation.”

Lila squeaked. Sue? She couldn’t be sued. Her mother would kill her if she got a lawsuit from Tony Stark.

It was the rest of the class’s turn to look confused.

However, before anyone could ask any follow-up questions, the classroom door burst opened again. Jagged Stone strutted in, followed by a very apologetic look Penny and happy Fang with, what looked to be, the arm of a leather jacket.

“Marinette!” Jagged yelled. “What’s this about you not coming on tour? I need my favorite stylist, love.

Marinette just sighed, “Did you kick the door open, Jagged?” Disapproval clear in her voice.

“…No?”

The bluenette just shook her head, “I have plans this Spring break. I’m sorry.”

“Plans?” Jagged whined. “What could be better spending your Spring Break with a Rock Star? You can even bring your Blonde. Penny could use an assistant!” He paused, finally noticing it wasn’t just kids. “The bloody hell is Tony Stark doing here?”

The two famous men eyed each other. The women they came with just looked so done with the world.

Tony crossed his arms, “I got custody of Marinette for Spring Break; you snooze, you lose.”

“What?!” Jagged hissed. “She’s my designer.”

“She’s my intern!”

Jagged glared, “I knew her first. By rights, I get custody.”

“I have a contract that says otherwise!” Tony taunted the Rock Star. “Her future is Stark Industries.”

“Her future is Rock and Roll!” Jagged yelled back.

Both men glared at each other.

“Pepper!”

“Penny!”

Both women groaned. How was this their lives? Why what was this their lives? What bus full of nuns and orphans did they rob in a past life?

Penny smiled, “Marinette means the world to us. I’m her honorary Aunt Penny,” She held out her hand for Pepper. “Jagged’s her honorary Uncle. We’ve known her for years. Contracts were already signed?”

Pepper nodded, “Tony doesn’t play when it comes to his interns. He won’t budge. Trust me; we’ve done this three other times. Marinette’s his kid now, all but legally.” For now, Pepper didn’t bother to add. Every now and then she found discovered a new set of adoption papers with one of the interns’ names on it; one time she found three sets for all three. Plus if Tony kept hinting any harder, May was going to gut him. “She’ll be in New York for Spring break and all of the summer.”

“Summer!” Jagged whined. “He gets custody for summer too! No!” he shook his head. “Not happening. Call our lawyers, Penny. We’re going to family court!”

Tony blew him a raspberry. Tony Stark blew Jagged Stone a raspberry. The class could only blink, trying to process what was happening.

Marinette just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her.

“Marinette already designed your clothes for the tour,” Penny tried to placate. “They’re amazing. We can call and skype if we need any additional tips. We have a concert in New York over spring break so we can go and see.” They didn’t. But Penny would be damned if she could have one booked within the hour. Anything to stop jagged from mention family court again. “Most of our summer is free too, we can visit Marinette whenever we want.”

Jagged huffed but didn’t say anything.

“Well not whenever you want,” Tony teased.

“Family court!” Jagged hissed.

“Tony!” Pepper said warningly. She was not going to let this going to court. No matter how lovely Marinette was. “Be nice.”

Tony pouted.

Marinette raised her hand, “You guys know that legally my parents still have custody of me, right?” There was no answer. “Right?!” Nothing.

The bluenette just sighed.

Alya took that moment to break in, “Jagged, don’t you want to say hi to Lila? She’s right here,” Alya pointed to her bestie. “Oh, can we listen to the songs you wrote for her? Can you tell us how she saved your cat from getting hit by a plane?”

The look Lila gave Alya could’ve killed a thousand men.

Jagged looked affronted, “Lila? Who’s Lila?” He looked at his fiancé. “Penny, do I know a Lila?”

“No!” Penny glared fiercely at Lila. “Jagged Stone has never written a song about an underage girl before. He has never owned a cat. What parents and airline would careless enough to allow a child to rush onto a runway for a pet? Refrain from spreading any further slander. Or we’ll hit you with a lawsuit so fast you’ll get whiplash.”

“I’m allergic to cats by the way,” Jagged told the class. “All fur actually. That’s why I got Fang here.” He pointed the crocodile who had made its way to Marinette for cuddles. “I’ve had him for twenty years. He’s the only pet I’ve had all that time.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and took the crocodile in her lap.

“Twenty years?” Kim’s eyebrows furrowed. “Whoa, that’s long that we’ve been alive.”

Nino glared at Lila, “Yeah it is.” He finally realized the girl was lying. Most of the class had in fact.

“Enough of this,” Tony waved. “Marinette, Chloe, time to go. Leave the dinosaur.”

Bustier took a deep breath, “No one is taking Marinette or Chloe anywhere. Until I get a note from their parents verifying that is. I’m going to have to ask you all to leave.”

Penny and Pepper nodded understandingly. Jagged and Tony just looked shocked.

“But I’m Tony Stark!”

“I’m Jagged Stone, love!”

Bustier just rolled her eyes and shooed them out of her class. It took some handling, and eventually, the women had to drag the guys out. The teacher shut the door with a sigh of relief. She brushed off the imaginary dirt on her clothes. “Marinette,” She called. “If you could tell any future visitors to wait until after school to pick you up, with a note from your parents that would be most helpful.”

“Sorry,” Marinette blushed, a deep dark red.

Bustier walked back to her desk before pausing. “Is that Crocodile still in my class, Marinette?”

“…Yes.”

“I think he’s here for the rest of the day,” Chloe shrugged. “Unless you want to invite Jagged back?”

Bustier paused. No. Never again. “No. No. Fang can stay for the day.”

When the lunch bell rang, Marinette found that it was easier to avoid her classmates' questions, as they were too busy yelling at Lila. It wasn’t long after that Ladybug had to take down Lila’s seventh akuma form.

Marinette and Chloe left that night to New York. Somehow he managed to convince their parents that missing three days of school to study in the most advanced building in the world was a good thing.

When they got to Stark Tower, they were given a quick tour. Then Pepper took Chloe to show her where she would be working. And Tony took Marinette the workshop where three other kids were already working.

The oldest one glanced at her and snorted, “God he kidnapped another one.” He was the tallest in the room with dark brown hair and a smirk on his face.

The other two snickered.

Tony looked affronted, “Oh please; your parental units practically threw you at me.

The younger looking boy smirked, “Aunt May threatened to shank you next time you took me out of school early.” He had light brown hair and big brown eyes

The genius pointed, “You tell Aunt Hottie to leave me alone.”

“HI, I’m Marinette!” She waved happily. “He keeps mentioning he has custody. And I’ve become moderately concerned.”

“And you should be,” The other girl in the room laughed. She was a pretty brown-skinned girl with black wild curls. “Name’s Riri.”

“Harley,” Said the first boy who spoke.

“Peter,” The other boy introduced.

Marinette nodded and eyes them, “WarIron,” The pointed at Harley. “Iron Heart,” Then at Riri. “Spiderman, right?” She pointed at Peter.

The three looked at Tony with questions in their eyes. Tony raised in hands in surrender, “Hey, I told her nothing.”

Harley eyed the new girl, “You’re from Paris, right?” She nodded. “Ladybug, I’m guessing.” Marinette blushed. “Welcome to the Young Avengers, I guess. Why’d he bring you in?”

Marinette shrugged, “He said to there was a personal problem happening with the Avengers. He wanted my help.”

The teen froze. Peter just shook his head, “You didn’t, Tony!”

Tony looked sheepish.

“What?” Marinette asked.

Riri rolled her eyes, “That personal problem? It’s called ManHunt.”

“I’m sorry?” Marinette asked. She was going to have to hunt a man?

“It’s a game,” Harley explained. “Team Iron Man versus team Cap. One team hunts the other in a sort of hide and seek type of thing and tries to capture as many members as they can. Last time we played it, Team Cap crushed Team Iron man. It’s why Tony brought us all in. Revenge.”

Said Man didn’t look one bit ashamed, “Rules were since Thor and the Big guy are gone I can bring in whoever I want to replace them.”

Marinette tossed up her hands, “You brought me here to play a game?” Unbelievable.

“No,” Tony said. “I brought you here to take out the Winter Soldier.”

“Say what now?”

“Welcome to orientation,” Was All Tony said to her question.

The kids trained together for a week; Chloe, a girl named MJ who was Pepper’s other interns, and a boy named Ned who was a tech intern, were brought in as well. When it turned out that Kagami was in New York City for a fencing tournament. Tony was happy to bring in the scary girl as well. (And somehow get her mother to agree to let her stay for Spring Break) He made practice stealth and learn hand signals. Tony drilled them on the Team Cap’s strengths and weaknesses. They reviewed videos of previous missions until they had everyone’s fighting style memorized. Tony went over body anatomy aka where the best place to hit them was. They memorized plans and scenarios to take out each specific member of Team Cap.

The teens spent a lot of time in the lab creating gadgets to use against the Avengers. Each one straight out of a spy movie.

As far as Tony was concerned this was War. And there would be no prisoners.

Team Cap consisted of Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch, The Falcon, Antman, along with several Shield employees which included Fury, Melinda May, and Coulson.

Team Iron man consisted of Ironman, War Machine, Vision, Maria Hill, The Wasp, Quicksilver, Daisy Johnson, and a bunch of names Stark employees: I.E the interns. (Black Panther refused to participate. Though he and sister would watch from Wakanda.)

Each team had a total of thirty players; no more, no less.

The game would take place at the compound. Anything area within the compound legal territory was free to use. The living room would be home base and were all ‘out’ people had to stay. Until they were freed. Or until every member of the hiding team was captured and then it was Game Over. Everyone could communicate with their own team using special mics; normally only taken out for missions. However, those imprisoned in the home base couldn’t communicate with their team.

On Saturday, just before sunset; the main superheroes of the avengers met up. Tony facing Steve. Rhodey glaring at Bucky. Vision versus Wanda. Hawkeye to QuickSilver. The wasp against Ant-Man and the Falcon.

Steve smiled, “Tony.”

“You ready for war, Cap?” Tony asked.

“Training exercise,” Steve corrected his husband. “I trust your team is ready.”

Tony smirked, “Oh you have no idea. Your little spies are already hiding in the shadows.”

“Like your team isn’t?”

The alarm went off.

Tony suited up, “You have 1000 seconds, Steve.” His helmet shut. “I’d get running.”

Steve rolled his eyes. His team split up, running into the growing shadows.

The game had started.

Marinette waited, hiding in the shadows on the roof. Her ladybug costume was all back with little red polka dots; mostly easy to move around body armor. This wasn’t her actually Ladybug suit; Tikki, while willing to create a new suit design, decided it wasn’t a good idea to involve magic. So Marinette designed herself a new suit, and Tony help her trick it out.

Tony had pointed out the all-good hiding spots located in the Compound. She was the overly large landing pad. She forced herself to stay completely still. Even when she saw the Falcon take flight with WarIron right on his tail.

The smallest of moments caught on the corner of her eye, the glint of metal. An arrow, she realized. She smiled. Hawkeye.

She watched the man take stock of the room, looking in every possible place a person could hide. Unfortunately for him, Marinette had a bit of luck on her side.

“All clear on the roof, Cap,” Clint said into his mic. “I’ll keep a lookout from up here.” There was silence as he listened to Cap’s orders. “Okay. Will do. Stay invisible, got it. Over and out.”

The second the conversation had ended, Marinette through a smoke bomb at his feet. Before Clint could even finish saying, “What the he-” Marinette was on the attack. Using the smoke to her advantage, she swung her yo-yo at Hawkeye’s feet. The String wrapped around his legs, tripping him. Five seconds later, Hawkeye was hogtied on the ground.

Marinette touched her mic, “Tweety Bird down. Bringing him to home base now!”

“Copy that, Ladybug,” Tony said. “Be careful.”

Clint looked up at his assailant; expecting to see Tony or the Wasp, any avenger. Instead what he saw, was a teen girl with a scary blue-eyed glare on his face, “Who are you?”

Marinette leaned down, “Your reckoning.” She hissed.

“What the fuck!” He said as he was thrown over the girl’s shoulder and carried to home base.

When Marinette got to home base, she saw Harley putting a rather put out Falcon on the ground, Spiderman with five webbed up shield agents, Chloe had brought in two, Kagami and Riri brought in six. MJ and Ned both brought in one random shield agent. Marinette tossed Hawkeye on the couch.

It had been twenty minutes, Clint knew by the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes since sunset and the game had started. And they had already lost just over half their team to a bunch of teenagers.

Clint couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had Tony unleashed on them.

“Foghorn Leghorn secure,” Harley said into his mic. “Tweety in his cage. The shadows are all accounted for.”

“I’m Tweety,” Clint told Sam.

Sam paused. “…Am I Foghorn Leghorn?”

“Wasp and Vision on their way with The Blue Fairy,” Tony’s voice rang their ears. “They’ll play guard dog. QuickSilver is down; Miss Tuffit got him. Seven minions gone; Captain Hook and his jolly crew got them. Over and out.”

“Queen Bee, MJ, guard the Home base until they get here,” Harley ordered. “Guy in the chair, Mj, back on monitor duty. Fulfill mission Top hat ASAP.” They nodded and left the room.

Top hat was important. The two were trying to hack into Team Cap’s communications, once they did; it was game over.

“The rest of you complete the assignment,” He told them.

Then all split up again. Vision and Wasp arrived with Scarlet witch just as they were leaving. All three avengers gave the kids confused looks as they left.

It would take Marinette another hour before she came across another member of Team Cap. And she didn’t so much as come across, as she did respond to Peter’s cry for help.

“Captain Sparkles!” Peter yelled in their earpiece. “Training yard. I’m trying to hold hi-No I won’t give you back your shield! Hurry! Over!”

“I’m around the corner,” Marinette hissed into the mic as she ran for the yard. When she arrived it was just in time to catch the shield that was flying at her face.

She held the shield tightly in her hand, feeling like Wonder Woman, as she stared down Captain America.

Steve looked at the young girl who had joined the fight, “My shield, miss?” He was aware that Spiderman had landed behind him.

Marinette smiled sweet. Then she launched the shield at him with such brute force, he was lifted off his feet. “The Name’s Ladybug.”

Steve didn’t catch the shield in time and it bounced back to Spiderman.

Captain America glared at the two teenagers.

Then the fight was on.

Spiderman hits Steve with his shield, distracting him. The shield falling to the ground. Ladybug barges Captain America backwards. Steve shoulders her to the floor. Marinette lands on the ground; pain flaring across her shoulder. Spiderman punches Steve who just lifts him and slams him against the ground. Spiderman raises a fist but Steve twists it. A web shoots out of his hand, the sound of a small explosion fills the training yard.

Marinette takes the distraction to trip Captain America and jump up. As Steve falls to the ground, Marinette uses the electro-shooters that Riri made and shocks the dear life out of him. It wasn’t enough to bring him down but then Peter added in his own shocking web-shooters.

Yet Steve still looked ready for another round of their fight. Marinette quickly picked up the shield and slammed it across his head. Steve Rogers fell forward in a slump.

Spiderman webbed up with quick-drying cement.

Both teens breathed heavily; struggling to catch their breath, tense from the fight. Marinette could even find it in herself to unclench the shield.

“Captain Sparkles is down, over,” Marinette said into the Mic.

“We’re bringing him in, over,” Spiderman added.

There was a moment of silence.

“…What the fuck?” They heard War Machine say.

When Marinette walked in with the shield in one hand and helping Spiderman carry Cap with the other, the avengers present quietly lost their shit. Kagami nodded, where she stood over Fury who looked more pissed than ever before in his entire life. Chloe stood over Coulson, who just looked put out. MJ and Ned looked overly pleased. Their mission had been a success but it only lasted long enough to get Fury and Coulson. After that, Team Cap was smart enough to ditch the communications, figuring something was up.

“Who’s left?” Spiderman asked in the Mic. “Over.”

“Stoneheart,” Kagami answered bitterly, referring to Melinda May, into the Mic so the team could hear them. “She took out Daisy and got away. Hill is after her now.”

“Jon Snow and Miss Tuffit,” Chloe said referring to the Winter Soldier and Black Widow. “Iron Man and WarIron are after Small fry. War Machine has eyes on Miss Tuffet.”

“I’m closing in on Miss Tuffit, over.” War Machine said.

Marinette looked at her team, pressing on her mic, “Guy in Chair, Mj, I want you on Stoneheart’s tail. Spiderman go be back up for the War Machine. Iron Heart, meet me on the Location 12. Over.”

“What are you going to do, over?” Harley asked.

Marinette clenched the shield in her hands, “I’m going to go tell Jon Snow that Winter Is Over. Queen and Dragon with me. Over.”

The battle with the Winter Soldier was epic. The showdown happened in the gym. It turned out they weren’t hunting for the Winter Soldier, the Winter soldier was hunting for them. The second they walked into the gym, the doors closed behind them.

Bucky jumped down from the rafters. He stared at the girls. He had seen them fight. None of them fought with any ounce mercy but plenty of skill. But they were clearly just kids. Just Dames in over their heads. He’d go easy on them. “Shall we, Ladies?”

Ladybug, Queen Bee, Iron Heart, and Dragon shared a look before giggling.

The Winter Soldier only just barely stood a chance.

The girls laid Bucky gently on the floor on home base. He grunted and glared at them.

A few minutes later, Tony and Rhodey walked in with the Black Widow. The last of Team Cap.

Tony smirked, “Game over.”

Rhodey shook his head, “Record time; two hours and four-two minutes. Beats the last one by about seven hours and sixteen minutes.”

Then they debriefed. Video of the fights and footage was seemed was shown so everyone could see where they could improve. The image of tiny Ladybug clocking Captain America in their head with his own shield was rewinded and watched seven times.

Tony fell over laughing, “I’m putting on Youtube!”

“I will divorce you!” Steve snapped but couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

Once The random agents of shield and Stark industries left, Steve glared at Tony. His team had gotten demolished. In record time. “You brought in outside heroes, that’s not fair.”

“No,” Tony laughed. “I brought employees of Stark Industries as agreed upon. Everyone meet WarIron,” Harley lowered his helmet. “Iron Heart,” Riri lowered his, “You know Spiderman already,” Peter took of his mask and waved. “MJ, and Ned” Both teens nodded. “Ladybug,” Marinette took off her mask. “Queen Bee,” Chloe glared as she removed hers. “Dragon!” Kagami took off her black mask. “The interns. Otherwise known as the Young Avengers.”

“Oh, fuck you too Stark,” Clint complained. “Did you see what they did to poor Bucky. He’s the deadliest assassin in history, and I felt they went a little rough.”

Bucky nodded with a wince, “Can I have my arm back.”

Steve looked at the bluenette still holding his shield, with a charming smile.

Kagami glared. She held the metal arm like trophy. “Spoils of War.”

Marinette giggled.

Being a intern was going to be fun.

#ml fic #ml salt #adrien salt #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #Avengers #stony #tony stark #team iron man #peter parker

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iron--spider · 5 years ago

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my favorite superhero

Tony sits there, cuffed to a chair in whatever the hell facility this is, and he stews. He doesn’t enjoy being kidnapped—his ego always takes a hard hit when he allows it to happen, and now that the end of the world has come and gone, he figured this kind of shit would fall off.

But he stews, particularly angry, because this one is personal.

Justin Hammer paces back and forth in front of him. He’s a little weightier than he was when Tony last saw him, sporting a patchy, uneven beard and what looks like a borrowed suit. Still an asshole.

“Haven’t I been through enough?” Tony asks, twisting his hands in the cuffs behind his back. The iron arm is just not strong enough to break whatever the hell these are made of, and he’s angry because Justin thought ahead. When does Hammer think ahead, ever?

“Honestly,” Tony continues. “I’ve got kids now, you’ve gotta stop stalking me. I lost my arm saving the fucking world—apparently whatever the hell repercussions of all that got you out of prison, surely through no lawful avenues, so you’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Stark,” Hammer says, pointing over at him.

“No, you know what, you’re not welcome. I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back, you said it,” Hammer says, crossing his arms over his chest and holding his head high.

Tony sighs and looks away. There’s what looks like a kind of forcefield around where he’s sitting, and he sighs even harder. The room isn’t too large, with a vaulted ceiling, and Hammer’s situated himself on the platform in front of what looks like a couple empty offices. He prances back and forth above the few stairs that lead down to where Tony is, so he can stay above him.

“You know, I’m really proud of this,” Hammer says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This whole thing, right? So I snag you, and then we set off that bomb threat over in Midtown, so all your other super buddies fly over there and just think you’re slacking on the job when you don’t show up. Because you’re still handling the lower level shit like that, I know what you’re doing. I even think that Strange guy is over there, so they’re all there and they’re probably all judging you for not helping.”

“Cute,” Tony says, bitter.

“And this place is state of the fucking art, Anthony, like this could be the Queen’s bunker, and I’ve got all the buddies that left the Raft with me protecting the perimeter—chiseled, rugged guys just—ready to beat the shit out of everybody—”

“Nice, the guys that left the Raft with you, like you’re on vacation—”

“AND we’ve got you in vibranium handcuffs, you’re welcome, your pal in Wakanda’s gonna be real pissed when he realizes how far into the villain layer his shit has gotten—”

Tony looks at him, brows furrowed. “Villain layer? Layer—layer of villains? Is that what you were trying to say? And you’re including yourself there? Or like, lair of villains, like their lair where they keep their stuff—but that doesn’t really work—”

“No, just, shut up,” Hammer says. “Forget it. But that—yeah, vibranium handcuffs, so you’re not getting out any time soon even with your shiny new arm. And that forcefield is brand new Hammer tech, even if your buddies did fly over here once they’re done with their nice little distraction, they’re not smart enough to take down the encryptions, not even Banner, I checked into his degrees and what he studied and covered all my bases.”

Tony’s bitterness is mutating into something else, something more bitter and why the shit can’t this asshole leave him alone?

“Congratulations,” he says. “Today marks the first day in history that you weren’t a complete dumbass.”

“Thank you, thank you very much,” Hammer says, bending over in a deep bow, hands whipping with a flourish. “I thought about every variable, every avenue, now we just need Miss Pepper Wifey to answer my calls and—”

Tony experiences a flash of anger at that, and then a high pitched tone starts going off in his ears, and now he feels like a dumbass.

Peter. Was with Pepper.

Peter.

Like a shining light in the darkness and someone Hammer has clearly not paid attention to despite all his fucking planning, because he would have mentioned it amongst all the other bragging. Spider-Man isn’t an official Avenger yet to the world, just among the group. And Peter would never think Tony is slacking. Because Peter just doesn’t think that way.

Tony’s heart warms, because even though there’s no indication, he knows Peter is coming to get him.

“You know what?” Tony asks, looking up at Hammer again and interrupting whatever dumb shit he was saying. “I was wrong. You’re still a dumbass.”

Hammer stares at him. “What? No I’m not. Why? But I’m not.”

“You are,” Tony says, glancing away. “I’m not telling you why.”

“Oh Jesus, Tony, c’mon,” Hammer says, waltzing down the couple of stairs from the platform he was standing on, like the supreme idiot he is. “You’re such a—”

He stops, abruptly, and pulls out a small tablet from his pocket. His eyes narrow.

Here we go. Let’s go Spider-Man.

It’s faster than Tony could have imagined, and he looks on eagerly. “Oh, what’s that? What’s going on? A little hiccup, maybe?”

“Gotta be some kind of bullshit,” Hammer says. “Super friends are all at the coordinates I set them up at, my guys checked, my guys—oh my God, Raul.”

“Oh my God, is Raul okay?” Tony asks, flexing his fingers a bit behind his back. “Where’s Raul, is Raul here? Is something wrong—is Raul sick?”

Hammer glances up at him but he’s shaking more now, and his pacing gets more panicky and stilted. He holds the tablet with one hand and taps on some kind of ear com with the other, and Tony shifts back in his chair a bit, relaxing.

“Jason, Jason, can you hear me? Are you there? Buddy, the whole reason I gave you this earpiece is so you can report when I need you to report—”

He gasps, dramatically, and looks up at Tony.

“Not good?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows. “Not good news? Did they go on dinner break early? So hard to find good help these days.”

“Do you know somebody else?” Hammer asks. “I thought the Avengers were very exclusive, I thought you didn’t chat with all the other ragtag Times Square assholes.”

Tony leans forward and stares at him just as all these red, fiery lights start going off on the ceiling, and Hammer looks up and around, dropping the tablet and letting it shatter. Tony catches a glimpse of it now that he can see the screen, and he watches as guard after guard goes from green to red.

He looks back up at Hammer and grins, full of pride. “You don’t know shit about me if you don’t know who my favorite superhero is.”

And with that, the door behind Hammer opens and the lights snap out, only leaving the soft purple glow of the force field around Tony amongst inky darkness. His heart leaps when he hears a gun go off, three times with angry ricochet, and then he hears Hammer shrieking like a little girl, followed by the unmistakable sound of Peter’s webs and a body falling to the floor.

Tony sits there in darkness and silence for a long moment.

“Uh, Spidey?” Tony asks, blinking in the purple glow. “Where are you, bud? You okay?”

The lights click back on and he sees Peter kneeling on the ground, checking Hammer’s pulse.

“Oh thank God. You okay?” Tony asks again. “He didn’t shoot you, right? The asshole.”

“No, he didn’t shoot me,” Peter says. He pulls off his mask and stuffs it in his belt, looking up at Tony with a grimace. “He just, like. Passed out. I didn’t even punch him. I was gonna hit him, like, to knock him out, but he was already passed out and I didn’t even use impact webs, Tony.”

Tony snorts. “It’s fine, that’s just how he is.” He grins at Peter. “Thanks for coming, kid.”

“Duh,” Peter says, approaching him.

“I��m sure he’s got a computer around here or something, so you can disable the forcefield—”

“Yeah, I already did that,” Peter says, walking right through it, and Tony watches, mouth agape. “For some reason he had a stealth mode, and I was able to mirror that and it put it on standby for twenty minutes.”

Tony nods. “Alright, shit, that’s great, okay, plenty of time to figure out the handcuffs, find a key or something—”

Peter walks around behind him and kneels down. “He was stupid enough to alter them and add a code and a second latch.”

Tony feels him do something, and then the handcuffs drop off, like nothing. He laughs, feeling a little lightheaded, and he gets up, turning around to face the kid.

He feels completely and utterly in awe of him. He always knew Peter would surpass him, but he has with such grace and candor and it’s—amazing.

Peter puffs out his chest and points down. “One day, I’m gonna be able to break vibranium with my own strength, and then I’ll tell King T’Challa—”

Tony nearly launches himself at him, wrapping him up in a hug. He ruffles Peter’s hair and pats him on the back, sighing and holding him close. “I’m very proud of you. Very very. Really very.”

“Oh,” Peter says, holding onto him. “Really?”

“Shit, of course,” Tony laughs, wondering if he doesn’t say it enough or if that’s just Peter, always doubting himself. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.”

“No, I’m—I was done. I’m just—I’m just gonna tell him.”

Tony hugs him for a couple more long moments before letting go, pulling back and gripping his shoulders in continued appreciation of what he’s done here. “You’re the best, you know that? Better than Cap or Bruce. Better than all of them. Number one.”

“Nah,” Peter says, but he’s grinning.

“That idiot,” Tony says, pointing over at Hammer, encased in webbing, “is one of my worst enemies.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Really?”

Tony lets his arms drop. “Well. Definitely the most irritating.”

Peter laughs. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Don’t get mad, but I took one of the quinjets to come get you. But Friday flew the whole way so it’s technically like, not that bad.”

Tony scoffs as they head for the way Peter came in, the red lights still flashing and indicating the absolute fucking wreck Spider-Man left Hammer’s facility in. “Kid, that quinjet? It’s yours now, I’m gifting it to you.”

“Don’t say things you’ll take back later,” Peter says, leading him through the corridor, where a bunch of guys are webbed to the walls—some squirming, some still.

“Nope,” Tony says, patting him on the back again. “I will not be taking that back.”

“Okay,” Peter says, eyes wide with excitement as he grabs for his mask. “Then I would also like an Iron Man suit.”

Tony scoffs and turns right when Peter does. “Okay, that—that we can negotiate.”

#tony stark #peter parker #iron man #spider-man #iron dad #my fics #and my fave villain #there he is #look at him

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scribeofred · 3 years ago

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Thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the tag!

