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five-rivers · 5 years ago

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Doctor

The final continuation of Science and Stuck!

Jack and Maddie had never been in the Ghost Zone before, and they watched with fascination as the camera they had attached to Phantom dipped and bobbed, weaving through a complex maze of impossible and decaying architecture. Really, this whole endeavor would be worth it just for this.

But they'd already learned so much more. The interaction between Phantom and the box-obsessed ghost had been enlightening, giving insight to why Phantom did not simply destroy weaker ghosts who trespassed on his territory. They hadn't believed that ghosts could make deals like that.

It put Phantom's fights in a very different perspective. He might be coordinating with the ghosts he 'fought' to make himself look good. After all, if he could bargain with that ghost, why not others?

Admittedly, that theory was a bit out there, but it was plausible.

They had also been interested to see that Phantom was aware of the camera and its function. They had designed it to bond with the ghost's body, to trick it into accepting it as part of itself. They had assumed that the ghost's mind (such as it was) would be similarly fooled. But, it wasn't. Phantom appeared to have understood the camera almost immediately and had attempted to remove it.

Phantom swooped around another twisted staircase. Maddie tapped on the glass screen.

"I wonder what he's trying to hide," she said.

"Well, we'll see it sooner or later," said Jack, cutting off a corner of his emergency fudge. "There's no way he'll be able to get the camera off." He snorted. "Even if there was a ghost intelligent enough, they don't have the equipment."

Maddie nodded. "I suppose it's just frustrating. All this time, trying to figure him out, and now we have to wait even longer." She sighed. "Him knowing it's a camera is going to skew our results, too. He'll be on his best behavior while people are watching. We already know that from his whole hero routine."

On the screen, Phantom turned a corner, and the Fentons were treated to a view of a vast, open expanse. Floating islands charted their own paths against a green and swirling sky. Clouds of ectoplasmic mist scudded along the not-horizon. Disembodied doors flew by without rhyme or reason.

The picture shifted from side to side as Phantom took in his surroundings. It stopped, lingering on an oddly skull-shaped island for several long seconds before Phantom turned away.

Danny had known the portal the Box Ghost had shown him was close to Skulker's island, but he hadn't quite realized how close. It was a good landmark, he knew exactly how to get to the Far Frozen from here, but he didn't really want to run into Skulker.

He didn't want to deal with any of the ghosts he usually fought with his parents watching, and maybe listening, through the camera. They might not actively try to expose him, but a number of them were too comfortable with shouting out things like-

"I'll wrap Ember's gifts with your pelt, halfa whelp!"

Ugh. Like that.

Danny twisted and froze a tracking missile, not watching as it began to arc to his left, caught in the orbit of the staircase maze Danny had just left. He sent a few blasts at Skulker.

"I think you should find something to put in the gifts first!" he shouted. "Unlike last year. I heard you were begging MP3 players off of Technus minutes-" he cut off to dodge a net. He hated nets. Why did Skulker even bother with them, when he was trying to kill Danny, anyway? "Minutes before the party!"

"Like you're one to talk! You completely destroyed the party!"

"Hey, blame Ghostwriter for that one!"

"And you don't understand! You don't even have a girlfriend!"

"Well, neither will you for much longer if you don't come up with better present ideas!"

The fight had wound down into the two ghosts just yelling at each other. For all the violence Skulker regularly subjected him to, Danny sometimes wondered if Skulker actually wanted to skin him, or mount his head on a wall, or any of the other threats he belted out, or if he just wanted the thrill of the chase.

"Can't you just give me a break for once? I don't have time for this!"

"Oh, please, you have all the time in the world, whelp!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, what with you being a hal-"

Danny flew over and clamped a hand over Skulker's mouth. "Not another word," he hissed. "We're being watched."

"What do you-?"

Danny cut him off, pointing significantly at the camera. Skulker immediately started laughing.

"Oh, yeah, laugh it up. Wait 'til it happens to you."

"Ha! That is why I, with my modifications, am superior! Something as ridiculous as that could never happen to me!" He started laughing again.

"Whatever," grumbled Danny. "Are you going to keep attacking me, or can I go to the Far Frozen in peace?"

Skulker waved him off. "Consider it an early truce present!" he said. "But don't forget! I'll get your pelt eventually!"

"Sure," said Danny, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He floated backwards for a ways before turning, wary of being stabbed in the back. Or shot in the back. Or blasted in the back. Or whatever having missiles or nets launched at him from behind would be called.

But, once again, he was on his way to the Far Frozen. With his luck, he'd only be interrupted a dozen more times before he actually got there.

He sighed, thinking of ways he could block the camera in an emergency. Ice, perhaps? He could always put his hand over it, too. Maybe he should have done that from the beginning, but a part of him, the part that had argued with them before, wanted to show them the truth about ghosts. Part of him wanted them to see.

So, even though he kept fiddling with the camera as he flew, even though he definitely wanted it off, and quickly, he couldn't quite bring himself to cover it.

"Hey! Phantom!"

Danny turned, trying to place the voice. "Sydney?" he asked, surprised, spotting the sepia-toned specter. "What's up?" He slowed so that the other ghost could catch up to him. Sydney didn't often leave his lair on his own.

"Wow! It's lucky you came out here! I thought I'd have to go through your portal to find you." Sydney shuddered. He caught up to Danny. "I'm throwing a truce party this year!" he said, happily. "I'm inviting everyone." He handed Danny a small envelope. "It's a bit early, because I wanted to make sure that it didn't overlap with anyone else's party."

"Thanks, Sydney," said Danny, both surprised and touched. "I don't know if I'll be able to make it, you know what my l- my afterlife is like." His smile turned into a grimace at the awkwardness of his phrasing.

"Afterlife? But you-"

"I have a camera strapped to my chest right now. I'm pretty sure it's broadcasting. I don't really want to talk about it."

Sydney blinked at him. "Your existence is very difficult, isn't it? I'm glad I didn't manage to steal it from you when we first met."

"That's both of us. The shades in your lair still behaving?"

"Oh, yes. It's all fine. Thanks for asking! I've got to go deliver the rest of these! Good luck with your camera situation!"

"Yeah, stay safe, okay, Sydney?" called Danny, as they sped away from each other.

"You betcha!"

Danny tucked the invitation into a pocket. He'd have to check out the details later, when he wouldn't have to hold it at a weird angle to keep the camera from seeing it.

Now, if there were no more interruptions, he could get to the Far Frozen before- He stopped. That forest had not been there before, and, usually, the floating islands didn't move like-

Not a floating island Undergrowth oh Ancients he looked mad run run run.

It was a good thing Danny was faster than Undergrowth. He didn't want to fight the plant ghost on his home turf... if there even was any turf underneath all those plants.

The chase (not to mention dodging and fighting off the seed bombs that Undergrowth had lobbed his way) had drained Danny, and he was flying significantly slower. The hope that he'd get back home before dawn looked distinctly forlorn. He sighed. That was just his life, though, wasn't it?

Maddie had filled half a notebook with questions.

Ghosts appeared to be much more complex than previously believed, even if it was clear that what rudimentary social structure they had was founded entirely on violence. The three encounters Phantom had had in the Ghost Zone thus far illustrated that perfectly.

The first, with Skulker, served as a sort of average. The ghosts had fought, demonstrated that they were more-or-less equals, and then parted, apparently not wanting a more definitive contest. The second had been with a smaller ghost who was obviously submissive towards Phantom. The third, with the plant ghost was more along the lines of what she and Jack had expected: Strong ghosts attempting to defeat and consume weaker ones.

"I wonder what this 'truce' they keep talking about is," said Maddie, tapping her pencil on her notebook.

"I wonder what that sound is," said Jack. "The microphone shouldn't be picking up this kind of interference."

"I think it's core noise," said Maddie. "We can analyze the sound later and compare it to his ectosignature, after we find out where he's going." She glanced at the clock. "And after we get some sleep. Everything is being recorded."

"I'll have to double check all the connections before we do this again. I bet it's a loose wire." Jack pouted.

Maddie nodded. "Where do you think he's going? You don't suppose he thinks he has some way to get it off?"

Jack shrugged. "His lair, maybe? The distance might be why he stays in Amity Park."

"Lairs are still pure speculation, though," said Maddie. "Although, one hypothesis is that they help ghosts reform and heal, so he might think it'll get rid of the camera."

Jack grunted in acknowledgement. "What do you think that white dot is?" he asked, pointing at the screen.

"I think it's one of those floating islands," she said. "It's a different color than the others."

They watched as it grew larger on the screen. "I think Phantom is heading towards it."

"Maybe it's his lair," she said. "He does have ice powers. Ice and snow could be what gives it its color."

"It does look like that could be," said Jack.

The island grew larger and larger, and eventually the picture showed that they had been right. The island was covered with snow and more.

"I think those are buildings," said Maddie, pointing out little mounds. "Crude, but still buildings. Perhaps Phantom is trying to replicate features of Amity Park in his lair?"

"You don't think it could be some kind of," Jack waved his hand vaguely, "rudimentary ghost settlement?"

Maddie wrinkled her nose. "What would they have to gain? Why would you say that?"

"Because I think I see some ghosts moving around down there."

Sure enough, Maddie could see movement where he pointed. The ghosts were white-furred, and difficult to see against the snow, but they were there. They looked fierce. Animal ghosts of some kind, Maddie assumed, but warped over the years.

"They all look so much alike," said Maddie, fascinated. "I wonder what could have caused that."

"Well, they say form follows function!" said Jack. "Or the 'native' theory could be correct, and they formed that way, without human consciousness involved!"

"Hm," said Maddie, making a note. "We'll have to look into that again."

Phantom's hand flashed in the camera's peripheral vision. "He's waving to them," said Jack.

"Great one!" shouted one of the ghosts on the island, voice made small by distance.

"Frostbite!" yelled Phantom in return, voice much louder. He swooped down, and was embraced by the other ghost, who was much, much larger.

The other white-furred ghosts cheered. Maddie frowned.

"If he has this sort of reception here, why come to Amity Park?" she asked. "If his Obsession is attention..."

"Maybe it's human attention he wants," said Jack, rubbing his chin. "Either way, they're... enthusiastic, aren't they?"

"I can't believe they've banded together like this," said Maddie. "It doesn't make sense. The structures... they don't make sense, either. Ghosts shouldn't need things like that, especially not in the Ghost Zone."

"Maybe they're a different species of ghost that does need things like this," said Jack, most of his attention on the ghosts greeting Phantom. "We've never seen any like them here. They might only be able to exist in cold. Or they could have Obsessions related to, uh... igloos?"

"They aren't really shaped like igloos, though," said Maddie. "I think there's stone under there."

"The ice could just be dirty."

"That wouldn't surprise me."

Getting to the Far Frozen was a relief. Danny felt a the tension he'd been carrying within him relax as soon as he spotted Frostbit.

It was replaced with embarrassment once everyone started fussing over him. Technically, this was in front of his parents. Still, he'd take embarrassment over what he was feeling earlier. His core was singing that he was safe safe safe among allies and friends, and the cold felt wonderful against his skin.

"What brings you to the Far Frozen today, great one?"

Danny chuckled nervously and reached back to rub his neck. The motion was stopped when he encountered the collar around his neck. "I'm actually here to see a doctor. I've got a bit of a medical problem. At least, I think it's a medical problem." Danny touched down on the surface of the snow, wilting slightly as he tugged fruitlessly on the collar. "I don't really know. Can you help?"

Frostbite's eyes went wide for a moment before shifting into pure concern. "Of course, great one. We'll take a look at you right away. Unless you need to rest? We know we are far from your home."

Danny shook his head. "I want to get this fixed right away," he said.

When Frostbite scooped Danny up and put him on his shoulder, it wasn't a surprise. Neither was the short flight to the Far Frozen's medical 'cave.'

Oh, to be sure, it was a cave, but Danny always felt like calling it something like that, something so crude, was a disservice. For one, the entrance chamber was gorgeous. A huge, underground atrium with an intricately grown and carved ice ceiling, geometric patterns spiraling down the walls; ghost writing above graceful arches, indicating what each space was used for. Shining, high-tech devices that made even Tucker salivate. Some people might judge them on what lay above ground in their village, but appearances were often deceiving in the Ghost Zone, and the Far Frozen was one of the most advanced societies around.

Only an idiot would mistake the tribe of the Far Frozen for savages.

Frostbite carried Danny into the diagnosis area, set him down in a chair, and began going through the routine of cleaning his hands and putting on medical equipment.

"Oh," said Danny, leaning forward, "Frostbite, you don't have to, I know you're busy."

"Nonsense, great one! You deserve the best of care, and I am here to provide." He sat down on a stool across from Danny. "So, what seems to be the problem?"

Danny began to explain.

Jack and Maddie weren't talking. This is because they were in shock.

The ruins at the beginning had been one thing... Those were expected, the ghosts of buildings, so to speak, ectoplasmic echos. But this place? This level of technology- It shouldn't be possible!

"I know," said Jack, and Maddie realized she had spoken out loud. "But... it's here, isn't it? We're seeing it."

"It could be a trick," said Maddie. "A facade. There's no way any of this is actually functional."

"But if it is... Jazz and Danny, they might be right," said Jack. He sounded troubled. "If ghosts can form societies, and create technology and art like this, even if the societies are based on violence, that indicates some form of sapience, of intelligence, even if it isn't human intelligence."

Maddie nodded. "I think we should withhold judgement until we actually see results," she said.

"Yeah," said Jack. "Just... I feel sort of like the bad guy in a sci-fi movie, you know? The one who insists the aliens or people with superpowers aren't really human."

"It isn't the same, Jack. These are ghosts."

"But what does that even mean anymore?"

Maddie sighed. "We'll have to change our theories," she said.

"Ah," said the ghost known as 'Frostbite' on the screen, scanning Phantom with some kind of unknown device, "yes. I see what the problem is. I'll take the camera out, now, and then we can work on the other bits."

The screen went blank.

Getting the collar removed was both easier and harder than Danny had expected. Easier, because all he had to do was take a drug and let Frostbite peel it off, harder because he had to come down off the drug before he went home, lest he get into a fight and wind up with semi-permanent injuries. At least he was able to send a message to Jazz to ask her to cover for his absence.

He didn't get home until four in the afternoon. Nothing remarkable happened on the way back, because the Far Frozen decided to send some warriors along with him to make sure he got back safely. He was a bit surprised, however, to find his parents passed out at their desks in the lab, apparently reviewing recordings from the camera they had stuck to him.

Recordings like that could be dangerous to him. Should he delete them?

No, he hadn't said anything incriminating, and they were unlikely to be able to use the footage to attack the Far Frozen. The floating islands moved, after all, and he had entered the Zone from a random portal. It should be fine to leave it like that.

He let himself turn human. The air down here was chilly. He should get them blankets or something and let Jazz know he was back, then he'd pass out himself.

While he was draping a quilt over Maddie's shoulders, he caught sight of her notebook and the last line she had written.

The kids are right. We'll have to revise our theories concerning Phantom and the other ghosts.

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2020 #day 11

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infinity-and-luck · 4 years ago

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To Sleep Perchance To Dream || Day 5: Dreams

(AO3 Link in replies)

“Jonah, it’s really too late. I’m sure whatever it is you are working on can wait until morning; come to bed.”

“It can’t, and regardless, I’m not tired enough yet to sleep.” He was pouring over some books, faint candlelight illuminating the text just barely enough that Jonah had to strain his eyes to see what was written. Truly, he could do with the sleep; he had the beginnings of a headache at the moment, and given he’d forgotten to eat today, he was running out of energy.

Robert gave him a disapproving glare. He was standing in the doorway of the room that was officially his, but they had been sharing for the past few months. Jonah was facing away from him, hunched over the papers and books that were scattered across his desk, pretending he didn’t know well the expression on his—what were they at this point? More than friends, certainly—on his lover’s face.

This was the third time this week alone that Jonah had done this. He didn’t know how many times it had been this month; thankfully, Robert didn’t either. He’d been visiting his family, leaving Jonah alone to study.

“You’ll work yourself to death, and given how much you claim to fear it, I’d say you would do well to take care of yourself.”

Jonah tensed slightly. He was well aware that his habits weren’t necessarily healthy but he certainly wasn’t going to work himself to death; the very idea caused him some level of anguish and annoyance. Robert seemed just as annoyed, however, by Jonah.

“Come to bed, and I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone,” Robert tried to bargain with him. The prospect of secrets was tempting, however.

Sighing a bit too dramatically, he stood up and walked over to his companion. When he stood within a metre of the other man, he stopped. Robert took a step forward and began to loosen his cravat. Soon, it hung loosely around his neck, and Jonah went to take off the rest of his clothes since he was technically still dressed in the same outfit he’d been wearing a day ago. He’d not had the time to change nor did he have the need given he had worn it the entire time.

Robert was sitting in the bed when Jonah came to join him finally. He pulled the covers back for him with a kind smile, a happy smile that he was finally going to get some sleep. Then he blew out the candle sitting at the bedside.

“Don’t worry, I intend to keep my word; this is just a story better suited for the dark.”

Jonah was intrigued even more now than he was before. “Do go on.”

A moment of soft laughter was followed by a tense, pensive silence. It seemed to stretch for lifetimes as Robert tried to work out where to begin. “I’ve been having dreams. Terrible ones. Frightening ones. I’ve been having them for years now. They’re all different, and yet each one feels connected, somehow.”

Jonah listened intently, head resting in the palm of his hand as he laid on his side. Robert was still sitting up, propped up against a pillow.

“The first dream I had, I woke up in a field. It stretched as far as I could see in every direction. It was empty of everything except graves. Thousands and thousands of graves; I suspect one for every person on this Earth. When I looked at the one closest to me, it bore the name ‘Robert Smirke,’ and I startled, thinking it meant me, but upon looking at the dates engraved on it, I realised it was my father. Next to it, my mother. My brothers, my sisters. Despite how clearly I remember everything else, I can’t seem to recall the years of their deaths. I kept walking along a path of graves, and soon I found my own. Rather than dwell there because I know that if I were to linger, I would’ve begun to think thoughts I’d rather not. So I kept walking, and I found every person I’ve ever known’s name listed. Everyone was dead. And I suspect that is the nature of life, fear it though you might, Jonah. I think I myself feared it too, then. The sight of all those I know and love, dead, gone. It was horrible. I was hardly a man yet when I had that dream, and I clung to my brother’s side after that night, afraid that soon I’d find myself standing again in that field of graves.”

This was unlike anything Jonah had ever heard before. He’d always been fascinated by the supernatural and the unknown; he’d always wanted to know more, to study them. What Robert was telling him was beyond that though. There was nothing inherently “supernatural” about it. But he was describing a fear that Jonah dwelled on far too much. The image of the thousands of gravestones was all he could picture, and it made him tremble slightly.

After taking a brief moment to collect himself, Robert continued, “In another dream, I had, I was standing in a slaughterhouse. All that surrounded me was blood. Oddly, it did not smell strongly of that so much as it smelled of fear, putrid fear. I don’t know if you know that scent, Jonah; the scent of fear that so strongly permeates the air around you and inside you. A wretched miasma of misery. The absolute horror of, of those animals that had been butchered. Faintly, I could hear the squealing of the pigs as they must’ve begged for their lives, Jonah. After this dream, I would hardly stomach any meat for months. The knowledge of what those animals went through, even if in a dream.”

His own stomach felt queasy at the description.