1. What fandoms have you written for?

This is embarrassing but I actually had to look at both FFnet and AO3 because I couldn’t remember all of them. TRON: Legacy, Assassin’s Creed, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit, Sherlock, Final Fantasy VII and XV and Kingsglaive, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Merlin, Skyrim, and, of course, Thunderbirds. I have a couple other fandoms that crop up in various wips, including a Tom Swift/Thunderbirds crossover that I really should finish.

2. How many works do you have on AO3 &/or FFNet?

FFnet has 45, and AO3 has 41. There’s also a couple stories lurking on tumblr, notably a final chapter for Reflection.

3. What are your top 3 fics by kudos on A03 &/or Favs on FFNet?

AO3 dominates in this area, if I can use a word like “dominates” for stories that have less than 125 kudos each haha. Oh well, the numbers don’t matter!

1. 118 kudos on tell the shades apart (my world is black and white)

2. 94 kudos on Reflection

3. 91 kudos on The 43rd Hour

4. Which 3 fics have the least kudos & Favs?

Again on AO3:

1 kudos on I Am You (And You Are Me)

5 kudos on The Dragonborn Chronicles

6 kudos on cynosure

5. Which Fic has the most comments and which has the least?

Reflection has the most at 29 threads, and I Am You (And You Are Me) has the least at zero.

6. Which complete fic do you wish had gotten more attention?

Lodestar, definitely. Sure, it’s for something of a rarepair, but they aren’t that rare, and I just really really like the way the story came together. On the other hand, of course my unfinished Merlin fic has gotten probably the most attention, because that’s just the way it goes, eh?

7. Have you written any crossovers?

None that I’ve published! I have various crossovers lurking in mostly unfinished states, including the aforementioned Tom Swift/Thunderbirds crossover, and an Assassin’s Creed/Thundeerbirds crossover that is very good and I should also finish. There’s an Expanse/Thunderbirds fic lurking in my brain that I may or may not ever commit to paper, who knows. I’ve also very vaguely toyed with a Batman/Thunderbirds crossover, in the sense that “nebulous” is too strong a word for the kind of toying I’ve been doing.

8. What is the craziest fic you’ve written?

I don’t really write crazy or crack or humor in general, so probably the closest thing to “crazy” is On the Lam, which was the result of wanting to throw Scott and Penelope toward an Egyptian stud farm. It ended up being the host for a bad joke about that, courtesy of one @thebaconsandwichofregret, who consistently gives some of the best dialogue advice I’ve ever encountered.

Actually, the true answer is probably a chapter in Glimpses into a Supernova, maybe the one about blood? It seems bonkers when I think back on it now, but I admittedly haven’t read it in many years. Possibly I am misremembering. Glimpses has some weird ones, though.

9. What’s the fic you’ve written with the saddest ending?

It’s a tossup between The Painting and a place where the water touches the sky. The former deals with a prior off-screen death; the latter is (maybe??) an on-screen death. People seemed upset by it, at any rate. I said it was ambiguous!

10. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

“Happy” is probably a matter of perspective? Depends on the overall reading experience and the ending within that context. Either septet or Three Towels and a Tracy, they’re both pretty fluffy overall.

11. What is your smuttiest fic?

protoinstincts, which I completely forgot I wrote and then rediscovered like a year later and realized “hey, this is actually pretty good” and you know what, despite it not being overly spicy, it is pretty good.

12. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not hate, per se, but someone left a review on Less Than Nothing saying they “didn’t like” that I “wrote the story as a series of drabbles.” Cool, I didn’t write the story for you, random guest reader, and the back button exists, friend 😂 It didn’t bother me on a personal level because I wrote the fic for an audience of one (incidentally, not myself and rather the recipient of a secret santa event), but I was mad because the reviewer had no way of knowing where I was at as a writer, and I know from longtime observation how that kind of comment can crush less experienced or confident writers.

Don’t leave flames, kids, you don’t understand the power your words have. Don’t like, don’t read.

13. What is the nicest comment you’ve received?

The nicest? Goodness. Hmm. I’d have to go hunting to find the nicest, but in recent memory, @ayzrules sent me a couple passages from Spanish texts she’s been studying that reminded her of my writing, and I was honestly so touched by the fact that she even thought to make such comparisons, much less mention them to me. Taking the time to familiarize yourself with someone’s style until you can make comparisons between it and someone else’s work is so much more meaningful to me personally than a basic “Nice story!” or “Loved this!” type of comment ever could be. <3 Ayz <3

14. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of, but I’ve never gone looking on any sort of copycat site or whatever either.

15. How many fics do you have marked as incomplete?

Two. First is The Dragonborn Chronicles, which is a retelling of Skyrim from Lydia’s perspective via her journal, to complement the in-game journal. It’s a slog of a style to write, though, even for someone who loves writing first person and doesn’t really want to write a lot of dialogue, and the outline is huge, and the story will be many times more huge, and just. Some day. Some day.

Second is tell the shades apart (my world is black and white), which has always been unfinished because the outline itself is over seven thousand words and the fully written story would undoubtedly land between 100,000 and 200,000 words, and there’s no way I’m writing that. I’ve always meant to upload the outline, but I got kind of self-conscious about the way I formatted it, and ugh I just haven’t bothered. One day, one day, right?

Moral of the story is I’m intensely a short story writer, and I’ve really found myself settling into that role over the last couple years. Better a clipped, punchy short story than a bloated slog of an epic.

16. Which of the WIPS will most likely be finished first?

Literally no one knows that. I wrote 95% of the observable entropy of a closed system over five years ago, and then I proceeded to pull it out roughly once a year and write and rewrite various endings until last month, which was when I finally figured out how I wanted to end the story. septet, too, languished for about five years before I finally remembered it existed and managed to wrangle an ending. Endings are hard, man. So are those third plot points. Terrible creatures, those, bog me down every time.

17. Which WIP are you looking forward to finishing?

Uh... mm. See. If I were looking forward to finishing any of them, I’d be actively working on them. At this moment, writing fic isn’t exactly high on my list of priorities, but I am also coming off a four-day idle game bender, so I still feel like I haven’t quite reengaged with myself as a living person. Give me another few days and I might have an answer.

(I am always most looking forward to finishing this ridiculous Ignis-drives-the-Audi-R8 fic that’s been languishing in my wips for literal years. As mentioned above, third plot points. Killer, man.)

(oh and also the working-titled the art of murder. Scott and Penny attend a private art auction. Things don’t go to plan. It, too, is stuck at the third plot point. I know, I know I have a problem, shush.)

18. Is there a WIP that you’re considering abandoning?

Any wip has the potential to be revived—this year and the old wips I’ve unearthed, dusted off, finished, and posted have been proof of that. I don’t intentionally permanently abandon anything for that reason, some stories just probably will remain dusty old wips forever because I didn’t actually need or want to write the full story for one reason or another.

19. Which complete fic would you consider rewriting?

Now that’s an interesting question. Hmm! Honestly? None of them. Once I finish a story, I’m not inclined toward rereading it again any time soon, to the point of years in some cases, and I feel like I’ve moved on from the stories I wrote one, two, five, eight years ago in the actual writing sense. They’re finished stories, and on top of that are relics of their time, which doesn’t mean the stories don’t have any ongoing significance on a reading level—I just don’t have any interest in rewriting those particular stories. I’ve gotten them out of my head, to the point of not remembering at least a third of them on demand anymore, and I don’t have any desire to “retell” those exact stories. I do tend to tighten the wording and fix perceived errors/weaknesses whenever I do end up rereading an old story, and I usually silently update the AO3 version if I make any significant changes because AO3 makes it a breeze to update a posted fic. I might do FFnet too if I’m feeling up to it or have the time.

20. Which complete fic is your favourite?

Once upon a time I would’ve said Holding On, but I honestly find it kind of unbearably melodramatic now. the observable entropy of a closed system is equally melodramatic, as it was written in the same era, but at least it has the excuse of being told in second person and via a style that is a half step away from being poetry. Possibly I will reread it in a few years and find it equally obnoxious and overly dramatic, but it received some shockingly positive comments, which I wasn’t expecting at ALL, and I’ve been honestly blown away by the amount of praise it’s received. <3 to everyone who’s said anything about it!

21. What’s your total published word count?

141,000 on AO3, 160,000 on FFnet, but technically the light of my life SS wrote fifty thousand words of each. It’s too late for math.

I tag @velkynkarma, @lurkinglurkerwholurks, @writtenbyrain, @thebaconsandwichofregret, and anyone else who wants to play!

#tag games

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doctorcanon · 4 years ago

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Ouyang Sect Headcanons

Ouyang Zizhen is my newest side character hyperfixation. So have this, I guess. Gong Er is an OC but heavily based off of a real life, though heavily mythologized figure in Chinese History.

The Ouyang Sect is in Baling, nestled in Huangshan (where the scenes in Qishan were filmed irl, I believe). Their compound is carved into the mountains. It seems simple at first glance, but if you know the place well, you’d see that it’s actually an intricate system of tunnels, stairs and bridges.

Not many people can live in a place so high up, so their sect has always been rather small. It was one of the first sects subjugated by the Wen Sect back in the day.

You don’t have to climb the stairs but it’s strongly advised. If you’re not careful on your sword or you might fly right into a cliff.

Cultivators have to have some kind of wilderness or endurance training to Night Hunt in Baling. The Terrain is very treacherous and the prey even more so. The more dangerous the surroundings the more potent the resentful energy. Accidental deaths often lead to spirits possessing parts of the forest and becoming grudges - one of the Ouyang Sect’s specialties.

Despite this, the Ouyang Sect isn’t quite as austere as one might think though Ouyang Xi is an infamous hardass. Some say that the cries you hear in the valley at night are the Juniors forced to carry weights up those many, many stairs.

Every sect has it’s list of rules or precepts but the Ouyang Sect is a little different. Because of the nature of their training, rules regarding free time are actually quite lax. Because of this, however, punishment for any infractions are harsh.

Some say the training is punishment enough.

It’s not uncommon for a trainee to be stolen from their beds at night, dropped in the middle of the wilderness, and told to find their way back home. Some don’t make it. Some just decide that it’s not worth it. Those that come back however, are greatly rewarded.

Ouyang Sect members are unnaturally resilient and often uncommonly strong. Their heir, Ouyang Zizhen exemplifies their values.

As heir, Zizhen receives the harshest training. Some question the wisdom of sending his own son to face the elements alone with packs up to 69 kg - particularly after he nearly died from hypothermia - but Sect Leader Ouyang Xi just says if Zizhen can’t succeed in this simple task then he doesn’t have a son.

Some people wonder if Zizhen is his son by blood anyway. Ouyang Xiaoyu died when her son was five and Ouyang Xi refuses to entertain these suspicions but some say that his harsh treatment of him only confirms it.

Zizhen was mostly raised by a proxy named Ouyang Li Mei, an abbess who was formerly adopted into the family at 18 due to her medical prowess in the Sunshot Campaign. Some say that she was supposed to eventually marry Ouyang Xi when his ailing wife passed away, but it never happened. Her birthname is Gong Er.

Ouyang Li Mei was stripped of her title and adoptive name after being accused of demonic cultivation. She was sentenced to be executed by Ouyang Xi but Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng intervened on her behalf. However she was still brutally punished and banished. She did, however, eventually make it back to her home temple in Gongzhi and cannot contact the outside world.

Ouyang Zizhen lost two mother figures in a very short time both he was directly involved in. Even Nie Huaisang’s intervention never quite quelled the rumors that Zizhen is not his father’s actual child.

The rumors only got worse after Guanyin Temple, when late-bloomer Zizhen started growing taller and stronger than his father, topping 190 cm.

Father and Son don’t see eye to eye. On anything. And it’s only gotten worse since Gong Er was banished. Rumor has it that Wei Wuxian poisoned Zizhen against his father but this is something that has been brewing for a long time.

Before he met Jin Ling, Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui, Zizhen had very few confidants despite his charisma. To keep himself from developing a temper like his father, he often sought solace in books and art and when he got older, drink.

Ouyang Sect and Nie Sect have always been dedicated allies. Just being in Nie Huaisang’s proximity only encouraged Zizhen’s romanticism and wit. Whether Huaisang did it to spite Ouyang Xi has yet to be decided.

While he’s a dedicated survivalist, Zizhen is quite the hedonist outside of his training. You can often find him in the nearest inn, surrounded by disciples, dramatically reciting poetry and drinking Baling’s (in)famous Yanli Laoshi Liquor which - as the name implies - is more of an experience than an actual drink. So suffice to say, he has a strong stomach.

He claims that the memories of wine and song keeps him company throughout his long treks in the hinterlands. While he often goes out with a team of disciples, his solo night hunts can take weeks. A true extrovert; the harder the hunt, the wilder the revelry.

Despite his stature in both status and height, Zizhen’s gregariousness makes him about as intimidating as a bunny. Because of this, however, he has a lot of friends. In fact, it seems like he has a friend in every city. He can always find a place to stay or someone to chat with. Making friends - he says - is another way of survival.

Speaking of his friends, he’s a frequent visitor in both Gusu and Carp Tower but he prefers the latter, if only because they have better liquor. He honestly has no idea why Wei Wuxian likes Emperor's Smile so much, it might as well be water. (Wei Wuxian disagrees, according to him the kid just has no taste.)

He’s often seen in the company of Jin Ling, Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui during Cultivation Conferences and Competitions. Sects from all over usually call on the Ouyang Sect to help escort more important, sick or load bearing members from larger sects through dangerous areas when flying isn’t viable. So each of them travel with him often. Especially Lan Sizhui whose music is often used to treat sickness of the mind as well as the body.

The Ouyang Sect favors practicality over propriety. So Zizhen’s knowledge is largely practical. He often feels a bit...dumb compared to his friends. Especially to Lan Jingyi who “knows everything” - according to Zizhen.

His formal training (beyond basic Cultivating) is as follows: Orienteering (without a map), Bare-handed combat, Advanced First Aid, Survival Talismans, Survival Tactics (without talismans: building a fire or shelter etc…), and Astronomy. All of his work revolves around practical applications and some of the finer points of Sect etiquette are a little lost on him.

Sect Leader Yao noticed this, being one of Ouyang Xi’s closest friends, and tried to take the young man under his wing and teach him the proper way of doing things and filling in some of the blank spots his old friend couldn’t. It didn’t end well. And Sect Leader Yao’s son Yao Ji has not forgiven Zizhen for making his father lose face.

Yao Ji and Ouyang Zizhen used to be friends. In fact, Zizhen used to call Yao Ji his Big Brother. However, when he started to surpass Yao Ji, their friendship fell apart. When Ouyang Zizhen started making friends outside of the Minor Sects, Yao Ji became straight up antagonistic.

As it stands, Ouyang Zizhen is the only person who can take over the Ouyang Sect. He has no siblings, and Sect Leader Ouyang has no living relatives, thanks to the Wen Sect. Without Zizhen, the Ouyang Sect could very well fall apart.

#the untamed #ouyang zizhen #Jin Ling #Lan Sizhui #lan jingyi #wei wuxian #erring on the TV portrayals of Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang #but the book portrayals of Ouyang Xi and anyone else.#cause lbr Book!JC wouldn't let anyone involve in demonic cultivation get off easy.

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half-bakedboy · 4 years ago

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Life Begins at Night (read on ao3)

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Rated: General Summary: “Wanna walk with me?” Magnus asked, holding his hand out to Alec again. Alec hesitated, glancing toward the front of the house as the red and blue lights flashed. He could go back inside and see if Andrew needed him, but there was something exciting about taking Magnus’ hand and seeing where the night brought him.

So he pressed his palm to Magnus’ and pulled him down the alley, both of them laughing and gasping for breath as they ran.

A gift to the incredible @bidnezz for her support and general amazingness ♥️

Alec paced back and forth to the beat of the excessive bass thumping from the frat house beside him and groaned. He stared down at the crumpled paper in his hands and read through the words he had thought were perfect only a few hours before he had arrived at the house that now seemed to laugh at him as he spoke.

“Ever since I first saw you, I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life gazing into your ocean blue eyes,” he sighed and cleared his throat before continuing, “I have wanted to run my fingers through your curls and hold your strong jaw in my palm since before you said your first words to me-- God, no. That’s so stalkerish.” Alec threw his head back in defeat when a small chuckle shocked him into turning around.

“Who are you talking to?” The man said with his hands on his hips. Alec had seen him around before - Magnus Bane, abstract art protégé - when he wandered the halls of the arts building at his college.

“I’m not talking to anyone,” Alec retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m-- practicing?” He sighed in defeat and held up the torn paper so that Magnus could see he wasn’t crazy. He still looked at Alec as if he was, taking a few steps forward to grab the paper from Alec’s hands. He studied it for a few moments before raising his eyes at Alec.

“‘I want to brush my fingers through your curled hair until you fall asleep’?” Magnus read with clear judgment in his tone. Alec blushed and ran a hand over his hair, resisting the urge to tug it from his skull. “You can’t be serious about this?”

“Oh, like you could do better? I’m sure you’ve never even had to worry about pining after someone, looking like,” Alec gestured over the impeccable outfit Magnus had on, the way his hair was perfectly quaffed, and his flawless face of makeup that Alec found himself surprisingly jealous of, “that.”

Magnus laughed before he said, “It’s not all about looks, darling, but thank you for noticing.” He winked at Alec who, in turn, blushed an even deeper shade of red. He wasn’t used to such forwardness from men. The ones he hung around with were usually Jace’s friends, frat boys who were so obsessed with their heterosexuality, they made sure not to seem even a little gay in front of their homosexual brother.

“Well, then what would you suggest?” Alec asked because he figured he couldn’t dig himself into a deeper hole than he had already. Either Magnus would laugh at him again or he would give him advice and Alec was really ready for either option.

“Andrew doesn’t want to hear about how handsome he is,” Magnus said, waving a hand at the house beside them. “He’s a frat boy and frat boys already know, Alexander.” Before Alec could fight the stereotype, Magnus raised his eyebrows at him, a clear challenge that Alec wasn’t ready to face, and Magnus’ words echoed through his head again.

“How do you know my name?” Alec asked, tilting his head.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Magnus responded easily before glancing down at the letter again. “As I said, Andrew doesn’t need the reminder that his hair is curly or that his eyes are blue. How does he make you feel?”

And wasn’t that the question. Whenever Andrew walked into a room, Alec felt his heart stop beating and all of the air in his lungs seemed to push from his chest. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think whenever Andrew was around. They would have late-night talks when Andrew was too drunk to remember the next morning and Alec felt a need to take care of him. He would tuck Andrew into bed and leave him water and headache medicine for his impending hangover. Sometimes, Andrew would peer at him with narrowed eyes and tell Alec that he was the best friend he’d ever had and Alec would feel his stomach flutter in happiness.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” Alec trailed off as he hung his head down in disappointment. If he couldn’t even explain it to a practical stranger, how was he supposed to let Andrew really know how he made Alec feel? Magnus sighed and held his hand out, urging Alec to grab it with a soft, friendly smile. Alec did as he was asked and Magnus pulled him closer until they were chest to chest, face to face, and Magnus looked at him as if he was the world. Alec had to look away.

“I’d want to hear about what I do to your heart, how it flutters with only a gentle caress,” Magnus whispered, resting his palm on Alec’s chest delicately. He swayed them back and forth to a beat that didn’t even remotely match the steady one pounding from inside the house, but Alec was too lost to really care. “I’d want to hear about what I do to your brain, how you can’t think straight with even just a glance, how I make you think about the future and how bright it could be with me in it.” Magnus held Alec’s chin softly in his fingers and ducked so that Alec could look into his eyes before he said, “I’d want to hear about what I do to your…” He slid his hand down to the belt of Alec’s jeans but before he could move forward, Alec catapulted himself back with wide eyes.

“That’s-- No, I-- This isn’t--” Alec sputtered, pulling at the collar of his shirt because he wasn’t sure when it had gotten so warm outside. His heart was pounding, and his skin felt as if it was on fire, and his mind reeled with thoughts of kittens and mangled bodies as he tried to push back the arousal that had settled low in his stomach.

Before he could chastise Magnus for his actions, Jace came running out through the fence yelling, “Someone invited jailbait, we’ve gotta go!” Alec stared up at the sky and cursed his luck as he saw all of his fraternity escaping the house through windows and doors alike. When he glanced back at Magnus, he looked almost pleased and Alec really couldn’t figure out why.

“Wanna walk with me?” Magnus asked, holding his hand out to Alec again. Alec hesitated, glancing toward the front of the house as the red and blue lights flashed. He could go back inside and see if Andrew needed him, but there was something exciting about taking Magnus’ hand and seeing where the night brought him.

So he pressed his palm to Magnus’ and pulled him down the alley, both of them laughing and gasping for breath as they ran.

“So, what are you doing at a frat party? I didn’t really think that was your thing,” Alec said once they were far enough away to slow their stride and catch their breath.

Magnus laughed and said, “My roommate, Clary, just started seeing--”

“Izzy,” Alec interrupted with a laugh. “She’s my sister,” Alec clarified when Magnus tilted his head in confusion.

“Ahh, that makes so much sense,” Magnus noted with a small chuckle. Alec glanced over at him only slightly offended as to what that meant. Magnus patted his shoulder and said, “I’ve heard about you twice. Once from Izzy who referred to you as Alec and once from a classmate who said you were Alexander and that you sometimes wandered the halls of the arts building and no one knew why.”

Alec blushed and explained, “It’s a lot less stressful than walking around the law building.” Magnus nodded in agreement. “I didn’t realize that anyone had noticed me,” Alec said after a few moments of silence. He was honestly surprised that anyone knew his name, but he thought that was bound to happen when he hung around with his group of frat brothers. He wasn’t used to attention but when he entered college, there was more on him than he ever expected.

“You stick out like a sore thumb among us artistic type,” Magnus noted as he gestured to the outfit Alec was wearing.

“What do you mean?” He didn’t think it was too noticeable; his button-down light blue shirt was tucked in at the waist and covered by a grey jacket that Alec considered casual. He had dark jeans covering his legs with a black belt holding them up and his shoes were simple sneakers.

“I mean,” Magnus laughed, tugging at the hem of the jacket, “you’re always so put together while the rest of us are splattered with paint or charcoal and our clothes are usually mismatched or covered in a smock.” He had a point. Magnus’ outfit was brightly colored and sparkling with glitter and what Alec had assumed was a leftover assignment. The pattern that covered his shirt didn’t even remotely match the cardigan that kept him warm and his jeans were spotted with bleach and torn along the thighs. Somehow it matched what little Alec knew about Magnus, though.

“Yeah, you artists are definitely eccentric,” Alec said, hoping the whisper of jealousy in his voice was firmly hidden by the subtle insult. Before Magnus could be too offended, Alec added, “There’s something homey about the arts building and the unique personalities I encounter there.” Magnus laughed, nodding his head enthusiastically and the sound took Alec by surprise. It wasn’t his usual suave chuckle, it was more a burst of sunlight that lit up the darkness.

“Eccentric and unique are definitely two ways to describe the art majors. We’ve all just stopped conforming to the way society has wanted us to be, you know? Makes us able to represent ourselves whichever way we please and just say ‘fuck it’ to all the normalized bullshit that high school forces on us,” Magnus rambled, rolling his eyes dramatically. “College was an escape for me,” Magnus admitted, staring down at his feet as if contemplating how much he could tell Alec.

“College is a prison for me.” Alec was surprised that was the bit of information he decided to divulge with Magnus and he wasn’t quite sure where it came from. Izzy had been the only one let in on Alec’s miniature crisis regarding his education and even then it was after a few too many drinks. “How was it an escape?” Alec asked in his best attempt at changing the subject.

Magnus shot him a narrow-eyed glance, but said, “It was a new start. My brother, Raphael, and I moved to New York from the middle of nowhere, got a one-bedroom apartment that we can barely afford, and are both pursuing our new lives in one of the biggest and best cities in the world. We couldn’t have asked for a better beginning.”

It seemed so simple to Alec. They left behind whatever world they were living in as if it didn’t matter and Alec couldn’t help the jealousy that seemed to tease at the back of his neck. He had wanted that for himself and his siblings but while Jace and Izzy were both on their own journeys to success, Alec was the one that had to keep their parents happy. That meant studying in the law building while pining after the happiness he felt when he entered the arts building and he had learned to be okay with that.

“Prison isn’t exactly the ideal place to be during such formative years, Alexander,” Magnus said, nudging his shoulder against Alec’s to gain his attention. Alec huffed out a laugh and nudged back, biting on his lip as he contemplated what to say to Magnus. He knew the words held a question and was grateful Magnus was letting him decide if he was ready to share. He glanced around at the empty street, the quiet of the park beside them, and closed his eyes as the cold night air whipped across his cheeks. He decided that if he only had one night to be himself, he would let Magnus in as much as he could.

“I started last year in pre-law, waiting for my siblings to join so that I could finally find the nerve to do what I really wanted to do. I figured one year in a major that I wasn’t exactly excited for was worth it because it was just that - one year. But my parents,” Alec sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “they finally started talking about me. They tell their friends all about my schooling and my ‘career aspirations’ and I-- I’ve disappointed my parents enough, you know?” Alec admitted. Magnus stopped walking and eyed Alec curiously, like he had said something Magnus couldn’t quite figure out. “What?” Alec asked with a nervous laugh.

“You never really struck me as the type to be into anything other than law,” Magnus said before he shrugged and kept walking. Alec was stunned for a moment and jogged to catch up, slowing once he met Magnus’ stride. “So, what is it that you really want to do?” Magnus asked and there was a small part of Alec that had hoped he wouldn’t.

He took a deep breath and whispered, “Photography.” He waited for laughter, even a shocked gasp to leave Magnus’ lips and a dramatic roll of his eyes, but none of that came. Magnus just kept walking and Alec had to shuffle to keep up.

“Photography,” Magnus repeated, nodding his head. “You’re not very personable so I feel like portraits aren’t quite your thing. Landscapes?” Magnus guessed. Alec tried not to be offended by his very insulting - yet very true - statement.

“Ruins, mostly. Abandoned buildings, urban decay, that sort of thing,” Alec explained with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. “There’s so much history in the world, New York City even, that everyone just leaves alone and it makes me want to portray it in a different light, you know?”

That time, Magnus stopped and stared at Alec silently. Alec could tell there were words just on the tip of his tongue, but he was calculating them carefully in his head before he spoke. Alec wondered briefly if Magnus knew how much he appreciated that.

“Got any photos?” Magnus asked, holding out his hand. Alec reached for his pocket on instinct before shaking his head. Magnus rested his other hand on his hip and cocked an eyebrow at Alec, calling his bluff almost immediately. “You’re talking to another artist, my darling. We always keep our work on hand,” Magnus noted. It was the first time Alec had ever been referred to as such and the word made his face heat even through the brisk wind on his cheeks.

He sighed and pulled out his phone before finding the perfect picture to show Magnus. He chose the one that first pushed him to want to work on his hobby; an abandoned subway track with rusted over rails, graffiti on the walls, and just a bit of light shining in through the entryway that hadn’t been boarded up securely. Alec had snuck his way in when he saw the signs covered in trash bags, knowing that something worth seeing must exist behind the loosely placed boards.

He was alone - he often was when he had his camera in his hands - but that wasn’t enough to deter him from what could have been beautiful. And it was exactly that. He sat in the subway tunnel for hours until he remembered that his cell would not have service underground and, upon leaving, was met with multiple texts from family and friends worried about where he had been. He wasn’t nervous, though. There was something so serene about being away from the noise of New York City in an abandoned place that was all his own.

Magnus cleared his throat and said, “This is… really good, Alexander.” Alec gaped at him for a moment before smiling nervously.

“It’s not,” he said on instinct. Izzy had always told him he wasn’t the best at accepting compliments and he realized that was even more true when they were coming from someone as beautiful as Magnus. He was staring up at Alec like he couldn’t believe the photo was actually his so he scrolled to the next set, tucking himself a little closer to Magnus so he could explain the photos better.

“Is this--?” Magnus began but Alec interrupted him with an enthusiastic nod.

“Loew's 46th Street Theater in Brooklyn!” Alec said excitedly. He remembered that day vividly. He had just been accepted into college and was torn between the joy of heading to a prestigious university and catering to his parent’s chosen career path. He wanted to be as happy as everyone else was, but something inside was telling him to grab his camera and go. So he did.