Robert continued. “Another, I was on a walk with my brothers through the countryside when we happened upon a cavern. Sydney, my younger brother, had been too frightened to journey into it, so Richard had left with him. I remained, however, because I was curious to examine it. But each step I took into this tunnel, it seemed to grow deeper, beckoning me in. When I finally turned to look behind me, I could no longer find the path I had taken; the entrance was nowhere in sight. I couldn’t go back and the tunnel only seemed to pull me forward. The ceiling got lower and the walls closed in as I ventured forward, until I was completely enclosed in this tunnel with no way to escape. I felt as though I was being suffocated; I couldn’t breathe. Finally, when I thought I had passed out from lack of air, I awoke in my bed, perfectly fine,” he took a long, shaky breath. “These dreams Jonah, they feel so real. They are real, I’m certain of it.”

Jonah had pushed himself into a seated position on the bed, taking in what Robert was saying. These dreams of his sounded like just that: dreams. But he knew Robert was an earnest man who had the imagination of a rock for anything other than a design for a building. He knew his dear companion was not making these up.

“There are things beyond us, Jonah. Things that lurk beyond this world, that torment us. These things, I’m sure, are the cause of all our fear. I don’t know anything more about them, yet, but I intend to learn, to find out.” Suddenly, a low, dark laugh filled the room. “You must think me mad, don’t you? I swear to you that I am telling the truth. These dreams have been plaguing me for so long, and I have suffered in silence. But if anyone were to believe me, it would be you.” He almost sounded like he was begging Jonah to understand, to believe him like he feared Jonah might call him insane.

“I,” Jonah tried to find the right words but his mind was racing with ideas and theories, “I believe you. I believe you, and I want to join you in studying these, these entities, these fears.”

Robert, who had been staring forward for the entirety of his recounting, finally looked at Jonah, and he had what looked like tears in his eyes. He reached out and took Jonah’s hands in his own. “I knew I could trust you with this. I knew you and I were kindred spirits in a way that you would want to know this as well. With your mind, I’m certain we’ll discover the truth of these fears, as you put it. We’ll make history.”

Jonah liked the sound of that.

#jonah magnus #robert smirke #tma #jonahmagnusweek #my kingdom for schoolmates to lovers jonahsmirke #warnings for:#implied character death #(kinda)#animal cruelty #claustrophobia

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margoshansons · 4 years ago

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Desperate Measures: 18/?

MASTERLIST

Summary: Y/N comes back to camp, where several people are waiting to welcome her. But she can’t stay long, especially with Finn and Murphy out there. Bellamy doesn’t take too kindly to a figure from Y/N’s past.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of a massacre, swearing, guns, death.

Notes: MY BOY DESERVES FUCKING BETTER JROTH! Anyway, I decided y’all needed some healing after that last episode so please enjoy this long chapter filled with plenty of Bellamy/YN.

If any of you guys ever need to talk about 7x13 and what happened, I’m always here for you. Based on 2x05 “Human Trials”

***

Her breath threatened to betray how strained she felt from the walk to Factory Station and back. She clutched Monroe closer to her. The two women, suffering from similar wounds, leaning on each other for support as they struggled to cross the last few meters.

Her side split in pain, legs buckling underneath the weight of Monroe on her shoulders. She thought she could feel the stitches in her leg come undone.

“They’re back!” Someone shouted as they collapsed against the grassy fields, Octavia relieving the weight by taking Monroe off her hands. Y/N raised herself up, leaning against Bellamy for support.

“I’ve got you sparky.” He whispered, a reassuring smile on his face. Y/N couldn’t find it in her to berate him about the nickname. Her energy cells were depleted, and her leg was ready to bust open. “You’re going to be okay,”

Her balance was thrown off by a body colliding into her, disbelief erupting in her body as she removed her arms from Bellamy’s neck to her long lost friend. The blonde curls impedeing her vision confirmed her theory. Clarke was home.

Clarke was safe.

“You’re okay” She murmured through tears threatening to escape her, voice breaking, “You’re alive.”

She felt Clarke’s smile against her shoulder, “I thought I’d never see you again,” The blonde murmured, tightening her embrace, not ready to let go.

“Neither did I.”

When the two women let go, Clarke shared another tight embrace with Bellamy and Y/N felt herself almost plowed over by another body colliding with hers.

“Holy shit you’re actually alive,”

Her heart almost stopped when she heard the voice in her ear, hands running through the dirty blonde waves that had once been so familiar to her.

She pulled away, unable to believe who she was seeing. “Kyle?” Her voice broke as she said his name for the first time since solitary.

“Hey Sparky,” Wick’s eyes glazed over before pulling her back in for a hug, arms tightening once again around her waist as she buried her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his familiar frame, “I missed you,” He whispered in her hair.

She pushed herself away, wrestling herself out of his stupidly strong grip. “Hey,” she spoke through unshed tears, voice thick with emotion, “Feelings are dumb remember?”

He let out a chuckle and she forgot how much she missed hearing him laugh. “Right,” Wick replied, pulling her inward toward his side, “Feelings are stupid.”

She let out a similar chuckle before a cough threw them out of their reunion. Y/N locked eyes with Bellamy, her throat constricting as nerves jumped upward at the thought of them meeting. This was going to be awkward.

***

Bellamy curled his lips at the sight of the taller guy holding Y/N so close to him, and he didn’t really like the anger stirring within his stomach as he caught the looks they gave each other.

Not that he had any claim over her, but he thought they were headed toward something at least.

“Who’s this?” He asked, trying to keep the irritation from leaking through his voice.

Y/n swallowed before plastering a bright smile on her face, “This is Wick, he was my partner in engineering on the Ark.”

“In more ways than one.” Wick remarked, garnering a playful snort and a smack across the chest from Y/N.

Bellamy nodded, hoping the white hot rage deep in his gut wasn’t visible to everyone the way he thought it was. What the hell did he mean? Who was he to talk about her that way?

“Anyways,” Y/N continued, gesturing toward him, “This is Bellamy, he’s my…”

He swallowed as she creased her eyebrows, struggling to find a way to define their relationship. “He’s my co-leader.” She settled on, and he tried to ignore the way his shoulders seemed to deflate at the sound of the term. He had hoped they were something more.

He wanted to be something more.

Didn’t she?

“Nice to meet you man.” Wick offered his hand out, which Bellamy took for the sake of being polite. “Y/N’s told me all about you, you know before Councilor Sydney went all batshit and crashed the exodus ship.”

“Wait?” Y/N asked, ��That was her? That makes so much more sense.”

Wick nodded, wanting to continue talking. Bellamy was grateful for Clarke’s interjection.

“We can play catch-up later” She announced, turning back toward Bellamy and Octavia, “Where’s Finn?”

He saw the hope in her eyes die as Bellamy uttered those three words. “Looking for you.”

Clarke stepped back, ready to launch into a series of questions about what had transpired until a gasp of pain coming from Y/N’s mouth tore them from their conversation.

“Y/N?” Wick’s trembling voice came from Bellamy’s side, the two boys rushing forward to catch her as her leg buckled “Hey, Sparky can you hear me?” Bellamy shoved down his irritation at the use of the nickname and focused on Y/N’s smaller frame.

“Come on,” He urged, pulling her into his side, her head resting on his shoulder, almost fading out of consciousness from how hard she had walked. His breathing increased rapidly, heartbeat pounding against his ribs as they made their way to the med tent, Bellamy’s gaze never leaving hers.

If they had he would’ve caught the look of realization crossing Clarke and Wick’s faces.

***

For the first time in a very long time, Y/N actually felt somewhat normal. Her leg was hardly bothering her anymore and she could actually move it without worrying too much about any extra pain.

“Hey Sparky,” A familiar voice called beside her, and she smiled in relief as she realized that her reunion with Wick hadn’t been a dream.

“Hey Kyle,” She moaned as she pulled herself up, the lack of sleep over the past few days finally catching up to her. “Where’s everybody?” She asked through a yawn as she gazed around the medical walls surrounding her. She drew her eyes to the gaping hole in her jeans as she ran her fingers down the perfectly neat stitches, the other hand embracing Kyle’s. “How did I get here?”

“Bellamy Blake,” Wick responded, the slightest smirk on his face as he leaned back, releasing his grip on her hand, “You know I think he really cares about you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shifting her weight so her legs hung off the table, ready to jump to the ground. “I’m not doing this now.”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted me to come down to help with this situation.” Wick brought up, and she groaned, her feet slapping the floor as she remembered their conversation from long ago.

“I hate that you remembered that.” She uttered, able to walk better than usual. Her eyes glanced around until they fell on a pile of clothes not that far away.

Wick stood up to follow her, “I remember a lot of things, like how Jackson said that you shouldn’t spend anymore time on that leg until it’s fully healed.”

Y/N scoffed, ripping off her tank to replace it with a grey thermal from the pile. Wick’s eyes lingered on her torso, eyebrows shooting themselves up into an arch.

“You gonna stop staring or do I have to close that mouth of yours myself?” She teased, the familiar flirtation sending something uncomfortable ripping through her.

She hated this feeling.

She hated the fact that even having Wick here was bringing these memories back.

She hated that it wasn’t Bellamy she was trading innuendos with.

Y/N ignored the smirk spreading across Kyle’s face as he leaned back, “You were the one who broke things off, so just remember that when you want some of this.” He defended, gesturing to his body.

She threw her head back and cackled, the sound freeing her from some of the responsibility she had been shouldering since she came down.

It was true what they said.

Laughter really was the best medicine.

“You come all this way to try and rekindle something Wick?” She used his last name, knowing it was less intimate. First names meant something to them, they didn’t just throw it around because they could.

“Actually I’m here to check on you,” His eyes flickered to her bare legs as she pulled on a new pair of jeans, lacing up her boots as she turned to face him. “And to tell you that your friends are planning on going after the two you left behind.”

Finn and Murphy.

They were still out there and Clarke was back home.

As if sensing her confusion, Wick continued to explain, “The council’s cutting them loose, Raven and I are helping you guys sneak out.”

Y/N bit her cheek mirthlessly, “Great, when do we leave?”

The medical flap opened, revealing Raven standing there with a brace surrounding her bum leg, a duffel bag of rifles around her shoulder as she handed Y/N a pistol. “Now.”

***

Bellamy failed to hide his surprise upon meeting Raven and Y/N at the electric fence, the latter in fresh clothes with a pistol strapped to her side.

“I don’t like you coming with us.” He muttered, shifting his gaze between the two women.

“It’s a shame I don’t listen to you then.” She smirked, handing him a rifle as the pitter patter of footsteps rounded the corner.

Clarke smiled at the two of them, “Nice to see that not everything has changed.”

Bellamy scoffed, hiding the pleasure he felt at the idea of Y/N accompanying them on their journey. He liked her company, and he knew Clarke wouldn’t leave without several stashes of gauze and painkillers on her.

Octavia’s wild braids made an appearance and determination crossed her face. “I’m not letting you leave here without me.”

“Octavia--” Y/N moved before getting cut off by the other girl.

“Finn and Murphy are headed for Lincoln’s village,” She brought up, the argument clearly practiced, “I’ve been there, have you? Have they?” She threw a pointed look at Bellamy and Clarke before Y/N pulled out a pack.

“I was going to say I know.” She smirked, the two girls sharing a smile before Octavia moved forward.

“Whoa,” Raven drew her cane in front of his sister, “Not so fast Pocahontas.” Her cane touched the fence, electricity sparking and crackling as the five of them jumped back.

“I thought you said it was handled,” Bellamy growled.

“It is” Y/N spoke up, raising a radio to her mouth uttering three simple words. “Shut it down Wick.”

She handed the radio to Raven, and Bellamy once again tried to get a hold on the anger raging inside him at the thought of Y/N and Wick spending time together while he was out petitioning to save their friends.

He hadn’t been there for her. Not like Bellamy had,

The next time the cane touched the fence, nothing happened. And he supposed he had Wick to thank for that.

He sighed as they snuck out, barely catching the look Clarke gave him and Y/N as they shuffled forward behind Octavia, footsteps matching each other.

***

Bellamy shifted uncomfortably on the log, eyes locking onto Octavia’s sleeping frame, a small tug at his lips recalling everything the two had been through. Clarke slept a few beats away, curled up next to the flames, blonde hair splayed out on the grass beside him. He was grateful to have her back. Having her around made things so much easier.

When his eyes flitted to Y/N’s blanket, he perked up in worry, the pack abandoned on the forest floor as he looked around, searching anxiously for his co-leader, his friend, his...something.

“Relax,” Her soft voice answered, footsteps settling next to him before she sat down next to him, her body warming him more than any fire ever could. “I was just scouting the area,” She waved her pistol before holstering it in her pants like he once did, letting him know that she was armed and ready to defend herself.

He let out a sigh of relief before turning his gaze beside him, eyes scanning her illuminated features. She stared out at the fire before him, ponytail drifting over her shoulders as she leaned forward, elbows against her knees.

“Did you mean what you said?” He swallowed his nerves, ready to get an answer to the question that had been plaguing him since the day she got shot. “Back at the dropship, before we got seperated. Did you have feelings for me?”

He watched her shoulders tense at the question, and he knew he had taken it a step too far. They were in the middle of a war, they shouldn’t be talking about this. They shouldn’t be focusing on this, but he needed to know.

“Yes.” She breathed, eyes flickering to his mouth, “I do have feelings for you. Murphy was right.”

His chest exploded at the confirmation, nerves evaporating into relief as it pumped through his veins.

“That’s a relief.” He joked to ease the tension, “I was afraid I had to beat Murphy if it wasn’t true.” She chuckled, the hushed laughter sending his chest pounding with pride. “Maybe I’ll beat him anyway.” He continued, his lips tugging involuntarily. “Just for kicks.”

“You should cut him some slack,” Y/N spoke up, surprising both of them before letting out a yawn “Even he and I have something in common.”

It was Bellamy’s turn to chuckle, “You should get some sleep,” He brushed a piece of hair that had fallen loose aside, pushing it behind her ear as he examined her beautiful face again, the touch sending shivers down his spine.

“So should you.” She pointed out, hands brushing themselves across the wrinkles in his forehead.

He couldn’t keep the adoring smile off his face, wanting nothing more than to press his lips against hers right then and there, to take her in his arms and forget the rest of the world existed. She made him want to be better.

She made him want to live.

“I’ll sleep when we find Finn,” He said, shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind as he remembered his own reality. “I knew what they were capable of, and I let him and Murphy leave with two automatic rifles.”

“We let them leave.” Y/N reminded him, grasping his hand in hers, drawing his gaze toward her intertwined digits. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

His gaze moved up her arm, meeting her exposed neck until it finally landed on her soft lips, and the desire to kiss her had never been greater until that moment.

It seemed so perfect.

The gap was almost nonexistent.

Inching closer and closer--

“I’m sure it was just like the dropship,” Clarke’s trembling voice rang through the fire, tearing the two apart. “It had to be done.”

Bellamy nodded slightly before shifting his gaze to the fire, one final question lingering on his mind. “How long until chocolate cake turns into being hung upside down and drained for their blood?” His voice shook, as if he couldn’t handle the truth. As if one wrong move would topple him.

“I don’t know” Clarke admitted, sitting up, “But we don’t have much time.”

Y/N nodded with him, “First we find Finn,” She chimed in, “And then we rescue our friends in Mount Weather.”

“And Lincoln.” Octavia announced, everyone finally awake. “Think we’ve slept long enough.” The rest of the group agreed.

“I’ll go find us some water to extinguish the fire.” Y/N announced, tearing herself out of Bellamy’s grasp to enter the darkened forest.

“She’s good for you Bellamy.” Clarke told him as soon as Y/N was out of earshot.

Bellamy nodded, ‘She’s good for all of us.” He said instead, ignoring the knowing look on Clarke’s face. “I don’t think any of us would’ve survived if she hadn’t been on that dropship.”

“You got that right.” Octavia snickered, a soft smile on her face as she caught the look in her brother’s eyes. “We got lucky.” She said.

Bellamy nodded, sending a look in the direction she had disappeared in. “Really lucky,” He murmured to himself.

***

“We’re almost there.” Octavia announced, continuing her way through the endless amounts of trees, “Once we reach the statue it’s only another kilometer or two.”

Y/N creased her eyebrows in confusion, she tilted her head as she linked eyes with Bellamy.

Statue?

Were there remnants of Old Earth that had survived the bombs?

Her question was answered once they stepped deep into a clearing, the dirt path stretching before them, but Y/N’s eyes were trained on a vine covered monument above her, a brief moment of awe crossing her face before a sob pulled her back to reality.

“The reapers came from there.” Octavia spoke, tears falling down her face, “I couldn’t save him Bell, I couldn’t save him.”

Bellamy pulled Octavia close, reassuring her that they would find Lincoln again and he would make sure of it. Y/N shuffled closer to Clarke, glad to have her with them as they traversed forward.

“I recognize this statue,” the blonde announced, “He was a great peacekeeper before the cataclysm.” Clarke and her stared up at the statue once again, letting Bellamy and Octavia have their moment. “I destroy my enemies by making them friends.” Clarke whispered, and Y/N tilted her head, not recognizing the quote. “It was quote of his. One that I think we need to implement.”

“How you reach the goal matters.” Y/N told herself, realizing what Clarke was hinting at, “You wanna seek peace with the grounders?” She asked, knowing it was the most logical conclusion.

Clarke nodded, “Their people are in the mountain too. We need--”

Shots rang out, pulling the foursome back to reality as they raced toward the village, hoping they weren’t too late.

They scrambled down the man-made path, dirt roads and statues forgotten as their eyes graced the horror awaiting them at the grounder village. A burnt farm crumbled at their side, blood poured onto the streets and a man with a face tattoo released a guttural scream to the sky.

They scrambled down the hill, and Y/N’s gaze went to Murphy, whose gun was slung behind him. She turned her eyes to Finn, smoke rising from the barrel of his rifle.

She leaned down next to Octavia, examining the warrior--no, the child bleeding onto the pavement beneath him.

Beside her, the sobbing man closed the child’s eyes whispering one phrase. “Yu gonplei ste odon*.”

Behind her, Finn’s crazed eyes were locked onto Clarke’s whispering a phrase of his own.

“I found you.”

***

That night her mind refused to sleep, replaying the massacre over and over, recalling the final words the man with the face tattoo had spoken to that child, the screams that followed. She couldn’t get them out of her head, and when she slept they only made things worse.

She wanted Miller here.

She wanted him to steal moonshine and tell her that things were going to be okay, to cheer her up with his awful jokes and play games together as they spilled secrets they wouldn’t whisper to anyone else.

Pulling herself out of bed, she shoved the flap of her tent open, wind rushing against her exposed legs, not caring about who saw her. His tent was close enough to hers.

No one would question it.

Especially what remained of the hundred.

Warm light flooded the room, almost blinding her as she stormed into Bellamy’s tent, the brunette rushing his hands through his hair. She suspected his mind was doing the same thing.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Was all he asked, eyes widening.

She shook her head and he gestured toward his own bed, she moved in next to him, the last of the oil in the lamp burning out as she pressed her body against his, relishing in the warmth they gave each other.

***

A/N: IT FINALLY HAPPENED!!!! Our babies are together at last! I debated about changing it so it happened much later, but after tonight I think we all could use some romance in our lives, especially with Bellamy Blake.

DM Taglist (closed): @chloe-skywalker @im-a-writer-right @clarkewithameme @shatteredlovesick @your-typical-giggle @rhyxn @amongthewildthingss @furiouspockettoad @niammain @cxddlyash @lena-davina @kaylinfayezink @gingerxarmy @super-marvel-dale @travelnottogoanywherebuttogo @nerdbookish @valeskasecco @strangerliaa @simsvetements @molethemollie @thebookisbtr @im-a-stranger-thing @jordangdelacruz @oopsiedoopsie23 @multifandombookstore @okj232 @asian-male-enthusiast @minigranger @jooheonbee @libraryoffandomsuniverse @pancakefancake @weird-pale-blonde-person

#the100fanfiction #the 100 imagines #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake imagines #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake #reader x bellamy blake #fic: desperate measures #series: desperate measures #otp: I need you to live #desperate measures #my fics #{FUCK JROTH}#{THAT SHIT DOES NOT FLY HERE NO SIR}

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calumcest · 4 years ago

Text

i know we’re gonna uncover what’s sleeping in our soul

[ao3]

so! my fic exchange fic for the absolutely lovely @lifewasradical who had the most brilliant reader profile i have to say you are truly so big brain in your preferences (perhaps because they overlap with mine no i am not biased). thank you so much to @allsassnoclass for hosting this you are wonderful and i adore you

thank you to bella and ainslee for listening to me chat shit about this fic and to my anonymous friend for also patiently listening and encouraging me and also telling me to stop fucking writing i need to hear that shit

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s.