“How did you even get these?” Magnus asked, clearly stunned. Alec wasn’t quite sure how to explain. He had always heard about the theater and how it was almost impossible to see the back rooms because it had been turned into a furniture store after it closed down. It was the challenge Alec had been looking for and he chanced a midnight adventure to get the best pictures.

Alec explained, “I just turned on the lights and all of a sudden, I witnessed some of the most beautiful architecture I had ever seen. To this day, I still have no idea how I made it out of there without being caught, but--” Alec paused as Magnus glanced up at him. He realized suddenly how close he was to Magnus and took a small step back before finishing, “That night was what had me pushing through my first year of pre-law so that I could eventually do what I wanted. It was… magical.” Alec didn’t think it was a strong enough word.

“I had a moment like that, too,” Magnus offered as he handed the phone back to Alec who pocketed it quickly glad for the spotlight to get off of him. “Right after I graduated, I took Raphael out to get some dinner at this seedy barbeque joint a few blocks from our foster parent’s house. Across the street, there was an artist building this impeccable structure in an alley between two tall buildings. I couldn’t understand why any artist would want such incredible work hidden from the public. So, naturally, I grabbed Raphael’s hand and went up to ask.”

“Naturally,” Alec agreed with a laugh. He didn’t know much about Magnus, but he seemed like a man who did exactly as he pleased. He could picture a younger Magnus walking up to a seemingly professional artist and questioning all of their life choices just because he had wanted answers; the image alone made Alec smile wider as he urged Magnus to continue.

“The artist told me his name was Ragnor Fell and that if he was going to be known for his art, he didn’t have to publicize it or make it known to the world it was there. Someone would find it and decide on their own if it was worth sharing with others,” Magnus explained with a soft, reminiscent smile on his face. “Raphael was 12 at the time and told Ragnor that he would tell everyone at school about it. Ragnor seemed pretty chuffed and gave us this makeshift card that was splattered in clay and burned around the edges. I still have it,” Magnus said as he reached for his wallet.

“Ragnor Fell? Why does that sound familiar?” Alec said as he glanced down at the card. It definitely wasn’t mass-produced like the ones he had in his back pocket that his parents forced him to carry for ‘networking purposes’. It was an artist’s card, that much was clear.

“He’s a professor now. Spent thirty years creating sculptures and gained enough fame to teach New York City’s up and coming art students,” Magnus said, his face scrunching with joy. Alec thought it looked wonderful on him. “He’s also my mentor, though he would never admit to that if you asked,” Magnus added with a wave of his hand.

“Seems like a great guy,” Alec said as he handed the card back to Magnus delicately. It seemed important to him and Alec hadn’t wanted the light sprinkle of rain to ruin it.

“Oh, he’s an absolute grump and one of the surliest people I’ve ever met,” Magnus laughed, “but he has taught me everything I know and pushed me to follow my dream when no one else did. I owe a lot to him.” There was a fondness in Magnus’ tone that had Alec’s heart clenching in his chest. He had a mentor, a law professor who really only helped him write his resume and cover letter, but he had never felt a real connection to her. She was a friend of his mother’s and wrote him recommendations based on his intelligence and his last name, and that was really all she was.

“Lightwood!” The voice and the rumble of a car pulling up next to the pair knocked him from his thoughts. When he leaned to glance in the window, he saw Andrew in the passenger’s seat. His heart soared for a moment but was crushed by the weight of a thousand tons when he saw Lorenzo Rey in the driver’s seat, their hands intertwined tightly.

“Hey, uh, Andrew, what’s up?” Alec asked, as he stepped up the car.

“We’re headed over to Raj’s place for a new party since the other one was busted up. You in?” Andrew asked, gesturing to the back seat. On any other night, Alec would have launched himself into the car, eager at a chance to spend time with Andrew. Alec glanced over his shoulder and saw Magnus shuffling a few steps away, and decided he didn’t want that night to end just yet.

“Nah, I think, uh, Magnus and I are gonna keep walking,” Alec said softly, patting where the window had rolled down.

“In the rain?” Lorenzo said with clear judgment in his tone. It was barely a sprinkle and after the day of exams and night of rehearsing a speech he wasn’t sure he would ever admit to, Alec was ready for the quiet and calm Magnus had brought him.

“We can’t control the weather, Rey,” Magnus said teasingly as he rested a hand on Alec’s shoulder, leaning down so the two could see him.

“You sure?” Andrew asked and a sliver of hope smoothed up Alec’s spine, quickly stopped by the way Magnus’ hand felt on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Alec nodded with a smile, “I’ll catch the next one.”

As they drove off, Magnus said, “Underhill is the Andrew you wrote that ridiculous love letter to?” Alec was momentarily offended but the smirk on Magnus’ face had Alec shoving his shoulder gently with his own.

“What about it?” Alec asked as Magnus shoved him back. He lost his balance and almost tripped over the edge of the sidewalk, but Magnus grabbed his hand and pulled him back. He was surprised by just how much he didn’t want Magnus to let go when he finally did.

“He doesn’t seem like… your type?” Magnus noted with a noncommittal wave of his hands. Alec eyed him suspiciously for a moment.

“And what exactly do you think is my type?” Alec asked, narrowing his eyes at Magnus who considered the question with a hum.

“I pictured more tall, dark, and handsome - like yourself - with an air of mystery around him. You don’t seem like the type of person who goes after someone so ‘what you see is what you get’,” Magnus said surely. Alec couldn’t help but laugh because that was exactly what Andrew was. There wasn’t any mystery about him. He was a physical therapy major who wanted to go into sports medicine and if that didn’t work out, had backup plans to do security at one Yankees Stadium. He was exactly what you thought he was and left nothing hidden. Alec thought that might have been what first attracted him to Andrew so much.

“He’s… nice,” Alec supplied. Magnus scoffed as Alec added, “He’s a good friend, very reliable and energetic, not afraid of who he is.”

“If you wanted a golden retriever, I could always take you to one of those dreadful puppy mills they always bust in the city,” Magnus said with a tone of seriousness that had Alec hunching over in laughter. When he finally composed himself, Magnus was grinning with him, a light blush on his cheeks that seemed to highlight the perfect structure of his face.

“What’s wrong with wanting no surprises?” Alec asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Magnus seemed to consider his question before skipping over to one of the stone benches at the edge of the park. Alec sat beside him, closer than he thought was necessary, and they both watched the small fountain bubble as it came to life.

“An artist hates predictability, don’t you agree? You go into those abandoned buildings and forgotten about places because you don’t know what you’re going to find, if I had to guess.” Alec nodded, but stayed silent. “And that’s exciting. It makes your heart beat a little faster and makes your skin tingle with excitement for the unknown.” Magnus punctuated his point by dancing his fingers up Alec’s arm until they tickled the back of his neck. Alec laughed and shoved his hand away, letting his own rest on Magnus’ thigh comfortably as Magnus played with his fingers.

“You sure know quite a lot about me, huh?” Alec muttered as he stared down at their hands. Magnus hummed softly and flipped Alec’s hand over to draw an unfamiliar pattern onto his palm.

Magnus shook his head and said, “I like knowing people; what makes them who they are and why they are what they are. The more you know about people, the less they can lie to you.” There was a pain in Magnus’ voice that Alec wanted to sooth. He wanted to wrap Magnus in his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but he reminded himself that wasn’t his place.

“Getting to know people is such a pain,” Alec said with a huff of humorless laughter. “What’s to stop them from lying about who they are in order to be who you want them to be?” It was a question Alec had often asked and one that he even often found attributing to himself. His entire life felt like a lie. Sitting there with Magnus was the truest he had felt in, well, years.

“Does anyone really know who they are?” Magnus asked with a sigh.

“You seem to,” Alec noted with a gentle nudge against Magnus’ shoulder. Magnus let out a burst of laughter that seemed to explode through the night air like a firework.

“Oh, do I?” Magnus said, but Alec saw the question for what it was. He was trying to skew the conversation away from himself and Alec was shocked by the revelation that Magnus might have something he wasn’t confident about.

“I mean, yeah,” Alec began, “that was my impression of you the first time I saw you. You’re like, this out and proud gay man--”

“Bisexual,” Magnus interrupted, holding up a finger. “That distinction is very important to me,” he added with a strict nod.

Alec laughed and said, “You’re just proving my point, Magnus! You know exactly who you are and aren’t afraid to let everyone around you know that. You just exude this confidence in every single thing you do. The way you dress just yells at people to look and admire, your work stands out above almost everything I’ve seen in the arts building, hell, even your makeup tells your story and that’s plastered all over your face.” Once Alec had started, he found himself unable to stop, but Magnus stayed silent so he assumed he didn’t care. “From what you’ve told me about your brother, you’re close with him despite the age difference and you’d do anything to protect him and you’re just so unafraid of anything, it’s frankly annoying,” Alec finished with a deep breath, wincing as he realized everything he had just admitted. “I’m sorry, I--”

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” Magnus asked quickly and Alec gaped at him embarrassingly.

“I-- what?”

Magnus stood up and offered his hand before continuing, “By the look of those clouds over there, it’s about to start pouring and I don’t think I’m quite finished learning what I need to know about you. So?” he paused and raised an eyebrow at Alec, reaching his hand a little further until Alec had no choice but to take it.

“Y-Yeah. Yes. Lead the way,” Alec decided as he shot onto his feet. Magnus squeezed his hand and took off running down the street, dragging Alec behind him. The rain started cascading from the sky as if it had opened up just to make their night more fun and Magnus’ laughter echoing through the air was like music to Alec’s ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled so much, been so carefree, and he didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

By the time Magnus pulled him up a set of stone steps, he was soaked from head to toe. He should’ve been annoyed or uncomfortable with the way his socks seemed to squish between his toes or how his jacket was too heavy on his shoulders, but Magnus glanced back at him with the brightest grin he had ever seen and he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but happy.

“I can’t get my keys,” Magnus complained as he tried to reach into the pocket of his drenched jeans. Alec laughed and pried his jacket down his arms before holding it over Magnus’ head to try and shield him from the falling rain. Finally, Magnus grabbed his keys and unlocked the door and the two tumbled in, a fit of giggling echoing through the entryway.

Magnus shushed him through a smile and Alec whispered, “What?” Magnus gestured toward one of the rooms down the hall that had a dark sign noting ‘Raphael’ with an angry face drawn beside the name.

“He’s a great kid, just not exactly warm and fuzzy,” Magnus whispered, shrugging as he slipped off his shoes and cardigan. Alec thought they must have looked like wet dogs that just came in from playing with the way they were soaked to the bone, bright grins on their faces. “I can throw your clothes in the drier and you can borrow something, if you want,” Magnus offered as he started tiptoeing toward an area blocked off by an intricate tapestry. Alec ran his fingers along it as he took in his surroundings.

The apartment was just as Alec would have expected. Magnus had mentioned it was one bedroom and stupidly, Alec thought Magnus would be the one with the bedroom. Of course, Magnus was too kind or selfless to not let the little brother he had spoken so highly of sleep in anything but the best conditions. When Alec pulled back the tapestry, he saw a mattress on the floor with silk sheets and a wardrobe with eccentric clothing hanging from the bar. Alec glanced back at Magnus with his eyebrows raised.

“We can’t afford much, but we make the most of the money we do get,” Magnus explained with a shrug.

“Silk sheets are for sure making the most,” Alec teased. He gulped when he saw Magnus strip off his shirt and pants, tossing them into the dryer before holding a hand out to Alec. Alec tensed and ran a hand through his hair, sighing when it came back covered in rainwater.

Magnus laughed and said, “If I wanted you naked, I would find a way to get you that way, Alexander. I just don’t want you to catch a cold.” Alec narrowed his eyes at Magnus’ blatant flirtation and looked around for clothes he could possibly wear next. Magnus sighed and dug into his wardrobe, pulling out a t-shirt and sweatpants that were covered in dried paint spots and seemed a size too small.

“No boyfriend’s clothes that might fit me better than these?” Alec asked. It was a blatant way of asking if Magnus was single and if he caught on, Alec was none the wiser. Magnus just shook his head and tossed the clothes at him forcefully.

“You’re lucky I’m not making you walk around in wet clothes or naked, really. It’s very selfless of me to even offer you my most prized comfy clothes,” Magnus decided, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“Are you gonna put clothes on?” Alec asked because trying not to stare at Magnus’ bare torso and long legs was getting impossibly harder by the second.

“They always told me law students were no fun,” Magnus huffed, grabbing for a tank top and black yoga pants before sliding them on. Alec hoped his disappointment at losing the beautiful sight wasn’t too obvious on his face. “Will you get changed so I can start the drier!” Magnus yelled with a laugh as Alec hesitated again. He turned away from Magnus and pulled off his jacket, shirt, and pants before quickly pulling on the clothes Magnus had offered to him. He didn’t realize how cold he was until a chill raced through his body.

“Do you, uh, have heat?” Alec asked, glancing around the apartment. He felt ridiculous for even considering, but Magnus hadn’t been too open about his financial situation and Alec didn’t want to offend him.

A laugh burst from Magnus’ lips before he said, “We might be poor, Alexander, but we can afford the basic essentials of living.” Alec went to open his mouth to apologize, but Magnus slammed the drier shut and held up his hand. “You don’t have to apologize. I appreciate you not being judgmental of those a bit less fortunate than you,” Magnus said with a soft smile on his face. He walked toward the kitchen area and started a teapot before asking, “I’ve got tea and hot chocolate. What would you like?” Alec considered him for a moment, tilting his head as he let the long silence between them linger.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” he decided as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. It was comfortable, maybe more so than the one the college provided him, but his knees were at an awkward angle since it was so close to the ground and Alec struggled to get comfortable.

“I’m not here much. Usually, I stay at the arts building until late or we have dinner over at Ragnor’s house. Raphael tends to hang out with his friends until curfew and when they are here, they’re usually locked in his room playing video games so there wasn’t much use for a couch or anything,” Magnus said, as if Alec cared how he decided to furnish his home.

“You don’t have to explain,” Alec said quickly, “I think it’s nice how big and open this room is without all the unneeded furniture. My parents always had a huge sectional and decorative chairs the kids weren’t even allowed to sit on and it seemed like such a waste of space, honestly.” He hoped it didn’t sound like a brag and when laughter sounded from Magnus’ lips, he was grateful for it.

“I was with a family like that once; the Penhallows. Some of New York’s finest politicians who were foster parents solely for the public image. Their home was fit for royalty so I can’t complain about them too much,” Magnus said with a shrug as he made his way back to Alec with two cups of tea. Alec smiled at him in thanks and moved over enough for Magnus to sit, which proved to be unneeded as Magnus sat crossed-legged on the floor in front of the mattress. He leaned his head back against the bed and smiled up at Alec softly.

“Hi,” Alec said lamely, feeling momentarily stunned once again by how vibrantly amazing Magnus looked even when he was still slightly damp.

“So, Alexander Lightwood, sibling of Jace and Isabelle Lightwood, a pre-law student with a passion for photography, and gay?” Magnus guessed and he snapped when Alec nodded in response. “Out?” Magnus asked as he stirred his tea.

Alec nodded and then shook his head. “Yes and no? I mean, I’ve told everyone that matters like my siblings, people I care about, and I don’t really hide it,” Alec hesitated and then sighed, deciding to trust Magnus, “but my family is of the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ mindset and their perfectly crafted image would be impacted if they were to have a son with untoward preferences.” He wondered if the sentence sounded as rehearsed as he thought it did and Magnus’ small smirk into his teacup confirmed that it absolutely did.

“You care about their image?” Magnus asked but it was clear he knew the answer. Alec took a large gulp of his tea, ignoring the burn on his tongue as he thought of how to respond.

“Family is everything, right?” Alec said with a noncommittal shrug. Magnus hummed for a moment and then leaned his head back against the bed to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’ve always been of the ‘family is what you make it’ mindset. I had birth parents who should never have had children, same with Raphael, so we’ve always had to make our own families,” Magnus corrected. Alec nodded and tapped the edge of his cup with a nervous finger.

“You and Raphael aren’t real-- I mean, aren’t broth-- aren’t related?” Alec stuttered before wincing at how stupid he sounded. He wondered where all of his cool went. He had it at the beginning of the night but at some point, his view of Magnus had changed and he was too enthralled in getting to know him to analyze it.

“Relax, Alexander, it takes a bit to get the vernacular down. Raphael is my brother in every way but blood. We crossed paths in a few foster homes when he was a toddler, and when I aged out of the system, Raphael was just shy of 8-years-old. I worked hard and kept in contact with his foster family until I was able to obtain guardianship of him,” Magnus recalled, smiling at the memory. “He wasn’t eligible for adoption until he was fourteen and by that point, he didn’t want to have another set of parents. We figured it out with social workers and court and here we ended up.”

Alec gaped at Magnus and let out an unsuspecting huff of laughter before he said, “You are so much more than I thought you were, Magnus Bane.”

“I could say the same about you, Alexander Lightwood. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by this evening,” Magnus admitted as he finished the rest of his tea. Alec followed suit as Magnus stood up and offered to bring his cup back to the kitchen. When Magnus wasn’t facing him anymore, Alec let his eyes search the apartment. He had been so drawn to the tapestry that hung from the ceiling, he didn’t see the beautiful structures that lined almost every window.

“Did you make all of these?” Alec asked as he moved toward the first piece that had caught his eye. It was a band of flat metal that seemed to flow off of the base in gentle waves. There were three thin cylindrical pieces that struck through the band as if cutting off the life it could have. Alec didn’t consider himself an art critic, but he knew immediately that there must have been a story behind it.

“I made that when I was going through the court battle with Raph,” Magnus said as he wandered up next to Alec. He was close enough that Alec could feel the heat radiating off of him and he wanted to hold Magnus in his arms until they shared the warmth between them. He shook the thought away when Magnus continued, “I felt like Raph and I were just going with the flow, wanting the freedom that came with each other,” he stroked a finger over the band, “but there were always people that wanted to cut us down and inhibit our future.”

Alec took the chance to rest his hand against Magnus’ as it fell back to his side, hoping the touch was as comforting to Magnus as it was to him. Magnus glanced up at him, his lips slightly parted and his makeup smudged from the rain. Alec couldn’t stop himself from swiping his thumb underneath Magnus’ eye to brush away some fallen mascara. Magnus’ eyes widened and Alec went to move away, but gentle fingers laced with his and he was powerless to tear his hand away.

“Why metal?” Alec said to break the silence that started weighing on his mind. Magnus’ lips turned up into a small smile and he peered back at the sculpture behind him.

“Metal stands the test of time - much like photography in this day and age,” Magnus noted, “and it’s something I always had access to. Most other forms of art require materials that are hard to find; clay, paint, brushes. Metal can be found in the city streets and for the most part, that’s where I started to find my interest in sculptures.”

Alec tilted his head and asked, “The streets?” He had hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it might, but Magnus’ face fell and Alec held onto his hand a little tighter.

“I was a dumb kid, really. I thought that living on my own on the streets of New York City was better than living with a foster family who was using me as a paycheck. I know now that wasn’t remotely true for most of the families that took me in, but when you’re unloved by those who were supposed to love you most, it takes a toll,” Magnus explained. Alec nodded slowly and shuffled closer to Magnus as he continued, “I would find pieces of metal on the street - broken fire escapes, rusted dumpsters, fender benders, even silverware the fancy restaurants deemed too flawed for their esteemed guests to use - and then I would create something beautiful to look at when I was surrounded by things that scared me.”

“You made your own distraction,” Alec said in agreement. It was similar to how he got into photography and Magnus seemed to guess at the connection as he looked expectantly at Alec. “Izzy got this digital camera one Christmas when she went through this egotistical modeling phase but she quickly forgot about it. That was the year I came out and my parents decided to get me the straightest and cheapest gifts they could think of,” Alec recalled and Magnus chuckled next to him.

“I hope you kept some of those. I would love to see what they came up with,” Magnus interrupted with a snort. Alec shook his head and rolled his eyes, but there was only fondness in them.

Alec relaxed a little as he continued, “I was so jealous that my parents regarded Izzy as this star child that I stole her camera and left to wander the streets as if either of them would’ve cared. I hopped on the subway, stayed on until the second to last stop, and found myself at this abandoned warehouse. It had these flood lights that cast the most incredible shadows like this building that everyone had forgotten about was finally in the spotlight only to be covered by darkness it couldn’t control. It was--” Alec sighed and resisted the urge to fidget with his fingers because that would have meant pulling his hands away from Magnus’ grasp, “everything I felt. I felt so ridiculous comparing myself to some decrepit building, but I took a few pictures and fell in love with capturing emotions in one little photograph.”

“That’s beautiful, Alexander,” Magnus whispered, stroking his thumb along the back of Alec’s hand. He thought it should have been uncomfortable to be standing in the middle of Magnus’ apartment in the middle of the night still holding hands as if it was impossible for them to let go, but something about it just felt right. Alec wasn’t about to ignore that. “You should just use your passion for photography to get Andrew’s attention, it sure as hell is working for me.”

The sentence knocked Alec out of his thoughts that revolved around Magnus. Andrew didn’t seem nearly as important as he had at the beginning of the night and Alec wondered if that was how it felt to meet someone who changed every aspect of a person’s life. Alec didn’t know much about Magnus but he thought he had known enough; enough to know that there wasn’t even a possibility he would look at Andrew tomorrow and want to wax poetic about his blonde hair and blue eyes. All he could think about was the way Magnus’ hair was stacked so neatly on the top of his head and the way the charcoal around his eyes made the deep brown color pop with flecks of gold.

“So, it’s always been ruins then?” Magnus asked, seemingly to fill the silence of Alec staring at him. Alec blushed and nodded slowly, struggling with what to say next. “What else do you like to photograph?” Magnus asked.

“The stars,” Alec blurted before he could stop himself. Magnus’ eyes brightened as he looked up at Alec, raising his eyebrows for him to continue. “I, uh, like the predictability of them. When I point my camera up at the sky, I’m gonna see practically the same thing I saw the night before. It’s… calming,” Alec decided. Magnus pulled his hand away and Alec had to stop himself from holding on tighter.

“I wanna show you something,” Magnus said excitedly as he skipped toward the kitchen. He turned off the kitchen lights before moving toward the front door, checking the lock before glancing back at Alec. “Go lie down on the bed,” Magnus ordered and Alec’s cheeks reddened noticeably. Magnus rolled his eyes and explained, “I’m not trying to take advantage of you, Alexander, I just want you to lie down.” Alec was briefly saddened that Magnus wasn’t planning on taking advantage of him, but did as he was told, anyway, propping himself onto his elbows to look back at Magnus.

“Now what?” Alec asked and Magnus just grinned and flicked the main light switch. Alec expected complete darkness, but his eyes darted to the glow-in-the-dark constellations that lit up Magnus’ ceiling. He let his arms fall to his sides and his head rest on the pillow as Magnus slid into the bed beside him. “This is--”

“Out of this world?” Magnus interrupted and Alec nudged him with this shoulder as best as he could from the awkward horizontal angle. Their arms brushed lightly and the backs of their hands slid together, just resting as if neither of them wanted to make the first move. It was like they both sensed the change in the atmosphere where holding hands while in bed, staring at the fake sky, would be a line crossed irreversibly. At the moment, Alec didn’t care. He flipped his hand over and stroked his thumb along Magnus’ skin before curling it under Magnus’ pinky so he could lace their fingers together.

“Yeah,” Alec agreed softly, squeezing Magnus’ hand when it settled in his own. Something about the feeling of Magnus’ skin against his was like the stars aligning, like he was exactly where he was meant to be, and Alec was grateful for whatever had their paths crossing at the party.

“You like photographing ruins because they’re often forgotten about and you like photographing the stars because they rarely change,” Magnus said consideringly as he turned his head toward Alec. Alec glanced back at him and nodded, gulping when he realized how close their faces were. He could feel Magnus’ breath ghosting across his face and was instantly warmed by his body being so close.

“That’s right,” Alec agreed, nuzzling his cheek into the softness of Magnus’ pillowcase.

“That says a lot about you, really,” Magnus noted with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah? And what do you know about me?” Alec asked which seemed to be a ridiculous question because Magnus had learned more about him in the last few hours than most anyone he had known his entire life.

“That you take the time to appreciate the forgotten and seemingly unappreciated and that you find comfort in predictability.” Alec let out a small huff of laughter because Magnus was very right. “This night was anything but predictable, Alexander, at least to me,” Magnus admitted after a few moments of silence. Alec nodded and a small smile found its way to his lips for what felt like the millionth time that night.

“I like knowing what’s going to happen,” Alec began, turning his entire body to face Magnus while still gripping his hand tightly, “but the reason I like my abandoned buildings and forgotten about places is because I like being surprised by beautiful things. And you, Magnus Bane, are one of the most beautiful surprises I’ve ever seen.”

He heard the small intake of breath as his words seemed to register in Magnus’ mind and hoped that he didn’t overstep. He had thought that Magnus was as interested as he was, but he had also thought he was in love with Andrew a few hours ago, so his judgment wasn’t always sound.

Before he could retract his statement, Magnus leaned forward and Alec was caught in the most perfect kiss he had ever been a part of. Their lips moved together slowly and tentatively, testing that the other was enthusiastically consenting. Alec hesitantly pushed himself closer, breathing in the way Magnus tasted on his lips and the way Magnus’ hand squeezed his, seemingly urging him to kiss back. Alec ran his tongue along Magnus’ bottom lip softly and the small hum that seemed to flow up from Magnus’ throat had a shiver cascading through Alec’s entire body. He let go of Magnus’ hand, only to trail his fingers up Magnus’ arm until they cupped his face gently, his thumb stroking the warm skin of Magnus’ cheek. Magnus leaned into the touch and let his tongue brush against Alec’s for a moment before he pulled away to rest their foreheads together.

“That was--” Alec paused because he wasn’t sure there was an adjective that could describe how perfect the kiss had been.

“Out of this world?” Magnus whispered and Alec could hear the smile on his lips as he repeated his previous joke.

“Yeah,” Alec breathed as he moved his hand back down to hold onto Magnus’. There were a few moments of comfortable silence, both of them relishing the new memory they had just made, and Alec’s heart was racing faster than he could count the beats. “I’m really happy you decided to go to that party,” Alec said and Magnus let out a too-loud laugh that broke their peaceful silence.

“You know, it’s a funny story,” Magnus began and when Alec tilted his head, he sighed. “I wasn’t supposed to go tonight. One of my classmates and I were cleaning up our studios and her girlfriend came in to take her to dinner before the party. We chatted a bit while she finished putting away her materials and this beautiful girl who I had never seen before told me that I had to come tonight because, and I quote, ‘her idiotic brother was pining after the wrong guy’ and she wasn’t about to let him make this ginormous mistake.” He paused and Alec didn’t need to ask to know exactly who he was talking about.

“Izzy always thinks she knows what’s best,” Alec said slowly. Leave it to his sister to intervene in his life. “So, you only talked to me because my sister told you to?” Alec asked, feeling a bit deflated from where he lay.

Magnus shook his head quickly and said, “She invited me to the party and then refused to point out who you were. It wasn’t until you told me Izzy was your sister that I made the connection. I left that party with you because you looked like you needed someone to talk to and, apparently, I wanted to be that someone.” Alec nodded and considered Izzy’s words to Magnus.

“I think maybe,” Alec took a deep breath, “Izzy might have been right.” Magnus stared at Alec for a few moments and waited for him to continue, hopefulness bright in his eyes. “Andrew is safe, predictable even. He’s a friend of the family who I’ve known for a while and is… convenient. But,” Alec took a deep breath, “I was surprised by you, Magnus. I’m surprised with how comfortable I am with you, how much I want to get to know you, how I can’t really guess what you might say next to make me want to learn every in and out of your life.”

“Alexander,” Magnus began but Alec connected their lips passionately, making sure Magnus felt all of the potential that Alec knew they had.

“I don’t want to keep living my life the way someone else wants me to, in the path that’s expected of me. I want to throw myself into photography because it’s terrifying, I want to tell my family that I don’t need their money and fame because it’s reckless, and I want to get to know you because you’re the first person who has ever made me feel like this,” Alec said breathlessly. He couldn’t describe exactly what ‘this’ was, but his heart was beating loudly in his chest, his skin tingled with anticipation, and his stomach seemed to bubble with the butterflies he had only heard about in movies. If that wasn’t something worth risking predictability for, Alec didn’t know what was.

“Will you start by staying the night? Just… laying with me until morning?” Magnus asked as he pulled their connected hands to his lips to lay a gentle kiss on the back of Alec’s. Alec sighed and nodded, feeling for the first time in his life like everything was falling into place.

“Yeah,” Alec whispered as he closed his eyes, unsure if sleep would even be a possibility through his excitement of what the night had meant to him. “Then we can talk in the morning?” Alec asked tentatively, hoping that they were on the same page.

“Absolutely,” Magnus agreed sleepily. Alec smiled as Magnus cuddled a bit closer to him, his breath slowing to a steady rhythm that indicated he had already fallen asleep. Alec found comfort in it just as much as he had found ease in every moment he had spent with Magnus.

Alec wasn’t sure what the future had in store for him, but he was sure of one thing; that night with Magnus had changed everything, and something told him it was just the beginning.

#malec #malec fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #magnus x alec #alec x magnus #my writing #bidnezz #you're amazing and ilysm #i did some sleuthing to see what your favorite kind of fics were #and came up with this <3 #I hope you love it!!

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snkpolls · 4 years ago

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SnK Episode 71 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 176 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

RATE THE EPISODE 172 responses

This week’s episode keeps up the high mark of the previous episodes, with 98.8% of respondents giving the episode a score of 3 or higher (overwhelmingly 4s and 5s). Nice!

It was aight.

It's cool

8.5/10

great!

Very rocky imo in terms of animation, as the cracks are beginning to show but overall look like the backgrounds and music choices were top tier.

Really good episode, I was disappointed in the jacket scene but it’s not the end of the world

loved it

It was overall a great episode I loved it.

🔥🔥🔥

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING MOMENTS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 174 responses

46.6% of respondents overall were most excited to see Eren meeting up with Floch and the others, with 23.6% of those respondents favoring the scene of Eren putting on his jacket specifically. 12.1% most enjoyed seeing the angry citizens shouting out the Survey Corps motto. 9.8% were thrilled to see Zackley’s death animated. 8% were psyched to see Pieck in disguise at the end, and 6.9% most enjoyed the moment where Hitch caught Armin red-handed trying to touch Annie’s crystal.

YOUR REACTION TO EREN PUTTING ON HIS JACKET? 171 responses

Eren putting on his jacket was a scene many obsessed over when it first appeared on page and many looked forward to seeing it animated. Most of the response choices were focused on various forms of swooning over Eren and his abs. Some (13.5%) stated that they didn’t really understand the dramatism and some others (another 13.5%) simply stated that they did not see much in Eren outright. We’ve gotten a lot of write-ins about comparisons to the pre-animated trailer shot of said scene. More on that in a later question.

i mean i understand the thirst, but eh

Prefer manga :/

The trailer did it better

Meh. Better in the trailer and the manga.

TF was that? Well it's still good in its own way.

YES! YES! YES! YES! Y E S!

both "HOOOOOLYYYYYY 😳" and "so dramatic and for what?"

Trailer/Manga shot was way better

Manga shot/trailer version are way better. Dissapointed

Trailer looked better :(

Mappa only made Reiner thicc, why Eren is so frain he has 1,85! He is so strong in the manga

I don't care

Manbun.........👀

He can have my babies anytime 😌💅🏻

Not as sexy as advertised; that’s okay, though.

That scene looked weird af ngl. It looked better in the trailer 😔

Me after THAT eren scene: 🤰🏻🤰🏻🤰🏻

Eren makes my dick rise

ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW HAPPY ARE YOU NOW THAT WE APPEAR TO BE GOING BACK TO LEVI AND ZEKE’S PERSPECTIVE NEXT WEEK FOR A BIT? 171 responses

Levi and Zeke’s chemistry has been the subject of praise for many, so it’s no wonder that 87.1% of respondents are rather excited to get back to seeing Levi and Zeke again. Wow!

ARE ARMIN’S FEELINGS FOR ANNIE GENUINELY HIS OWN? 173 responses

Armin’s feelings for Annie have been looked at under a microscope for a variety of reasons, which is why we’re asking if you believe that his feelings for her are genuine. A plurality, 49.1% think that they’re a mixture of his feelings for her, as well Bertolt’s. Slightly less (30.6%) believe that Armin’s feelings for her existed since before any of the recent developments. Only a select few believe that he either became interested in her post-timeskip or that his feelings are solely influenced by Bertolt. One person doesn’t think Armin has any feelings for Annie at all. And a few others just don’t care.

Bertmin simping for Annie and that apparently being enough for her to start considering him as boyfriend material is the fucking worst. I hate this shit. It's made me like both characters considerably less.

Uhh Armin where ya reaching?!

He was interested with her even before it was revealed she was the Female Titan and now that he has Bertholdt's memories, he sympathizes with her too and wants to understand her more so maybe Bert's memories intensified his feelings

His feelings for Annie are mostly his own. Bert's feelings might be in there a little, but the feelings are still Armin's.

CONTINUITY ALERT! EREN HAS HIS HAIR UP IN A BUN IN YELENA’S FLASHBACK. THOUGHTS? 173 responses

Uh-oh, Eren’s hairstyle moment. It would appear that there might be a continuity error with Yelena’s flashback and whatever that means for the timeline. A slight plurality (37%) didn’t seem to care about this, actually. But 33.5% appeared to believe that it was a mistake on MAPPA’s part that might get fixed in the BluRay version of the episode. 16.8% also believe that it was a mistake, but don’t believe it’ll get fixed. 9.8% think that it’s actually a retcon and that Eren’ll have the man bun when Chapter 123 gets adapted in Final Season Part 2.

I hope it gets fixed because it's bugging me.

I really wish it was like how it was in the manga. Eren looks good with his hair down in his 16-17-year-old phase. Despite the error, it wasn't a deal breaker for the episode.

He looks totally gorgeous with his hair up in a bun, please let this mistake be

Honestly I don’t mind it. It looks great either way.

Eren in a manbun is a total win for me!

WHICH PIECES OF INFORMATION MISSING FROM YELENA’S ADMISSION IN THE MANGA DO YOU WISH WOULD HAVE BEEN INCLUDED IN THE ADAPTATION? 163 responses

As with almost all dialogue-heavy chapters in this series, there are cuts. In this episode, these cuts mostly affected the conversation between Yelena and Pixis. The most yearned for cut material was Yelena never telling Eren to go along with the plan and Yelena saying that she used Floch as a “go-between” between her and Eren. Others also noted missing lines about Yelena wanting Eren to stand up for himself, Yelena stating that Zeke gave the volunteers a hopeful future and the idea that her and Eren came to quick agreement. The plurality (31.9%) however, didn’t seem to mind any cuts.

WHAT ARE YOU OVERALL FEELINGS ABOUT SOME OR ALL OF THE AFOREMENTIONED DETAILS BEING CUT? 161 responses

There is often a sort of expectation to have everything (or almost every) line from the manga adapted in the anime, so it’s interesting to see how people react to that sort of stuff. An almost 50% of respondents stated that they didn’t really care about the cuts, whereas smaller handfuls of respondents stated that the cuts either took away from the characterization of the conversation, or from the context and timeline-building purposes.

I'm not thrilled about the cuts, but I understand MAPPA can only fit so much in on each episode, so I'm okay with it

the yelena/volunteers plot has always been wonky and hard to follow

I don’t think it’s a problem, they need to cut certain things.

i literally never notice but i agree that it makes it harder to piece things together

Meh

It might seem for anime watchers that Yelena didnt do much, and Floch and Zeke that did the most part, in their own plans. Floch to betray and Zeke in predicting Eren wouldnt be on his side in some way. Yelena helped Zeke a lot to where he arrived in the rumbling

All of the above

ZACKLEY WALKS OVER TO HIS TORTURE MACHINE IN THE ANIME BEFORE MIKASA ASKS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO EREN, RATHER THAN GLANCE OVER AT IT AFTER HER QUESTION. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE CHANGE? 170 responses

There was a partially comedic insinuation in the manga that Zackley thought about strapping Eren to his “art piece”. The insinuation is possibly still there in the anime, but in a different form. So we asked how you felt about it. Slightly below a half (48.8%) stated that they thought the subtlety was still there. 18.8% thought the subtlety was lost with the small change and 8.8% believed the change made Zackley seem less unhinged. 21.8% really didn’t care at all.

Why is this a question?

The glance was funny as fuck in the manga, but might have been awkward to pull of in the animation

They're blown up tho, does it even matter?

DID EREN KNOW ABOUT THE BOMB? 170 responses

Whether Eren truly knew about the bomb is a bit unclear to this day and with how it endangered Armin and Mikasa. A plurality (40%) believe he knew about the bomb, but did not know about his childhood friends meeting Zackley. Slightly less (30.6%) think that Eren did not know about either the bomb or AM meeting the Artist. A minority (7.1%) does believe that Eren knew about both the bomb and meeting and 21.8% simply aren’t sure!

Even if he didn’t know, he obviously doesn’t care either way.

THERE IS SOME DEBATE ABOUT WHETHER EREN’S JACKET SCENE WAS BETTER ANIMATED IN THE PROMOTIONAL VIDEO OR IN THE EPISODE ITSELF. WHICH DO YOU CHOOSE? 170 responses

Here we go… The elephant in the room… Which Eren abs scene did you prefer? The Promotional video or the actual episode? A somewhat slight majority (57.1%) seemed to like the version seen in the promotional video more than the episode itself versus the ones who preferred the episode’s style (42.9%).

THE EPISODE MARKS THE BEGINNING OF FLOCH’S ACTIONS AS THE VOICE OF THE YEAGERISTS. HOW ARE YOU FEELING ABOUT IT? 170 responses

Floch has always been a controversial character and the developments seen post-time skip have not been any less debatable. You may floching love him or floching hate, but he’s here and he’s staying for a while. A plurality (48.8%) notes that although they may not personally be a fan of the character, they truly do appreciate the nuance his appearance gives to the story. Just over a quarter (25.3%) stated that as big fans of the character, they’re looking forward to all the screentime the Flochster will receive. In contrast, 20.6% despise the man and his questionable haircut and are also dreading the showcase he’ll soon receive.

I hate Floch and will cheer again when he dies, but I enjoy his character.

I detest Floch but I'm not dreading all the screen time he'll take up.

Since he died in the manga, my hatred for him has cooled down somewhat now that I'm watching the anime.

I am once again asking for you to shut the fuck up, Floch.

WE KNOW NOW THAT EREN DID CONSPIRE WITH FLOCH TO BETRAY ZEKE TO ENACT THE RUMBLING. STILL, DO YOU BELIEVE HE DID IT BECAUSE HE HAS THE SAME BELIEFS AS FLOCH, OR WAS HE JUST USING FLOCH AND THE YEAGERISTS AS A MEANS TO AN END? 161 responses

An overwhelming amount of respondents (87.6%) stated that they believe Eren never truly saw eye to eye with Floch and his ideology and that Eren was simply using Floch as a means to an end. In contrast, 9.3% truly do think that Eren was ideologically similar to Floch and the “New Eldian Empire”. A select few thought you couldn’t just say one way or another.

They both wanted to protect Paradis

DO YOU THINK IF THE YEAGERISTS, BESIDES FLOCH, KNEW ABOUT THE FULL SCALE RUMBLING BEFOREHAND THAT THEY WOULD WILLINGLY FOLLOW EREN? 167 responses

The majority (53.3%) feel that the Yeagerists would see a divide if they knew beforehand that Eren wanted to initiate the rumbling, with some sticking around for the cause and others possibly leaving because it’s too extreme. 25.1% believe that they all would have fully supported the rumbling in the name of their own survival. 15% believe that every Yeagerist already knew about the plan to commence the rumbling, and only 6% feel that they would most certainly have betrayed the Yeager brothers (and Floch) if they had known.

I don’t know, this is a loaded question and I’m tired.

DO YOU THINK THAT, IF THE STORY ENDS PEACEFULLY, MIKASA WILL HAVE A ROLE TO PLAY IN HIZURU? 170 responses

While this plotline may not be going anywhere in the manga (or so it seems), the reminder of its existence is brought to light again as we revisit these older moments from the manga. 32.4% feel that Mikasa wouldn’t leave Paradis behind to start a life on Hizuru. 23.5% think that she wouldn’t leave Paradis behind, necessarily, but will still have a role to play in Hizuru. 21.2% think it doesn’t matter because Isayama has completely discarded (or forgotten) about this plotline. 12.4% don’t know what to predict (if anything) and only 8.2% believe that her future lies in Hizuru beyond the main storyline.

The last two options plus me not caring. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

hizuru is already rumbled, gone, but she will continue the azumabito clan in paradis

Is no one else gonna question Kiyomi's hair being sucked into her skull??? HELLO MA'AM???

Hizuru is likely flattened

WHICH SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 171 responses

Episode 72 has already broadcasted as of the completion of this poll. For scenes that were most anticipated, 35.7% were most looking forward to seeing Levi and Zeke’s interaction in the forest. 33.3% most looked forward to Niccolo leaning straight from Gabi’s mouth that she is Sasha’s killer. 18.7% highly anticipated the Blouses learning about Gabi killing Sasha, and 9.4% were looking forward to Gabi/Falco and the Blouses gathering at Niccolo’s restaurant. Only a small amount were looking forward to Niccolo protecting Jean and Connie from drinking the wine.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

Man the animation was gonky

no levi </3

So many faces of Niles are weirds !

Let hange aloneeeeeeee and happy, please

I have no word for this, but I feeling good

Shit is getting really real now!

Everyone talking about Eren’s abs and I just wanna say the music in that scene was amazing!

I loved how it was all neatly put together and fast moving

Armin looked so good. Homie walked from point A to B and i SCREAMED. Thank you.

i wish they included eren's warhammer escape from the prison, besides that solid episode all around, the people chanting 'dedicate your hearts' gave me chills

I can't stand Hitch at all but MAPPA made her really pretty. Re: The jacket scene The trailer version was pretty much identical to the manga panel. But I liked the version that made it into the final episode too. People have been so ridiculous about MAPPA ""ruining everything"" this season, they should stop watching if that's how they feel. I thought Eren looked great and found the sun shining on his abs funny. The scenery was better in the episode, imo. I hope they don't cut Jean's line about booze not caring about what race you are. Lmao

Meh. It's not bad of course, I just find the rythm weird and I don't really feel many emotions watching the episodes. And I was so thirsty for the jacket scene, and it turned out weird too.

Mappa pls stop drawing eren like shit he is gorgeous in the manga

MMGH SOON!! LET'S GOOOOOOO

You friccin moron, you just got zooked!

i miss eremin </3

Wish they had shown how eren used his titan powers to escape.

I'm so not looking forward to the controversy that's gonna be reignited during the EMA talk scene. I'm actually dreading it, but we'll finally get the Levi vs Beast Titan scene so I'll be fine

112 will destroy ships

I felt the animation was flawless as usual but the script was kinda boring, I expected more of these aspects: -Yelena, it was bland with the cuts -Hange, they cut something I cant figure what in this Yeagerists coup act that turned her scenes a little bit lacking? Idk something -Again the soundtrack in the episodes is so silent. The only episode so far I liked the ost beyond the Opening and Closing themes is Reiner episode. I miss the melodrama of Witstudio osts

Eren putting his jacket on in slow-speed whilst talking at regular speed is fucking trippy

Just happy to see Hitch!

It was slow and mainly plot driven. I enjoyed it despite the changes.

goddamn is that a hella well-animated explosion

more abs please

Great episode. Really ridiculous how many people overreacted about the jacket scene. It's ok to perfer the way the trailer did it but to those who say Mappa is ruining the adaptation because of minor things like this, calm down.

I wish the jacket scene was better But over all the ep is pretty good

Boring, but then again so was this phase in the manga.

I really like the VA they chose for Onyankopon! His voice is very warm and genuine, which suits his character well

The sunset was so aesthetically pleasing

yoooo just read ch. 138 and im crying in da club :(

These MAPPA episodes have been a low point for me. I’m trying to enjoy them because I love this story but it feels like a chore.

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 161 responses

Thanks again to everyone who participated!

#snk poll #snk polls #snk spoilers #snk s4 #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot

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savagearchangelforthewin2-0 · 4 years ago

Text

An Unexpected Visitor (The Good Place) - Pt. 1

Title: An Unexpected Visitor

Pairing: Shawn x Michael (The Good Place, post s4 finale)

Word Count: 2392

Warnings: None

Summary: While becoming accustomed to being human, a task he has been failing miserably, Michael is met by an unexpected visitor right outside the door of the apartment he occupies by himself. An acquaintance from his not-so-distant past that he wasn’t expecting to see again for quite some time.

A/N: Hey, y’all! This is the first time I’ve posted some of my own writing in a while. Please ignore any typos, I don’t really proofread my fanfics anymore. I just do them for fun while I work on bigger writing projects. I hope y’all enjoy this one (hopefully my writing has improved since last time)! I think Tumblr is in need of more Michael x Shawn content! Also, I’m not exactly calling them chapters, but this is a little story that will have more than one part!

It wasn’t often that Michael had visitors. Although he had already spent several months on earth among his fellow humans, which is something he still hadn’t gotten used to saying, he had yet to make very many friends. Unfortunately, the tips that Eleanor had given him on being human were far from helpful. It wasn’t, in fact, normal to ask your twenty-something-year-old neighbor if she wanted to come into your apartment for dinner after only knowing her for five minutes. Due to the process of trial and error, it took him a few tries before he realized that he was scaring his acquaintances. It didn’t help that he looked like he was in his 70s and on the brink of death. He mentally cursed Eleanor’s essence, wherever it was now.

All that being said, the point was that Michael had little to no friends, which is exactly why it came as such a surprise when he heard the doorbell at the front door of his apartment ring several times. There wasn’t exactly anyone who WOULD come ringing his doorbell. Initially, he had ignored the noise because he didn’t realize what it was. Still becoming used to humans’ technology, he didn’t know that the small tune was meant to grab his attention and inform him that someone was waiting for him at the door. While skimming through a book on quantum physics, a subject he never thought to be especially useful, it struck him that maybe, just maybe, he should check the front door. Part of him hoped that it would be his neighbor who he had accidentally scared away.

Dropping the heavy textbook to the ground, Michael pulled himself off of his brown, velvet couch and made his way to the door. After he managed the dozens of locks, because he learned that safety was key, he swung the door open. His cheerful smile was soon replaced with a look of confusion, his eyebrows furrowed and his head cocking to the side ever so slightly.

“Oh, don’t act surprised to see me, Michael.”

“Shawn?” Michael said in disbelief. “I- What are you doing here?”

“Are you going to let me in?” Shawn asked expectantly, his arms crossed and his whole body being very stiff in general.

“I’m not sure,” Michael hesitated, narrowing his eyes and giving his ex-coworker a look of distrust. With a soft gasp, he suddenly slammed the door on Shawn’s face, proceeding to then peek at him through the peephole of the door. “I’m dead, aren’t I? I’m dead and you’re my architect, darn it. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten all of those boxes of Kraft shells and cheese,” he said miserably. “Oh, all of the damn cholesterol. I just really liked the little shapes of the pasta-”

“What are you going on about?” Shawn snapped, cutting him off (which was something he should’ve done sooner). “You aren’t dead, you idiot,” he continued. “I’m not your architect. I would rather have my head flattened under a steamroller than have to endure the excruciating task of being your architect. Would you open the door?”

“Tell me why you’re here and maybe I’ll let you in,” Michael decided, still wary of Shawn’s appearance.

“Michael, open the door,” Shawn insisted.

“No.”

“Michael-”

“No,” Michael stated stubbornly, leaning against his wooden door to keep it shut.

“Oh, I get it. You’re afraid of me,” Shawn taunted. “Becoming human has made you go soft, huh? That’s fine, you could never quite match my superiority. This is probably for the best.”

Soon after, the door went flying open. In its place stood a very disgruntled Michael, arms crossed and nostrils flared. The amused smile of Shawn’s face proved that, whatever game they were playing, he had just won.

“For the record, I’m not afraid of you,” Michael scoffed. “Never have I ever been afraid of you, in fact. I mean, you’re true form isn’t even that intimidating. You’re only a 896 foot-”

“I wish you would stop wasting time with all of that talking. You look better when you’re quiet,” Shawn interrupted with a sarcastic smile on his face. He quickly pushed Michael out of his way and brushed past him to enter the apartment. He immediately began to scan the short hallway and the room surrounding him. With his nose wrinkled, he turned back to look at Michael, who had already shut the door and locked it, with disgust.

“You live like this?” He asked.

“What?” Michael responded defensively. “It’s nice.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Shawn retorted. He turned his back to the other man once more and reached over to displace a straight picture frame that sat on the wall and make it crooked. “You like it like this? Where’s the mess, where’s the chaos?” He questioned. “Being human really has made you soft, huh?” He stepped further into the apartment to continue looking around.

“It’s called basic human expectations,” Michael explained, “and, believe it or not, I prefer this over guts thrown all around and blood staining the floor. Here, you don’t have to worry about stepping in puddles of blood and it soaking through your shoes.” He shuddered at the thought as if remembering how disgusting it felt.

“Hmm,” Shawn replied thoughtfully, knocking over a small glass figurine that was set up on the bookshelf. When it didn’t break, he swiped it off of the shelf entirely so that it fell on the ground and shattered.

“If you could please refrain from breaking my things,” Michael said with a long sigh. “Alright, I let you in. Now, what do you want? It’s not my time yet, I’m not that old. You can’t legally kill me, that has to be against something in the judge’s rulebook.”

“As tempting as you’re making it, I’m not here to kill you,” Shawn replied, flicking over another small figurine. Reaching out, he slipped a book out of the bookshelf, opened it up, briefly skimmed through it, then ripped it clean in half.

Michael opened his mouth to speak but defaulted to sighing in defeat instead. Whatever Shawn was going to do, he was going to do whether Michael liked it or not. In fact, if Michael didn’t want him to do it, it was just more likely that he would do it.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re here for?”

Shawn said nothing, still doing the exact opposite of minding his business and going around the apartment. While he truly was fascinated by all the different trinkets, objects, and works of art that adorned the apartment, he was more interested in getting his hands on things to break beyond repair. Plus, he found joy in hearing Michael sigh with annoyance and aggravation. As he looked around, an item that caught his attention was one sitting on the coffee table right in front of the couch. As far as he could tell, it was a glass statuette of… a shrimp.

“A shrimp?” Shawn questioned, picking up the weighted figurine.

“Put that down,” Michael said immediately, lunging forward in attempts to get the shrimp back from his former coworker.

“Why?” Shawn asked, backing away. He childishly extended his arm in front of him to keep the distance between him and Michael while he held the figurine close to his chest. “I’ve broken so many of your things. Why is this any different? Honestly, the way you reacted just makes me want to break it even more,” he said with an amused hum. “Tell me and maybe I’ll spare it.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I do it to remind me of…” Michael trailed off, not too eager to share his feelings with his arch nemesis for the past eternity. With a sigh, he continued, “I do it to remind me of my friends. Like, I have some of the boring, senseless books that Chidi would always read.”

Shawn glanced his peer up and down with a look of disgust on his face. He wasn't exactly gentle when he set it back down on the coffee table but at least he didn’t try to break it. Adjusting the lapel of his suit, he looked around even further, no doubt trying to find something that he could destroy.

“Are you done being chaotic?” Michael asked.

“Never,” Shawn retorted, finally giving his, hopefully, undivided attention to Michael.

“Shawn, just tell me why you’re here,” Michael said. “No more games. I wasn’t expecting to see you at least for another twenty years. Why do you show up all of a sudden while I’m trying to live my life peacefully as a human..?” He stopped and let out a gasp. “Oh no, everything’s gone wrong again, hasn’t it?”

“What?” Shawn said, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“It’s all a big mess again!” Michael walked over to his couch and sat down, feeling defeated. “You’re coming to get me because something went wrong with the experiment and I need to be a demon again. I don’t get to be human Michael anymore.” He planted his palm on his forehead dramatically. “Oh, it was fun while it lasted! I’ll miss Fergie. I’ll miss Kraft singles even though we all know it isn’t real cheese. I’ll miss seeing children fall down a flight of stairs and get up completely unscathed.”

“Would you stop talking?” Shawn groaned as he rolled his eyes. “No. No, the experiment is going along just fine. It’s… perfect, actually, I must admit.” He glanced over to Michael and offered a mild scowl. “Don’t let it get to your head though. I was fine with the old way of doing things, too.”

“Didn’t you tell me that being with me is the most fun you had?” Michael asked, confused.

“That isn’t how I worded it,” Shawn snapped, raising his head a little higher. “I said that fighting with you has been the most fun I’ve had.”

“Okay, and..?” Michael waited for the other to continue.

“And that statement still stands,” Shawn said with a quiet huff. He glanced Michael up and down with a distasteful look on his face. “Traitor. First you left me when you started getting all warm and fuzzy with the humans, then you left me to become one of those warm and fuzzy humans!” He finished with a mock gag.

“So, did you just come here to remind me that I was a traitor? That couldn’t have waited until I died and you saw me again?” Michael glanced around, still not catching on and picking up what Shawn was putting down. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“You know, if there’s an award for having the thickest skull, you are the one and only nominee,” Shawn commented offhandedly. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make right now.”

Michael cocked his head slightly and raised his eyebrows, still terribly confused by what on earth the other man was trying to tell him. “So what is the point?” he asked.

“My point is that you were- are my arch nemesis and suddenly you think you can just up and leave?” Shawn scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall opposite to Michael. “You think I’d be okay with that? You think I would just let you go?”

“So, you ARE taking me back to become a demon again?” Michael questioned.

“No- I’m- I don’t have the power to do that,” Shawn hesitated. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“I don’t know what there is to get!” Michael exclaimed. Suddenly, a thought struck him and, following a gasp, he put his hand over his mouth and stared at Shawn with wide eyes. “You missed me!” he shouted, jumping up from the couch. “You just can’t bring yourself to admit it, can you?”

“I didn’t say I missed you!” Shawn argued. “I’m just not used to having no one to fight.”

“So, what, you decided to become human just so you can keep fighting me?” Michael wondered aloud. “That’s stupid. You’re actually a good architect, why would you leave that position?” He paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “That is unless you do really miss me.”

“I never said that, and I never said I became human!” Shawn replied.

“You had to have become human, there’s no way they let you come down here otherwise,” Michael pointed out. “Unless you snuck down here to see me,” he suggested.

“Stop making assumptions,” Shawn shot back.

“You missed me, just admit it!” Michael said cheerfully, doing a small victory dance around the coffee table. “Oh, boy, my first friend since becoming human!”

“Who said I was your friend?” Shawn tried to say although his protests were completely ignored by the other man as he celebrated. “Did you miss the whole part where I called you my arch nemesis.”

“Yes,” Michael stopped his little dance, “but you coming here means that you care… And it means that you missed me!”

Shawn opened his mouth and tried to think of something to say, but all that came out was a series of unintelligible noises. He had no rebuttal, especially since Michael was spot on with his assumptions. Frustrated and unsure what to do with himself, Shawn reacted in the only way he knew how, by expressing anger by shouting and slamming doors.

“Shut up, Michael. You don’t know if any of that is true,” Shawn said, upset. Before Michael had a chance to respond, he stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Michael alone in his apartment once again.

Michael felt disappointed, he couldn’t deny that. It was nice to see a familiar face, although not a very nice one, after being surrounded by strangers and failing to make friends for months. He wondered if maybe he was out of line for the things he said and that the assumptions he made were wrong. Moments later, however, there was a knocking at his door in which he got up to answer it once again.

Surprised once more he was to find himself face to face with Shawn again.

Shawn slumped over slightly and let out a defeated sigh.

“Not- Not because I’m human or anything… because I would never do that for YOU… but I can’t go back to The Good Place right now… and I need a place to stay.”