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate.

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s.

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate. At least, in theory. In practice, it’s a little more complicated - most people’s soulmates aren’t exactly the same age as them, so some people have to wait a few years, and some people find out they haven’t got a soulmate, and a small handful of people find out their soulmate has already passed away. It’s a complicated process that’s built up over generations - when Luke’s grandparents were younger, it was still the norm for governments to inform people of the identity of their soulmate on their twenty-first birthday, but privacy and mental health concerns in recent years following a few nasty high-profile situations where people discovered their soulmates were serious criminals led to the passing of international legislation restricting access to the information. Now, the only way a person can find their soulmate is by writing to them, or the dreaded letter that arrives the day after their twenty-first birthday informing them that their soulmate has predeceased them.

Luke’s sort of the baby in his circle, so he’s the last to find out. His brothers are both older and so by the time Luke really understood the system they’d already found their soulmates; Alex and Jack had already known they were soulmates when Luke had met them, also being a few years older; and when Calum had woken up on his twenty-first birthday to see it best be you, dickhead scrawled on his arm in Michael’s messy handwriting it had only really been a formality, confirming what everyone already knew.

Luke, though, has no idea who his soulmate could be. There’s no one he’s ever felt that alleged special affinity with, no matter how hard he’s tried to force it. He’s never felt entirely safe with someone, the way that Ben describes it, never felt at home with someone, the way that Michael describes it, never felt at peace, like, deep in your soul, like the universe is balanced just right around you the way that Calum describes it. He has felt the desire to punch people in the throat before, as Alex and Jack both describe it, but he thinks that’s probably more of a them problem than it is a universal experience.

And it’s not that Luke’s particularly unusual in that - the vast majority of people don’t know who their soulmate is before their birthdays. Ben and Jack both had to fly to different countries to meet theirs, and Alex and Jack had been on opposite sides of the USA, and the way Michael talks about it, Quakers Hill would seem to be on a different continent to Mount Druitt. It’s what Luke tells himself every time he looks in the mirror at four in the morning, alcohol and often something else swimming through his veins, and sees the fear of what if I’ll be one of the lonely ones? etched into the cloudy blue of his eyes. You’ll be fine. Almost no one knows their soulmate before their twenty-first birthday. Lots of people don’t even know them then. You’re not even twenty-one yet; just be patient.

Except, now he is twenty-one.

It’s two minutes past midnight, and Luke’s sat on his bed, already a little buzzed, Michael and Calum flanking him, pen poised over his inner forearm. This is how it works - as soon as the clock ticks over to midnight on a person’s twenty-first birthday, their soulmate (if they’re already over twenty-one) is accessible. And the way to communicate is by writing to them. Luke still isn’t quite sure how it works, because it just does, so he’s never questioned it, but what one soulmate writes on their skin appears on the other’s, like a temporary tattoo. It fades after a few hours, but it’s usually there long enough for the person to notice; after all, who wouldn’t spot a new hi, hello, or the odd grocery shopping list appearing on their hand or arm?

“What do I say?” Luke says, a little nervously.

“Just say hi,” Calum suggests, and Michael scoffs. “What?” Calum says, turning to Michael and raising an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

“Well, it’s not very original, is it?” Michael says haughtily.

“It doesn’t have to be original, Mike, it just has to work,” Calum says.

“Okay, but what if it doesn’t work because it’s not original?” Michael says. Luke’s grip on the pen tightens.

“Who’s going to reject their soulmate because they said ‘hi’?” Calum points out. Michael crosses his arms, and shrugs.

“I would’ve,” he says.

“Only because you knew it was me.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Guys,” Luke says, anxiety leaking into the edges of his tone, and the two of them start a little, like they’ve just remembered he’s there.

“Just say hello,” Calum says.

“Hello?” Michael echoes. “What is he, some eighteenth century English lord? Say ‘hi’, Luke, or ‘hey’.”

“What, you can’t say ‘hello’ now?” Calum demands. “Anyway, it’s the principle, alright? Just greet them. It doesn’t have to be the best introduction in the world.” Yeah, Luke thinks. Yeah, that makes sense, right? It doesn’t have to be stellar; it’s just got to be something. So he nods, takes a deep breath, and lets the pen touch his skin.

Hi.

The word sits on his skin like everything he’s ever written on it before, doesn’t sink in or dissolve or do a little jig. Luke hadn’t been expecting it to - after all, he’s seen enough soulmates write things to their partners - but it looks just like when he used to hastily jot down his homework for the day because he’d forgotten his planner again, and it’s oddly underwhelming. It doesn’t look - or feel - like something he’s been anticipating for years is happening, despite the butterflies in his stomach. It looks a little lonesome.

“Well?” Michael asks impatiently.

“It’s been thirty fucking seconds, Mike, Jesus Christ,” Calum says, swigging from his beer.

“So?” Michael says, craning his neck to look at Luke’s arm. “Punctuality is an important quality in a partner, you know.” Calum scoffs incredulously, and Michael scowls. “Except if your partner is me. I have enough incredible traits to make up for it.” Calum just throws him a slightly-fond-but-mostly-exasperated look, and turns back to Luke, who’s still staring at his arm.

“Maybe they live in a different timezone,” Calum suggests. “Or maybe they’re younger than you.”

“Maybe,” Luke allows, and puts his arm back down on his lap, but doesn’t stop staring at it. “Maybe they’re busy.”

“Maybe,” Calum agrees.

“Maybe we should finish these fucking beers,” Michael says pointedly, and Luke finally tears his gaze away from his arm and over to Michael, who’s gesturing at the crate they’d lugged upstairs (‘they’ being Calum and Michael, because Luke refuses to lift anything heavier than a book). He’s got a point - it’s Luke’s birthday, and there’s a slim chance of his soulmate replying immediately, so he might as well enjoy himself.

“Alright,” Luke says, reaching for another bottle. “But don’t you fucking pussy out on me at two in the morning again.”

“What the fuck?” Michael demands indignantly, also reaching for a bottle. “When have we ever done that?”

-------

At two a.m., when Calum and Michael have stumbled blearily into bed together, Michael curling around Calum as they drifted off to sleep, Luke’s sat up in bed, staring at his arm. It still only says hi, and Luke’s trying to focus his alcohol-addled mind as much he can to will it to say more, to say hey, I’ve been waiting for you underneath Luke’s writing, but nothing changes.

And logically, Luke knows there are countless explanations as to why he hasn’t heard anything from his soulmate yet, least of which is that it’s only been a couple of hours. There’s a high chance his soulmate is younger than him, or asleep, or just busy, and a slim chance that they could be- well. Luke doesn’t want to think about that. It’s just- Luke’s been wanting this for years, always daydreamed about his soulmate, about the colour of their eyes and the sound of their laugh and the warmth of their touch. He’s conjured fantasy after fantasy in his mind about how his twenty-first birthday would go, about how he’d meet his soulmate and immediately fall in love, about the comfort and safety and fulfilment he would feel. Because that’s the whole thing about soulmates; they’re made for you, made to fill in the gaps in your soul that you can’t even see, and as Luke blinks at the single word written on his arm, a word that feels like it needs completing somehow, he realises he might want that more than he’d realised.

After a good ten minutes of staring and trying to engage any telepathy he may have, Luke decides that if his soulmate isn’t going to add anything, Luke’s going to have to do it himself. So he reaches for a pen, thinks for the briefest of seconds before a slightly-drunken thought tells him just introduce yourself, tell them about yourself, and he writes:

My name is Luke. It’s my twenty-first birthday today. I live in Sydney, Australia, and I have two brothers and a dog. What’s your name?

It reads like one of his French oral exams at school that he barely passed, but Luke’s satisfied with it, capping the pen and setting it aside. It’s good to give a bit more information, right? Surely his soulmate will appreciate more than just a hi, will be more likely to reply if they know a little more about him. Plus, he’s asked a question, and it’s only polite to respond to a question, isn’t it? They’ll be trapped into responding by social etiquette, if they’re of age.

Yeah, he thinks, satisfied, as he rolls over on his side and lets his heavy eyes fall shut. If his soulmate is old enough, he’ll have heard back by the morning.

-------

When Luke wakes up to the sun streaming through his window - fuck, they forgot to shut the curtains last night - he momentarily forgets what day it is, too focused on swearing under his breath and squeezing his eyes shut, debating whether it’s worth getting up to shut the curtains or not. He decides it is, and heaves himself out of bed, and as he’s padding over to the curtains, arms already outstretched, he sees two lines of text on his arm.

Luke had written more than two lines. He’d written a few, all bunched together in a long paragraph. And this handwriting is bigger than Luke’s, more confident, more assertive.

It’s his soulmate.

Luke stops dead, twisting his arm around so fast he thinks he might have given himself a Chinese burn, heart beating so fast that it’s all he can hear, and reads.

I’m sorry. I don’t want to be your soulmate.

And then, like an afterthought added reluctantly in a smaller script underneath: Happy birthday.

Luke stares at the words, reading them over and over, each hastily scribbled scratch of the pen like a tiny needle in his heart; not quite enough to tear it apart entirely, but enough to make it ache and leak.

So he has a soulmate. A soulmate who doesn’t want him back.

It doesn’t make sense, he thinks, a little disoriented, stumbling back towards his bed and reaching for the pen he’d left on his bedside table almost on autopilot. Luke’s soulmate doesn’t even know him. How can they not want to be his soulmate? What did he do wrong? How can he have ruined something that’s predestined, something that’s fated to happen?

What? he writes back. The ink is harsh black on his pale skin, dug too deep into the flesh of his arm, sitting on top of his skin rather than underneath it like the words from his soulmate - some kind of sick symbolism, maybe, Luke thinks dazedly. An impenetrable layer between them, and it’s his own skin and bone. He’s heard of people not wanting their soulmates, but only after meeting them, or finding out that they’ve committed some horrible crime, or something of the sort. He doesn’t know of anyone who doesn’t want their soulmate before meeting them.

“Hey,” Calum says suddenly and sleepily, clearing his throat and making Michael groan, stirring in his arms. “Did they write back yet?” Luke blinks, swallowing around a dry mouth.

He could lie. He could pull his sleeve down and say nah, not yet, and Calum would hum noncommittally and say sorry, mate, keep trying, I guess, and that would be it. He could keep it to himself, wouldn’t have to admit to those around him that somehow, he’s managed to turn his soulmate away from him before they even know him, that while they’re all in happy relationship with their soulmates, he’s managed to fuck his up before it began.

But on the other hand, he doesn’t know how long he could keep up that lie, because people would keep asking from time to time, and keeping it to himself feels like it would slowly eat at him from the inside out, teeth digging into the fabric of his soul and tearing it into even smaller pieces, and so he swallows, and says: “Yeah.” His voice is thick and wobbly, and it makes Calum’s brow crease, makes him struggle to sit upright leaning on his elbows, ignoring Michael’s noises of protest.

“What?” Calum asks, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?” Luke wants to cry.

“I-” he starts, and then stops. He doesn’t think he can say the words aloud. Instead, he holds out his arm, sleeve still rolled up, and watches as Calum’s eyes flit over the words, then looks away quickly as he sees Calum’s expression shift from concern to pity.

“Oh, Luke,” he says softly, and now Luke doesn’t want to cry but can’t stop it, can’t help the tears that are pricking at his eyes, forcing him to swipe at them hastily before they can fall.

“I don’t get it,” Luke says, a little numbly. “I- how can they not- they don’t even know me.”

“I know,” Calum says, shoving Michael off him and swinging his legs out of the bed they’re sharing. “Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry.” But Luke doesn’t want Calum to be sorry. He wants his soulmate to want him back. Was it the stilted introduction? Maybe Michael was right; maybe Luke should have thought of a more striking opener, should have mentioned some interesting facts about himself, come up with something flirtatious and witty and suave. Maybe his soulmate took one look at Luke’s nervous, awkward introduction and thought nah, fuck that, I’d rather be alone than have this guy as my soulmate.

“I should’ve said something better,” Luke says quietly, letting himself be pulled into Calum as he sits down next to him and puts a warm, strong arm around Luke’s shoulder. “Michael was right.”

“Oh, fuck Michael,” Calum says, with feeling, and Michael opens one eye a crack.

“Wha’ve I done?” Michael mumbles, and then, like he’s just remembered what day it is, he shoots bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and excited. “Oh, fuck, did they reply, Luke? Did they say something? What did they say, was it-”

“Mike,” Calum says warningly, and shoots Michael a look that Luke doesn’t need to be his soulmate to understand - shut the fuck up, Jesus, read the fucking room. Michael falters, and then frowns.

“What happened?” he says, a little fiercely. “Are they a dickhead?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “A proper cunt.”

“Hey,” Luke protests weakly, and Calum’s arm around him tightens.

“What did they say?” Michael asks. Luke hesitates, swallows, and then holds his arm out.

“Hang on, I need my-” Michael says, fumbling around on the bedside table for his glasses, and then swears when he realises they’re covered in fingerprints, wiping them hastily on his t-shirt before shoving them on his nose and squinting at the writing on Luke’s arm. He reads the words at least three times, going from a frown to a clenched jaw, and then looks up at the two of them, green eyes ablaze behind his glasses.

“What the fuck?” he demands, and whips his glasses off. “What the fuck?”

“I know,” Calum agrees, stroking Luke’s bicep. “It’s fucked up.”

“They don’t even know you. All you said was ‘hi’.” Luke bites his lip.

“I wrote a bit more,” he says. “After you went to bed. I just- just introduced myself. Said it was my birthday, I live in Sydney, have two brothers and a dog.”

“Alright, so all you did was fucking introduce yourself,” Michael corrects, leaning into his anger. “What the fuck sort of reason could they have for saying that?”

“Mike,” Calum says gently, and Michael’s gaze turns to him for a moment and then softens in understanding.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I just- fuck. I’m sorry, Luke.” He sets his glasses aside, gets up and sits on Luke’s other side, wrapping his arm around Luke’s waist, and that’s too much for Luke - he starts crying in earnest, big, ugly sobs that come from the frayed patches of his soul that feel like they’ll never be stitched together because the needle doesn’t want to play ball. Michael and Calum just cradle him through it, whispering soothing words, humming quietly, pressing soft kisses to his shoulders and temples and forehead as they rub gentle circles on his skin. It’s enough to stave off some of the desperate longing leaking from the pinpricks in his heart, enough to give him a little splutter of a spark in his veins that reminds him hey, you still have people who love you. It’s not enough enough, and Luke vaguely thinks it never quite will be, but it’s enough to stem the flow of tears, to make him sniff and ask for a tissue through a thick throat, to make him clear his throat and try on a watery smile.

“D’you want us to tell your parents?” Calum asks quietly, taking Luke’s snotty, tear-stained tissue from him and setting it on the bedside table. Fuck, Luke thinks, as a fresh wave of tears brim in his eyes. He’s got to tell everyone else, now, too. Over and over, telling person after person yeah, my soulmate doesn’t want me. My soulmate doesn’t want me.

“No,” Luke says, even though he does want Michael and Calum to tell his parents. “I- I should tell them.”

“Okay,” Calum says gently.

“Can you-” Luke cuts himself off, biting his lip. Michael and Calum just wait, though, so Luke bids the scraps of his dignity farewell, and mumbles: “Can you tell Alex and Jack, though?” He feels both Calum’s and Michael’s arms tighten around him, feels Michael pressing a kiss to Luke’s shoulder as Calum says yeah, mate, of course we can. Of course.

(Happy birthday, the words underneath the line etched into Luke’s skin telling him I don��t want you say, now wet with the tears dripping from Luke’s cheeks onto his sleeves. Yeah, Luke thinks bitterly. Happy fucking birthday to him.)

-------

Telling everybody is exactly as painful as Luke had anticipated.

He manages to tell his family in one go, because they ask over his birthday dinner, and he almost manages not to cry into the stunned silence as he says it, only breaking when Ben sighs sadly and pulls Luke into his chest for a tight hug. Alex and Jack call around four to ask him whether he’s finally going to get laid (what, Lex, that’s literally how you wish someone a happy twenty-first birthday, what’s your fucking problem), and Luke makes big, wide eyes at Calum, who throws a quick glance at Michael, who snatches the phone out of Luke’s hands and hastily walks out of the room, whispering something fiercely with a knitted brow and his hand cupped over the receiver. When he comes back in and hands the phone back to Luke, Alex and Jack have switched tack completely, all attempts at normalcy and breeziness mitigated by the oddly gentle, hesitant tones to their voices. Luke hates it, hates the pity and the microscope he feels like he’s under, the fact that he’s done the whole thing wrong somehow before even starting it, so he mumbles his excuses and hangs up on them as soon as he can, lying back on the sofa and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

The first few weeks are almost equally bad - Luke just wants to forget about it all, pretend that everything is normal outside of his own head, make-believe that his world hasn’t had a harsh spotlight shone on it showing the cracks in the façade he’s been admiring as though it were worthy of the Louvre, but everyone’s walking on eggshells around him, whispering whenever he leaves a room and stopping abruptly as soon as he comes in, or throwing him concerned and pitying looks. He hates it, hates that his mum will come into his room every evening and ask him too-casually how his day’s been, hates that Calum and Alex will ask him how he’s doing and look too sad when he says he’s fine, hates that Jack and Michael will bluntly tell him fuck someone else, forget about them. He just wants things to be normal again, doesn’t want the constant reminder that even the person made for him doesn’t want him swelling up in his lungs and choking him day in, day out.

He does a lot of research in those first few weeks. The majority of the results are about soulmate pairings where one person has moral qualms with the other, and a smaller group are about pairings where one partner only sees a platonic future where the other wants a romantic future - those are rare, though, as the system is designed to take these preferences into account - and it’s only on Luke’s second week of searching that he finds something, a tiny footnote at the bottom of an article about being soulmates with a serial killer. Choosing love, it says, and when Luke clicks on the link it opens up an ancient-looking website that says Choosing love: soulmates and the autonomous self.

It’s not a long article, and it’s riddled with spelling mistakes, but the gist of it seems to be that the author thinks the soulmate system is fucked up in principle, not in practice - they readily acknowledge that their soulmate is perfect for them, but resent the idea of having love assigned to them. It brings in ideas of free will raised by such authors as- and then Luke stops understanding, eyes glazing over as he reads metaphysical libertarianism and fatalism and compatibilism. So maybe this is what Luke’s soulmate’s problem is, Luke thinks, rereading the first few paragraphs that he actually understood. But it doesn’t make any fucking sense - why would someone try and choose someone that might not be right for them, when the right person is at their fingertips?

(He asks one night, after a few too many hours alone with his thoughts. Why don’t you want to be my soulmate? But it, like everything he’s written over the past month since his birthday, goes unanswered.)

Luke tries to reach out a few more times over the next few weeks, with varying degrees of success. His soulmate is completely unresponsive when Luke asks where they live, or how old they are, or what they do for a living, or what they look like.

Can you at least tell me your name? he asks once. No response.

Okay, what about your initials? he asks the next day. Again, no response.