#the good place #nbc the good place #michael the good place #shawn the good place #michael x shawn #fanfiction #the good place fanfiction #writing #author #eli scribbles #reformed demon boyfriends

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ranmanjuu · 4 years ago

Note

Me again sorry if I’m spamming can request how the boys react to going to the future with mc be everywhere’s in lockdown thank you and stay safe love you~ (๑ゝω╹๑)

there’s probably a shit ton of them hcs around these parts and i feel like i’m just re-wording a lot of things so like,, ahaha i’m sorry. also the character cast is u-t forces cause ngl we have a lot of oda forces request previously and the coming requests dw just showing love to my kasugayama boys

—shingen:

the moment you stepped into the good ol’ modern times, the first thing you realized was that there’s a pandemic going on and with shingen being immunocompromised, it’s surely a danger more than ever. without a word, you quickly drag him into your apartment first thing’s first.

you quickly told him to take a shower (to which he’d probably jokingly invite you in, but to be fair, he doesn’t really know how bathtubs and shower heads are used). you didn’t have men’s clothing, not for his size so to say, so you just settled with your big, stretchy jackets you had.

after explaining the situation, you did consider going to the hospital for his treatment,, on one hand, if shingen doesn’t do it, he’ll. . .you know. and if he does, there’s a chance that he could get infected (with hospitals being a breeding ground for the virus).

in the end, you decided to do it.

even after that, you were always careful with things like going out, mostly you taking care of the shopping and everything. you kept reminding him to wash his hands, social distance, etc.

and frankly, while he understands social distancing, he doesn’t like it. he just wants to hug and kiss his deity lover! prepare for the man to just recite poems so damn dramatically for this.

(^ this includes the amount of pickup lines increasing by a lot. the fact that he can now search some up from google doesn’t help.)

there’s a lot of things you do in quarantine, and you’ve found that the amount of carpentry has increased significantly prior to this.

said carpentry ranges from tables and chairs, to small decoration carvings of birds and the likes. the smell of wood now wafts in the air more than ever.

you’ve now replaced yukimura for his dieting of sweets. his illness may be gone, but teeth problems could still arise! but shingen can have some modern candy once in a while, as a treat.

as for the reaction of the future in general—shingen finds it so, so warming how relatively peaceful it is compared to the sengoku. yes, protests are happening and there’s practically a new type of war going on (he most certainly advocates for human rights, etc), but it’s a step to a new light. a world he wants.

—kenshin:

you’ve had conversations of the future before—most of them on a,,, bizzare note, with the topic being on swords and war (or lack thereof), etc. a silent agreement was made between you two to not have kenshin be in the future since he’s missing one of the things he ‘needs to live with’ (them being war, sake, and you).

but a lot of improv had to be done when the wormhole was much more stubborn and managed to pull you through.

right after you figured out what happened, a security guard immediately came and told you to wear a mask (considering it’s a must). you had to haul kenshin back to your house before he attacks the guard with his sword.

after cleaning the two of you from any virus, you began running things over to him about the future. aaaand he’s already thinking about keeping you in your house by any means so you don’t get caught by it.

but you managed to convince him otherwise, you did have to go shopping and the thought of kenshin doing it with all the foreign technology around him made you sweat nervously.

no, kenshin, sake isn’t a need but you will buy it for him cause he won’t be able to survive, you feel.

you thought a peaceful modern world was bad enough for kenshin to reside in, ohoho, wait until you realize he can’t even go outside and fight sasuke and all that jazz.

a thought crossed your mind to learn how to duel and fight using mop sticks but he shot down that thought.

in the meantime, most of your days were spent in the garden with his sea of bunnies (how they got there, you don’t know) and mostly tending to them so they don’t contract the virus (kenshin almost flipped when you told him that rabbits could do that).

and by night, you spent it by looking out to the city skies (but the light from the buildings doesn’t hit like the stars do) and drinking sake.

he’d also be against social distancing, but—unsurprisingly—only to you. after a while that rule goes out the window as he cuddles you to death from being touch-starved.

i feel like he’d be interested in the past (or future, to him) wars just because. he’d read up about the wars from all sorts of places. and sometimes, you’d catch him with a deadly smile and say, “that sounds like a great idea, i should wage one like that.”

you had to remind him no, you can’t start a war cause you want to.

—yukimura:

he’d flip straight up by the idea of there being a pandemic in your time. you never talked about this when you told him you came from the future!

he’d probably groan at first with the thought of having to hole up for a long time, but he’d quickly understand. it’s for the benefit of the immunocompromised and the old, he’d like to help by following the rules.

besides, he has you. he’ll cope.

at first, his plan was for you to just let him do all the work during lockdown, like going out and stuff. he was non-chalant, if a bit stubborn.

until you mention groceries.

you start firing him questions, do you know what we need? do you know how much of it we need? or which one is which at all?

he shuts up after that.

yukimura will definitely do those workout things on youtube, and you’ll probably be roped into it. rip to you but you’re gettin’ buff during these lazy times.

small, silly arguments would most likely be the norm for you. it’s a bit of spicy bickering back and forth, you both find it amusing and it’s a way to stimulate the brain, no matter how stupid the topic is.

it can range from if mugwort mochi is better than chestnut dumplings, and you’ve even gone out to search for light topics to have small debates over.

occasionally, he’d invite you outside to watch the skies. the colorful lights from the tall buildings kind of reminds you of the loud fireworks during the festival back in the sengoku—only if they became stars instead.

much like shingen, yukimura is thankful of the positive changes in the future. horrible things may have stayed, but as long as there are people advocating for a fair and peaceful world, he can spend his days beside you.

—sasuke:

as any situation, sasuke was prepared as ever. the second you went to the modern days, he pulled out a spare mask (dw it’s clean) from his pocket and handed it to you. remembering the rule of mandatory masks, you quickly put it on.

you couldn’t really have a discussion about time-travel in the open, so you both went to your apartment.

sasuke is definitely well-versed in the virus, dumping most everything he knows unto you to better arm you with it yourself.

somehow, he could calculate how much groceries and overall shopping in any timeframe. a month, two, etc. so you find yourself bringing him out shopping with you.

since he’s now in the modern world, the amount of him being holed up kinda increases. if he’s learnt so much from a youtube tutorial, imagine the absolute machine he’d be by the end of it.

yeah he’s that guy who learns 45 million skills.

sasuke might seem unbothered by having to keep distance from you, but he really isn’t. you can tell; by the way his lips tighten, or the way his eyebrows furrow sometimes.

would regularly remind you to wash your hands, and would always say to take a bath each time you go home from the outside. if you’re ever sick, he’ll somehow have the perfect medicine ready.

you binge watch shows all the time, it’s another form of bonding cause you two already know about them. you’d spend nights on the couch with a blanket and snacks, discussing about things ranging from theories to crack cotent.

you really wouldn’t trade it for the world.

—yoshimoto:

honestly, yoshimoto isn’t even much interested in the future. mostly just how far art’s gotten (and trust me, it’s gotten so far). such is the situation when the wormhole caught you two.

he probably got sidetracked from the first art he could see (probably street art in this scenario) after you barely identified you went to the future.

again you must haul this pretty man after being told off by a security guard for not wearing a mask.

your biggest problem is probably his massive fascination with modern art. endless hours were used to have a talk that, no, he can’t go to an exhibit right now.

so you improvise.

you gave him a hand-me-down phone, or just share a laptop, and teach him the concept of digital art, along with how to operate certain social medias so he can browse around.

downside is he is currently—and unknowingly— planning to get you broke by commissioning artists. also he may or may not’ve been doing posting questionable things on his accounts (you really shouldn’t’ve given him one,,)

and so to fix the problem created to solve a problem, you decided to take it into your own hands.

popping out all the drawing supplies you’ve ever had, you began to doodle anything and everything, every day. and each one, you’d show it off to yoshimoto like a child to their parent.

and each time, he still looks at them so lovingly, no matter if it could hypothetically be classified as chicken scratches. as long as you make it, in his mind, it’ll be something worth cherished for.

but your strong suit has always been stitching, so you start a lot of projects of art on clothing. it counts as the one above.

oh—you know those pretty cloth masks? you now have about 100 of these at least, courtesy to yoshimoto.

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abizarreyodelingincident · 5 years ago

Text

Ridiculous Optimization: The Art of Finding the Right Tool for the Wrong Situation

Chapter three: Meet your spirit animal, BE your spirit animal

(fair warning, Wind's the viewpoint, he's crude and a sailor)

Wind's grin threatened to lock his jaw muscles into place and he didn't give a shit about it. Their latest portal jumped had dumped them in three feet of salty water and the song of the waves was calling his heart.

Outset Island. Home.

Wind half-swam, half-ran up the sands of the beach and beckoned the rest of his friends to come over, with a loud 'Come on!'

He couldn't wait to show them his home. Gran would love them and force them to take better care of themselves with her patented 'old lady's guilt tripping'. He couldn't wait to see her use it on the old man. Oh, oh, he could make Twilight wrestle with Mrs. Rose's giant pig. And show the woods on top to Hyrule. At least on this island, they weren't likely to lose him. And Wild would probably love to try the jump of courage on the other side-

“Big brother!”

Wind's heart leaped in his chest, joy warming him at the sight of his little sister running down the dock to greet them.

“Aryll!” he called out, rushing to hug his sister. How long had it been? Weeks now! At least!

“And who's this one?” Wind asked, kneeling to better coo at the seagull in her arms. His sister had tucked a hibiscus in her plumage, on top of her head.

“Her name's Marin.”

Behind them, a cacophony of metal and wood rang out loudly, followed by squawks and yelps. Wind whirled around, ready to draw his sword, only to see that his friends were helping up Wild, who looked like he'd just been pushed, and

Surrounded by the flippers he'd been taking off, Legend rested on his knees, paler than a ghost.

***

Wind… was worried. It wasn't like Legend at all.

Obviously, Warriors had teased him at first, mocking their experienced know-it-all for his two left feet. Right up until the point it became very obvious that this hadn't been a mere accident. Warriors had been equally quick to apologize and back off, but Legend hadn't really spoken to anyone since. Very gently, he'd gone up to Aryll (Wind hadn't placed himself between them, but the desire to had been there) and he'd asked if perhaps he could borrow her friend.

Under their astonished eyes, Legend had then walked up the dock with the seagull in hand and sat next to the tower, facing the sea. He hadn't moved from that spot since. Just one hero and a bird, one silent, the other singing.

“It's okay, Link,” Aryll had told him, “Marin likes him. She only sings when she's happy.”

They'd collectively decided that Legend needed time on his own. Fair enough. But he couldn't help think there was something more to do. However stupid it was, Wind felt a little responsible. This was his home, his timeline-slash-dimension-thingy. Maybe he could have warned him if he hadn't been so excited to show off the island.

He'd gotten to give the tour to the others, at least. Left Warriors at the dojo, Four on the beach looking for seashells, Twilight and Wild at Mrs. Rose's little enclosure ('Whoo! Go, Twilight! Show it who's boss!' 'THAT PIG IS WORSE THAN GANON!'). Sky had found a tree to nap in the shadow. Time had opted to stay on the porch of Wind's home, drinking tea and eating scones with his gran. (He was never living it down, the Links agreed.)

It was nearly as great as he'd imagined.

Except…

“Still there?” Hyrule asked, following Wind's gaze back to the docks.

“Yup,” Wind grunted. Surely there was something he could try and help Legend out of his funk.

“Do you think he understands her singing? I don't know a spell for it, but it's Legend. Maybe he has a ring for hearing animals' thoughts?”

Possible. But he didn't really react much to Wolfie differently, so… probably not. There was something about that seagull that mattered to him.

He kicked the sand, grumbling. Come on, Link! Think. His mask wouldn't do much except tell Legend how much vitality Marin had (and that felt really counterproductive here). Hyrule didn't have a spell. Twilight only really got the body language. Aryll… eh, his little sister had to be pretending to get their words. No way in hell could she really talk to animals.

Not like he interacted with animals all that much himself. At most, he just found Beedle and…

“Oh, I've got it!”

***

“What do you want?”

“Hey, Legend, look what I got you!”

“A… pear with a screaming face?” It spoke of Legend's unease that the words lacked any acidity, but were merely confused, as if he'd been daydreaming for hours. Scrap that 'if', actually.

“A Hyoi Pear. They're super rare.”

“… I'm not hungry.”

Wind snorted. “Thank fuck, because that'd be really awkward. They're not for eating. Well, not hylian eating at any rate.”

Legend's eyebrow ticked, and his expression nearly resembled its usual self. “Well, thanks for the horrible babble, I'll put it on the chimney back in my world. It should serve as a deterrent to visitors. Or maybe I'll feed it to Ravio.”

Give Wind another fifteen minutes of talking and they'd get their snarky badass back. But it was unlikely the conversation would last this long.

“Oh stop yapping for a minute, you greenlander. I wasn't done talking. The Hyoi Pear allows you to take control of the animal that eats it.”

The seagull's song cut off with a startled screech. Wind had to cover his ears. Ouch.

Legend glared at the fruit, holding a protective hand over Marin. “I'm not-”

“Don't feed it to Marin. Obviously. There's like a metric ton of those winged rats around the place. So, you just need to wear the pear on your head-”

“Okay, now I know you're bullshitting me.”

“I'm serious!” Wind shot back, his face scrunched up in annoyance. “If you put that fruit on your head, it will absorb your thoughts and when a bird eats it, your mind will go inside the bird so you can control it!”

“That's… unexpectedly dangerous, if you ask me.”

“Well, it usually works until something jars you out of it.” Wind shrugged. He'd never had a problem with it, except maybe the guilt of having driven a bird face first into a cliff. “Or the bird shits it out.”

Legend sneered. “Charming.”

“It is what it is. But it's probably better than just whispering all day, if you ask me. So, you want it or not?”

For a moment, Wind almost feared Legend wouldn't. That he'd stay there, glaring at Wind's hand, glaring at the fruit that dared promised such a thing. And then Legend snatched it out of his hand, and near tossed his signature hat aside.

Yup. Wearing a Hyoi Pear really made you look like an idiot. But for once, Wind had zero desire to laugh, at all.

One of Marin's brethren dove straight for Legend's head. In the corner of his eyes, Wind saw Hyrule flinched, itching to protect his fellow hero, but more than that, he saw the tenseness in Legend's body. The hope he held at bay, the fear that this was somehow a prank. That he'd done something he thought of as ridiculous on the blind hope that maybe, maybe this would let him speak to Marin…

Wind whooped when he saw the seagull had taken the bait, and Marin took off after him. She rapidly twirled around the flailing Legend-in-a-bird, chirping softer than a winged rat had any right to do. Soon, she was leading him by the tip of his feathers, playful, gentle. Two old friends in the under the clouds, riding the sea breeze.

“Is he…” Hyrule began, hesitant. “… is he crying?”

Oh, Hylia-damnit! He was so sure that would have helped! Well, nothing to it now. He'd tried.

As he was moving to slap Legend upside the head though, a gentle hand grasp his arm and pulled him back.

“Leave him,” Hyrule said. “You told him how it works. Let him make his decision. Some things… well, you gotta face yourself.”

Wind rubbed the back of his head, a little puzzled. He could get the feeling, but why seagulls? Honestly, they were, at worse, little pests. Not exactly inner demons, right?

But well, Legend appeared alive again for the first time since they'd made it to his home, and that counted for more than a hell lot.

And above, two seagulls danced on the breeze, singing.

BONUS:

Beedle liked heroes. Heroes helped his business stay afloat, as no one else was quite the brand of rich and desperate as an adventurer on a time limit. So they usually didn't mind his gouged out prices so much. Oh, sure, he was the recipient of the stink eye from a little boy in green tunic every so often, but you couldn't be loved by everyone.

The sail clothe that served as his door flapped dramatically, like someone had attempted to kick it down.

Contrarily to his expectations, the person that entered wasn't some burly seven feet tall pirate, but a young man with a kind face and a superbly woven sail wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.

“Welcome, welcome to Beedle's wandering shop! For your daily travelers' needs.”

The customer smiled pleasantly. “Why, hello. I hear you're the only place in all the great seas where a man can find Hyoi Pears.”

“Ah, you are well-informed.” Beedle rubbed his hands together. Another soul with a desperate need, ready to pay through the nose. “Indeed. Hyoi Pears are very rare and even I only have a limited stock.”

Limited until he found more buyers, of course.

“How many do you have?”

“Oh, for you, sir, I believe I can go up to fifteen.”

“Perfect. Here's all my money.” The adventurer tossed a silver rupee on his counter and leaned forward, a dangerous glean in his eyes. “I want your entire stock.”

“What?!” Beedle jumped in indignation. “Fifteen pears go for one hundred and fifty! Are you trying to bankrupt me?!”

He faced down pirates with bad breathes and more scars than face! Hylia, he sometimes made deals with bokoblins from the great sea! Who did this upstart adventurer think he was dealing with?

A fist slammed against the counter and rattled the very structure of his boat. The man was almost halfway over the counter, his eyes burning. For a second, Beedle feared he understood what demon gods and monsters felt like when staring down the blade of a hero's sword. It was… a certainty… a promise that if you moved the wrong way, you'd find your vital organs in four different locations by the next time you blinked.

“Your. Entire. Stock.”

Beedle squeaked. What in the world was up with this madman that they wanted to control birds so badly?!

“IT'S FOR LOVE!”

DOUBLE BONUS:

“So, Wind, we're very proud of you,” Time said, his face the very picture of neutrality, “Hyrule explained everything. You have shown compassion, kindness and creativity in helping your fellow hero. We couldn't agree more with the principle.”

Wind crossed his arms. “Don't butter me up, old man. Where's the 'but'?”

As one, Time, Hyrule and Four gestured to the beach.

“Last warning, Legend!” Warriors screamed, bolting across the sand whilst a seagull divebombed after him. “If you don't knock it off, I'll start shooting you down with my firerod!”

“Nooooooo!” Aryll screamed from atop the observation tower. “Don't hurt them!”

Wind didn't need to borrow his sister's telescope to see the grimace twisting Warriors' face. Nor any sense enhancement to hear the barely restrained shriek of rage from their captain. Well, at least he was practicing his stamina.

He'd say Sky could use the exercise, but their cloud-headed harpist was sitting on a rooftop and cooing over a few birds of his own.

“What?” Wind said, digging his heel in the wood of the porch.

“Did you perhaps consider what might happen if you gave Legend the power to control a bird?”

Well, no, but fuck if he was gonna admit that to the others. Besides, it was only a bunch of seagulls. What would they do if the Helmaroc King's chicks showed up? Piss their breeches? No, Wind knew it hadn't been a mistake at all.

Legend, who had until this point been sitting in a meditative pose, dusted off his tunic and stood up.

“Wait,” Hyrule started.

They turned to look at the beach, where, yes, Warriors was still being chased by the seagull, then to Legend, getting back into Wind's house, humming.

Twilight jumped out from behind the corner, eying the sky warily. “It's as we fear, pops,” Twilight said, solemn. “He struck a deal with them.”

The seagulls cackled.

Okay, so maybe he was gonna hide the Hyoi Pears from Legend till they swapped worlds again.

#Linkeduniverse #Linked Universe #LU Wind #LU Legend #RO:ART

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thebiasrekkers · 5 years ago

Text

Let Me In | JJK

Requested by Anon

Plot: Unexpected feelings come at unexpected times and in unexpected ways.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: One-Shot/Drabble | FriendstoLovers!AU | Romance/Fluff

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: Mild Language

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 1,685

A/N: I have to admit, I thought this was really cute. And it actually has the potential to become a series. Will it? Who knows… Probably not though since I have something else lined up in the works for the rest of you lovely people. Enjoy!

“Hey,” he said, flashing his trademark grin at you, “I need a place to stay.”

The sigh that escaped your lips was on reflex. It was the same shit and on a different day. Part of you wondered why you entertained this fiasco at least twice a week, but the other part already knew why. In fact, you’ve always known the answer. It wasn’t like it was rocket science at this point.

It was because Jungkook was your best friend. When have you ever been able to say “no” to him? Nothing’s changed in the last twelve years. It wouldn’t change for the next twelve years, either.

Yet there you stood, gripping onto the doorknob and debating if today would be the day when you finally did, in fact, say “no” to his stupid, charming smile.

But like always, you relented. Stepping to the side, you gave an over dramatic flourish with one arm. He danced across the threshold, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he didn’t have a single care in the world. There were times when his nonchalant way of carrying himself could get under your skin. He’d been like that since you first met him in grade school. In fact, you were even a little jealous.

It was sheer luck that his parents happened to be close friends with yours. You were his childhood playmate. It was the same well through your adult years.

You closed the door, shuffling into the kitchen to finish brewing the pot of tea you were preparing. He slung his jacket across the back of the couch, the duffel in its place on the side of it. He’d already kicked off his shoes and was now making his way toward one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“I want some,” he called out, “make me a cup too.”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t even like tea.”

He pouted, his brows furrowing as you focused on pouring the hot water over the leaves in the teapot. “That’s not true.”

You give him the look, the one he knew all-too-well. “Since when?”

“Since today.” He flashed a cheeky grin at you and you shrug, pulling out two mugs. Jungkook gave small claps of victory. “You’re the best, Y/N.”

Shaking your head, you focus your energy on making sure that enough hot water is in the teapot. Mentally making a note to let it steep for a few minutes, you turned toward the fridge to pull out the plate of fruit you’d peeled and sliced earlier that afternoon.

Because you worked from home, you had the luxury to do things at your own pace. You’ve always preferred it that way. You knew from a very young age that you could never work for some big company; squared away in a cubicle where people referred to you by an ID number. Your parents said you were foolish for breaking away from societal norms, but Jungkook praised you for wanting to strike out on your own and live your life on your own terms.

Jungkook was already spearing through one of the apples with the dessert fork he squirreled from the utensil cup on the counter. For a while, all you could do was look at him as he chewed. He definitely was a man now, but there was a boyish air that continued to linger over Jungkook in his adult body. He was popular with the women, charismatic enough to draw in the men, and as someone who pursued his dream of painting, he was the definition of “starving, attractive artist”.

It wasn’t fair that he was your best friend. Who asked him to come into your life and stay there? Everyone else left and walked their own paths. It almost seemed archaic and unrealistic to maintain a “childhood friend” sort of relationship. No one was genuine anymore, willing to hide the truth behind plastic smiles and false promises. You expected Jungkook to be the same. People changed. Why shouldn’t he?

Yet there he was…

“So what happened this time?” you asked suddenly, pulling him from his fruit-induced moment of bliss. “Did you tell Marisa that she looked fat in some outfit again?”

“Huh?” Jungkook stopped in mid-chew, a piece of the apple poking out between his lips. “Marisa? We broke up, like, a week ago?”

Why weren’t you surprised?

“Besides, I learned my lesson on that front. Not all people appreciate honesty the way that you do.” Jungkook grinned. “If I said you looked fat in something, you’d either flip me off or make me help you pick something out that flatters your figure.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said as you poured the tea into both mugs, your sarcasm quite evident.

“You don’t fall for my pitiful acts either. In fact, I don’t think I could ever pull a fast one on you.” He tilted his head slightly as he looked up at you. “Is it because you know me so well?”

You scoffed as you hold out the mug of steaming tea toward him. “I can see your bullshit from a mile away. I don’t know how girls keep falling for it every single time.”

He chuckled, cradling the mug between his palms. “Yeah, I don’t either.” Jungkook blew the steam away a few times and then took a sip. He sighed happily.

“You still haven’t told me why you need a place to stay.” You raised the mug up to your face, scrutinizing him. “Again.”

“Oh, that?” He shrugged. “I just got into a fight with my Old Man.”

You slowly raised a brow. That was odd, considering that you knew how well Jungkook got along with his father. In fact, you couldn’t remember a time where they ever fought. Jungkook told you everything. Literally. It would have been a little odd to omit something like that.

“What for?” you asked, sliding into the chair beside him at the table. He passed a dessert fork with a strawberry on top of it.

Shrugging, he laughed as he polished off the apple and stabbed a piece of banana. “Honestly, it was really the stupidest thing. He said I was wasting my life on my art. That my career was too unstable to maintain.” He air-quoted around the words, his brows furrowing in contrast with the smile on his face.

You bit into the strawberry, savoring the juices. It would definitely balance out the herbal flavor of the tea. “Then just marry a rich person.”

The comment was clearly a joke. You knew he wouldn’t take it seriously. But as you lifted your mug of tea up to your lips, you spotted the look on Jungkook’s face. The amusement was gone from his features and he suddenly looked his age - petulant as the gaze was.

“That’s not funny, Y/N,” he said, his tone even and flat.

As the tea slid down your throat, you winced slightly at how it scalded the inside of your mouth. You quickly set the mug down on the table, suddenly uncomfortable with how hard Jungkook was staring at you. Since when did he take anything you said seriously? It actually irritated you.

“I was only joking, geez,” you snapped, tucking some of your hair behind your ear, “what’s your problem?”

“How can you even suggest that?” Jungkook folded his arms across his chest. “I’m going to marry for love, not for convenience.”

“Then love someone who happens to be rich so you can marry them!”

“Then I’ll marry you!”

The anger that was steadily boiling inside of you suddenly deflated. For a handful of seconds, all you could do was stare hard at one another. Finally, you balked at the idea, dissolving into a small fit of laughter.

“Wait, what?” You continued laughing, feeling a slight pain digging into your side. “What?! That’s crazy.” You slowly slid your fingers around your mug, averting his gaze. “You’re crazy.”

Suddenly, you felt his hand around your wrist. Before you have a chance to ask him what he’s doing, he’s already pulled you into his orbit. You had an idea of what you wanted to say to clapback at him, but his lips were already sealing over yours in a heated kiss. Your hand curled into a fist, unsure of what you were feeling at that moment. All you could focus on was the sweetness from the fruit he’d just eaten and the lingering herbal flavor of the tea.

But there was no urge to pull away. Strange. Did you want this to happen? Had you wanted it for some time?

He silently urged your mouth to open wider, wanting to get a better taste of you. In the same vein, you also wanted to taste him. This was your first kiss with Jungkook, after all. Out of all the relationships he’d had in the past, you were starting to get a better idea of why the other girls continuously fell for his nonsense - hook, line and sinker. There was a dark part of you that suddenly despised those other women.

They’d gotten a chance to indulge in his mouth long before you had. It wasn’t fair because you’d known him for almost half of your lives. Shouldn’t this moment have always been yours?

As Jungkook pulled away from you, you suppressed a whine of protest. He must have sensed it because he flashed his devious grin at you; the one that said he already knew what you were thinking. He had a way of being able to read you like an open book. Then again, you had the same skill when it came to him.

That didn’t make his face any less unnecessarily handsome or his kiss any less addicting.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jungkook whispered. He leaned in to press his nose gently against yours, causing your eyes to cross. “…I need a place to stay.”

Regardless of how hard your heart was jack-hammering against your ribs, you laughed. You both did. And then he pulled you in even closer, pressing your chest against his, so that he could kiss you once more.

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #mknlinenet #kwordsmiths #bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts modern au #bts friends to lovers #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #bts imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #thebiasrekkers #bts thebiasrekkers #jeon jungkook #jungkook bts #bts jungkook

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thelegendofclarke · 5 years ago

Text

still got scars on my back (from your knife)

A Bellarke Knives Out Au in which Kane is probably Benoit Blanc, Clarke might be Ransom Drysdale, Bellamy is definitely Marta Cabrara, Dante was Harlan Thrombey, and like Detective Elliot, Miller is just along for the ride.

Written for @bellarkejanuaryjoy Day 29 and dedicated to @marauders-groupie and @woodswit who were the best sounding boards and cheerleaders and are the reasons this fic exists in any way, shape, or form.

When Bellamy walks into the Mt. Weather police station again, where he has been far too many times in far too few days, he is tired. The kind of tired that starts in your bones and slowly leeches into your soul. He has a migraine that feels like it originated in his prefrontal cortex, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe normally or wasn’t on the verge of puking. He’s led into an interview room in the back and when he enters he stops short. Marcus Kane, the self-proclaimed “last of the gentleman sleuths,” is perched on the corner of the table, posing dramatically as always. And sitting in a chair next to him is Clarke. Despite being arrested over 48 hours ago, she isn’t wearing handcuffs or an orange jumpsuit. Damn it must be nice to be a rich white girl. She’s just wearing a regular button-down shirt and jeans, and that small smirk that always made him want to kiss her. There’s something softer about it now though, and he hates how much that just makes him want to kiss it off her even more. Detective Miller motions for Bellamy to sit down in the chair across from Clarke. He does so without looking at Clarke or saying anything, just glaring down at the table so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry.

“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you back here…” Miller starts.

“Oh, I’m wondering about a lot of things.” Bellamy shoots back at him.

Miller just snorts and looks over at Kane, “I’ll let you take it from here.”

Kane pulls out the pipe he carries around with him and starts to pack it. Bellamy can feel his scowl deepening, who the fuck even carries a pipe anymore?

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“First of all, Mr. Blake,” he starts without looking up, “we must begin by giving you our most profuse and sincere apologies.” Kane lights the pipe and brings it to his mouth, then he looks at Bellamy and grins. That dramatic asshole actually smiles, far wider than Clarkes’ smirk, but equally as infuriating. “But you are just far too honest and decent a man to have been let in on all our plans.” He turns to Clarke and nods.

Clarke takes a deep breath and starts talking, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows if he does all he’ll see is her grabbing his hands when he started having a panic attack, all he’ll feel is her fingers running through his hair, all he’ll hear is her soft but strong voice telling him to look at her, to focus on his breathing, reassuring him “It’ll be okay I promise… We’ll figure this out… Together.”

“You know, I used to be one of the only people that could ever beat my Grandpa Dante at Go. I used to pride myself on that,” she chuckles. “And then you came along and he told me you beat him twice as often as I did.” Bellamy looks up at that and finds Clarke looking right at him, her eyes focused on his. “He said you beat him almost every time. That you had never even played before you met him, but that somehow you would always win. And god that used to drive me fucking crazy,” she laughs again. “I couldn’t figure out how the hell you were beating him. I knew he wasn’t letting you win, he wasn’t that nice. And I knew he wouldn’t lie about it, he was far too arrogant. It was one of the mysteries he could never solve” she shakes her head ruefully at the memory. “How you beat him at that goddamn game night after night.”

“He never figured out that answer to that mystery,” she continues. “But I did. I finally solved it… You win because you don’t just play from the head, you play from the heart.”

“And you won again Bellamy… You won this game not by playing my way or my grandpa’s way, but by playing your way. You won because you are a genuine and honorable and fundamentally good person. You played it honest, you didn’t lie or mislead anyone or try to throw them off your trail. That’s why all the pieces fell perfectly into place: because you made all the right moves. You won by figuring out your strategy and making your decisions the same way you always have: from the heart.”

Bellamy just stares at her for another minute and then looks at Kane. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a really long couple of days and I’m pretty worn out so I’m just going to be really straight with you here and ask: what the actual fuck is going on?”

Miller snorts again, “I asked the same damn question.” He turns to Kane and Clarke and pulls out his little yellow notepad. “Actually, would you mind starting from the top again? Because I’m still not sure I really understand what in the damn hell happened.”

Kane and Clarke look at each other again doing that annoying nonverbal communication thing they seem to be so good at. Bellamy thinks he probably can’t complain about that too much though, since he and Clarke had gotten pretty damn good at it themselves after years of knowing each other, pretending to hate each other, and refusing to admit that they secretly adored each other.… Or so he thought… How the hell did he get her so wrong?

Before this week, Bellamy would have told anyone who asked, with a higher degree of confidence than he possesses about most things, that he could tell you almost everything there is to know about Clarke Griffin…

Namesake: Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who her father had been a massive fanboy of and managed to convince her mother to let him name their newborn daughter after while Abby was still high as a kite on epidural anesthesia. Evidently, he had persuaded her by arguing that it was probably better than Arthurette or Arthurina; when Abby tells the story she always magnanimously says that at the time it seemed to be “the least of the evils.”

Middle Name: Matilda, after Empress Matilda, a member of the British monarchy who was some distant relative of the Wallaces, but that she pretended was after Matilda Wormwood because that Matilda was “infinitely cooler in all ways.”

Notable Likes: Inclusive, intersectional feminism. All forms of alcohol; with the notable exception of tequila which she will not look at, smell, touch, or tolerate in her presence in any way, shape, or form (he’d tried to ask her why once but she’d promptly turned green and puked into the nearest potted plant so he decided not to push the issue). Shark Week. Jane Austen novels. True crime documentaries. The Jonas Brothers (“They’re making a comeback Bell, whether you like it or not! Just save yourself the trouble later and lean into it now!”) Any and all things Harry Potter related (he’s pretty sure she’s on multiple bar trivia teams, including his own, just to answer the Harry Potter questions… And get the free booze.) Netflix. Adult coloring books. Anytime someone climbs a building to tear down a Confederate flag. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Antique tea sets. Movies that have women wearing armor and/or holding swords. Wearing high heels because they make her feel tall (her diminutive frame is something she endlessly despairs over, but Bellamy maintains she makes up for through presence, spitefulness, and sheer force of will.) Her cousin Roan.

Notable Dislikes: Donald Trump. Tinder, which she has an active profile on (a fact that definitely did not bother him. Much.) Twitter, which she hates even more, and has an even more active profile on. Blavy (“I don’t care what Tom Ford or Marc Jacobs said Bell, it’s a disgrace!”) Humidity. The NRA. The Twilight series (because it was “pushing the suspension of disbelief” that anyone would pick Edward over Jacob, and “downright offensively unrealistic” that Bella wouldn’t just dump them both and run off with “the hot Cullen sister… Either one of them.”) Most forms of organized sports. All forms of organized religion. Camping. When people talk during movies. Having to wear “real pants” for more than a couple of hours on a given day. The American Healthcare System. Toxic masculinity, men yelling, manbuns, manspreading, mansplaining and men having to put the word "man" before everything because their egos were so fragile. Wearing high heels because they are “torture devices of the patriarchy” (Clarke speak for “they make her feet hurt and she’s a wimp.”) Her cousin Ontari.

Favorite Foods: Sushi. Guacamole Doritos (which she had cried genuine tears over being discontinued). Her grandfather’s disgustingly greasy fried egg sandwiches that taste like heartburn. Her mother’s blueberry cheesecake. Avocados (Bellamy never understood what the deal was with white people and avocado; like yeah avocados are great and all, but damn do white people really love avocado.) Movie theater popcorn. Bellamy’s adobo. Octavia’s empanadas. All kinds of Indian food, the spicier the better. Watermelon, especially when it’s filled with vodka. Almost anything that has chocolate in or on it. Potatoes in all their forms, especially the ones that have cheese on them. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Cheese Blintzes. Cheese fondue. Cheese in general, honestly. “That one thing we got at that one place that one time, Bell!” which he always knew exactly what she was referring to (Dante had always said that Bellamy, like him, was “fluent in Clarke: a skill coveted by the many, but possessed by the few.”)

Hobbies: Smashing the patriarchy. Art; painting, drawing, sculpting, anything that struck her fancy really (she even went through a sand art phase at one point, which ended up being short lived because while she loves art, she hates sand.) Making fun of Bellamy. Conspiring with Octavia to make fun of Bellamy. Making fun of her grandpa Dante. Conspiring with Bellamy to make fun of her grandpa Dante. Equestrian activities, the only kind of formal, organized “sport” she was actually good at (“All I have to do is sit there and tell the horse what to do, Bell. I’m so good at sitting around and telling people what to do!”). Fighting Twitter trolls. Reading, especially her grandfather’s mystery novels. Krav Maga, which Bellamy will admit surprised him a little (and then surprised him more than a little when he’d asked where she’d learned it and she shrugged and said “Israel” like it was as obvious as the inevitability of death and taxes.) Online shopping. Pretending to hate it when Bellamy calls her Princess. Buying and playing video games she doesn’t really understand with her little sister, Madi (“ I can’t trick her into thinking I’m cool anymore so it’s the only way I can get her to hangout with me. I’m just embracing bribery as a form of bonding!”) Over, and incorrectly, using the word “literally.” Telling Bellamy he is literally a pedantic killjoy.

He knew that she was deathly afraid of heights and irrationally paranoid about catching scurvy and getting cat-fished. He knew that she liked real bananas and blueberries but hated banana and blueberry artificial flavoring. He knew that her first kiss was with her best friend Wells in a closet during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at a classmate’s birthday party in 6th grade, and that her first kiss with a girl was in the exact same closet playing the exact same game at the exact same classmate’s birthday party two years later with a girl named Glass. He knew she lasted exactly one and a half years in med school before telling her mother that she needed to choose between Clarke being a doctor and Clarke being alive, because it was it was killing her slowly and driving her insane. He knew that she always ordered some kind of strange, obscure plant or flower to place on her father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death because “he was weirdo who liked weird shit” (this past year it was a Venus Fly Trap, the year before that it was a Ghost Orchid because she was “feeling ironic.”)

He knew that she once met the Clinton’s at a charity fundraiser when she was little where she told then President Bill Clinton that he looked better with brown hair and threw up on Hillary Clinton’s shoes. He knew that she’d actually thrown up on several member of the rich and powerful elite; notable examples including Condoleezza Rice’s Hermès Birkin bag, Paul Ryan’s Armani sports coat, and Eric Trmups whole entire arm (which she admitted was definitely not an accident.) He knew that she loved school and learning and once got her English Lit teacher fired for failing her on a paper where she argued that Humbert Humbert was an obsessive, delusional, predatory pedophile who deserved to be medically castrated and the teacher had tried to tell her that Lolita was a “tragic love story” and that she was “simply too narrow minded to appreciate Nabokov’s true message.” He knew that she had unsuccessfully tried to pierce her own belly button in high school and managed to successfully pierce her own nose in college. He knew that she has four tattoos: a small crown on the back of her neck (which only made Bellamy double down on the Princess nickname after he found out about it), a lion on her left foot for her father, a lotus flower on her on her right wrist for her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and the Latin translation of “do no harm, take no shit” running down the left side of her rib cage.

He knew that she pretended to hate Valentine's Day when really, every single year, she handmade super elaborate and incredibly awesome cards for all her friends and family members (well, the ones she liked anyway). He knew that she was planning on naming her first daughter Gertrude after her grandmother, Dante’s deceased wife, even though the kid would probably hate her for it because her grandma was a badass and “metal as fuck.” He knew that otters were her favorite animal and that he favorite type of otters were those terrifying Amazonian river otters that could fight crocodiles (which was typical Clarke, honestly.) He knew that she loved her adopted little sister Madi more than anything or anyone in this world and was as fiercely protective of her as he was of his own little sister. He knew that she loved horror movies and hated Claymation because it freaked her out that that she has seen every single episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. at least three times and could sing all the lines of every single song Lana del Ray has ever recorded from memory.

He knew that she started drawing when she was really young and would sit on the floor in her dad’s office and draw on his grid paper while he worked on his designs; he knew that art had helped her through some really hard times like when she started questioning her sexuality and when her father had died and when he girlfriend had been killed and that she hoping to go back to school to become an art therapist. He knew she was stubborn and loyal and empathetic and unafraid to speak her mind. He knew she could be cunning and calculating and ambitious and ruthless and even downright vicious when it came to things going her way or getting what she wanted. Bellamy had just never thought there would come a day where he would be on the receiving end of all that Clarke Griffin Intensity. At least, not like this.

In all the years he’d known her, Clarke had never treated him like one her family’s employees or made him feel like “the help.” She got along (scarily, in Bellamy’s personal opinion) well with his little sister, and took (or sometimes dragged) him out places with her. She asked his opinion on things, and incorporated him into her friend group (while gleefully teasing him about how hot they all thought he was). She went to him for advice, and liked all his friends. She actually read the books and watched the movies and listened to the music he would recommend to her, and made him feel included at Wallace family events and dinners. She always laughed at his dumb jokes (sometimes so hard she would snort, which was his favorite), and would go to his apartment to feed the cat and water the plants when he was out of town. She would text him while she was on a bad date or at a boring event, and listened to all his rants about mythology and colonialism and the Star Wars universe and representation in media and all the historical inaccuracies in every single period drama they ever watched together. She would show him the art pieces she was working on, and remembered shit like his birthday and that he was allergic to tomatoes and the anniversary of his mom’s death and that Nerds were his favorite candy. She treated him like he was someone important to her, someone she cared about even. She made him feel valued and respected. She’d never treated him or made him feel like anything but her equal.

But now, finally looking up at the girl across from him, knowing just how much time and planning and work and effort she’d put into trying to fuck him over and ruin his life, it feels like being in the room with a complete stranger. And it might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Bellamy thought he knew her. Thought he could trust her, that he understood her, that they understood and trusted each other. He had considered her a good friend and, after so many years of knowing her, possibly even a best friend.

He had introduced her to his friends and his sister, and texted her links to stuff she would find funny and when someone said something absurdly ignorant or hilariously dumb on TV. He started keeping those alcoholic ciders she liked better than beer in his fridge, and thought way too hard about what to buy her every year for her birthday. He told her stories about his mom, and his childhood, and his first kiss, and his first girlfriend, and the first time he got punched and the first time he punched someone which were, to Clarke’s endless amusement, two completely different situations.

He told her about how terrified he’d been that he would never see his sister again when they were separated after their mom died, and how for years the only time he felt truly happy was during their weekly visit with their social worker when he got to see her, and how it took the longest time after he was officially able to get custody of her for him to finally relax and not worry that she wasn’t coming back every time she left the apartment, and how fucking proud he was of her for getting into a good college, and all kinds of personal shit he would never just tell to just anyone.

She’d become a fixture in his daily life, a staple in his routine, the first person after O that he wanted to share good news with, and the last person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left the Wallace estate to head home for the day. He let her in.

After years of his mom’s revolving door of terrible boyfriends, and moving around different towns to where ever Aurora could find a job, and constantly having to switch schools, and never really having time to hang out with kids his age because he had a little sister to take care of, and being passed around from foster home to foster home once he was put in the system, Bellamy didn’t just let people in and make friends with them. He has a screening process, a thorough one, what he had thought was an effective one; but somehow, Clarke Griffin had managed to make it through with flying colors in record time.

Bellamy is well aware that, in all likelihood, he should be more concerned about the fact that finding out he didn’t really know Clarke as well as he thought he did feels like his whole world has turned on its head and he doesn’t know which way is up. But between Dante dying and being framed for his murder and having paparazzi actually camped out on his front lawn and being put in charge of an entire estate he has no idea what to do with and bequeathed an amount of money so high he wouldn’t have believed it existed, there’s a lot to be concerned about. He can prioritize. Or at least multitask. Probably.

“Well why don’t we start with who it was that hired me,” Kane begins as he puffs on his pipe.

“We know who hired you,” Bellamy interrupts. “Clarke did. As part of her plan to frame me for Dante’s murder… I really don’t need to hear about it again.” If he has to listen to the whole story in terribly thorough detail again he is definitely going to do something stupid like cry. His voice breaks a little on the last words and out of the corner of his eye her sees Clarke bite her lip and look down at the table. Good, he thinks, she should feel like shit.

“Yes, Clarke did secure my employ,” Kane confirms.

Bellamy almost rolls his eyes. ‘Secure my employ?’ who the actual fuck even talks like that anymore?? While smoking a pipe??? Jesus tap dancing Christ.

“But she did so by proxy,” Kane continues, “under the instruction of her grandfather.”

That stops Bellamy and his internal running commentary on Kane’s outfit (Who the hell wears actual suspenders? And a goddamn deerstalker hat?? Where the hell do you even buy a deerstalker hat anymore?!?) right in their tracks. “Wait… What?”

“Dante Wallace hired me not only to solve his own murder, but to help his granddaughter frame herself while she also pretended to frame you at the same time.”

Bellamy blinks at him.

“You see Dante Wallace knew he was going to be murdered before he committed suicide,” Kane begins what Bellamy suspects is going to be one of the most confusing and ridiculous stories he has ever heard in his life. “And yes, Dante Wallace most definitely did commit suicide.”

This time Bellamy turns to blink at Miller. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “this is about where I started screaming internally too.”

Instead of continuing, Kane uses the pause to pull out that stupid coin he’s always tossing around and flips it in the air, catching it again without even looking but with uncanny precision. Bellamy is sorely tempted to tell him exactly how far he should shove the damn thing up his ass, but he physically restrains himself and waits for Kane to go on.

“Mr. Wallace knew not only that he was dying, but that he was being murdered. Slowly and painfully at that. He knew he was going to die and how, but he didn’t know when it was going to happen or who was doing it. He had a murder and a murder weapon, but no body and no actual death.”

Kane pauses and runs his fingers over his beard. Bellamy is like 99.9% sure this dude grew a beard just so he could stroke it dramatically. “He did have one other thing though,” Kane goes on, “and that was an obvious suspect.” He nods in Bellamy’s direction, “you.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are looking at him in silence. Bellamy’s breath catches and he starts to panic, “But you already cleared me. You said you know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… That’s…”

Clarke reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Bellamy can’t help but think that her tiny hand on his huge one shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. “We know you didn’t do it Bell,” she tells him softly but firmly. She squeezes his hand, “we know you could never.”

He wants to smack her hand away and tell her not to call him that. He wants to tell all three of them to fuck off, he wants to get the hell out of here, he wants to get some weed from Monty the groundskeepers’ stash in the garage, or go down to Polis Pub and have O mix him up of those “kitchen sink” drink thingies she makes that he is pretty sure have what must be an illegal, non FDA approved amount of alcohol in them. He wants to go home and sleep forever, he wants to wake up tomorrow and have this all just be a terrible dream, he wants to travel back in time and never take this fucking job in the first place. He wants to do a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and waits.

Clarke withdraws her hand and he sees her clench it into a fist on the table in front of her. “Grandpa Dante was being poisoned,” she says matter-of-factly. To anyone else it would seem like she was emotionless; but Bellamy sees the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw, the rapid blinking of her eyes. He has been around the Wallace family long enough to know that they know how to put on masks. The can tamp down their anger, and swallow their sadness, and choke back their tears, and fake out their fear, and affect apathy along with the best of them. But Clarke has her tells, and he knows them. Dante always told him he was observant for his own good; that he was a good judge of character, that he pays attention to detail, that he notices the little things others wouldn’t even know to be looking for. And that one of these days it was going to get him into trouble.

He saw Abby disguise her sorrow and depression and grief after the tragic death of her husband Jake. And a few short years later, saw Clarke as the ice-cold, emotionless mirror image of her mother after her girlfriend Lexa was shot in a drive by. He saw Maya mask her terror the day she got her diagnoses, when she’d found out that she had developed a rare, life threatening blood disorder before she was even able to drive a car, that she would have to go through painful blood transfusions for the foreseeable future just to stay alive, and sees her to the same every time she leaves to go get her treatment. He saw Roan force back his fury every time he sees his mother treat people like dirt and watches his little sister show up to yet another family event high out of her mind. And he constantly saw Dante hide his sense of regret, his feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, when he reflected on what his family had become.

None of them managed to mask their feelings the day Dante’s will was read though, their emotions were written all over their faces: Nia’s fury at being passed over for “the help.” Abby’s shock and confusion at her father’s decision and clear feeling of betrayal and heartbreak that her father trusted Bellamy with his legacy more than he trusted her. Emerson’s horror over not being able to continue to maintain his lifestyle or pay for the treatment his sick stepdaughter needs to survive. Ontari’s hysterics at the easy funding for her pill and powder fixes being cut off. Roan’s indignation when he finally snapped ad yelled at his family members to “chill the fuck out and back the hell off! Bellamy clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening even more than we do!” And finally, Cage’s rage over Bellamy daring to take what Cage saw as rightfully his.

Not Clarke though. Clarke remained seated in the arm chair she had unceremoniously plopped down on when she arrived, throwing her legs over one of the arms and pulling up Candy Crush on her phone. Her attention wasn’t focused on her phone anymore though. Unlike the rest of her family, she stayed silent. Also, unlike the rest of her family, her ice blue, all seeing eyes were focused not on him, but on the people gathered around him, yelling and screaming, all hellfire and fury, threats and accusations flying. At first glance she appeared stone faced and detached. But while she studied her family Bellamy looked closer at her and for a brief moment, no more than a second, he saw it: the slight smirk curving at the side of her mouth.

Bellamy couldn’t tell exactly what was running through her mind that day, but he knows what she’s feeling now: grief over Dante’s death, sorrow over losing a family member (one of the only family members) she was close to, anger over her grandpa being murdered, and primarily: pissed as fuck that someone would do this to him. Bellamy still isn’t sure what’s happening or been able to process all the information he’s been given, but he’s starting to strongly suspect that hell hath no fury like Clarke Griffin scorned.

Kane rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. Clarke takes another deep breath seemingly trying to calm herself, like it’s been ages since she felt like she was able to catch it. He knows the feeling. “I figured out he was being poisoned a while back,” she says. “He was just… He was getting sick way too fast.”

“I might not have been in med school for long but I was there long enough to know that his condition shouldn’t have been deteriorating so quickly,” her voice is getting steadier now. “He shouldn’t have been in so much pain, he shouldn’t have been so tired all the time. And nothing was working; some of the treatment should have been working, something should have been working.”

“You must have noticed it,” she half states, half asks. “I mean… He was just so… And nothing was… You had to have noticed it too?”

Yeah, she’s right; he had noticed it. Dante shouldn’t have been so sick so quickly. No matter how much he slept, he always felt tired. He started to lose drastic amounts of weight and his skin started to yellow at a disturbingly rapid pace. His heart rate and blood pressure were all over the place. His bones appeared to have become brittle overnight and he seemed to be in almost perpetual pain, his body shrugging in on itself while he sat, or contorting itself while he slept, just trying to get comfortable. He started getting spells where he was confused, he would have no idea where he was or not remember why he walked into a room or forget something Bellamy had told time only minutes prior. The spells wouldn’t have normally been too alarming in an elderly patient except that this wasn’t any other elderly patient, this was Dante Wallace. He had never been anything but sharp as a tact, quick on his feet, alert and awake and of perfectly sound mind.

She was also right about the treatment. Lung cancer is obviously nothing to scoff about, but the kind Dante was diagnosed with should have at least been manageable, if not treatable or even curable, with the right medication. Medication Bellamy knew he was on because he was the one that administered the drug to Dante every day, which subsequently brought him to the shit storm he was currently caught in without rain boots or an umbrella. Not only did the medication not seem to be doing anything to improve Dante’s condition in any way, they seemed to be making him worse. It was almost like they were causing new symptoms in addition to exacerbating the ones that were already there.

So yeah, he had noticed. Bellamy was no medical professional or trained expert; he was just a caregiver, a companion, he was just “the help,” but even he could tell that something was wrong. Whenever he had tried to express his concerns to members of Dante’s family as well. But whenever he tried to speak with Dante’s children about his health, he was either told off-handedly that it would be checked into, or told in no uncertain terms to mind his own goddamn business or his ass was fired.

“I mean, I’m well aware that me making the illogically, dramatically huge jump straight from ‘my grandpa is super sick’ to ‘MY GRANDPA IS BEING POISONED!’ is a little odd,” Clarke shrugs. “But it turns out that when you’re majoring in pre-med and spend your summers researching insane, off the wall ways to kill someone for your grandfather who writes murder mystery novels, you pick up some things,” she says grimly.

God, he thinks, her whole entire life must just be so weird.

“I remember taking a random medicinal chem class in undergrad,” Clarke starts rambling. “That’s how I think I first figured out what was happening. It took me a while to figure out the specifics, but once the details starting becoming clear it was obvious: Grandpa had anthracycline induced cardiac and pulmonary toxicity that was incorrectly diagnosed as potentially malignant, early stage lung cancer.” She’s talking even more animatedly now and gesturing wildly with her hands like she’s really getting into what she’s saying. Bellamy hates how cute he finds it.

“He was then treated with unnecessary, prolonged, and continuous exposure to radon which not only served to exacerbate his current vascular symptoms, but also caused additional idiopathic neurological, respiratory, skeletal, cardiovascular, and immunological afflictions that caused his condition to deteriorate to the point of inviability,” Clarke explains. Kane is nodding along like this all makes perfect sense to him and that she was explaining something as simple as how two and two makes four.

Bellamy and Miller just stare at her with blank expression of incomprehension on their faces. Miller previously had his pen poised over his notepad like he would have written down every word she said if he knew how to spell half of them. Now he just sighs and tucks his pen behind his ear and shoves the notepad back into his back pocket.

“Uh huh, right, exactly,” he says dryly. “How about you repeat that one more time in Normal Person.”

“He was poisoned with something that made it look like he had lung cancer,” she states matter-of-factly.

Miller shots Bellamy a look that he knows is asking “the fuck couldn’t she have just said that the first time?!” There’s a similar expression on his own face right now, he’s sure.

“Then he started getting chemo and radiation for the Not Lung Cancer which probably ended up giving him the Actual Lung Cancer and definitely gave him a whole bunch of other bad shit. He was slowly but surely dying,” she swallows and looks down at her hands, picking at one of her fingernails. “And the stuff that was supposed to be helping him was really just causing radon poisoning and killing him more quickly and painfully,” the crack in her voice makes him want to fold her up in his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, the way she had for him so many times over the past week. Until he reminds himself that we don’t comfort people who try to frame us for murder. People who try to frame us for murder are assholes, no matter how pretty they are.

“My first guess was obviously Cage,” she goes on, “mostly because he sucks and I hate him. But still, it's not like I was wrong. It took a while for me to convince grandpa though, he was actually really pissed at me for even suggesting it in the first place.”

Bellamy remembers those few weeks severalmonths back when Clarke had stopped coming around and Dante had gone from his usual “exasperating old man shouts at cloud” to “insufferably cranky asshole.” When Bellamy suggested that maybe they invite Clarke over to cheer him up since she hadn’t been around in a while, Dante had just glared even harder and huffed that he and Clarke had “parted ways” due to “irrevocable creative differences” before flouncing from the room like an egregiously offended prima donna and locking himself in his study for the remainder of the day.

“I finally managed to convince him by figuring out where Cage would have been getting whatever he was poisoning grandpa with: his wife.”

Bellamy didn’t really know Cage’s wife, Dr. Lorelai Tsing Wallace, very well. Nor had he made any effort too. Primarily because she gave him the fucking creeps. She wasn’t the same brand of downright terrifying like Nia, or intimidatingly poised like Abby. She was scary in her very own, unique “don’t stand so close to me,” “makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up,” Stranger Danger kind of way. He would catch her eyeing him with interest sometimes, and he could never quite tell if it was in an “I want to jump you” kind of way or an “I want to kidnap you and harvest your organs” kind of way.

“It seems that the pharmaceutical development company Dr. Tsing works for had been doing a great deal of experimentation with alternative forms of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.” Kane says from where he’s returned to his perch on the table. “Namely, orally administrated, pill forms of radon.”

“We haven’t been able to establish any conclusive evidence that Lorelai Tsing-Wallace was knowingly or willfully involved in her husband’s plot to kill his father,” Miller interrupts, all procedure and formality. All three of them look at him with thoroughly unimpressed faces. “But yeah,” he concedes. “I honestly have no idea how the hell Cage would have gotten his hands on so much radon for so long without her help.”

“So yeah,” Clarke continues. “Once I was able to sit grandpa down and calmly and rationally explain to him what was happening to him and how, he was persuaded to see reason.

It’s another part of the story that Bellamy can’t help but snort at, because looking back, he’s pretty sure he remembers the exact incident she’s talking about. After going weeks without seeing her, Clarke had stormed into the house like a category 5 hurricane (as opposed to her typical level 2 tornado) and stomped up the stairs to Dante’s study. She’d pounded incessantly on the door, demanding he let her in and talk to her. And when he’d continuously and steadfastly refused she’d threatened to “kick in his antique, handcrafted, mahogany door with her heavy-duty riding boots that he knew would fuck that door right up because he bought them for her and knew exactly how expensive they were and exactly how much she was not screwing around.”

Eventually Dante had relented and after that there was a lot of muffled yelling and what definitely sounded like things being thrown and furniture being knocked over, all of which was typical for a Wallace family argument. “You can never say we lack passion,” Dante had always told him. But it was the eerie silence that came after that was concerning. After they were quiet for so long that Bellamy genuinely began to worry that they had somehow managed to kill each other, he relented and made his way up the stairs.

His soft knock was met with an even softer “come in.”

Bellamy had popped his head in and teased “just wanted to make sure everyone was still alive up here.”