One initial? he tries, the day after that. Please. Just your first initial. Maybe it’s the ‘please’ that does it, or maybe Luke’s soulmate is just sick of being asked the same question three days in a row and doesn’t want to get half a letter? Write it in code? tomorrow, but when Luke wakes up the next morning there’s a tiny, slightly-smudged A written underneath where he’d asked for the initial.

That’s the last Luke hears from his soulmate.

For a while, he writes a few times a day, tries to say something witty or something clever or something interesting. He tells A about his job, tells them about how frustrating it is to have Jack as his co-worker and Alex as his boss (because seriously, Jack should be fired at least four times an hour, and he’s fairly sure your boss being your soulmate violates a fair few codes of conflict of interest), tells them about Michael and Calum and how he sort of wishes he’d gone to university like they did. A never responds, and so after a while Luke gets self-conscious and stops writing so often, just checks in once a day in the evening to give A a roundup of the previous twenty-four hours. Luke figures the person doesn’t care, probably won’t read it, but it’s like a more cathartic version of a diary, one that has the possibility of being read and talking back, however slim the probability may be. Every evening, just before he goes to bed, he rounds up his day, vents to A about Jack breaking a bass in the shop again, laments that he doesn’t get to see Michael and Calum as often as he’d like to, talks about the regulars who come in like clockwork for their guitar strings, muses about whether he should get up early and get a coffee on the way to work tomorrow or whether he should get as much precious sleep as he can. He fills his arm from left to right, twisting it all the way around until he has to hold the pen at such a strange angle that he can barely control it, getting out all his thoughts and grievances and little things he’s observed that day, and when he wakes up in the morning, his arm is completely empty again. A never writes back, never even indicates that they’ve seen or read Luke’s ramblings, but they never tell him to stop it, either. And while that probably doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t not mean anything, either, and that’s as good as Luke figures it’s going to get for him. Plus, it becomes so ingrained in Luke’s daily routine that he barely even notices he’s doing it, and he sort of thinks getting a response might throw him off a bit.

(One night, so drunk he can barely stand, Luke scrawls I wish you wanted me. I wish I didn’t have to be alone. It’s gone when he wakes up the next morning, but there’s a tiny pen marking underneath where it had been, like A had gone to write something and then thought better of it.)

A week or so after that incident, Luke’s just taking out his earphones, still humming along to the song he’d been listening to as he shoulders the door to the shop open, when Jack appears right in front of his face, making him jump and drop his phone.

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters, picking his phone up from the floor and inspecting it for damage he can sue Jack for.

“Glad you noticed,” Jack says. “Come to the back room.” Luke stops, and narrows his eyes.

“What for?” he says suspiciously.

“What do you mean, what for?” Jack says, sounding a little affronted. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

“Well, we need to fix that. We should do a team bonding day,” Jack says, just as Alex walks around the corner. “Hey, Lex, d’you think me and Luke can do a team bonding day?”

“A team bonding day?” Alex echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I thought torture was illegal in Australia.”

“That’s true,” Jack agrees placidly. “I’m not sure I can spend a whole day with Luke.” Luke scowls, aiming a kick at Jack’s ankle, just as Alex passes by and says: “I was talking about you, idiot.”

“I’m a fucking pleasure to spend time with,” Jack says, voice rising as Alex walks away. “You spend all your time with me.”

“For legal purposes,” Alex calls over his shoulder. Jack frowns.

“Legal purposes?” he says.

“Yeah,” Alex shouts. “The life insurance papers have to look convincing.” It’s Jack’s turn to scowl, yelling fuck you at Alex’s retreating figure and getting a you can’t afford my fees in return.

“Not on the fucking salary you pay me,” Jack shouts, and then turns to Luke. “Come to the back room.” Luke eyes him warily.

“No,” he says. Jack scowls again.

“Aren’t I your manager?” he says. “Come to the back room.”

“I think I’m your manager at the moment,” Luke says, because who’s manager is dependent on the whims of a certain Alex Gaskarth and Jack breaking another bass last week had outdone Luke accidentally selling an Epiphone for half its retail price. Jack, though, just waves a hand dismissively, then grabs Luke’s wrist and starts tugging him towards the back room.

“Hey,” Luke protests, trying to plant his feet and failing miserably - Jesus, Jack’s stronger than he looks. “This is kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” Jack says. “You know where you’re going.”

“But I don’t want to be,” Luke says, grabbing onto the desk as he’s pulled past and scrabbling to hold onto it. Jack just yanks harder, dislodging Luke’s grip, and forces him into the back room.

“What?” Luke asks warily, when Jack finally lets go, glancing around at the cardboard boxes filling their shelving units up to the ceiling full of new bass and electric guitars that Luke was meant to unbox two days ago but didn’t. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” Jack protests, and then kicks the door shut behind them and grins. “It’s what I’m going to do.” Luke groans, tipping his head back, and shakes his head.

“No,” he says, taking a step back and holding his hands up. “Nope. I’m not getting involved in this.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I know it’s something I don’t want to be involved in.”

“No you don’t,” Jack says.

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because it’s something you’re planning.” Jack pouts.

“Listen-” he starts, taking a step forward towards Luke, who instinctively takes another step back, and that’s all Luke hears because then his heel is hitting a cardboard box hard, forcing it back against the wall, and the box on top of that is wobbling and making the box on top of that one wobble even more, and Luke says shit and flings his arms out to steady himself, catching the metal of the shelving unit and pulling it towards him, making all of the heavy, heavy fucking guitars in it come crashing down on top of him. A few land next to him with ugly crunching sounds and accompanying twangs, and a few hit his legs and force him to the ground, and then a few are hitting his stomach and chest and crushing his organs, making him gasp for breath, and then a few are hitting his head, making him momentarily unable to see as his vision swims so much it almost disappears entirely, and then Luke must lose consciousness because the next thing he hears is a distant voice shouting, sounding incredibly worried.

“Luke?” they’re yelling. “Luke? Fuck. Oh, fuck. Shit. Luke, Luke, are you okay? Are you- fuck, fuck, Lex, help me, help me move- no, not that, you fucking idiot, that’s going to-” and then Jack’s face comes into view, uncharacteristic concern etched on his features.

“Huh,” Luke says weakly. “You look funny when you care about me.” And then he passes out again.

-------

When Luke wakes up again, he’s in hospital.

At first, it sends a jolt of fear running through him when he wakes up in an all-white, clinical-looking environment, but his brain supplies a helpful hey, remember when all those guitars fell on you? That was pretty wack, and then it sort of makes sense.

“Oh, hey!” someone says, and Luke’s head snaps to the left to find the source of the voice. It’s a pretty - very fucking pretty, oh God - man, standing next to a bunch of machines, some of which are bleeping, some of which are blinking. “You’re up.”

“I’m up,” Luke says, and finds that his throat is dry and raspy. He coughs, and tries again. “Uh. Who are you?”

“I’m Ashton,” the guy says. “I’m your nurse. Well, until my shift ends.”

“Oh,” Luke says. “Hi. I’m Luke.” Ashton grins, hazel eyes lighting up in amusement, and steps back from the machines he’s been fiddling with.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Luke says, and looks down at himself. His right arm is bound in a cast, and when he tries to wriggle his toes he finds his left foot in a cast too, and winces when he takes a deep breath. “My body hurts.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, and moves to the foot of Luke’s bed to pick up a tablet.

“Yeah,” he says. “You had a bunch of guitars fall on you. You’re lucky you came out of it with just a few broken bones and a concussion.”

“And probably a huge bill for damages, if my boss is anything to go by,” Luke adds, and Ashton looks up from the tablet with a small smile.

“Nightmare boss?” he says, and then frowns. “Hang on, you’ve had a visitor claiming to be your boss. American guy?”

“Not the one with skunk hair?” Luke asks in trepidation, because the last thing he wants to deal with is Jack Barakat in a hospital environment, and Ashton shakes his head.

“No, but he was with him,” he says. “I think they’re both still here, actually. They were insistent that they wanted to be here when you woke up, but I can tell them to leave, if you’d like.” Luke hesitates.

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “The boss thing was, uh. A joke. Well. Kind of. He is a shitty boss. But. Not like that.” He swallows. Fuck. He should not be allowed to interact with hot men, honestly. Maybe Ashton will just think these incredibly lacking social skills are a part of the concussion and not just Luke’s main failing as a person.

“It’s still visiting hours, so if you want they can come in, but I’ll get the doctor to check you over first, since you’re awake now,” Ashton says, and Luke nods. Yeah. He should probably get checked over. Seems like the kind of thing you do in a hospital, right?

“Sure,” he says, and Ashton throws him one final grin before heading out of the room. Luke exhales shakily, lying back on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling.

Fuck. He hopes he’s sick enough to stay in hospital forever, and that Ashton’s on shift tomorrow, too, and the day after that, and the day after that. However long it takes for Luke to become socially adept, really.

-------

The doctor tells him something about broken leg and fractured wrist and broken ribs and bruised internally, but all Luke hears is will take a few months to heal fully but no lasting damage, and we’re just going to keep you in for today and tomorrow and monitor your situation, since you had a fairly nasty concussion. Jack and Alex come bursting in as soon as the doctor gives Luke the all-clear for visitors, rushing to his side and telling him how fucking stupid he is, what the fuck, why would he grab onto the fucking shelving unit to steady himself, but their eyes are shining with worry and their faces are a little red and puffy, and it makes Luke’s heart lurch in his chest in an oddly pleasant way. Alex tells Luke he’ll give him a pay raise if he doesn’t sue for workplace injury, and Luke laughs and then immediately groans in pain and says don’t make me laugh, I’ve broken my ribs.

(“Don’t worry,” Jack assures him, “Michael and Cal are coming in after us. You're safe on the laughing front.”)

Michael and Calum do visit after Alex and Jack, but only get to stay for five minutes before Ashton’s sticking his head in the door and saying Luke, your parents are here, and they’re not happy that everyone’s seen you before they have.

(“He’s your type, isn’t he?” Michael says loudly, before the door’s even closed behind Ashton, and Luke wants to die. He wonders whether he can force one of his broken ribs to puncture his lungs, or something.)

By the time his parents have finished fussing over him, his mum plumping up his pillows and his dad clapping a hand on his broken leg that makes Luke let out a choked scream of pain, Luke’s so exhausted that he just falls straight asleep, only waking up when he hears some shuffling around his bed.

“Mm?” he mumbles, blinking blearily, and finds Ashton smiling apologetically at him.

“Sorry,” he stage-whispers. “I’m not great at being quiet.”

“No, no, ‘s all good,” Luke says, swallowing like it’s going to get the horrible taste out of his mouth.

“How are you?”

“Fine, thanks, and you?” Luke answers automatically, and then belatedly realises he’s lying in a hospital bed with an IV in and a few broken bones. “Uh. I mean-” he says hastily, but Ashton just laughs, gentle and amused. It sends a shiver down Luke’s spine, although that might just be whatever Ashton’s just pressed on the machine blinking next to Luke’s head.

“Do you ever get a good answer to that?” Luke asks, turning his head to look at Ashton.

“To what?”

“To asking people how they are in a hospital.” Ashton smiles down at the tube he’s fiddling with, and Luke tries not to think about the fact that the other end of the tube is inside him, tries not to let his stomach turn. It’s probably not very sexy to throw up in front of Hot Ashton.

“Not really,” Ashton says. “But it’s free to care, right?” Oh, God. Hot Ashton is also Caring Ashton. Fuck. Luke is not in the right state of mind to deal with this.

“I guess,” Luke says.

“So, how are you?” Ashton asks, smile still playing at his lips.

“Uh,” Luke says. “Tired. My body still hurts.”

“You should rest,” Ashton advises him. “Pretty much the best thing you can do for your body right now.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, and then without thinking, adds: “I mean, I was resting, until…” he trails off, rational part of his brain kicking in and screaming what the fuck, Luke, that’s your fucking nurse, that’s so rude, that’s so unprofessional, you’re going to get kicked out of hospital and forced to try and heal your broken bones on your own (okay, maybe not so rational), but Ashton just laughs, bright and amused.

“Point taken,” he says, but he’s still grinning, so Luke figures he’s safe. “Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep.”

“I’ll send my botox bill your way,” Luke says, and Ashton arches an eyebrow, stepping back from the machines at Luke’s side.

“I’m not sure that’ll hold up in court,” he says.

“Guess we’ll have to find out,” Luke says, eyes following Ashton as he crosses the room over to the door. Ashton huffs out a laugh, looking over at Luke as he pulls the door open and lets light spill from the bright hallway into the room, making him glow softly like some kind of weird, scrubs-clad angel.

“Sleep well, Luke,” he says, and then the light is gone.

-------

Luke does sleep well.

He sleeps for most of the next day, only waking up for a very groggy talk with a new doctor of which he takes absolutely nothing in, then for a very painful walk to the bathroom with a brisk nurse who tugs on his elbow too hard, and then when Alex, Jack, Michael and Calum all pile into his room as soon as visiting hours begin. He’s kind of glad they’re all there, because it means they can entertain each other rather than him having to partake in the conversation, so he can just lie back, exhausted, and watch them bicker over whether or not Luke would notice if they stole his hospital food. Wait, hang on-

“Hey,” Luke says, frowning. “No one’s stealing my hospital food. I need to heal.”

“But it’s salmon tonight,” Michael protests. “You don’t even like salmon.” Luke pulls a face. He really doesn’t like salmon.

“So, what, I should starve?” he says indignantly, even though he probably would rather starve than eat salmon.

“We can sneak you food,” Jack says earnestly. “Mike and I were thinking-”

“I told you, Jack,” Alex says exasperatedly. “Visiting hours are once a day. Luke needs to eat more than that.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Michael says. “Not if we bring him enough food.”

“He can space it out,” Jack suggests.

“Yeah, I’m sure Luke would fucking love to eat cold and soggy chicken nuggets,” Calum says sarcastically, and Alex nods and points at him, all thank God, finally someone speaking some sense.

“They’re not going to get soggy,” Michael protests.

“Yeah, do you know how many preservatives they put in those things?” Jack adds.

“And you think that’s what Luke should be eating to mend his broken bones?” Alex asks dryly.

“He’s fine,” Michael says breezily. “He’s twenty-one. His body’s been managing a poor diet so far.” Luke scowls.

“My diet’s fucking fine,” he says. “What’s wrong with my diet?” All four of them round on him in disbelief.

“Are you fucking serious?” Calum demands, at the same time that Michael says: “What isn’t wrong with your diet?” and Alex says: “When was the last time you even looked in the general direction of a vegetable?” and Jack says: “No, y’know, the man’s got a point. His diet could be worse.”

“Just because it could be worse doesn’t mean it isn’t bad,” Calum points out.

“Credit where credit is due,” Jack says solemnly, “he’s doing a better job than he could be.”

“The only way Luke’s diet could be worse is if he went all Monsieur Mangetout,” Alex says, and the four of them blink at him. “What?” he says defensively. “C’mon, Monsieur Mangetout? You know Monsieur Mangetout.”

“You wanna flex your French pronunciation skills one more time?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow. “The floor is yours, mate.” Alex rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off,” he says. “My point is-” but they don’t get to find out what his point is, because then the door’s opening and Ashton’s sticking his head in. Luke wishes he’d been able to shower this morning - he’s sure his hair is sticking up all over the place, and that half the curls are flattened and frizzy, and he sort of wants to say sorry, Ashton, I swear I’m at least a little hotter than this most of the time.

“Visiting hours are over, guys, I’m sorry,” Ashton says apologetically, and all four of Luke’s friends groan. “Sorry, sorry, I know,” Ashton says, and then throws Luke a smile before closing the door as they start gathering their things together, the sound of chairs scraping filling the room.

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Jack says to Luke, nodding at the door Ashton’s just closed.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “He’s also my nurse, so. Very illegal.” Michael pulls a face.

“Is it?” he asks. Calum and Alex both throw him hard looks.

“Yes,” they chorus.

“Fucking hell,” Jack grumbles, pulling his coat on. “Laws are really fucking boring.” In this case, Luke can’t help but heartily agree.

“Well, hurry up with the healing, and then he won’t be your nurse anymore,” Michael suggests.

“Pretty sure it’s still illegal,” Alex notes.

“So?”

“Jesus Christ, Jack,” Alex mutters, and pushes him towards the door. “We’ll come back tomorrow if you’re still here, Luke.”

“Us too,” Calum says, shepherding Michael in the direction of the door too. “Bye, Luke. Be safe.”

“Be safe?” Luke echoes. “What sort of fucking danger am I in at a hospital?”

“Falling in love, apparently,” Calum says, and then the door swings shut behind him.

Well, Luke thinks. He’s not exactly wrong.

-------

Ashton comes back at around seven p.m. with Luke’s dinner, although I don’t usually serve dinner, it’s not a nurse’s job, but Jenna’s just had to go home for a family emergency and I was the closest person at hand. It’s salmon, and Luke pulls a face when he sees it that makes Ashton laugh.

“You don’t like salmon?” he says. “We have veggie options too, if you want that.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Luke says hastily, not wanting to come across like the fussy eater he is, for some reason. “Salmon’s good. I like salmon. It’s, uh, a good fish.” Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then snorts.

“Sure,” he says, and sets the tray down on Luke’s lap carefully. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Luke says, which isn’t really a lie this time. “Everything still hurts, but.” He shrugs. “It’s alright.”

“You’re a trooper,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke nods solemnly, using his unbroken left hand to slot the knife into his right hand.

“It’s the top level care I’m receiving,” he says, and Ashton laughs again.

“Flattery will get you places,” he says, and Luke pauses, glancing over at Ashton.

“What places?” he asks, and Ashton winks, and sets a slice of chocolate cake down on the tray balanced on Luke’s legs. Luke looks down at it, and then back up at Ashton.

“That was on the menu,” he says. “You were going to give that to me anyway.” Ashton just grins, and heads back to the door.

“I would’ve withheld it if you hadn’t complimented my exemplary nursing skills,” he says, as he pulls the door open.

“I thought you said dinner service wasn’t part of the job description?”

“I might fight for it to be now,” Ashton says, pulling the door open. “Everyone needs to play God from time to time.” Luke snorts.

“That’s a completely non-alarming sentence to come out of your nurse’s mouth,” he says. “I think I’ll check my IV myself tonight.” Ashton’s lips hitch up in an amused smile.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he says, and then he’s gone.

-------

The next day, Luke is told that he can be discharged after a series of tests have been carried out, which are booked in for five p.m. - right in the middle of visiting hours, so he texts everybody not to come - and then get delayed until nine p.m. By ten, Luke’s still waiting for someone to come round as promised, and is getting incredibly restless, so turns to reach for his phone again - and stops dead.

There’s writing on his arm.

Writing that he, with his broken right hand, did not put there.

He yanks his arm close to him, then turns to fumble with the light above his bed because he can’t fucking see, and squints at the writing.

It’s just three words, small and scribbled like they had to be written fast or A would have lost the nerve to say them, but they make Luke’s heart thud against his ribcage like it’s trying to break a few more of his ribs.

Are you okay?

What?

Luke’s reaching for the pen in his drawer before he’s even thought about it, a million responses racing through his mind. What the fuck, being one, I thought you didn’t want to be my soulmate another, why are you talking to me now? What changed? in there somewhere too, but mostly: why?

It’s a good thing it’s only why, too, because writing the letters takes a fucking age and when he’s done, it sort of looks like something he would have produced when he was four years old. The reply is instantaneous, though, and Luke can barely believe it, feels like he’s hallucinating the way the letters are appearing one by one on his arm. He’s too scared to blink, like it’ll break the spell somehow, like looking away will make A think well, he’s replied, that’s good enough, but another sentence appears, letter by letter.

You haven’t complained about Jack in a few days.

So they have been reading Luke’s quasi-diary-entries.

Fuck.