God in hindsight that was such a terrible joke, pun absolutely not intended he swears.

“Yes, yes, everything is just fine Bellamy, fine.” Dante had said quietly. Both he and Clarke had been sitting at his desk, red eyed, red faced, and looking horribly sad and defeated.

“Uh ok,” Bellamy had cleared his throat. “Well can I get either of you anything?”

Dante didn’t answer, still staring at his desk, so Clarke said “No I think we’re fine… Everything is… Fine.”

Dante had looked up at that point. “Yes,” he’d said, still sounding odd. “Just fine… You may go for the day.”

Bellamy should have known at that moment that something was up; it was only 11 am and Dante rarely ever even dismissed him an hour early, much less before noon. But he’d just shrugged it off as “family stuff” he didn’t want or need to get involved in, and made his way home, honestly happy to have a day off.

“All that evidence combined with the fact that, starting several months earlier, Cage had apparently started coming around more often wanting to do “guys night” with grandpa and bringing over whatever absurdly exotic, stupidly expensive liquor he could find that week for them to try, was what finally did it.” Clarke continues her story.

Bellamy remembers that, too. Cage had started coming around in the evenings to visit with Dante and they would drink and smoke cigars out on the screened in porch or in the den. Bellamy had been wary of why Cage started coming over so often when he had basically never made an effort to spend any time “getting to know” his father since Bellamy could remember. Dante had, of course, decided to humor him saying “perhaps there’s still time.” Bellamy had never really figured out what there was possibly still “time” for, given that there was no amount of time in the world that could reform Cage into a halfway decent excuse for a human being. But he guessed that was really none of his business.

When he’d asked about it off-handedly, Cage had thrown him some kind of excuse about “who even knew how much longer the old quack was going to survive, so he needed to get in quality time while he could.” Bellamy had just glared and scoffed quietly when Cage turned his back, chalking it up to Cage being an insensitive asshole and generally awful person who was just trying to make sure he would get his cut after his father died. Bellamy just hadn’t realized exactly how far Cage was willing to go to make that happen. At that moment, Bellamy also remembers that after the Hurricane Clarke situation was apparently resolved, that Dante stopped seeing Cage as often. He would make up well and truly absurd excuses like “he volunteered to referee a charity tennis game… at 7 at night… in the middle of January” for Bellamy to give Cage about why he couldn’t come over in the evenings or why Dante wouldn’t be making it to Cage’s house for their usual Thursday night dinners. Eventually Cage got the message and just gave up; not that Bellamy had minded getting to blow Cage off. It had become one of the highlights of his day.

“It was also me who figured out that the person he was probably trying to pin the poisoning on was you,” Clarke says.

“Okay this is one of the parts I’m still a little fuzzy on,” Miller interjects.

“Same,” Bellamy agrees, with feeling.

“I mean it was basically just simple process of elimination,” Clarke says, like figuring this out had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. And for her it might have been honestly. She’s terrifying.

“Cage was going to have to pin it on someone, he might be a slimy little shit weasel but he’s not completely stupid. And the fact that you gave grandpa his meds, including his radon shots, every day and night, made you the most obvious and ideal candidate.” She’s right of course. “They were going to need some way to explain the inexplicably high levels of radon in Dante’s system. So the most straight forward strategy would be to make it look like you were either knowingly, willfully, and purposefully trying to kill him, or at least make a solid case for elder abuse and negligent homicide.”

“That’s also why we felt we couldn’t go to the police at that point,” she says sadly. “We had no real idea how long Cage had been at this, except that it had been awhile. And we also had no idea just how much evidence he could have fabricated against you, how well he had covered his tracks. He wasn’t just a step ahead of us, he could have hiked the whole Appalachian trail for all we knew.”

“That’s probably also how he came up with the insulin and morphine ol’ switcheroo scheme,” Kane says.

Switcheroo? Bellamy can’t with this guy, he really just can’t.

“And this is where you lose me,” Miller interjects. “How do we jump from Long-term Radiation Poisoning to Lethal Morphine Overdoes to Slit Throat. Not that I don’t think it’s not possible,” he reassures them, "mostly because you are all insane,” he tacks on to the end. “It’s just that I’m gonna have to explain all this to a jury, and with those three potential causes of death, I can barely draw a Venn diagram… And juries love diagrams, so I’m gonna have to come up with something to show them.”

“Have you considered a histogram?” Kane asks, completely unhelpfully. “I know they have developed a somewhat questionable reputation in the chart and graph community, but there is really something to be said for…”

Miller just levels him with a glare that Bellamy is pretty sure could cut through bullet proof glass and Kane raises his hands in apparent surrender. “Just something to consider.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, bringing them all back to the task at hand. “Like most heartless psychopaths, Cage is nothing if not a determined little creep. It’s why he has several restraining orders again him. I don’t even know how many it is at this point to be honest.” She glances over at Miller, “Could you look that up for me actually? I’ve always wondered and whenever I try to ask him about it he gets all testy.” Miller just looks at her disapprovingly, but when she turns away Bellamy sees Miller write a quick note on his pad and yeah, he’s totally looking that up. They’re all curious about how many it could possibly even be now.

“Since his quality poisoning time with grandpa had been severely limited once we figured out what he was doing, we knew he was going to come up with another plan. He once called 73 ‘Kate Johnstons’ trying to find a girl who had already changed her phone number once because he wouldn’t stop harassing her. His brand of Relentless Creeper Bravado knows no bounds,” she says with a disgusted, despairing look on her face.

“We could never tell exactly when it was going to happen or how it was going to go down,” Clarke said. “But we knew it would be coming eventually. Grandpa knew he would have to help you when the time came, and he also knew that I would need to be there to have your back and cover anything that might look like your tracks in the aftermath. I mean, I had to make it look like I was throwing you under the bus and then hanging you out to dry. But I really was trying to cover your ass. It’s a great ass, I would have hated for anything to happen to it,” Clarke grins a little like the cat that ate the canary and Bellamy can’t catch himself before he starts to grin back. It’s been a long day alright, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep track of everything that’s happening and control his facial expressions at the same time, sue him.

God he would be a terrible murderer. There is just way too much going on, he would never have been able to keep all this straight.

“We knew we needed to make the plan, including the final cause of death, airtight so that no average cop would ever even consider you as a suspect. No offense,” she says, glancing over at Miller who just shrugs like he wouldn’t have even considered taking offense in the first place.

“So that’s when it was decided that Clarke would be the Moriarty to our Holmes and Watson,” Kane says with a flourish of his pipe.

“I want you to be the Watson to my Holmes on this Mr. Blake,” Kane had said a few days into the investigation. “As one of the last people to see Dante Wallace alive, you have a unique insight into his state of mind and what happened that frightful night… Whaddya say?”

“Sounds like a dream come true, sir.” Bellamy had deadpanned, biting his cheeks to keep from smiling when he heard Clarke inelegantly, and completely ineffectively, attempt to cover her snort of laughter from somewhere in the background.

Kane had just grinned at him. “The game is afoot, eh Watson?” he’d joked in his comically slow, exaggerated southern drawl. That time he was pretty sure Clarke didn’t even try to choke back her snickering.

“Wait…” Clarke says glancing up at Kane. “Would I technically be Moriarty or Irene?”

“Well,” Kane ponders, stroking that goddamn beard again. “You were technically good even thought you were pretending to be bad, so wouldn’t that make you Irene?”

“Yeah… But I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t, so wouldn’t that just make me Moriarty either way?”

“Guys,” Miller interrupts their exchange.

“Right. Sorry,” Clarke says, like she’s just remembering where she is and what’s happening. Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’s still deeply considering the question and will continue to do so for the time being.

“It was actually the slit throat that tipped me off in the first place,” Clarke says with a little shake of her head and a half smile, half grimace. “If grandpa was really going to commit suicide he would never do it by slitting his throat,” she explains.

“He refused to use it as the cause of death in any of his novels because he considered them ‘offensively unimaginative’ and ‘inelegantly pedestrian’,” Clarke says, doing her best Dante impression which, Bellamy must admit, is pretty good. “But it was an effective way to blatantly show that his death was definitely self-induced. So that’s how I knew that something had gone wrong,” Clarke explains. “And when you told me about the accidental morphine overdose I knew it had to be the King of Try Hard’s plan put in motion and that it was Go Time…. No pun intended,” she adds quickly.

Bellamy runs his hand over his face thinking about the Go board, which is probably locked up in evidence right now, covered in Dante’s blood.

“Apparently,” she continues with a look in her eyes that could only be described as ‘murder mode’, “grandpa Dante was taking too long to die for Cage, so he decided to expedite the process. He knew that grandpa would never be able to say no to his birthday cake at the party.”

It was his favorite, German chocolate. Cage special ordered a huge one from Dante’s favorite bakery just for his birthday Bellamy remembers sourly. “I can’t believe you lived through World War II just to keel over and die from a German induced sugar high,” Bellamy had teased him while Dante dug into his second piece.

“Maybe so,” Dante had grinned at him. “But what a way to go eh?” Bellamy had just chuckled and walked away. He remembers reminding himself to make sure Dante got his insulin that night, and to make sure he got the higher dosage.

He can’t smile or laugh about that memory now though. All he can do is remember the horror and heartbreak that came just a few short hours later. He can feel himself starting to panic as he remembered looking down at the tiny glass bottles that held Dante’s insulin and morphine prescriptions. The terror that almost made his heart stop when he realized he’d given Dante more than 200 milligrams of morphine instead of insulin — more than enough to be a fatal dose.

“Hey, hey, Bellamy you gotta breathe,” he hadn’t even registered her moving, but somehow Clarke was kneeling right in front of him. Bellamy sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, but somehow the oxygen still doesn’t reach his lungs and he starts gasping for air.

He remembers the horror that washed over him as he realized: he’d switched the medication vials; the way it grew and started squeezing his lungs and clawing at his throat as he discovered that the emergency Naloxone was missing from his med kit. He remembers the feeling of urgency washing over him while he quickly told Dante what he did and picked up the phone to dial 911. The confusion when Dante pulled the phone cord out of the wall telling Bellamy they needed to “not be too hasty” and “to think this through” all the while Bellamy desperately trying to tell him that he only had ten minutes.

“Ten minutes until what?” he’d asked blandly.

“Ten minutes until you’re dead Dante! Like, stone cold dead. No do overs, no take backs.” Bellamy remembers trying to yell, but what came out was high pitched, hysterical panic. “We need to get you an ambulance NOW!” He’d lunged for the phone again, but Dante stopped him.

“Bellamy, son, listen to me right now,” Dante had said in his most serious I Am Dante Wallace and I Am Not Fucking Around voice. “If it’s only ten minutes, I’m already as good as gone. There is no way an ambulance could ever get here in ten minutes. We are too far from a main road, too far back on the property.”

“Dante, listen… There is no time, you have to listen! We have to get you help!” Bellamy had begged him, not even trying to maintain any of his composure at that point.

“Stop it! Stop this, Bellamy!” Dante had said, his voice even more serious and harsh. “Don’t you understand? If what you said is true, there is no saving me. If you call for help, the authorities will find you and a dead body and you will be in serious trouble for this. Trouble that you may never recover from.”

“I don’t care!” Bellamy had yelled. “I’ll deserve it!” I killed you, he’d wanted to scream. You’ll be dead and it will be all my fault.

“Think Bellamy, think about this. What about your sister? If you are tied up in, or even bankrupted by, lawsuits and legal proceedings and very possibly end up having to serve jail time, who will take care of Octavia? Who will be there for her? Who will protect her?”

Bellamy had glared over at Dante, he knew O is Bellamy’s kryptonite. He’s right though, Bellamy can’t just leave his baby sister alone in the world, not when he’s the only family she has left. Not when she’s relying on him, when he’s putting a roof over her head and making sure she eats and sleeps and does all those things young adults seem to constantly forget to do. Not when he’s paying for her health insurance and car insurance and putting her through college and planning on helping her with grad school. All with the money he made from this job. Fuck. He can’t just abandon her, can’t bring her whole life crashing down around her. He can’t do to her what was done to him when their mother died.

Dante must have noticed the change in Bellamy’s demeanor because he’d placed his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders and said, “We have to get you out of this. If you go down for this, your family will be broken again, but we aren’t going to let that happen are we? You need to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I tell you… Will you do this Bellamy? This last thing. For me. For your family.”

He remembers trying to calm himself down and snap himself out of the overwhelming, panic-stricken haze that had overtaken his brain as he tried to pay attention to all of Dante’s instructions. He remembers the frenzied anxiety that he felt trying to remember what Dante had told him to do. Was it the drain pipe on the left or the right side of the house? Was he supposed to turn off the road before or after the tiered fountain?? What was the back-gate lock combination again??? Bellamy had known every single lock combination on the estate for years, but in that moment it had taken him at least six guesses. He remembers the frantic need to get as far away from the estate as quickly as he possibly could as he was driving home.

He remembers walking into his apartment and all the adrenaline that must have been keeping him upright completely disappearing. He remembers dragging himself into his room and lying in his bed all night, not sleeping a wink, just staring at his god awful beige colored bedroom ceiling, sobbing silent tears, a nifty little life hack he had picked up during childhood so as not to wake O who was usually sleeping in the room right next to his, if not in the actual bed right next to him. He remembers the freight train of emotions steamrolling over him as he realized that one of his best friends was dead. That he had killed one of the only true friends he’d ever had in this world.

The thing that he remembers most vividly of all though, was turning around to open the door to Dante’s study right after he’d stepped out to say “Fuck it. I’m calling you a goddamn ambulance, I don’t give a shit,” just in time to see Dante slitting his own throat.

“No, no, in through your nose and out through your mouth Bell,” Clarke says a little more urgently, jerking him back into the present moment. She grabs his hands and pushes her thumbs hard into the middle of his palms, trying to ground him. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose and think about something else, like Kane’s stupid pipe. I know how much you hate that thing.”

Kane’s expression momentarily turns from concerned to offended. When he opens his mouth Bellamy just knows he’s about to launch into a diatribe about how pipes are traditional and sophisticated and all that shit. The thought makes Bellamy snort out a laugh which interrupts his breathing efforts and he starts gasping again.

Then Kane comes to kneel next to Clarke and looks at Bellamy with the first serious, sincere expression he thinks he’s seen from the man since he met him. “Bellamy, son,” he starts in that ridiculous drawl that Bellamy is sure must be greatly exaggerated, if not totally fake, but doesn’t really know enough about Southern dialect to call him out on it.

“Bellamy listen to me,” Kane goes on, making Bellamy meet his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t kill him, son. You did not kill Dante or do anything that led to or resulted in his death. You are an innocent man, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy tries to listen to what they are saying to him, but it sounds like they are talking under water and he feels like he’s drowning.

Miller rushes back into the room with a styrofoam cup that he gives to Clarke who then thrusts it into one of his hands while keeping hold of the other. “Here,” she says decisively, like somehow this cup is going to single handedly subdue the sheer panic tsunami that’s still building up inside him. Maybe they just think he needs something to throw up in. When Bellamy looks down at the cup though, he sees that it's full of ice cubes. “Now start crunching and breathe through your goddamn nose.” He does what he’s told and can’t believe she remembers such a small, insignificant detail like that this is his mental breakdown self-medication of choice.

They had been at the Dropship Diner for about an hour or two, and it was during one of the lulls in their anxiety inducing and more than a little depressing conversation about What the Actual Fuck Happened to Dante that he'd noticed her staring at him.

“What?” he’d asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clarke had blinked like someone just woken her up from a coma and then shaken her head a little ruefully. “No,” then she’d smiled slyly at him. “Well… At least not anything you can fix.”

He’d snorted. “So just thinking about who you’re going to hire to slowly and painfully kill me to avenge your grandfather’s death then?” He’d only been about half teasing, give or take. Clarke was very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in that she could be downright terrifyingly intimidating when she wanted to be.

She’d cackled at that. “Definitely not,” she’d laughed. “I mean, why outsource a job I could easily do myself?” Bellamy wouldn’t put it past her to be honest, but her grin while she said it had made the would be threat completely ineffective, and he could feel some of his nerves finally begin to settle a bit.

“I’m honestly just wondering how in the world you still have any teeth,” she'd said, shaking her head. “Did you make some kind of dental deal with the devil? Can he do something about my molars? I mean, I know I clench my jaw all the time, but them chipping so often feels a little dramatic.”

He’d barked out a laugh. “What?”

“Well I’ve watched you chew your way through cup after cup of ice water with the hyper focus of some kind of robot beaver on meth, but I don’t think you’ve actually drank a single drop of actual water.”

Bellamy looks around him and sees that yep, there are about eleven half empty water glasses in front of him that he had sucked the ice out of with the tenacity of a Roomba.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Just a weird coping mechanism,” he’d told her. “I started doing it as a kid. We were too poor to get me on any actual anxiety medication or pay for me to do something constructive with all my nervous energy, like ice dance kickboxing or therapeutic underwater basket weaving or whatever it is you rich kids do.” She’d snorted at that but still nodded her head as if to say fair enough. “But between all my mom’s shitty, drug addict boyfriends and being my little sister’s primary caregiver while still trying to get good enough grades to not get kicked out of the charter school I was in, I had a lot of nervous energy. So yeah, ice chomping it was.”

“Wow,” she’d said. “That took a real hard left from cute childhood anecdote to tragic backstory really quickly. Never even saw the plot twist coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those,” he'd told her, trying for a joking tone but completely missing it, if the way her expression had softened was any indication.

"I know you do.” She'd said quietly.

“You know you’d make a perfect broody detective with a tragic childhood in one of my grandpa’s books,” she’d said lightly, obviously trying to bring the levity back to the conversation. “You know, the dramatic ho, asshole with a heart of gold type who says shit like ‘they work outside of the law, but on the side of justice’ .”

He’d just shaken his head and smiled ruefully at her before putting his head in his heads, thinking about how much he was going to fucking miss Dante and willing himself not to start crying again. He’d cried more in those past few days than he had in a long time.

“SO!” she’d said loudly all perk and pep, clapping her hands like an annoyingly upbeat cheerleader and jolting him out of his reverie. “What are we gonna do about the whole ‘you potentially being caught propelling down a drain pipe with the stealth of a cat thrown into a swimming pool a few minutes after grandpa’s overdose’ thing? Because even I gotta say… That one is gonna be a toughie.”

Of course she remembers, he muses, she’s Clarke. And even though he’d never admit it, he’s pretty sure he remembers every single small, insignificant detail he’d ever learned about her too. She’s Clarke after all, his Clarke. The thought comes with such startling clarity and certainty that it’s what finally manages to snap him all the way out of the deep, dark panic hole he had been digging.

He opens his eyes and sees that Kane has moved away giving him some space. But Clarke is still there, holding his hand tightly in hers and stroking her thumb gently over his knuckles. She’s looking up at him from her place on the floor; all soft, concerned blue eyes and earnest, encouraging heartbreaker smile and yeah, he thinks, definitely His Clarke.

“Did you hear what Kane said, Bell?” she asks gently. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do it.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to contradict her, but Miller interrupts him before he can say anything, “It’s true Mr. Blake. Dante Wallace’s official cause of death is in fact blood loss from a self-inflicted stab wound.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again to point out that Dante never would have cut his own throat if Bellamy hadn’t fucked up and given him a huge overdose of morphine, but Miller also interrupts him again. “The toxicology screens and blood tests conducted as part of Mr. Wallace's autopsy also showed that there was no morphine in his system at all, just his normal dosage of insulin. In fact, the only abnormality found on Mr. Wallace's tox screens was an irregularly high level of radon in his system. Inexplicably high, even for someone who had been undergoing regular treatments of radiation or chemotherapy for some time. You didn’t give Dante Wallace an overdose of morphine or any other drug.”

Bellamy just sits there, totally speechless and completely dumbfounded.

“Now that Wallace’s deathly has been unequivocally ruled a suicide, neither you, nor anybody else, is under investigation for his murder,” Miller says firmly.

“But,” he goes on and Bellamy feels his gut clench again. There’s always a but. “In anticipation of the potential event that Dante Wallace’s death was not a suicide, we started considering potential motives. With a man like Dante and his considerable fortune and assets, as I’m sure you could imagine, money was obviously the first thing we came up with.”

“Dante’s oldest child, Abigail Caroline Griffin had no financial motive to want him dead that we could find.” Miller said nodding at Clarke. “Nor could we find any financial motive for his other daughter Antonia Elizabeth Kingcade. Like, none. Absolutely. Whatsoever.” And damn, Bellamy knew that was the god’s honest truth.

Not only was Nia still getting alimony and child support for Ontari from her ex-husband, who somehow managed to make more money than she did, he knew that Nia regularly made a killing in her own career. Figuratively that is; although it’s totally possible Nia actually kills people as part of her job, he wouldn’t be that surprised. Bellamy never knew what exactly it was that Nia did honestly; every time he’d try to ask someone, including her own son, they would open their mouths and start to answer him only to say something like “huh” and scratch their heads trying to figure out if they just couldn’t remember or ever even knew in the first place. Eventually they would start to look like they were thinking so hard they might hurt themselves, so Bellamy would just say “never mind” and eventually gave up trying to find out. All he really knew about what Nia did for a living was that she did a lot of it and that she did it very well. Well enough to land herself a spot on the high ends of all those “Fortune 500,” “50 Most Influential Under 50,” “Lifestyles of the Super Rich and Powerful,” "Have Never Paid Their Federal Income Taxes," "We Could Probably End First World Poverty But Just Choose Not To," lists that magazines like Forbes and Time made year after year.

“His oldest son Cage Bradford Wallace however,” Miller says with a pained look on his face like the name is so douchey it offends him to have to say it. Bellamy will hand it to him that it is an offensively douchey name. It's almost like his parents knew he was going to be an offensive douche bag and named him accordingly, “had more motivation than a Richard Simmons workout video. Turns out that Wallace Jr. has been running his ‘investment firm’ less as a business and more as a personal piggy bank. We think he figured out a long time ago that it was going to catch up with him and that he was going to have to somehow magically replace all the money he’d stolen from his investors. But apparently the scheme he came up with the get that money was less magical and more... attempted homicidal.”

“We have a forensics team sweeping his home, his car, and his office right now as well as digging through all his trash,” Miller says. “And I’m not a betting man… At least not during the week anyway… But I am more than willing to bet we are going to find radon residue all over Cage’s entire life from the past year or so.”

The door swings open, interrupting Miller’s monologue, which he looks vaguely put out by. “Not probably, definitely.” It’s Detective Reyes, Miller’s partner and head of the forensics team on the case, and who is the same brand of disconcertingly intelligent and unnervingly observant that Clarke is.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been taking his fingerprints and DNA sample and collecting fingernail scrapings and whatever else it is forensic people collect. He was having a hard time focusing at that point, the panic fog still hanging thick over his brain.

“Okay, you’re all set!” She’d declared when she was finished with whatever it was she was doing. “I’ll let you get back to your cat.”

“My…?” he’d started, staring dumbly at her.

“Your… cat…,” she’d said slowly, like she was trying to explain the rules of Candy Land to a four year-old. “Orange Calico, I’m pretty sure… Might be a Tabby though.”

“How did you…?”

She’d reached over to pluck off a tiny orange hair Sphinx must have left on his jacket that his heavy-duty lint roller didn’t catch. Then she’d just grinned like a wolf and left him with a cheery “have a nice day!” and blown out of the room in a whirlwind as quickly as she came in.

“We also strongly suspect that Carl Emerson Wallace is a co-conspirator in his father’s death,” Kane adds flipping his little coin thingy again. Bellamy decides that he really doesn’t need to work both the pipe and the coin at the same time. One would be enough for him to maintain whatever vibe he’s going for. Bellamy still isn’t completely sure what that vibe is exactly, but at this point he’s a little too afraid, and mostly too tired, to ask.

“Not only did he also have a financial motive,” Reyes says letting a stack of file folders drop loudly onto the table and making everyone in the room jump, “being that he too was broke. But a search of his car turned up a small vial of Naloxone, which he has no business or reasonable explanation for having in the first place. And it will likely prove to be the emergency Naloxone missing from your kit.”

The emergency Naloxone Bellamy needed that night. The Naloxone that would have saved Emerson’s own father’s life. Bellamy can’t help but clench his jaw and tighten his hold on Clarke’s hand. Fucking Emerson, this would be the one time he manages to do something vaguely useful or slightly right.

“Okay. Ow. Bell,” Clarke interrupts his mental tirade by poking his leg. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but maybe we can negotiate about which of my appendages you get to rip off? Because I like my fingers, and I just got this manicure.”

Bellamy looks down to see that Clarkes fingers are literally turning white in his grip. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly letting go of her hand. He can’t help but chuckle, both at himself and over the fact that Clarke doesn’t know she’s basically his favorite person in any given room at any given time. Even, evidently, when she’s fake framing him for murder.

She just smiles ruefully at him and gives his hand one more warm, reassuring squeeze before making her way back to where she had been sitting on the other side of the table. He wants to drag her back over to him; to take her hand back in his and fold her under his arm and know she’s on his side again. But he doesn’t, he can maintain some level of chill. He can.

“We knew Cage would fuck up at some point,” Clarke says once she’s settled. “He might be a clever little douche canoe, but he’s not that smart. And his first major fuck up was thinking you would fuck up.”

"He switched are the vials in your med kit," Miller says when Bellamy looks at him questioningly, "or had someone switch them around for him, as the case may be."

Fucking Emerson.

"It was as simple as using the syringes in your kit to switch the liquids in the insulin and morphine medication vials, and then taking the emergency Naloxone as a precaution," Reyes explains. "So simple even an idiot like Emerson could apparently do it."

Bellamy might just end up in jail for murder after all before this is over, because he is going to fucking kill Emerson.

“Apparently, the one thing Cage didn’t count on was that, unlike him, you are actually competent at your job,” Kane says pulling several small vials out of his bag on the floor next to him and setting them on the table in front of Bellamy. "Not just competent; dedicated, skilled, exceptional, unerringly so it turns out. And for that reason, you did not give Dante an overdose, you did not use the incorrect medication. You switcherooed the switcheroo."

Bellamy can't even be annoyed at Kane's word choice, because he is genuinely to stunned to think straight.

“That’s impossible,” he manages to choke out. “I was there… I know what I… I know I gave him an overdose.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kane counters. “Here, I’ll show you… Hand me that vial of morphine.”

Without thinking Bellamy grabs the bottle of morphine from the table and hands it to Kane, who takes it from him grinning. “If you look Mr. Blake, you’ll see that I have taped over the labels of all these medication vials, and the vials themselves are identical… So how did you know this was the morphine?”

“I just knew,” Bellamy says shocked as hell and honestly surprised he can talk.

“Yes, you just knew. You knew because there are the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between all these liquids. You knew because you had administered these exact same medications to Dante Wallace steadfastly and without fail every night for years. You knew because you'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. You gave him the correct medication because you are a good care giver.”

“Then Dante was…?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, but yes,” Kane says sadly. “Mr. Wallace was perfectly fine. His blood was normal. The cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some slight property damage in the form of a broken drainpipe and a few amateur, albeit impressive, theatrics. In fact, if he had listened to you and called the ambulance, he would be alive today.”

Bellamy swears his heart actually breaks in that moment. He can feel the sharp, relentless pain starting in his chest and radiating through his entire body as he puts a hand over his mouth and chokes out a strangled sob.

“Yeah,” Clarke says sounding and looking absolutely miserable. “You would think he would have learned at some point to just listen to you,” she tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Anyway,” she says curtly, quickly wiping a tear off her cheek like it’s personally offending her. “Once we found out that grandpa had left you literally everything, Cage was even more likely to start getting sloppy and desperate. But what we couldn’t have happen was for us to wait for Cage to dig his own grave and have you go down in the meantime. And I just so happened to be the perfect scapegoat,” a little bit of her grin coming back. “The greedy, self-obsessed granddaughter whose more than willing to hang ‘the help’ out to dry so she can get her perfectly moisturized hands on her share of granddaddy dead and dearest’s dough.”

It’s in that moment that Bellamy actually understands just how immeasurably huge of a gamble Clarke took in risking her ass for this. Sure, it was a calculated risk, with several elaborate fail safes and back up plans, but still. As he begins to truly appreciate what Clarke had done, what she had been willing to do, all for him, to keep him out of trouble. The guilt settles over him like a dark, heavy cloud. He’s spent days hating her. He has said some truly heinous things about her in anger. He had no second thoughts about believing the absolute worst of her. She’s supposed to be his friend. He should have known she would never truly do something like try to frame him for murder she committed. Hell, he should have known that she wasn’t even capable of committing any type of murder at all, much less the one of a person she loved. Clarke could never in any time, dimension, or universe do anything like that. Not his Clarke.

She must notice the heaviness settle over him because when he opens his mouth to start apologizing to her, he’s not above begging really, she puts her hand up and says “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t… I also know exactly what you’re thinking, and stop.” Honestly he’s sure she really does know, she always knows somehow.

“Yeah sure it was risky,” she says with a shrug, like possibly going down for first degree murder is about as potentially risky as buying a lottery ticket. “But, given the fact that I didn’t actually kill grandpa Dante, they never would have been able to come up with much more than a pretty weak, completely circumstantial case against me… Again, no offense,” she says to Miller who just nods as if to say ‘well, it’s not untrue.’

“And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford adequate legal representation who could have totally gotten me out of it. I mean, we might have had to sell one of the summer homes, but it’s like they always say: victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says with a completely straight face.

That does startle a bark of a laugh out of him, but the guilt is still there. It’s pinched between his eyebrows and clenched in his fists and sitting heavy in his gut. He knows he won’t be free of it until he really gets to talk to her. Just the two of them. Together. But this clearly isn’t the time or the place to do it. There’s already way too much going on.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Miller interrupts, startling Bellamy. He had genuinely forgotten Miller was there, or that they were in a police station, and pretty much everything else that was happening. Clarke tends to have that effect on people. Well, mostly him, that he knows of; but he’s sure there are others somewhere. “Why not just tell Bellamy all of this?”

“Kane wasn’t just being figurative or facetious when he said Bellamy was ‘too honest’ to be in on it,” Clarke says. “He is literally incapable of being a convincing enough liar for us to have told him anything about it. He has an unfortunately obvious tell when he tries to lie.”

Ah, so Dante told her about the stutter. Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be surprised really, especially now that he knows Clarke was Dante’s ghost writer. And Clarke was observant as hell, it was totally possible that she just picked up on it herself. He tried not to make it a habit to lie to his employers, but when you are working for the impossibly rich and impossible to please, sometimes it’s necessary. He could usually make it through a quick fib without his voice shaking too much, but he knew it was still noticeable if you were paying attention or looking for it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a little nervous habit I picked up during childhood.” He knows that’s putting it very, very lightly. He’s not sure exactly how much Dante would have told Clarke about how Bellamy developed the “stammers when he tries to lie” thing. Probably not much, considering the fact that it’s not a particularly fun or entertaining story to tell.

It had started with one of his mom’s shitty boyfriends, who happened to be O’s dad, which came with the unfortunate side effects of him not just being around for a while, but actually living with them for an extended period of time. While all of Aurora Blake’s boyfriends had been shitty humans in general, this one’s particular brand of shiftiness was a drug induced one. The guy, whose name Bellamy refuses to remember on principle, was a crazy, paranoid tweaker who had decided that 10 year-old Bellamy was somehow the root cause of all his problems and the bane of his entire existence.

When Aurora was at work he would yell and scream and threaten Bellamy for hours on end, sometimes keeping him up until the early hours of the morning when his mom had to work the night shift. He would sit Bellamy down at the kitchen table and pace around the kitchen, using the “bad cop” style of interrogation that Bellamy recognized from those crime shows he definitely didn’t secretly watch while his mom was at work or he was at a friend’s house. He would accuse Bellamy of lying to him, of stealing from him, of spying on him, having him followed, trying to take over his mind, trying to body snatch him. Of being everything from a Ded to a demon haunting the apartment to a rare alien species trying to take over the world and make humans their slaves.

Eventually he started throwing in threats about hurting his Mom and O, who was still just an infant at the time, and Bellamy got so terrified of the dude’s escalating behavior that he just started making things up and telling him what he wanted to hear. Typically, this would appease him and he would calm down for a while until he shot up again and the process started all over. Bellamy would admit to anything, confess anything, say literally anything just to make it stop.

He got so used making things up that he almost couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was lies anymore, except for one thing that kept them apart for him. Bellamy would try to come up with stories so quickly and talk faster than he could think and get so terrified and nervous that whenever he came up with a lie, he would stutter, desperately making things up as he went, just trying to get it out before the yelling and screaming started all over again. It started happening with other people and in normal, everyday conversations too. And before he knew it, he couldn’t even tell a simple fib without breaking out into cold sweats and stammering uncontrollably.

That had gone on for what was probably way too long, until it eventually escalated into the shitty boyfriend demanding Aurora kick Bellamy out because he was actually some kind of government drone sent to spy on them. For what reason the government would give enough of a fuck about this deadbeat, drug head to send a drone to spy on him, Bellamy could never figure out. And it was honestly kind of a moot point anyway because Aurora had ultimately refused, obviously. While she had horrible taste in men and difficulties holding down a job, she made for damn sure that no one fucked with her kids.

It was after that incident that Aurora sat Bellamy down and explained to him that while she counted on him to look after his sister, he also needed to look out for himself. That she wanted to look out for the both of them, so she needed to know when someone treated either of them badly, or he thought someone was treating her badly. That if anyone ever hurt or scared him or his sister, or gave him a bad feeling, he could tell her and they would be gone, no questions asked. And to Bellamy’s surprise she actually kept that promise for the remainder of her life. But unfortunately, “the rest of her life” would only be a few more short years. He lost a lot of things when his mom passed: he lost her, he lost his sister for a while, he lost his home, and he lost any small sense of stability and security he’d had in his life. But the stammer stubbornly refused to take a hike. Now it’s just a part of his everyday life, a quirky personality trait. At best, it’s a fun, if not kind of bizarre, party trick. And at worst, it’s some stubbornly residual PTSD resulting from a depressingly tragic back story that Bellamy probably should have gotten years of therapy for. And hey, now that he’s loaded, he can actually afford it.

Dante had found it absolutely fascinating. He even used an adaptation of it in one of his books. One of the main characters in the novel was a young woman who had a “regurgitative reaction to mistruthing” or, in other words, she blew chunks every time she even thought about telling a lie. Bellamy hadn’t particularly cared for that rather unflattering iteration of his condition. But apparently Dante’s publisher’s thought it was inspired and his readers went absolutely nuts for it, so he just got over himself.

“But grandpa Dante didn’t need to know any of that to be sure that you were the right person to trust to leave in charge of his estate,” Clarke says. “I still can’t believe how genuinely shocked some of them were that he would leave you something… Leave you everything even… I saw it coming honestly.”

“See my grandpa knew you Bellamy Blake. Even when he found out he couldn’t trust his own family, his own children, even we he thought he could no longer trust his own judgment, he knew he could trust you. He knew you wouldn’t sell his stories or his company off to whoever was the highest bidder like Nia wanted to, that you would make sure it went into the hands of someone who would respect his vision. He knew you would never do something as cruel as leave Maya in the lurch with her blood transfusions, but would be able to keep Emerson from seeing ‘one red dime’.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at Clarke’s use of one of her grandfather’s favorite dramatic epitaphs; but at the same time, he feels his gut clench at the memory of the phone call he got from Maya the other day while he and Clarke were sitting in the Dropship Diner, staring at what had to have been at least their fourth pot of coffee.

“Hey Bellamy,” she had sounded nervous, her voice strained.

“Maya? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No… I was just wondering if you had decided what you were going to do yet? With grandpa’s estate? Are going to keep it or…?” she trailed off at the end.

“I don’t know yet Maya,” he’d told her. “I’m still in shock my head is spinning, I can’t even…”

“I think you need to give it back,” she interrupted him in a harsh tone she’d never used with him before. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do Bellamy. This family… We were always good to you. We’ve always been really good to you and your sister… It wouldn’t be right just taking everything from us like that… It was shitty of grandpa to put you in this position and I think you really just need to…”

She’s rambling, her voice is getting even more high pitched, it sounds like she’s panicking. Somethings not right, he can tell. “Maya, slow down okay. Just… Tell me what’s going on.”

He hears her choke back something like a hysterical sob.

“Shitgoddamnitfuck,” she sounds even worse. “I can’t do this. God, I’m sorry Bell! I’m so fucking sorry I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he tries to keep his voice level, nonchalant, reassuring. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“My dad can’t afford my treatment on his own.” Bellamy swears he can feel his balls drop and a cold dread settles over him. “My dad is… He’s broke Bell… He can’t pay for them, grandpa was paying for everything and now he’s not and I don’t know what will happen if I stop being able to get my treatment Bellamy, I don’t even know if I’ll…”

Bellamy knows: she’ll die. Maybe not right away, but eventually, her condition will turn from manageablely life threatening to undoubtedly fatal. Without the ridiculously expensive medication she has to take and her bi-weekly dialysis and transfusions, her blood will start clotting, her immune system will stop being able to fight off infection, her bone marrow will break down, and her body will collapse in on itself. He’s not a doctor or nurse, but he’s been around enough sick people to know what all the big words and scary jargon add up to.

He was there a few years back when the Wallaces called one of their rare Official Family Meetings and were told that Maya’s aplastic anemia had progressed to full blown paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. He was there when Dante called in doctor after doctor and flew in experts and specialists from around the world to get 2nd and 3rd and eventually 12th and 13th opinions. He was there when Maya would stay over at the estate for days at a time, not wanting to be home alone while her step-dad went off on one of his “business trips,” (aka his week-long benders in Vegas or Miami or where ever there wasn't currently a warrant out for his arrest for some kind of misdemeanor). He was there when Maya would break down and crack under the depression and the fear of dying. And he was there when Dante would cry on his shoulder over the helplessness he felt that, even with all his fame and fortune and infinite resources, he couldn’t fix this for her.

God, it was just like Emerson to blow through all their money without giving a second thought to his 16 year-old step daughter and her life threatening condition for which she needed continuous care for the foreseeable future. Bellamy never got the chance to know Ada Vie, Maya’s mom, very well; but at least he knew she loved and took care of her daughter. He could never figure out why the fuck Emerson got married in the first place, especially to a woman who already had a kid. He had no interest in being a husband and even less interest in being a dad. Bellamy had always slightly suspected he married Ada for her own family money, and now that he knows Emerson has blown through it all, it’s not even a suspicion anymore. Ada had died suddenly a few years after they got married, and after the dust settled Emerson was left with a step-daughter and dependent whose share of her mother’s estate he controlled and had apparently plowed over like a goddamn 18-wheeler on the interstate.

“Hey listen to me Maya,” she’d been crying in earnest at that point, still apologizing for trying to guilt and manipulate him. “No matter what I decide, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t let it, I would never do that,” he’d promised her. And he’d meant it. Dante was always more of a father figure to Maya than Emerson ever was, and Bellamy knew beyond all shadow of any possible doubt that Dante would have wanted Maya to be taken care of.

He hadn’t been able to figure out why Dante hadn’t left anything to Maya or any instructions about her care in his Will, but now it was clear. Maya was underage and would be for the next two years. Until she turned 18 her legal guardian would have control over the funds left to her as well as if and how they were used. And that legal guardian would have been Emerson. After finding out that Emerson had not only been scamming him, but also using Maya’s inheritance from her mother as his own personal piggy bank, there was no way Dante would have ever trusted his son with this.

“The only one of his kids Dante really worried about cutting out of the will was my mom. But in the end, he knew she would respect his decision like she always did, even when she didn’t understand it. Besides,” Clarke grins, “it’s not like she was left high and dry or anything. My dad left her with a pretty cushy set up when he died.”

Jacob Griffin, also known as Mr. Go-Green; the environmental engineer responsible for most of the prototypes used for the U.S.’s eco-friendly technology. The man who helped spearhead sustainable energy as the world knew it. Yeah, Bellamy could imagine his wife wouldn’t have much to worry about after he died, and his daughter too.

As if Clarke could tell what he’s thinking she adds, “I mean obviously he set me and Madi up nicely too. But honestly, I do pretty well for myself… Who knew that working as a research assistant and ghost writer for one of the most famous crime novelists in history would be so lucrative?!” There’s that smirk of hers again. This time he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling back as he feels the last bit of the knot that’s been in his stomach since Dante died finally begin to fade.

“We figured Roan wouldn’t be too much of a problem either since he hates this family’s money on principle and probably wouldn’t have even taken his part of Nia’s inheritance in the first place. Plus,” she goes on, “he would be on the opposite side of his mother and sister purely out of spite. Apparently he’s not hurting for cash either,” she adds. “Did you know that he owns the largest and most lucrative chain of non-medicinal marijuana dispensaries in the North Eastern U.S? Roan, an entrepreneur… Who knew right?!?”

Bellamy actually did know that; Roan told him once while they were commiserating over some of Dante’s good whiskey. What he didn’t know was that Roan was keeping it under wraps or not telling his family though, apparently the combination of top shelf liquor and good weed makes Roan chatty. Or maybe it was just Bellamy that made Roan chatty. Bellamy has that effect on people, as it turns out. Yet another one of his sparkling personality traits that seems to get him in predicaments like the one he is in now.

“I’m kinda jealous of how much he’s winning at life honestly,” Clarke groans. “God… How did the cousin who thought he could practice Santaria and unironically wore dreads and spent multiple summers following Black Sabbath around on their world tours end up being the one with a successful career and functional relationship?”

“According to E!News he’s dating that insanely hot, Icelandic supermodel with no last name. God what is her name?” Clarke starts tapping her head like she’s trying to poke her brain into submission. “Gecko…? Ghetto…? Techno…?”

“Echo.” Miller says in a patronizing tone implying that not only Clarke, but everyone on this planet, in this world should be aware of the information.

“Yes!” Clarke cries out, snapping her fingers at him and making Bellamy jump, “ECHO! Oh my god thank you, that was going to drive me nuts!”

Miller nods at her like he’s willing to let it go this time, but he won’t tolerate such an infraction again.

“Pft you would know that,” Reyes chimes in with a scoff. “I swear, for a dude who is strictly dickly, you are more knowledgeable about supermodels than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a walking Hot Chick Encyclopedia.”

“Don’t you have something to be analyzing with some super overpriced high techy-tech thing that we paid way too many hard working, taxpayer dollars for somewhere?” Miller asks her wryly.

“Roger that, chief.” She says with a mock salute.

“So nice to meet you by the way!” she says to Kane on her way out the door. “I’m a huge fan… You’re so much taller in person than I thought you’d be.”

Kane beams radiantly at her and places his hand over his heart like that was the most touchingly gratifying compliment he had ever received. And with that, Reyes breezes out of the room, flicking her perfect pony tail behind her.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, presumably finished with her lamenting and ready to get back to business. “Grandpa knew that those of us he actually wanted to leave money to didn’t actually need it or honestly didn’t give enough of a fuck to try to get our hands on it. My mom and I are set. We both have plenty of savings, we both work, and we’ll have no problem making sure Madi goes to good schools and can take up all the ridiculously expensive and completely useless hobbies she wants.” Bellamy snorts at that and Clarke grins again.

“Roan and his inhumanly hot girlfriend are off conquering the weed market, one pot lollipop at a time, and Maya’s medical care would be taken care of. You were the perfect choice.

“But unfortunately,” Kane says gravely, “that also made you even more of a target for Cage.”

“Idiot kept his cool for about a day and a half after you were released before he tried to hire a hitman,” Miller scoffs.

Bellamy startles at that, “He what?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Miller says waving him off, a scooch too nonchalant about Bellamy's life hanging in the balance for his liking. “We had his phone tapped and got a warrant for his arrest as soon as he made the call.”

“He also just so happened to call an undercover federal agency posing as some kind of hitman concierge service. It’s like he Googled ‘hitmen in my area’ and then just called the first number that showed up. Pleeb,” Miller scoffs again, like the murder for hire business should be easier to figure out than a single serve Kuerig.

“He was brought in about an hour after you were,” Miller says, looking down as gets a message on his phone. “And apparently Emerson is being brought in right now, so I need to go deal with that and you two,” he says pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, “are free to go.”

As Miller is walking out of the room he says over his shoulder, “if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call Detective Reyes... Or Lieutenant Pike… Or Sargeant Byrne… Or even Petty Officer Jordan if you’re feeling desperate... Basically anyone but me to be honest. After this amount of white people nonsense, I’m going on sabbatical.” And with that he’s gone, letting the door slam behind him.

Kane says something about needing to greet his “adoring public” and fixes his bowtie as he starts to strut, all pomp, circumstance, and perfectly coiffed hair, towards the doors at the front of the station, while Bellamy follows Clarke as she heads to more discreet back exit.

Standing in the back parking-lot, she puts on her big floppy hat and hilariously huge sunglasses and Bellamy can’t help but remember the first time he ever encountered Clarke Griffin. It was right after he’d started working for Dante; Clarke had pulled up to the house in her latest model Mercedes Benz looking like she’d traipsed straight out of a Lily Pulitzer catalog, all impeccably dressed, and flawlessly made up, and perfectly curled blonde beautifulness. She’d skipped up the front steps announcing that her spring break trip to Cabo was canceled so she was here to visit her grandfather.

“You’re new,” she’d said, looking at him over the lenses of her ridiculously, unnecessarily large sunglasses that she was still wearing inside.

“I usually go by Bellamy,” he’d responded flatly.

Clarke had grinned at him like she approved, even though he didn’t give a single shit about getting her approval. He swears, he did not.

Then she’d stuck out her hand and said “I’m Clarke Griffin, the prodigal, heathen granddaughter.”

“Heathen?” he’d asked her raising an inquisitive eyebrow and shaking her hand.

“Feminist, agnostic, bisexual, liberal Democrat takes way longer to say,” she’d said, still smiling widely. “Nice to meet you.”

He’d had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into keeping a straight face and not give into her grin. “Uh huh,” he’d said “your grandpa is in his study.”

After that he’d though she was just another dumb, ditzy, blonde, rich princess who had no idea how privileged she was and did things like blow wild amounts of money on fancy cars and trips to Cabo and whatever else it was that princesses spent their money on because she could.

While he’d figured out very quickly that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the dumb, ditzy, and ignorant parts (and about the spoiled princess thing too, admittedly. But he refused to give up the nickname on principle because it got such a rise out of her and riling her up was one of his favorite pastimes. He might have never gotten past the whole “pony tail pulling” stage of flirtation, but he’s working on it. Mostly), he was right about Clarke doing things just because she could.

She definitely did things like blow money on exorbitantly expensive shoes and even more expensive booze; and take last minute trips on jets and yachts to the Hamptons or the Virgin Islands or wherever it is rich people go when they need to “unwind” from their completely stress free lives; and eat caviar on crackers as an “afternoon snack;” and get the same kind diamond infused nail polish manicures that Beyoncé does; and always have the latest models of cars and computers and even a moped that one time. All because she could.

But she also did things like give thousands of dollars and hours of her time to countless charities; and maintain multiple scholarships for low income students interested in STEM and sustainable energy in her dad’s name; and spend her winter vacations working at places like a Sri Lankan elephant orphanage or a battered women’s shelter in El Salvador; and buy staggeringly over the top generous birthday and Christmas gifts for Bellamy and Octavia like all new stainless steel kitchen appliances for their apartment because the ones they had were “tragic,” and those stupidly expensive running shoes O had had her eye on along with a new iPod because “She can’t run without an iPod, Bell. She’s not an animal”, and the annotated first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey that her book dealer managed to find (because of course she had a book dealer), all of which she apparently got “great deals on” and refused to return because they were all conveniently “final sale;” and pay for everyone’s meals and bar tabs and cover charges and Uber rides and movie tickets and concert seats and amusement park passes and, a few notable times, their hospital bills without even thinking twice or accepting a word of thanks or asking for a penny in return. Just because she could.

He’d asked her once, about the gifts. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he’d said quickly. “Obviously I do. A lot. Like, so much. I’m just kind of wondering… ya know… why?“

“Because you deserve them,” she’d answered immediately without looking up from whatever she was viciously typing on her phone in her latest Twitter fight with whichever woefully misguided, conservative, alt right, incel, neck-beard, dude bro had dared to take her on that week.

Then she’d tilted her head up at him with her little smirk he was a completely normal amount of obsessed with. “And because I can.”

Once he’d gotten to know the real Clarke, he still couldn’t help but laugh and heckle her about her over dramatic eye and head wear that made her look like a widow visiting her convict pen pal turned clandestine lover in prison where he was serving time for tax fraud. She is absolutely one of those ridiculously over the top rich people and she absolutely knows it. But her ridiculousness is far surpassed by her kind-hearted, earnest generosity. That was just Clarke.

His Clarke.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Clarke exclaims, reaching into her absurdly large purse, which he must say goes perfectly with her attire. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it to him. “Grandpa Dante wanted me to make sure this got to you. I mean, it’s technically yours anyway since he quite literally left you everything,” she smirks at him again. “But he especially wanted to make sure this made it directly into your hands.”

Their fingers brush as she hands him the envelope and instead of pulling away she twists his fingers into his. “Look Bell,” she starts awkwardly. “I know this was all really fucked up, like beyond fucked up, Kardashian levels of fucked up even… But I just want you to know I am so sorry.”

“More sorry than words can say. For every thing... And I totally get it if you can’t trust me anymore or don’t want to be friends with me,” she starts rambling. “I mean I probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me either after this. Honestly if I could ghost myself right now…”

Bellamy just chuckles and tugs on her hand until she’s close enough for him to press his lips to hers. It’s a totally chaste, 8th grade style kiss. But still, she lets out this little sigh against his lips; and if they weren’t literally standing in the parking lot of a police station right at this moment, the situation definitely would have escalated from tolerable PDA to public indecency.

Instead he just pulls his lips away but keeps his forehead pressing against hers. He opens his eyes and finally feels relaxed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’d been wondering where his ability to breath normally had run off to. Figures it had been with her the whole time.

“I’m trying to come up with something really smooth to say right now,” he says, “but I’ve been dealing with a little stress lately so I’m kind of off my game.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, eyes still closed, more than a little breathless he thinks proudly. “You’ve never been smooth, I don’t know why you would start now.”

He starts to object that he is the smoothest, but she just pulls his mouth back down to hers and he figures there are much better things his lips can be doing at this current juncture. And when she throws both her arms around his neck to get him closer he finds himself yet again wishing the nearest building weren’t literally full of cops so that he could press her up against the side of it.

When they pull away for air he can’t help but think about how damn smug as shit Dante would be about being instrumental in pushing Bellamy and Clarke together. This probably wasn’t quite how he imagined it going down, but still.

Dante had never outright pressured them, or come out and said they should go on a date, or anything of the sort. No, Dante knew his granddaughter needed to go at her own pace, knew she need time and space to grieve and move on after girlfriends’ death, and, most importantly, knew she would vehemently resist being ordered or pushed into anything. Instead he would find small, yet absurdly unsubtle ways, to nudge them towards each other, to suggested how they would be good together.

Sometimes it was Dante all of the sudden “feeling a tired spell” or “losing his appetite” when he had arranged for his personal chef to make a nice lunch for the three of them, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone out on the patio, rolling their eyes and chuckling awkwardly into their salmon club sandwiches and sweet iced teas. Other times he would request Bellamy go pick up Clarke when she would work for him during the summer do he wouldn’t have to “wait around for Lincoln or bother him with such a short trip when Bellamy could easily do it,” all while Lincoln, Dante’s own personal chauffeur, sat approximately 20 feet away on the patio where he had been all morning, snorting behind his newspaper. And then there were the times when Dante would have an oddly specific, and usually vaguely ridiculous and completely unnecessary, errand he needed Clarke to run at the exact same time Bellamy would be running his own errands for Dante, and “oh well wasn’t that convenient that they could just go together?!”

Typically, Dante’s antics were met with raised eyebrows, unimpressed expressions, and the occasional snort or sigh from both of them. They had only ever acknowledged it between them once while they were on their way to Saks one summer a few years ago. Dante had decided he needed Clarke to pick out some new swim trunks for him for the pool he literally never used because “she had the best taste in seasonal attire” and needed Bellamy to go with her to make sure the material of whatever she picked out “wasn’t too scratchy.”

“I can’t decide,” she’d said flatly, “if I’m more offended by him thinking he’s actually fooling us with this, or by his clear belief in my total and complete lack of game.”

Bellamy had snorted while desperately trying to come up with something to say about how he thought she had great game, the best game ever, like Shaq level game, without sounding like a total moron when Clarke’s phone had pinged with another text notification.

“He said he also needs flip flops,” she’d said raising an eyebrow. “But the ones without ‘the thingies that go between your toes’.”

“God, what does it say about me that I actually know exactly what he’s talking about?” Bellamy had groaned in response.

She’d looked over at him and they had both burst out laughing. The moment may have been ruined, but he had always been of the opinion that laughing with Clarke Griffin was a moment in and of itself. She didn’t really, truly, genuinely laugh all that often. She would usually cackle or snort, and there was the occasional chuckle, but the only person who seemed to have the innate talent for well and truly cracking Clarke up was her grandfather. Bellamy would hear them both losing it over something or other behind the closed doors of Dante’s study when she would come visit him or do whatever work it was she did for him over the summer. It seemed like someone had taught Clarke at some point in her life that she was only allowed a finite amount of happy and carefree moments, so he always felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he got to witness one; and being the cause of one was even better.

He opens his eyes and sees that right now she’s wearing the biggest, brightest, most beautiful, bonafide Clarke Griffin smile he’s ever witnessed, and he’s more than a little smug that he put it there. They stand there for a minute, just breathing each other in, until she pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Well,” she says giving him one last peck on the lips. “You’re about to have to answer an entire metric shit ton of questions from the media who will probably be here in about 3 minutes and 47 seconds, give or take. And while I usually love a good press conference, I haven’t showered in about 3 days and there is no amount of dry shampoo in the world that could tame the epic tragedy that is currently my hair.”

She steps out of his arms and starts digging around in her Mary Poppins bag for her keys. “Wait...” he says incredulously, “you’re leaving me? To face them all alone?! Clarke, how am I supposed to give a press conference?!? You know I can barely even talk on the phone!”

“Oh Bell,” she says patting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re rich now… Rich people can do anything!”

“You’re a dick!” Bellamy calls as she starts walking towards her car.

“You know you love me!” she yells back and yeah, he definitely does. He’s not gonna tell her right this second or anything, but he does.

She blows him an exaggeratedly loud kiss as she hops into the driver’s seat and revs her engine obnoxiously as she speeds away and God he’s totally gonna marry her, he thinks grinning like an idiot, he has no doubt. He’s going to be the shameless, boy toy, arm candy, trophy husband of one of the coolest chicks in the entire world and it’s going to be awesome.

It’s not until hours later when Bellamy gets home that night (gets to his new home holy fucking shit), after Cage and Emerson’s very public arrests, after the press conference clearing Bellamy and Clarke of all wrong doing, after posing with Kane for an endless number of photographs. and after answering what had to be a floppily trillion questions for the media, that Bellamy remembers the envelope. He pulls it out of his bag and slowly opens the seal. Inside is a thick stack of papers with a letter on top in Dante’s messy scrawl.

Dear Bellamy,

Thank you for being a kindred spirit, a loyal friend, a kind heart, and an excellent listener these past few years. And thank you, most recently, for being most inspiring muse yet.  It felt only fair and just for you to be the first to read the completed debut novel of my newest series. I think it has some real potential, but it’s up to you whether or not it will continue.  I trust that you will find someone with the perfect head for it and leave it in the right hands.   

Best,  Dante H. Wallace

Bellamy sets down the letter and looks at what he now realizes is the title page of a manuscript... The Casefiles of Odysseus Private Investigations & Detective Augustus B. Blake  Book 1: The Gold That Killed King Midas.

 On the next page he finds a dedication: for C and B, the head and the heart. Bellamy settles back into his new arm chair in front of his new fireplace in his new study and gets comfortable.  

Prologue: Augustus had a sister, her name was Octavia…

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke january joy #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #i genuinely cannot believe i finished this on time #it's probably FULL of mistakes but i'll fix them later bc my head is about to explode #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #nathan miller #marcus kane #modern au #the 100 au #knives out au #character death tw #panic attack tw #suicide mention tw #cancer mention tw

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