Shit. Luke has no idea what to say. Should he tell the truth? Should he try and take a mile from the inch A is giving him, ask what the fuck is going on, press the question of why A doesn’t want to be his soulmate? No, that’ll make them clam up again. Maybe he just shouldn’t reply at all. After all, it’s not like A’s ever given Luke anything when he’s been pouring his heart out in the early hours of the night, is it? Maybe Luke should give them a taste of their own medicine.

He only considers that for a total of half a second before the pen is back on his skin, writing underneath A’s handwriting - God, it’s fucking surreal.

I’m in hospital. Broke a bunch of bones. There’s a longer pause this time, and when a few minutes of Luke staring intently down at his arm have passed with no further reply and he’s thinking fuck, that’s it with a sinking heart, a few more words appear.

I’m sorry to hear that. Get well soon.

Luke’s just about to put the pen back down to his arm, to write a quick thanks, because it’s about all he can manage to write legibly with the weird way he has to hold his pen with the cast on, when more scribbles start appearing.

How are you doing? Luke bites his lip.

Fine, he says. You?

I’m not the one in hospital.

True, Luke writes. My body aches.

You should rest. Best thing you can do for your body. Luke huffs out a laugh.

You sound like my nurse.

Your nurse knows what they’re talking about.

I’d be concerned if he didn’t. The reply takes a little longer to come this time, but after a few minutes more words are appearing.

Touché. Luke’s just staring down at the word, racking his brain to think of something to say to keep the conversation going because fuck, fuck, he’s talking to his fucking soulmate, when a few more words appear.

Goodnight, Luke. Get some rest.

I’d like to, but I’m waiting for more tests, Luke writes. He waits, and he waits, but no response comes.

Fuck, he thinks, rereading the entire conversation over and over, and over just for good measure. Fuck. He’s spoken to his soulmate. He’s spoken to A. He’s spoken to his fucking soulmate.

He reaches over for his phone, turns his arm this way and that and takes a photo, and sends it to his group chat with Michael and Calum. He sees Michael’s typing bubble pop up before the second picture has even sent, but then the door is opening and Doctor Nichols is striding in, and Luke hastily puts his phone down and nods along to the list of tests she’s rattling off that need doing before he can be discharged, mind covered in an impervious sheen of soulmate soulmate soulmate that stops any of it going in.

Fuck, Luke thinks, as he’s getting a bright light shone in his eyes and trying his hardest not to blink or look over at his phone, which is buzzing incessantly on his bedside table. Fuck.

-------

Michael and Calum agree that this is a positive step.

(Are you fucking kidding me? Calum says, when Luke voices hesitancy. They checked in on you. They fucking care.

rt, Michael says.)

Luke’s not so certain, though. The thought of it is sending delicious sparks dancing from his heart to his fingertips and down to his abdomen (or maybe that’s the medication, he’s not entirely sure), but he doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, given A’s hard stance and silence for the past few months. But A would have received a letter if Luke had died, and the government are usually pretty quick to send those out, so maybe there is something to be said for the fact that they only waited three nights before asking after Luke.

Luke’s body is too exhausted to let him stay up psyching himself out over it, though, forcing him into a deep sleep as soon as Doctor Nichols has told him he’s free to leave the next morning and left him be, and when he wakes up the next morning it’s to someone opening his curtains.

“Hey,” they say, as Luke’s eyelids try to fight the fucking sun, and Luke shields his eyes with his hand to see Ashton silhouetted by the window.

“Weren’t you on shift last night?” he asks, and Ashton smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Life of a nurse,” he says tiredly. “Sorry for the light, by the way. Figured it would be a nicer way to wake you up than ripping your IV out.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Luke says, squinting and scrunching his face up, and Ashton huffs out a small laugh as he makes his way over to Luke’s side.

“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” he warns.

“That’s a shame,” Luke says. “I always thought having needles ripped out of me would be an enjoyable experience.” Ashton smiles again, and there are a few crinkles around his eyes. God, he really is fucking pretty.

“Are you looking forward to going home?” he asks.

“I’m looking forward to not having to eat salmon anymore,” Luke says.

“Hey, I offered you the veggie option,” Ashton says, and Luke winces as he feels the needle and whatever the fuck else being pulled out of his vein.

“I didn’t want to be a nuisance,” Luke says.

“Hold this,” Ashton instructs, and Luke reaches over to hold the gauze on his arm as Ashton reaches for a clear plaster. “You wouldn’t have been a nuisance. You’ve been an exemplary patient.”

“Is that a compliment?” Luke says. “I’m good at lying around being useless?” Ashton grins.

“You’re not useless,” he says. “Patients keep me in a job.” Luke grins back.

“I’ll try my best to get seriously injured again, then,” he says, and as Ashton turns away to the trolley he’s put Luke’s cannula on he catches the tail end of a small smile playing at his lips.

“Legally and professionally, I can’t encourage that,” he says, and Luke snorts.

“But personally?”

“No comment.”

“So you want me to hurt myself?”

“Is that what ‘no comment’ means these days?” Ashton says, throwing Luke a glance over his shoulder as he pushes his trolley over to the door, eyes twinkling. “Get some rest, Luke.”

“Wait,” Luke blurts, and Ashton stops. Luke blinks, like he's waiting for Ashton to say something, even though he's the one who'd asked him to stop, because shit, he hasn't thought this through. Something in his brain just said stop, ask him out, ask him out. And really, he thinks, why not, because if he embarrasses himself he'll never have to see Ashton again, and he's no longer Ashton's patient, so he takes a deep breath, says fuck it, and mumbles: “Uh. Look. Would you- would you want to go out? With me? Not- not now, obviously. Some other time. But- y’know. Would you?” Jesus Christ. Ashton hesitates for a moment, and then throws Luke a slightly sad, kind smile.

“I’d love to, Luke,” he says, and Luke’s heart soars for a moment, flying higher than it’s ever gone before “but I can’t.” Fuck. Luke’s heart should have read Icarus.

“Why not?” Luke says. “I’m not your patient anymore.” Ashton shakes his head.

“Still not allowed,” he says. “Only exception is if you find out you’re soulmates.” Well, fuck.

“Oh,” Luke says, and hopes the wobble in his voice isn’t as audible to Ashton as it is to him. “Okay.”

“I really- fuck. Sorry. I just- I’m sorry, Luke.” Ashton smiles at him again, barely more than a twitch of his lips, and then he’s gone.

Luke leans back against his pillows and stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding.

Maybe he’s just not meant to be with people whose names start with the letter A.

-------

Luke sits around at home for a week before he decides he’s so bored and so sick of being fussed over by his parents that he insists on coming back to work. Alex, in turn, insists on picking him up and dropping him off every evening, like he’s doing a fucking school run, and Jack insists on Luke doing nothing besides working the till so he can sit down. It’s fucking boring, because all the fun parts of the job are helping little kids buy their first guitars or talking to seasoned professionals about the ins and outs of the instruments, not smiling politely and waiting while they swipe their cards. He has nothing to do between people paying, so he spends most of his time on his phone, swiping through his various social media apps and wishing his hand weren’t in a cast so he could at least play guitar. It’s not exactly the worst way to spend his time, though, especially now that he’s found that forum of people pretending to be middle-class Dads which is oddly relatable and funnier to him than it probably is to anyone else. He’s in the middle of scrolling through it in a particularly quiet lull on a Thursday afternoon, screenshotting the best ones to send to Ben and Jack, when the shadow of a person looms over him.

“Hey, I- oh,” they say, and Luke looks up from his phone hastily to find-

“Ashton?” he says, surprised.

“Hi,” Ashton says. God, he looks good; he’s wearing a leather jacket over a faded grey Guns ‘N’ Roses t-shirt and black jeans, and his hair is falling into his eyes a little, and Luke sort of wants to kiss him and sort of wants to die.

“Uh, hi,” Luke says. “Sorry. I just, um. Wasn’t expecting to see you here. How can I help you?” Ashton blinks at him, and then smiles.

“I need some new strings for my Strat,” he says, and Luke nods. Of course Ashton plays guitar. Hopefully he doesn’t play, like, fucking drums, or something. That would probably be too much for Luke’s little heart to handle.

“Sure,” he says, turning to the selection of strings behind him. “Ernie Ball Regular Slinky alright?”

“Sounds good,” Ashton says, and Luke pulls a pack down and sets them on the desk in front of him, busying himself with adding up the cost like he doesn’t know it off by heart.

“How are you doing?” Ashton asks as Luke furiously types in numbers to avoid looking at Ashton, making Luke pause and glance up at him.

“You’re not on the job right now,” he says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh, raking a hand through his curls.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t care,” he says. “So?”

“I’m alright,” Luke says. “Bored, mostly. Kind of shit not being able to use my hand.” Ashton makes a small noise of sympathy, and Luke dramatically presses a button on the till and announces: “That’s fourteen dollars, please.”

“You won’t have to have the cast on for long,” Ashton says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. Luke tries not to watch the way the movement exposes a sliver of his stomach. Thank fuck the scrubs had made Ashton entirely shapeless, because Jesus Christ.

“I feel like I’ll have to relearn how to use my hand normally when it comes off,” Luke admits, accepting the twenty Ashton hands him and fumbling with the till for a five and a one.

“That’s pretty normal,” Ashton says, accepting the change. Luke’s fingers brush against Ashton’s palm, and he tries not to let them twitch at the contact. “You’ll be used to it after a day or two.”

“Maybe I’ll grow attached to it, though,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. “I mean, everyone has to be nice to me now.” Ashton looks down at the cast, which has Luke sucks big dicks written on it in huge, black letters courtesy of Jack, and then back up at Luke pointedly, who sighs. “That’s just Jack,” he says, and right on cue, Jack pops his head out of the back room.

“What’s me?” he says, and then brightens. “Hey, Nurse Irwin!”

“Hi, Mr Barakat,” Ashton says.

“Hey, idiot, Luke’s sexy nurse is here,” Jack shouts, and Alex’s head appears out of the office.

“What?” he says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin.”

“Hi, Mr Gaskarth,” Ashton says politely. “How’re you?”

“Great, thanks,” Alex says. “Better now that you’ve patched my best employee up.”

“Hey,” Jack says, affronted. “Aren’t I your best employee?”

“Did Nurse Irwin patch you up?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’ll be my best employee after that, then.”

“Good to know my nursing skills are what keep your business running,” Ashton puts in, and Alex grins.

“Think it’s more than just your nursing skills,” he says cryptically, and then disappears back into his office.

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters under his breath, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Uh. I’m sorry. Here. Um. Have fun?” Ashton smiles, a little teasing, a little amused.

“Will do,” he says. “Look after that arm for me.” Luke’s heart skips a beat. For me.

“Well, I was planning on smashing it up a bit more, but now that you’ve said that…” he says, and Ashton laughs, eyes twinkling.

“See you around, Luke,” he says, pocketing his strings and heading for the door. Luke watches him go, and then groans and puts his head in his hands.

“What the fuck?” Jack says. “Why didn’t you ask him out?”

“I did,” Luke mumbles into his palms. “The day I got discharged. He said no.”

“What?” Alex pipes up, sticking his head out of his office again, because apparently he’s still listening too. “Why? Does he already have a soulmate?” Luke’s stomach flips. He’s been trying not to think about that possibility. But surely Ashton would have said that, right? It’s the kindest way to let someone down. And he had said he would have loved to, however much out of politeness that may have been.

“Apparently it’s still not allowed, unless you’re soulmates.”

“Well, you could be-” Jack starts, but immediately falls silent upon a stern look from Alex. “Fine. Well, since you’ve got nothing better to do in your spare time now, you can start by reorganising those CDs you fucked up the other day.” He nods at the cardboard box that’s been sitting behind Luke for a few days now, and Luke rolls his eyes, and bends down to pick it up with a dramatic sigh.

“Fuck you,” Luke says sullenly, and gets to work.

-------

Nine days after Luke’s discharged from the hospital, another message appears on his arm.

How are you doing?

Luke’s heart skips a beat, and he reaches for a pen with fumbling fingers, slotting it into his hand as best as he can manage.

Better, Luke writes. I’m out of hospital.

I’m glad to hear that.

Why do you ask? Luke decides to chance it. Fuck it, he thinks. Why not?

You still haven’t been writing. Luke swallows.

My writing hand is in a cast.

Oh. Luke frowns.

Could you not tell from my handwriting?

Honestly? No. Luke scowls.

My handwriting isn’t that bad.

Isn’t it? Luke’s scowl deepens. A is fucking rude. Before he can come up with a suitably haughty response, though, they’re writing something else.

Can you just write me something in the evenings to let me know you’re okay?

Luke stares at it for a moment, something bitter rising in his throat. He doesn’t owe A that. A’s done next to nothing but ignore him, and now they’re demanding something from him?

You never let me know you’re okay, he writes back, a little petulantly. There’s a longer pause this time, like A’s really thinking about the answer, because when the words come they’re written like they’ve been rehearsed prior to pen touching skin.

Do you want me to?

Luke hesitates. Does he? Of course he does, it’s his fucking soulmate, but they don’t want him, and it might make him more attached to them and make it hurt more when they inevitably reject him again.

(Oh, who is he fucking kidding.)

Yes.

Okay. That’s it, they don’t say anything else, and Luke doesn’t want to chase them, so he puts the pen down and stares at the conversation.

Okay. So they’re- so they’re sort of talking now. That’s something, right? Maybe they can at least be friends.

(He pushes away the that’s going to hurt too much, Luke, that’s going to hurt far too fucking much that flashes like a neon warning sign in his head, rolls over and goes to sleep.)

-------

After that, he falls into a sort of routine.

He goes to work, plays on his phone, jumps whenever the door opens in case it’s Ashton, like his strings are going to break within a week or two, then goes home or goes to Michael and Calum’s to watch them play videogames (he’d discovered fairly early on Xbox controllers and casts don’t mix), then gets ready for bed and writes A a quick I’m okay message. Sometimes it’s just that, just I’m okay, and sometimes it’s I’m okay, had a good day at work, or I’m good, really tired, or I’m okay, Jack broke another bass guitar today, I don’t know what he has against those things. A always replies with Thanks, I’m okay, but it’s something. It’s almost enough, and Luke can make do with that.

Six and a half weeks after getting out of the hospital, Luke gets his arm cast taken off. His leg still has a few weeks to go, and he’s told his ribs are healing nicely, congratulations on refraining from strenuous exercise (Luke almost laughs in the doctor’s face), but Luke’s not really thinking about that. Logically, he knows the chances are next to nothing, but he can’t help but look out for Ashton, just in case. He doesn’t see him, of course, but when he half-jokingly mentions it to Calum and Michael that night, Michael makes an offhand comment that sticks in Luke’s mind.

“Looks like Ashton’s helping you get over A,” he says, eyes glazed over as he stares at the screen in front of them.

“What do you mean?” Luke says.

“He’s all you fucking think about despite only meeting him, like, four times,” Michael says, and then swears loudly as Calum shoots him. “You cunt.”

“Should’ve been paying attention,” Calum says, with a shrug.

Luke’s thinking about that remark as he’s getting ready for bed that night, staring at himself in the mirror as his right hand tries to remember how to use a toothbrush. Maybe Michael’s right. Maybe Ashton is the antidote to A. Or, at the very least, he’s proof that Luke can like people that aren’t his soulmate. The thought makes him smile around his toothbrush, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. Yeah, his soulmate might not want him, but maybe he’s not doomed to be alone, after all.

He spits and rinses, and then wanders into his room, picking up his pen to write his daily I’m okay message to A. A millimetre before the pen touches his skin, though, he hesitates. He might as well ask the question he’s asked a hundred times before, now that A actually speaks to him, even if it’s only to say the same three words every night. The worst that can happen is he gets ignored again.

I’m okay, he writes, and then, why don’t you want to be my soulmate?

Thanks, I’m okay. The response comes immediately, like A’s been waiting for Luke to check in, but nothing else follows it. Luke watches his arm for a few moments, waiting for more to show up, and then sighs, turns his light off, rolls over and falls asleep.

-------

When he wakes up the next morning, he hobbles into the bathroom, yawning and stretching, and as he’s reaching for his toothbrush he happens to glance in the mirror - and stops dead.

There’s something new on his arm.

He looks down so fast he thinks he might have snapped his own neck, heart skipping a beat.

I want to choose who I love.

So it is that, Luke thinks, testing the weight of the words on his heart. They aren’t as heavy as he’d expected them to be. In fact, he thinks, as an image of Ashton flashes through his head, he sort of respects it. A can have their chosen love. Luke can find someone else.

(Another image of Ashton flashes through his head.)

He hobbles back to his room and sits down on his bed, picking up the pen and thinking. Fair enough sounds a little passive aggressive, as does that’s fair, but Luke can’t think of anything else to say, so he settles for that’s fair and adds a little smiley to try and mitigate any potential hostility that might come across in the words. He blinks at the phrase for a moment, half-hoping for a response, but it’s eight in the morning and the words must have come at around four or five for them to still be there, so A’s probably asleep. So Luke shakes himself out of it, reaches for his toothbrush, and forgets about it.

-------

A week after that, Ashton comes back into the shop.

“Hi, Luke,” he says, waving and grinning as he closes the door behind him, because of course he’s a fucking gentleman who doesn’t let the door swing shut heavily like almost everyone else who comes in. “You sell drums, right?” Oh, Jesus. He’s not a drummer. He is not.

“Uh,” Luke says intelligently, like there aren’t two drum kits set up opposite him. “Yes?”

“Sweet,” Ashton says, ambling over with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing short sleeves today, because it’s November and the weather’s starting to really warm up, and Luke can’t help but thank whatever deity may exist that he lives in the southern hemisphere, because Jesus Christ, Ashton’s arms are a fucking sight to behold. “I need a new snare.”

“Sure,” Luke says, tucking the pen he’s been holding behind his ear. “For- for you? Or- like, as a gift?” Ashton throws him an amused look.

“Who gifts snare drums?” he asks, and Luke shrugs, trying not to think about Ashton drumming. Good fucking God.

“People have gifted stranger things,” he says, and waves a hand at the drums opposite.

“Oh, hey, you got your cast off!” Ashton says brightly. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “Still feels a bit weak.”

“I’m sure you know how to strengthen it,” Ashton says solemnly. Luke blinks at him. Is he- surely he’s not- is he- “Oh my God,” Ashton mutters, cheeks a little pink, like he’s just realised what he’s said. “I meant- I meant that the doctor should have given you a few exercises. Fuck. I did not mean- I’m not- fuck.” Luke can’t help but burst out laughing, warmth curling in the pit of his stomach as Ashton throws him a sheepish smile. God, he’s fucking cute. Luke is far too far gone on this man.

“Yeah, I forgot them,” he admits, because I didn’t take them in because I was too busy looking at every nurse that walked past in case they were you sounds insanely creepy. Ashton throws him a slightly exasperated look.

“Luke,” he says admonishingly, and Luke rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling.

“What was that you said about me being an exemplary patient?” he reminds Ashton, who shakes his head, grinning.

“I should have reserved judgement,” he says, making his way over to the drum kits Luke had pointed out. “Hey, do you have any sticks for these?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Luke says, hobbling out from behind his desk to the basket that stores test sticks and then over to Ashton, ignoring his protests of you shouldn’t be putting weight on that foot, Luke, let me get them, tell me where they are.

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “It’s getting taken off next week.” Ashton throws him a look.

“Yeah, next week,” he says. “These things have specific healing times for a reason.” Luke just waves his hand dismissively.

“I have another foot,” he says, and Ashton tuts, but a small smile is tugging at his lips.

“Hey, Luke?” a voice shouts - Jack, whose head pops out of the back room. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you make a note that we need to order more of the Dunlop Hendrix Wahs, the SolidGoldFX NU-33s, the-” shit, Luke thinks, looking around him wildly; there’s no fucking paper, and Luke’s got a broken foot, so he can’t get back to the desk before Jack’s finished rattling this list off. As he’s spinning on the spot, the pen he’d tucked behind his ear dislodges itself and threatens to fly out, and he slaps a hand up to stop it before realising hey, pen, I have skin, I’ll just write it on my arm and write it on paper later.

“The Hendrix Wahs, the NU-33s, and what?” he calls, scribbling on his arm.

“The Hydra Stereo and Reverbs, and the Boss Pocket Processors.” Luke nods, frowning as he notes it all down, and then looks back up at Jack.

“Got it,” he says, and Jack gives him a thumbs up and disappears back into the back room. “Sorry-” he starts, turning back to Ashton, and then drinks in his ashen face, and frowns. “Are you okay?” Then he notices in the corner of his eye some writing on Ashton’s arm, and thinks huh, that’s weird, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there when he came in - in fact, I’m certain that wasn’t there when he came in, because I made a mental map of every inch of his body, and looks down, trying to surreptitiously read it.

Hendrix Wahs, NU-33s, Hydra S&R, Bass Pocket Processors.

Luke’s list. Luke’s list, in Luke’s handwriting, has just appeared on Ashton’s arm. That doesn’t make any sense.

“Wait,” Luke says slowly, and looks back up at Ashton’s stricken face. “Wait. You- hang on. How did my list just appear on your arm?”

“How do you think?” Ashton says quietly. Luke blinks.

“I don’t know,” he says. Ashton stares at him.

“I- what? What do you mean?” he says. Luke frowns.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says. “How did my list appear on your arm?”

“Jesus Christ, Luke,” Ashton whispers, and then grabs the pen out of Luke’s hand and scrawls hi on his own arm. It sits there next to Luke’s list, looking oddly harmonious for two things that are completely unrelated, and Luke stares at it for a moment before looking down at his own arm.

There, right next to the messy scribble of his list, is one new word.

Hi.

Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” Luke says faintly, and steadies himself against a nearby keyboard. “Oh my God. You’re- you’re A?”

“You’re Luke?” Ashton sounds just as faint as Luke.

“I- yes? Fucking- how did you not- you met all of my friends? Michael, Calum, Jack, Alex? At the hospital?”

“I only knew them by surname,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. You’re Luke.”

“You’re A,” Luke says, and then a thought occurs to him and he swallows, and grits his teeth. “Fuck. You’re A.” The words come out harder this time, tinged with bitterness, and it makes Ashton’s eyes snap up to him, big and wide and so pretty it would take Luke’s breath away if he had any left to give.

“What?”

“You- you don’t want this.” Luke gestures a little feebly, not wanting to be too specific, but Ashton just looks at him like he doesn’t quite get it. “Y’know. This. Us.” He swallows. “Me.” Ashton’s gaze softens.

“Oh, Luke,” he says. “I- fuck. I do. I want you. I just didn’t- I didn’t want Luke. But I want you.”

“But I am Luke.”

“I didn’t know that, though,” Ashton says. “I- oh, fuck. You’re my soulmate.” The word sends a chill down Luke’s spine. Jesus. He’d sort of almost come to terms with the fact he’d never meet his soulmate, never have a soulmate, never hear those words out loud, and now here he is, standing with one foot in a cast at work, talking to the hot nurse he’s not been able to get off his mind for two months who just so happens to be his fucking soulmate who had semi-torn Luke’s heart out from its resting place on his birthday.

And now, he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“You didn’t want me,” he says, more than a little accusingly. “And now you do.” He doesn’t ask anything in particular, but Ashton seems to know what he’s pointing at anyway, because he bites his lip.

“Look,” he says. “I- I just didn’t want to fall for someone because it was assigned to me, or whatever. I wanted it to be a choice, not something I was forced into. And then I did fall for you, without knowing you were my soulmate, but obviously I- I couldn’t, because you were a patient - or a former patient - so I just- I thought that was it, but. Fuck. I fell for you on my own, and it turns out you’re my fucking soulmate.” Luke swallows. When he puts it like that, it makes a lot more sense. Luke can kind of get that. And the fact that Ashton’s saying he fell for Luke but just couldn’t act on it is definitely helping matters - Luke’s easily buttered up by an ego stroke.

“You broke my heart,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Ashton swallows.

“I hoped I hadn’t,” he says, like that makes it any better.

“You could’ve at least waited ‘til it wasn’t my birthday anymore,” Luke says. “Or explained yourself. I thought it was me.”

“You thought what was you?”

“I thought- I thought I’d put you off, somehow. That I was the problem.” Ashton’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head.

“God, no. Jesus. No, no. I just- I wanted to be clear, and I thought the less I engaged the better, y’know? Like, the less you’d have to latch onto, the easier you’d forget about me.” He hesitates. “I shouldn’t’ve done it on your birthday, though,” he says. “I’m sorry. And- I’m sorry for everything else, too. It was never you.”

And, okay. Luke’s the type to hold grudges. He’s petty and he’s childish, and he doesn’t forget shit like this. But he’s also an adult and he’s (to some degree, at least) capable of rational thought, so he shoves away his first instinct that says spite him, go on, make him hurt like he hurt you and thinks about it. Yeah, Ashton fucked up. He should’ve waited until it wasn’t Luke’s birthday, and he should’ve explained himself, and he just should’ve been a lot more communicative from the beginning. But the past week or two, Luke’s actually been okay with the idea that A doesn’t want him, so he can’t really hold that against Ashton anymore, not when his heart has patched itself up the past five months and shrugs off the idea of not having his soulmate in the way he’d always wanted. And he does understand Ashton’s reasoning, even if he doesn’t agree with it, so he clears his throat, and, just to make sure, says:

“So- so you do want it now?”

“Fuck, I- well, I want to see where it can go,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t want to make any promises. But I’d like to try.” Luke blinks at him.

Ashton wants to try. Ashton, who is Luke’s fucking soulmate, wants to try the two of them on for size.

“Okay,” Luke says. “Okay. Yeah. We can try.”

“Yeah?” Ashton says, a little nervously.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “I mean, I’ve been sort of infatuated with you from a distance since meeting you, anyway, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton grins and opens his mouth to say something, and then there’s a yell from behind them.

“Hey, Luke,” Alex says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you call our accountant? I need the books going over by- uh. Why are you both smiling like you’ve committed a crime? You’ve not committed a crime on these premises, have you?”

“What?” Luke says. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What’s wrong with you two?” Alex says suspiciously. Luke glances over at Ashton, who shrugs, tiny and imperceptible, like sure, go on. Fuck.

“Uh,” Luke says, and swallows. “Turns out Ashton is, um. Kind of my soulmate?” Alex blinks at him.

“Who’s Ashton?” Luke blinks back, and then points at Ashton. “That’s- that’s your soulmate? Ashton’s the dickhead?” The back room door opens.

“Who’s a dickhead?” Jack asks, intrigued.

“Ashton,” Alex says.

“Who’s Ashton?”

“Nurse Irwin.”

“Oh. Hey again, Nurse Irwin. Why are you a dickhead?”

“He’s Luke’s soulmate.” Jack looks at Alex, and then at Luke, and then back again.

“No, he isn’t,” he says calmly.

“He is,” Luke says.

“Fucking hell,” Jack says, and then goes back into the back room and closes the door.

“Hey,” Alex shouts, frowning. “Get back out here. Luke’s just found his fucking soulmate.”

“I’m not dealing with this mess,” Jack yells back, muffled by the door.

“What mess?” Ashton asks, bewildered. Alex whips around to stare at him.

“The mess you made,” he says. “Y’know. When you broke little Luke’s heart on his twenty-first birthday.” Ashton has the good grace to look embarrassed, and even winces slightly. Good, Luke thinks, a little childishly. Public humiliation probably makes them even for Luke’s birthday being ruined, isn’t it?

“I didn’t mean to,” Ashton says, sounding very much like a five-year-old.

“I don’t care,” Alex says. “You two sort shit out between yourselves.” Ashton blinks at him.

“Right,” he says, and turns to Luke. “So. Uh. I feel like now is the time to ask you on a date.”

“What, with my chaperone watching?” Luke says, throwing Alex a pointed glance, and Alex throws his hands up in exasperation and heads back into his office. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, with a small smile. “It’s sweet how protective they are of you.” Which, yeah, but like, fuck, because if Ashton thinks this is protective, he’s got another thing coming when he meets Michael and Calum. Luke bites his lip.

“Wait ‘til you meet Michael and Calum,” he says, a little warningly, a little gleefully.

“So is that a yes?”

“A yes to what?”

“Me asking you out.” Luke blinks.

“Ashton, I asked you out, like, two months ago,” he says. “And you’re my soulmate. Obviously it’s a yes.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Ashton says, a little defensively. “It’s good to check.”

“What, so now you’re the king of communicating?” Ashton throws him a slightly hard look, but it softens when he sees the smile on Luke’s lips.

“I sort of deserve that,” he admits, and Luke grins.

“Part and parcel of going on a date with me,” he says, and Ashton grins back.

“At least I to go on a date with you,” he says. “Softens the blow.”

Yeah. Luke could get used to the way his heart is trying to communicate with him through the medium of interpretive dance.

(It’s a good thing his soulmate’s a nurse.)

-------

Hurry up, Luke scribbles on his arm as quickly as possible. I didn’t pay for parking.

Jesus, Luke, comes back almost immediately. I’m on my way back.

I can tell by your handwriting.

You’re one to talk.

Fuck off.

xxx

Luke puts the pen back in the glove compartment and taps his fingers on the gear stick, peering at the revolving doors to try and spot his boyfriend. It only takes about thirty more seconds before he sees him walking out, looking around for a moment until he sees Luke parked badly and illegally and jogs over, shaking his head fondly.

“Idiot,” he says, when he gets in the car. “If we get a fine, you’re paying it.”

“You’ll have to bargain with Alex to give me a raise, then,” Luke says, throwing the car into reverse without bothering to look over his shoulder.

“Jesus, Luke, look where you’re fucking going,” Ashton says, even though there’s no one there. Luke shrugs, puts the car into first, and pulls out of the spot he’d been parked in.

“What?” he says. “We’re right outside a hospital. It’s fine.”

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mutters, but when Luke glances over he’s smiling.

“So?” Luke prompts. “What did they say?”

“It was fine,” Ashton says. “There are procedures in place for this sort of thing, y’know. They had the government papers confirming you’re my soulmate, and the ethical review was fine, because you just broke a few bones so I barely looked after you.” Luke scoffs.

“Just broke a few bones?” he echoes, a little indignantly. “I broke half my fucking body.”

“Well, you did toss about fifty guitars onto yourself,” Ashton says, fumbling in the glove compartment as Luke pulls out onto the main road.

“That was to get out of whatever Jack was trying to force me to do,” Luke says. “And it worked.”

“Was it really worth it?” Ashton says, pulling the pen out of the glove compartment and raising his eyebrows.

“Of course it was,” Luke says immediately. “I didn’t have to do whatever dumb shit Jack had in mind.” Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Ashton roll his eyes.

“That was a perfect set-up to say of course, Ash, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” Ashton tells him, and Luke grins.

“Would’ve said that if I meant it,” he says, and Ashton sighs, but he’s grinning.

“I don’t know why I bother with you,” he says, and Luke grins back.

“Because I’m your soulmate,” he says. “And worse than that, you chose to be stuck with me. This is all your own fucking doing.”

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mumbles again, but he’s scribbling something on his arm, and when Luke glances down he sees a slightly shaky heart drawn right where his wrist meets the back of his hand, and smiles out at the road.

“Love you too.”

#lashton #malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos slash #jalex #YES I KEPT IT UNDER 15K #sorry i am literally going to crow about my achievement on that front #no one come for me for the title #IT WORKED OK...its not just my addiction rearing its ugly head agian

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thinkinem · 4 years ago

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seeing discussion of lgbtq+ representation in one chicago on the dash so I’m taking this as my opportunity to float my overindulgent head canon* that Matt Casey is one superbly repressed queer.

*this quickly got out of hand and is likely well into au territory, but if I have to think about-- it as incoherent as it is--then you do too!

The reason he botched his moment with Sylvie so hard was that when things slowed down and Sylvie asked her Gabby question, Matt got majorly overwhelmed by the reality that he was about to jump into another relationship with a woman that already has all these ideas about who he is as a man and as a boyfriend.

Usually he can ignore the dull feeling of disconnect that always comes when he’s first intimate with a woman. But dammit, he really thought Sylvie could be The One. He really thought this time those feelings of affection and aesthetic appreciation that he could conjure when he pressed himself to meant something. He was so sure that he was going to feel that spark people write songs about with Sylvie. That it was going to redeem him for all the ways he couldn’t be enough for Gabby, for all the times he looked Hallie in the face and wasn’t truthful.

But that spark, swoop, tingle, whatever it’s supposed to be, it isn’t there. Sure, he’s got the motions down, a smooth execution of the classic moves, and he likes feeling strong and needed and scooping Sylvie up without hesitation does that for him. But it’s not the aha moment he was expecting. The moments they’d shared over the past two years, the little glimpses of a future with this woman in his arms turn stale just like they always do when he goes to seal the deal.

When Sylvie pulls back, Matt’s heart stops. He’s sure this is it, that if anyone is going to finally see through him it’s going to be Sylvie Brett. And in a lot of ways he’s relieved. Sylvie is a safe space, a trusted confidante, he knows she won’t mock or laugh. But also the idea of putting words to the way he feels scares the life out of him, to say it out loud would make his Otherness too real. (Even when he and Kelly were in the middle of whatever it was they had, Matt could never fully admit to it out loud, not even just as a whisper in the dark to the man that had already seen all of him and stayed close anyway).

But Sylvie doesn’t see through him. Or she thinks she does, but really she couldn’t be farther from the truth. So when she asks if he’d go with Gabby, it feels easiest to say he doesn’t know.

But his “I don’t know” was less about going with Gabby as an individual, and more about the idea of committing himself to another/any woman again. The divorce gutted him. It forced up a lot of thoughts and feelings that he was relying on that relationship to keep a lid on. But also, it felt a lot like checking off a task from a to do list: he did his due diligence as a man to have a wife and attempt a classic version of a family just like he was always expected to do (and in a lot of ways it felt like a big fuck you to his father and every one of his sneering insults).

The thing is, Matt knows in his bones that he wants someone like Sylvie Brett by his side for the rest of his life; she’s amazing, loyal, funny, understanding, everything he’d want in a partner. But in that moment Matt decides he cannot go down this road again. Sylvie is all those wonderful things and more, and she deserves a guy who wants all of her, not just the idea of her.

For a moment he thinks it’s going to work out. He gets out the cliched “it’s complicated” and is almost ready to do it, ready to own who he is right there. But the words get a little stuck and then Sylvie is filling in the blanks with all the wrong colors (and, Jesus, isn’t that familiar). Then the next thing he knows, he’s breaking Sylvie Brett’s heart exactly the way he vowed to never do. The moment is quick and messy and feels terrifyingly unsalvageable, but it’s happening, then it happened, and there’s nothing he can do about it. (He sleeps with Sydney because that’s what he does when a relationship ends: he sleeps with a stranger, always female, and does everything opposite what he did in the relationship, just to double test the theory that it really is something in him and not just around him. Sydney: sexy and funny and charming; The Theory: confirmed)

And suddenly Matt is exhausted. He’s got decades of built up secret and accumulated grief on his shoulders and he can’t move with it all weighing him down. So he just sort of stops fighting it. He puts up the token efforts with Sylvie, tells her he doesn’t regret it, that she’s still very important to him, then lets her walk away when she informs him that it can never happen again, that he is a man still in love with his ex wife. On net, she’s actually kinda half right, and he lets himself have a quiet, sardonic chuckle at that.

Matt’s got the job, his rank, his men, the city. They’re more than enough to live for, to love, to give his all. They’ve got expectations of him too, and they’re ones he can meet with an ease that doesn’t exist anywhere else in his life.

Five weeks after Matt decides he’s really only meant to be Captain Casey, he wakes up on Christie’s couch with the mother of all hangovers. He gets a solid five minutes of laying awake, nauseous and self-loathing before his older sister comes in with a steaming cup of coffee and smile more gentle than he’s ever seen her wear. She digs her hand into his shoulder and tells him about coming home from her freshman year of college for Thanksgiving.

She tells him about letting herself be dragged back to the high school stadium by friends she hadn’t quite lost touch with yet for the annual cross-town rival Turkey Bowl football game. She tells him about not watching a single moment of the game, about missing the moment when Star Quarterback John Murphy’s collar bone snapped. She tells him about becoming the most committed high school football fan in the five minutes after the ATs got John Murphy off the field, and the coach decided that what the hell, they’d finish the game anyway, that scrawny freshman Matt Casey would finally get some playing time after a whole season of sitting the bench. She tells him about flying off her seat, about going hoarse the next day from telling everyone in the stadium “that was my brother, Matt Casey, the kid who made the final point, that’s my brother.”

Matt, sitting up now, gives Christie a soft smile and mumbles that it was fluke really, that he didn’t see a second of playing time again until his junior year, that he was always more of a hockey guy. Christie reaches across him again digging her nails into his shoulders, says with the mean kind of love only older sisters are capable of, “Matthew Michael, you are not a fluke.”

A week after Matt pulls himself off Christie’s couch Sylvie tells him she is done needing space, that she misses her friend. He’s grateful for that and does his best to not be annoyed when she starts looking surprised that he isn’t ‘fighting’ for her or doing whatever charming manly bullshit he would’ve done even just a few months ago. But Matt is done fighting for things he doesn’t really want, is done fighting himself at every turn and is ready to start fighting for himself. He isn’t a fluke and one of these days he’s going to prove it.

In fact, he proves it when he goes to dinner at Stella and Kelly’s new place on a warm fall night just under a year since he was standing in the hallway of Sylvie’s apartment exhausted of himself. It’s him, Stella and Kelly of course, Sylvie but not her boyfriend, and Sam Kidd, Stella’s older brother who just moved to Chicago and is “desperate enough for friends that I’m hanging around my baby sister, I know it’s--ow, Steve, don’t hit me!”

Sam Kidd is funny and charming and tells terrific stories about a precocious preteen Stella. And after dinner when he and Matt end up alone in the kitchen having volunteered for clean up duty, Sam puts a firm hand on Matt’s shoulder and says he appreciates how Matt has looked out for his baby sister these past years, that he was skeptical of the stories Stella told him about her Captain right up until he shook Matt’s hand earlier that night. Sam readily agrees when Matt insists that Stella has never needed any looking after but his hand lingers in an appreciative squeeze on his shoulder anyway.

They walk down the block toward their cars together after seeing Sylvie safely to her Uber. When they get to Sam’s sleek black sports car (he’s in marketing and apparently very good at it), Matt is less surprised than he thought he would be when Sam crowds him against the passenger side door and sweetly asks “would it be alright if I kissed you?” (Matt says yes, to the kiss and a date, as well as a second date and third one too).

They don’t make a big announcement or anything, but they also don’t hide it. When Stella and Kelly get married in the Spring, Sam pulls Matt out onto the dance floor and holds him close right in front of everyone. For the first time in his life, Matt doesn’t mind the attention a single bit because he’s finally where he fits.

When Matt is all danced out, and Sam is cutting in to dance with his sister, Matt finds himself in the little anteroom straightening out gift bags and taking a moment to feel quietly pleased with himself. Sylvie comes in then, eyes shining to compliment the new ring on her left hand. For a moment Matt worries she’s upset with him, but then her face breaks into a soft grin and he barely catches her “oh, Matt” before he’s catching her. When they pull away from each other Matt gives her a grin of his own, one that he hopes says I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry it all got so messy but I can’t be sorry for who I am. Sylvie must understand him because she’s still grinning as she says, “you’re happy.” It’s not a question, but Matt nods anyway because finally, after years and years, it’s fully and all the way true. He’s happy.

#matt casey #sylvie brett #christie casey jordan #chicago fire #chicago fire fic #chicago fire headcanons #if i was any good at this I would've included a casey/severide moment as well #but im not so i didn't #i have it in my head tho #also stella telling a very good joke about the two of them being so codependent that they had to fall in love with people from the same fam #also i feel like sylvie isn't very flushed out in this but like it's about matt so...#she's an ally #i want that clear #sylvie is 100% team matt living his truth etc #also definitely fast friends with Sam #he calls her in a panic one day bc matt came home with his arm all bandaged and unconcerned #but sam IS concerned bc ANY amount of skin melting is too much skin melting dont come at me with a degree system matt

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abduct-me-helen · 5 years ago

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Class 108's Apocalypse Field Trip | Chapter 1.

The world ended on a Tuesday. Quite suddenly, halfway through class. After the sky split open and green light bathed the earth, things changed. Some lived.

Some didn’t.

Class 108 stayed together, for the most part. They took up a base in the school, and boarded up the windows and doors.

Sydney was the one who first learned they didn’t need to eat. Other revelations of that sort followed. Sleep was not needed, nor was water. Air seemed to be, though, as they learned after Cal passed out from holding their breath.

The first one to die was Cú.

They don’t talk about Cú.

Of course, some things are unavoidable in the end. Logically, Sydney knew it was only a matter of time before something managed to slip under the cracks and they’d all get killed; god knows they’d narrowly scraped by enough times to be considered cosmically lucky. Tabitha had been spreading rumors, as was her nature, about the school itself being sentient, trapping them inside with false promises of safety.

On the worse days, Sydney believed it.

Sydney stepped into the classroom slowly, craning her head to where Tabitha and Rosie were explaining their theories. She didn’t know which theories, but she’d heard most of them by now.

“G’morning.” She said.

It was night.

No, she thought, the sky is dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s night.

Rosie gestures towards a desk, and she avoids the chair toppled over at her feet as she sits down on top of it. She takes not of who else had decided to attend this “session” of theirs today. There are 12 students left out of the thirty who had originally made up the class. Ten of them had disappeared after running away from the school in shock after the eye in the sky had first opened. They hadn’t been in homeroom during the “blink,” which is what they’d taken to call the eye opening, and hadn’t seen any teachers since that day.

She remembered it vividly.

Ms. Bruis had tensed, eyes wide in shock, before telling them to calm down and stay indoors. She immediately went outside the room to check on everyone else.

That was the last time they’d seen Ms. Bruis, but not the last time they’d seen her face.

Besides the initial chaos, there wasn’t anything attacking the school. It was just shouting and screaming and running. Sydney had stayed in the classroom, clumsily trying to close the blinds on the window.

People just, left. And they didn’t come back.

The first venture was when they lost Cú. She doesn’t like to talk about him, never mind think about him. Nonetheless, her mind often drifts towards his death.

It was about four hours after the chaos. People had been nearly sucked out of the building, teachers included. The only ones that remained were the thirty students of 108.

Sydney didn’t know why they were the only ones to remain. She still doesn’t now.

The students decided to have a short party go out and scout. Sydney, Katie, Cú, Tabitha and Rosie. Four survived, one did not.

Rosie was always the thinker of the group, and as such she took the front. Katie was chosen for her seemingly nonchalant disposition to going, and Tabitha for her mind, which was always going too fast and often arriving at far-out conclusions. Despite this, she was a quick-witted person and had been selected for her dexterity and speed. Cú was selected for his physicality. He was a teddy bear, but a strong teddy bear.

It didn’t save him in the end.

And Sydney, well, she was cautious. She wonders if she could’ve saved Cú if she’d been just a little bit wearier.

They wandered a few blocks before hearing the sound of skin and bone splitting. Tabitha immediately ran toward the sound, as was her nature. The rest, Rosie at the lead, followed, hiding behind a corner.

Katie didn’t make a face, but even she was visibly pale.

When the sound came again, louder, and a creature made of wet flesh and twisted muscle stepped out of the alleyway, she became practically white.

Sydney retched. She’s not ashamed to admit it, you would’ve too. Anyone would’ve retched if they saw that sight.

It got worse.

“Hello?! Someone! Help me, please!”

It was Ms. Bruis-no, it looked like Ms. Bruis.

Cú ran. He dodged the creature, running to Ms. Bruis and starting to try to pick her up off the ground, before he noticed she was rooted to the cement. His eyes widened as blood ran down her face

She smirked.

Sydney will always remember the flash of teeth before she plunged her hand-no, her claw-into his stomach. He made a choked sound before the creature bounded back over and ripped his jaw clean off.

They ran. They ran. They ran.

And then they came back to the classroom, and they wept.

There were more expeditions after that. They lost seven more after that, but in those ventures, they collected knowledge. This knowledge went on Rosie’s list, though it also doubled as a rulebook.

THE LIST

1. Some creatures can make copies of people you know in order to trick you. They don’t bleed, so your best shot at not meeting eyeball daddy up close is to yeet the fuck outta there//bold of you to assume I don’t want to meet eyeball daddy uwu//

2. Don’t trust meat. Ever. Meat comes alive. WE ARE VEGANS IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2018(?)

3. Don’t answer the door, even if you’re armed. No, Eric, we do not count your big muscles™ as a weapon.

4. If you MUST answer the door, don’t. You have been stopped.

5. A short section on the happenings of the places(?) known to us as “nightmares.”

Nightmares trap humans in these crazy places. We’ve only seen two, but they are extremely dangerous, and both encounters ended in casualties. They trap your mind and make you experience terrible things, and like the rest of the world (to our knowledge at least) don’t follow normal time or space rules. Basically, if you want to avoid a ,’ , |,’_’, you should not screw with that shit.

6. Always check with someone else before eating or drinking. Sometimes, your mind will play tricks on you and you won’t notice that you’re eating something…not good. Honor cal for their sacrifice regarding this matter (sorry cal)

7. Always shut the blinds. Eyeball daddy is watching you//YOU DID NOT NEED TO SAY THAT TABITHA

8. Don’t leave the building without consulting all of class 108.

9. Don’t read books that others haven’t read first, especially if it says it’s from the library of Jurgen LeitnerSTUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING JURGEN LEITENER GOD DAMN FOOL BOOK COLLECTING DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIO//yes, Riko, we get it, but good point. Be Jared, 19.

10. Don’t invite anyone in.

“What are we on today?” Sydney asked.

“Tabitha’s on about the categories again.” Cal said.

“I really think it could work!” she said loudly. “Look, there’s consistencies in every single encounter we’ve had. Think about it. Remember what happened at the theater?”

Katie grimaced silently. “How could we forget?”

Tabitha ignored her. “The webs. Spiders and the rest of those insects are different categories. The wriggly silver worms are more like, bugs and wriggly things and judging from the infestation we had they all work together.”

“Like a hive?” Cal asked.

Tabitha nodded. “Exactly like that. Spiders are different though; you saw how many were crawling about during the amphitheater incident. And that whole thing was about control. All those people who were laughing…they, they were there. They didn’t want to do it! They didn’t want to laugh, you saw their eyes. They were being controlled. And when,” she paused, gritting her teeth, “and when Marcy died she was being controlled too. Puppeted.”

That’s two. Then we come to the next one, guns and murder and war and shit like that. Simple enough. But I think it has to be humans killing humans, because the thing that killed, killed Cú wasn’t like that. It was, it was different. I don’t know. I’ll get back to that.

“Then we have the cover up, or the anonymous things. Things like those little creatures that hide in your plates that you can’t notice are there until someone tells you. That’s why I’m confused, because I think the weird fleshy creature we faced was aligned with that but also with those meat things that broke Rosie’s leg. I don’t know how to explain it, but, ah. Sorry. I think they’re the same category.”

“I’ll humor you; can a thing be two categories?” Katie questioned her dully.

“I think so. Maybe it’s like colors? Really angry colors. They’re all separate, but the same because they’re all made of the same stuff. And they all blur together sometimes?”

“Yeah,” Katie snorted, “we’re being killed by really angry colors.”

Tabitha flushed. “Hey! It was just an analogy.”

Rosie seemed to be considering what Tabitha had said, before she looked up. “I believe you.”

“Y-you do?” Tabitha blinked, taken back.

Rosie nodded. “It makes sense. Really angry colors.”

“Really angry colors.”

A few hours-well, time was weird, but Sydney supposed it was hours-later, the class was doing yoga. Well, not “yoga” per se. They were beating each other on the head with torn up yoga mats.

“Hey!” Riko shouted as Tabitha tripped over her mat while chasing Cal. “Watch it! This is where I sleep!”

Tabitha stuck her tongue out and Katie snorted, not looking up from her book. Sydney wondered how she did that; Katie always seemed to have an astounding amount of situational awareness at all times.

“Real mature.” Katie groused.

Tabitha grinned, and Rosie smiled softly.

“I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU MEET EYEBALL DADDY!” she shouted to Cal, who’s eyes widened in mock fear.

“Oh no! The horror! OwO!” They said dramatically.

“Did they just say “OwO”?” Sydney asked in a deadpan. Rosie nodded solemnly.

“You ever wonder…” Sydney trailed off, the muffled shouting of their peers drowned out into the background.

“Wonder what?” Rosie tilted her head in question.

“What happened to Mr. Sims.”

“He’s probably…not with us anymore.”

“Yeah. Still, could you imagine? He was a bloody cryptid. He’d probably take all this with no sweat.”

“Maybe he’d give us concerts too.”

“Good ole Jonny D’Ville.”

Rosie snickered.

“You know how he always drew eyes everywhere? During tests?”

“Oh god, don’t mention that to Tabitha, I don’t need her going on about another conspiracy.”

Sydney grinned to herself and Rosie groaned.

“Well, I was thinking, maybe it was an omen.”

“An omen?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been spiritual really, but the worlds gone to shit so who knows what’s real. Maybe the Mayans were just a few days off.”

“Ah, the apocalypse calendar.”

“Indeed.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

A noise rang out from the entrance to the school, loud and imposing. Sydney’s heart started to thump wildly in terror.

They all shot up, and Katie got her switchblade out from her pocket. She was lucky enough to have it on her at the blink, and it was their best weapon.

Cypress shot inside the classroom silently, eyes wide, red curls bouncing. He clicked the door shut quietly, pale. “The others sent me. They’re hiding in place. I think we should just stay put.”

Rosie nodded, gesturing him to come over. She placed a finger over her lips in order to get them to stay silent, then nodded to Katie. Katie had always been gifted with really good hearing, and it had saved their assess more than enough times for Rosie to know that letting her try to hear who was at the door was the best safe bet for situation and the time being.

Katie closed her eyes, but after a quarter of a minute shook her head.

That’s when they heard it.

“Hello!”

Sydney brought a hand to her mouth to clamp down a scream.

It was Cypress.

Eyes wide, she glanced over to Cypress, her Cypress, who’s expression was now glazed over. Was his skin always that waxy? Why was his hair so smooth? It looked like that of a dolls, curls made of softly bent plastic.

Katie saw the flicker of light before she saw the blade, and she lunged.

Her switchblade pierced his skin-no, his stuffing, with a sound akin to ripping a toy. It didn’t seem to stop this not-Cypress.

Oh god, Sydney thought, today is the day I die.

There was a sound like static now in the air, and the faint smell of burning. Sydney began to feel sick, almost lightheaded.

The door swung open, and Sydney whipped her head around to see Cypress, who was trailed by…Mr. Sims?

#tma #the magnus archives #teacher!jon #teacher jonathan sims #tma fanfic #eyepocolypse #tma spoilers #tma au #season 5 #tma season 5 #gen z vs the apocolypse

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years ago

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ABC’s Big Sky Parallels

Hey Everyone! Today’s theory is short and sweet. It was pointed out to me by the wonderful @monroe0626librarian (IG).

So, we can file this under the heading of when actors from TWD do small shows on AMC. If you don’t know what I mean, check out THESE THEORIES.

The gist is that when an actor leaves TWD, we’ve seen a pattern of them doing small shows on ABC. By small, I just mean short-running (usually only 1 season) shows that don’t have a huge audience. We’ve seen it happen again and again over the years.

Examples:

Emily Kinney: Conviction (1 season) and Ten Days in the Valley (mini-series)

Lauren Cohan: Whiskey Cavalier (1 season)

Sydney Park: Pretty Little Liars: The Perfectionists (1 season)

Michael Cudlitz: The Kids are All Right (1 season)

This list isn’t exhaustive. I think there are a few others. And I haven’t, by far, done theories on them all. This is just something I’ve kept an eye on.

But I want to draw everyone’s attention especially to Lauren Cohan and Sydney Park. And to some extent, Michael Cudlitz. Neither Lauren nor Sydney “died” on the show, but they were gone for extended periods of time before being brought back.

So the biggest pattern I’m seeing here is actors that TWD wants to keep around, but because they won’t be on the show for a time, they need to find some other reason to pay them and keep them from seeking jobs elsewhere. So they find them jobs with ABC, which is a sister company to AMC. And in each case, the shows are small, one-season series, because the point is for them NOT to be continuous jobs, so the actor can come back to TWD at the appointed time.

With Michael Cudlitz, obviously he is dead on the show, but most of us think that we’ll see Abraham again, perhaps in the second spinoff (not the Daryl/Carol one, but the “Tales of the Walking Dead” one) in a origins story about him and Eugene. Plus, we also know they really like him for behind-the-camera work and he’s directed several episodes and such.

So, the point of all of this is that 1) Emily has done not 1 but 2 abc series, which suggests the AMC/ABC entity is keeping her around for some reason. That’s also why she hasn’t gotten any major jobs on any other big show. 2) We’ve often seen parallels to TWD in these little ABC shows.

Now, let me first say that I haven’t watched most of the ABC shows. So, if there were parallels in all of them, I probably wouldn’t know. But I do know that at the end of TDITV, Emily’s character was shot in the head. Just like Beth. I also know that many TDers saw tons of parallels to her character in Conviction, though I only watched a couple of episodes of that myself.

So, this is a lot of background to prepare you for today’s theory, which has to do with a show called Big Sky. I watched the first half of season 1, and honestly wasn’t even thinking about TD parallels until @monroe0626librarian pointed them out to me.

*Warning: spoilers for the MSF of Big Sky are below. If you don’t want to be spoiled, stop reading!*

I watched this show it because it was a crime show. I thought it would be about a serial killer (I like those types of shows) but it turned out to be more of a human trafficking thing. Anyway, I watched it and liked it and never even thought to connect it to TD. I probably should have, but it was Christmastime and I was distracted. ;D

But what @monroe0626librarian pointed out is that in the mid-season finale of this series, a guy (a cop) was shot in the head. And he actually said a few words before he hit the ground. So, her theory is that he’s actually still alive, and will be revealed so when the show returns.

Now, I get that that, in itself, is a fairly small tie, but there are other things I haven’t told you. This guy is a state trooper and he’s involved in the trafficking operation. He’s doing it to increase his retirement pension. He’s played by John Carroll Lynch (guy that played Eastman).

Now, as I said, I never thought to connect this to TWD in any way. I knew who JCL was before he was on TWD, and it’s common for him to play villain roles. But when @monroe0626librarian mentioned this, I started thinking about it, and realized there really are quite a few ties.

First, he’s a cop, which made me think of Grady cops. Two girls are taken. One is blond, and the other does display some Beth-like gusto. There’s even a bow-and-arrow involved. I honestly can’t remember if it’s a crossbow or a long bow.

I’m also wondering about Ryan Phillipe’s character. This is just a wondering, and I’ll have to watch the rest of the season to know for sure, but I’m wondering if he’ll end up being paralleled with Beth’s character as well. I won’t say too much more about that, but I’ll let you know.

Now, I think you all know I don’t particularly like going outside the show for symbolism. I only do it when there’s ample evidence that we should be looking at something beyond the scope of the show.

I watched this show on the Hulu app, and for some reason, I was thinking it was CBS that put it out. And that wouldn’t have any particular ties to AMC. But when I considered that JCL was in it, I looked up the company and found I was wrong. It wasn’t put out by CBS. It was made by ABC. Because I simply didn’t realize that, my mouth dropped open when I discovered it.

Yeah, I’m a convert. Too many suspicious ABC series with TWD actors in them to not side-eye this.

And because this character was shot in the forehead, @monroelibrarian suggested he was pretty much shot where Beth was, which is true, but I think we could even argue that he was shot exactly where Daryl shot Dawn. You know, the cop?

So yeah. That’s pretty much the gist. Kinda small potatoes, but yet another ABC show, with previous TWD actors in it, that has Beth ties in it. I doubt it will amount to much more than that, but I’ll keep watching the show, whenever it returns, and report on anything else I find.

Did anyone else watch this show?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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lokisrare · 5 years ago

Text

birdie

pairings: ben hardy x ofc.

word count: 4.6k

a/n: i hate this but i love this, also, spoiler: i hate cassie. i don’t really know what it is, but let me know what you think and if you want to know what happens next lmao. oh, by the way this was heavily inspired by break my heart by dua lipa.

June 6th, 2010.

“Well damn, you look HOT.” I gushed when Sydney walked out of the changing room.

She sent a smile towards me while fixing her hair, it must’ve been freaking hard to get on that dress, I think to myself when I look up and down her body, the dress hugging her body just right, but still, the material looked incredibly uncomfortable and her face just confirmed that to me.

“I feel like someone’s pinching my nipples constantly, like here…, ugh it hitches so bad,” she says trying to fix the top of the dress and I laugh at her struggling to make the dress work.

“Syd, why don’t you try something else, you’re going to look good anyway,” all I receive is a death glare and I just know she’s telling me to fuck off while still trying to find a way to feel comfortable.

She huffs and gets into the changing room, closing the pink curtain a little too aggressively, I suppress a giggle knowing she’s having a hard time and I’d probably end up with my hair pulled if I keep making fun of her. “Everybody Talks” by Neon Trees is playing which makes me roll my eyes annoyed, it had become my young sister’s favorite song so it was on repeat almost every hour of the day, just listening to it gave me a horrid headache.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just go with the first one,” Sydney says finally getting out. I nod, a very genuine and happy smile plastered on my face, it was 6.30 pm and we had left my house at 4, to say I was hungry and tired was an understatement.

“I really hate you, Cass, you know that right?” Sydney says as we finally get to my house, most specifically: my room. I run straight to my bed, my back thanking me for finally having a moment to rest after being walking and standing still for three hours straight. “I don’t really know how you choose so easily; I just can’t decide when it comes to shopping.”

I smile with my eyes closed hearing Syd grabbing the make-up bag as she seats in front of the mirror, “I just go for black, that’s my secret, black’s the right decision. Always.”

“Your whole wardrobe is black, Cassie.” I don’t see her but I can tell she rolled her eyes, annoyed. “You could’ve at least gone for something red this time or maroon or grey.”

I prop on my elbows scanning my open (and messy) closet, well… maybe I owned a lot of black clothes but it is just a glorious color, or not actually a color but who cares, black just rocks and it was easily combined.

“I promise I’ll wear something else next time.”

Sydney looks at me with a sarcastic expression, raising an eyebrow.

“No, you won’t.” Nope, I won’t.

I grab the curling iron next to my night table: “Curls, straight or should I just go natural?” Sydney shrugs looking at me intently, her lips pressed together, after a few seconds she just clicks her tongue and turns around.

“Whatever you feel like doing today, babe, you’ll look pretty anyway,” she pauses. “And Ben will like it anyway.”

“SYDNEY, NO.”

“What?” She says smirking at me through the mirror. “Oh, come on you can’t possibly think I don’t realize, the tension is obvious,” she smiles satisfied at my petrified expression. “Besides he’s a Capricorn, Capricorn and Scorpios have AMAZING SEX.”

“SYDNEY” I shout throwing a heart shaped pillow at her while she laughs uncontrollably, “He’s my brother’s friend, your step brother and almost 3 years older.”

“Your brother does not care at all, I don’t either and you didn’t say nothing about the sex thing so you little bastards have been really sneaky about it but I’m the devil and I found a condom on the bathroom trash the other day,” I set a mental reminder to slap Ben when I see him tonight, “It wasn’t mine so it was either from my parents or from Ben. And your face just told me it was from Ben,” she stops and then wrinkles her nose, “Ugh, disgusting. Let’s move on from this topic, please.”

“You started it.”

“I thought he was fooling around with Candace, she’s been after him the whole year, it looks like she knows he’s leaving soon. Besides I heard the rumor they slept together, I’m sure she started it.”

“Yeah, I think she knows, that’s why she’s been so clingy.” I cringe thinking of it. “Well if it’s true then her wish finally came true.”

The disgusted tone in my voice making me feel kind of angry at myself, just as much as the thought of Ben fooling around with Candace and I know Sydney can tell. I wasn’t very surprised when I first found out she’d been trying to get his attention the whole year, her obsession with Ben wasn’t new and she seemed a little too desperate, but she wasn’t a bad person, maybe too much of a bimbo girl but still, a nice person and Ben had always found a way to avoid her.

When Malik came up to me with rumor it made my stomach turn, giving the fact that two weeks ago he had me pinned against a wall at some random party while we had a (very steamy) make out session hoping my brother wouldn’t find us. Fucking. Ben.

“I don’t think that’s true at all, I totally think she spread the rumor herself with some friend’s help.” I sighed at Sydney insistence, “besides the whole situation is so weird, he is constantly running away from her and just one day they, like, fuck? Uh-uh, that just not makes sense, maybe she’s blackmailing him.” I laugh at her occurrence. Only Sydney, of course. “I truly hope my theory is not true, that’d be, like, pyscho behavior.”

“Yeah, but still, it might be true, we don’t know” I say getting up and throwing the curling iron on top of my bed. Curls it is, I think. “I believe there’s pizza on the fridge, is that ok for you or what do you want?”

Sydney thinks for a few seconds, “yeah, pizza’s fine, I’ll just eat a tiny bit though because I want to get really wasted really fast today and that’s way easier if I have an empty stomach.”

“You’re going to die.”

“Oh well, but it’s not going to hurt if my drunk as hell.”

“Touché.”

The dress hugged my curves just fine but I still felt like I was trying very hard to convince myself I really liked the way I looked with this way too short dress and I hadn’t just bought it because I knew it would catch Ben’s attention; I was upset knowing I was just about to leave my house wearing something just not-me at all to impress a stupid boy.

He’s not stupid and you know it.

“You look gorgeous, breathtaking and completely uncomfortable.” I turned around, Syd was standing leaning against the door frame looking effortlessly beautiful, her blonde hair straight and the loose baby pink dress making her look absolutely angelic.

“I am terribly uncomfortable, and I hate the fact the I’m about to take it off because it costed me good money I could’ve used to buy something I actually liked.” I said raising my voice, feeling angry at myself again, for the same reason, “I hate myself sometimes.”

Sydney giggles as she looked through my closet, smiling triumphantly when she found what she was looking for: a short black skirt and a grey blouse.

“I love this outfit on you, please change, you’re radiating so much negativity wearing that outfit besides the look on your face makes it seems like it’s causing you actual pain to be wearing this.” She stated and then lowered her eyes to my feet, “Oh god, Cassie, take those heels off, those are not even your favorite ones, put on your white vans, do yourself a favor, please.” I groaned as I got up feeling defeated and absolutely ridiculous to say the least.

Once I was changed, I felt my confidence coming back again, I looked pretty and I looked like me, Sydney got up from the bed clapping happily.

“Yay! That’s my Cassie, you look gorgeous!” she grabbed my hand dragging me downstairs way too fast and excitedly, making my chest crash against her back when she stopped abruptly at the end of the stair, turning around violently, “It’s not like you didn’t look gorgeous before, it’s just… now you look gorgeous and your face doesn’t look like you’re in the middle of a funeral.” I scoffed punching her arm but a giggle escaped my mouth making both of us laugh, right before we saw the taxi parking outside.

“Ok, let’s do it giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl.” I opened the door as Syd put two little vodka bottles inside of her little purse. “All done, and just to re-clarify, you look amazing and Ben’s going to love how you look, you really don’t need to try so hard, he already likes you.”

“Oh my God, STOP, let’s go Syd.” I said pushing her outside the house.

“Just saying.”

The house was packed, way too packed for a place so small, the air was filled with smoke from the cigarettes and the smoke machine placed on top of an old couch. I looked around trying to find my friends or at least my brother.

You’re looking for him.

I rolled my eyes annoyed at myself, once again. I wasn’t looking for him, or maybe a little, but it’s not like I was desperate. Or too desperate.

“My niñas, over here mis amores!” A curly haired boy calls from inside the little kitchen. Lucas. He had two girls clung to his sides, fighting for his attention, I smirk looking at him as he excuses himself with the girls and start making his way towards us. Poor girls, if they only knew.

“Ugh, I’m already hating this place and I’ve been here for just 20 minutes.” He states right after kissing Syd and I’s both cheeks.

Sydney takes the vodka bottles out of her purse making Lucas smile widely as he puts his hand on his chest. Oh my god. I already knew I was going to be tonight’s babysitter.

“Yas! You are my Blondie Number One angel, Syd.” Lucas grabbed her cheeks pecking her on the lips, looking behind them I saw the two girls from earlier, both with annoyed looks as they turned around to leave the place, Lucas hand grabbed my arm, catching my attention, “Why so distracted? Looking for Blondie Number Two?” He asked raising his eyebrows repeatedly. “He got in here right before you guys but since Candace the Crazy was looking for him since she got here, he completely disappeared.” He said looking around, his arms resting on Sydney’s shoulders, “Nope, Blondie Number Two’s not around. To be honest I’m kind of worried Candace is blackmailing him.” he stated clicking his tongue.

Sydney let out a very exaggerated high pitched scream, “I thought THE SAME and Cassie won’t believe it.”

“Guys, both of you are insane, completely insane, let the poor girl live.”

Hypocrite.

“Oh c’mon, two weeks ago you were ready to sneak into Daisy Clinton’s room to do the nasty with Benny-Boy for like the 100th time now you just don’t care? I don’t buy it baby, no no, not when you came in here looking like a lost puppy.” I opened my mouth ready to say something but Lucas spoke first also interrupting Sydney whom was about to complain since she was the last person to find out or to figure it out, actually, “And don’t tell me you were looking for your brother. I. Know. You. Cassidy. Peters.”

I just shrugged trying to not show him how fucking right he was, and also trying not to accept to myself I’ve been looking for him the entire time we stood in the middle of the tiny kitchen. Sydney gave me the finger and then made her way towards the improvised dance floor carrying Lucas with her.

Now I was seated on the corner of the living room watching Logan Lawrence, our school’s quarter back make out with one of the shyest girls from our school. Poor girl. She’s so going to regret it tomorrow… and forever probably. Logan was just that disgusting. I kept looking around when I started cursing at myself, I’ve been sitting here for almost half on hour looking at Sydney and Lucas get wasted just because I was trying to find the boy I was desperately craving for and he was nowhere to be seen, which was bad, but I had seen Candace dance around looking absolutely drunk, which was good, but it also meant Ben could be with any other girl, which was bad. Really bad. For me, of course.

My phone buzzed, three messages from Jonas, also known as my brother.

Jo: bring me a whisky pleeeeeeeease

Jo: no one will realize, I’m on the roof with the boys

Jo: please cass, be a good sis

I huffed but still got up ready to do what he asked me to, I mean, it’s not like I was doing anything better. I grabbed the bottle of whisky and a very drunk boy stared at me, I was ready for him to say something but he just smiled and gave me the thumbs up, I laughed a little and waved him goodbye as I made my way upstairs.

How the fuck do I get to the roof?

Cass: how do I get there?

Jo: first floor, the room with the green door at the right, take the stairs

Jo: be fast, there’s like a lot of people getting at it

Well fuck. Once I got to the first floor the green door was the first one I saw, an AC/DC poster on it, I breathed in and opened it, trying to get used to the dark looking where the hell was the supposed way to the roof; not giving a single fuck I opened the door again learning a lot of lovely words from the people hiding in there, I was about to say something to them when I saw the hole on the corner of the bedroom’s ceiling and the wooden escalator right under it. Of course.

The relieve my ears felt when I reached the roof was glorious, I took a few second to enjoy the feeling when I felt a hand on my shoulders, grabbing harder the whisky bottle ready to snap at whatever drunk boy who was trying to annoy my little moment of peace I turned around but I was met with Blondie Number Two, or just Ben.

“Easy, Cassie.” He laughed grabbing the bottle from my hand and lending it to my brother who was right behind him with a knowing smirk, I sent him a death glare.

“Hi, Cass, having fun?” He said slurring his words, oh my God, obviously Jonas Peters was a lightweight and now I had just brought him a big ass bottle of whisky for him to keep getting drunk.

I looked to him and then to Ben who stood way too close for my liking, I was able to smell his perfume. My mind travelling back to Daisy’s room when I was pressed against a wall, his hands roaming trough my whole body while I left love bites all over his neck, getting drunk on his scent.

Stop it. Answer the question.

“Absolutely not.” Jonas pretended to cry and then blew a kiss towards me as he left to join his others friends, they were just as drunk as him, or even worst. Ben cleared his throat making me look his way taking in his appearance, black shirt, black jeans, black shoes, so good looking. Maybe that’s what I liked him so much, it seemed his closet was also full of black clothes.

He was effortlessly beautiful.

“Well, thank you. “He said, a smug expression plastered on his face just as the color drained from mine. WHY?

I sighed, putting on my best annoyed look trying desperately to make it seem I didn’t care at all. Liar. “Don’t flatter yourself, I did it on purpose.” He nodded, the little smirk still lingering on his face as he stepped closer to me, hooking his arm around my shoulder.

“Yeah, sure, Birdie.” I groaned at the nickname and Ben threw his head back laughing at my annoyance.

“Don’t call me that, Ben. I don’t go around calling you Blondie Number Two.” I tried to let loose from his arms but he just held my tighter, starting to walk and dragging me along with him to sit closer to the edge against a wall, the big tree in front of the house blocking the street lights making it hard to see clearly; once we both were sitting I was finally able to get off of his embrace, looking down trying to ignore the fact that Ben was so close to me, and we were alone in the –almost- dark.

“But I always call you like that, you should be used to it by now… Birdie” He said right after getting comfortable on the floor. I huffed. No. I would never get used to it because I felt embarrassed and angry, angry at myself (as always, of course) for being so obsessed with him since forever.

I saw him light a cigarette from the corner of my eye, before turning back his attention to me, blowing out the smoke, “it fits you, you’re so… free, I don’t know, so you,” I looked at him attentively, lost in the way he chewed on his bottom lip while he tried to find the words, “I mean…, ugh, you know what, nothing. It just fits you because you’re beautiful and birds are also beautiful and interesting and also fucking smart”

I really didn’t know how I managed to not throw myself to him right there. To everyone, Ben Jones was this incredibly confident good looking college boy every girl wanted but to me he was just Blondie Number Two: Ben Jones, the boy whom just had compared me to birds because I, apparently, am: pretty, interesting and intelligent and now just stared at his cigarette nervously waiting for my response.

He was trying to be romantic, cute or whatever about the nickname but we both knew really well why he called me that.

“You’re and idiot, Ben.” I punched his arm lightly, “you could’ve jus explained it that way ten years ago when you started calling me that. Seven-year-old Cassie would’ve have been happy with it.”

He shrugged, “I figured you hated me.”

“I threw myself from a homemade zip line to impress you, I surely did not hate you.” Ben choked on the cigarette smoke looking at me with a funny expression, “I just never talked to you because Jonas wouldn’t let me, it wasn’t cool if his little sister tried to be friends with his friends.”

“The whole zip line thing was just to impress me?” I nodded, “well fuck, Cass, I appreciate it, you almost broke a bone back then.”

“Good to know you do now, finally.”

He finished the cigarette, throwing the filter somewhere and got closer grabbing my legs and placing them on top of his, I felt drowned to sit completely on his lap but held back that need while looking intently into his eyes trying to figure what he wanted, his left hand travelled to my lower back as he stared at my lips, my breathing slowly becoming erratic I just wanted him to do something.

“W-what are you doing, Benjamin?” He smirked, his hand resting on my back pushing me up so now I was fully sitting on his lap, his right hand caressing my thigh making me look up and down, from where his hands were drawing circles on my leg and then back to his plumped lips.

“I’m just trying to show you some gratitude after all these years of you trying so hard to get my attention, Birdie” He said, his voice coming out really low making my insides tingle and my cheeks burn, thank God for all this darkness surrounding us.

“Can I kiss you?” I felt so desperate, our lips gracing as his hands kept caressing my thigh not letting me focus on his question completely.

“Why are you even asking?”

“Just being a gentleman.” He said gripping my waist harder, a whimper coming out of me provoking a smug smirk to creep on his face.

“Oh, shut up.”

I grabbed his face finally kissing him, smirking against his lips when Ben let out a throaty moan breaking the kiss for a few seconds but kissing me back hungrily as I fully straddled him, his hands going automatically to my hips gripping harder when I bit on his bottom lip, licking it with my tongue. Ben captured my lips with his again, I was so high lost in the moment as our lips moved in complete sync I wanted to stay like this forever. He pecked my lips before resting his head on the wall behind him while both of us tried to control our breathing.

“I fucking want you, Birdie.” He said getting closer to my face to peck my lips one more time, “but we are not doing this here, not with your brother and our drunk as hell friends just a few meters away.”

I groaned remembering the fact that I was in a roof and also in the middle of a party and as much I was wanted him, he was right.

“We can go to my house, my parents are gone for the weekend and they took Layla with them,” Ben’s eyes shot open, his right hand brushing the locks of hair falling on my face as he smiled satisfied, “besides Jonas is staying at Will’s today.”

“Then let’s fucking go.”

He grabbed my waist and got up with me still on top of him, I laughed against his shoulder as he settled me back on the floor and took my hand to guide us out of the roof. He walked towards the group of boys, two of them were already passed out on the floor while Jonas and Will vibed to Pursuit of Happiness, the bottle of whisky was empty.

“You two. We are leaving, don’t drive, walk or just take a cab.” Ben said, his voice firm as the two other boys glanced at each other and then started laughing.

“Yes, father!” Will saluted and I couldn’t help let out a laugh. Ben gripped my hand tighter and I looked at him, he was trying to suppress a laugh too.

“I’m serious, Will. Be safe.” Will just nodded as he laid on his back again.

“And I’m serious, Benjamin Jones.” Jonas said stepping into the conversation. If he was slurring words earlier now he was just a mess, I rolled my eyes at the drunk ass of a brother I had, “Don’t make me an uncle,” my mouth opened to say something but the words weren’t coming out, “at least not on my bed or on the couch, if you please, now leave, my children.” And that’s all he said before passing out on top of Will legs. Ben looked at my horrified and I just stood there.

“Does he know?” I asked right after he took my hand to lead us toward the hole on the floor.

“I mean it’s not like were not pretty obvious. You keep looking at me completely stunned every time.”

I scoffed. “Like you don’t do the same.”

“Never said I didn’t.” He winked at me and then started to go down the wooden stair.

Once we closed the green door after another round of cursing from the people inside the room, Ben asked me to wait for him as he went to the bathroom and just then, during my time alone I realized I left and never told Syd or Lucas, and I had been gone for -maybe- longer than thirty minutes and then so suddenly the name Candace came back to my mind; turning towards Ben who was coming out of the bathroom fixing his hair, I got to him and he looked down at me confused but smiling.

“What?”

“Are you and Candace a thing and I’m just being that girl?” I was fuming, not really because I was being that girl but because of the fact that I hated the thought of him with someone else.

Is not like he wasn’t aloud, we’re nothing.

Ouch.

Ben rolled his eyes looking, to my surprise, annoyed. “That fucking girl. I was just being nice to her for once and now she goes around spreading bullshit. NO, Birdie, there’s nothing happening with Candace. That’s why we were on the roof, I was avoiding her, she’s a pain in the ass. In my ass.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He said closing the distance between us and kissing me softly, this time was way different than before, and I was loving every second of it, “why can’t you see you’re the one I want, Birdie?” he said against my lips and I felt my legs trembling at his honesty.

“We should go.”

Why didn’t I say something back? Why didn’t I say I wanted him too? Because I did, I knew that. I was stupid. Well no, actually. I was afraid and I knew it deep down, back then, I just didn’t want to come to terms with it. I was afraid of getting too attached to him that when we had to take different paths it was going to hurt so much. That’s why I never said nothing.

After some promises from Syd and Lucas to find my brother and Will and take a cab the four of them together we left the house holding hands, my house was maybe ten blocks away, a little less maybe so we decided to walk, enjoying each other’s presence, none of us saying nothing. I felt Ben’s gaze from time to time but I was too submerged on my own thoughts, drowning in them and hating to be feeling that way when I should’ve been enjoying our little moment.

Both of us knew it probably was the last time we’d see each other but none of us said anything, or I didn’t say anything, Ben had made it clear a few minutes ago. And I wanted him, but I also didn’t want to hold him back and that’s exactly why what I really think and felt was never said.

And after ten years it still haunted me.

Now the same horrible feeling growing on my chest, I was feeling as nauseous as I felt back then when I said goodbye to him knowing I was escaping from what I really wanted out of fear, because I was a coward but I was also seventeen and experiencing a feeling so hard it numbed my thoughts.

Now I stood in the middle of the room, the glass of wine long forgotten on my hands as Sydney’s hand gripped on my arm sympathetically and I felt thankful because otherwise when I saw him entering the place, looking exactly the same just more mature; his cheeky behavior that made everybody love him still present, I felt so out of place, my knees shaking a little, or maybe it was just my imagination.

8 years after.

“Blondie Number Two has ARRIVED!” I heard Lucas yell in the distance.

And I just had to get out of here. Fast. The world was literally spinning around me as I looked at everyone greeting Ben with a hug, the ones who didn’t know him just stared at the scene smiling.

“Cass, we can leave, there’s no need for you to be doing this now. It’s fine.” Sydney whispered.

“No. I’m ok, this doesn’t affect me, not really.” I shrugged and she just stared at me not saying anything but her expression showed concern and tiredness towards this whole situation. “It’s just, it’s been so long and I’m just shocked. That’s all.”

Sydney opened her mouth to protest but closed it immediately looking behind me, right then, almost instantly, a very well known cologne filled my nose before I could ask her what was going on.

Oh crap.

And there he stood, in all his glory. Just as handsome, his confident aura captivating everyone around us, just like always. I extended my hand to him provoking Ben to just smile and roll his eyes taking my hand just to tug me into his arms, hugging me sweetly as my face was stamped against his chest, not reacting.

Do something. I mentally shouted at my self.

My hands travelled to his sides, finally embracing him. This felt nice, I thought. It felt familiar; way too familiar for two people who hadn’t seen each other for so long.

Ben moved his head, lowering it so now his mouth was right next to my ear, sending a shiver trought my whole body, the action being too intimate for the place we were in.

“Long time no see.” He whispered really low for me to hear it properly thanks to the music playing in the background, but still managing to knock the air out me when he got even closer and simply said: “I’ve missed you… Birdie.”

Now I really wanted to leave. Again.

#ben hardy #ben jones #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy smut #bohrap #borhap imagine #borhap x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader

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