#i draw in bed with my stuff propped on a pillow in my lap its a very bad system but ive been doing it for like 3 years

[felidthing]

the Only thing ive done today is watch youtube and do a bunch of eots stuff. including two drawings!! woagh!!!! my drawings are so few and far between rn i hate it. idk how much of it is some kind of mental anguish and how much of it is my shit setup making me semi-subconsciously not want to do any digital art

[drcalmreid]

books and braids - s.r.

pairing: fem reader x spencer reid

summary: angst/fluff — spencer asks you to braid his hair to relax after a rough week

content warning: brief mention of a male unsub and his victims! (tw: death, kidnapping, cutting hair, female victims)

word count: 1.7k

authors notes: I don’t even know what this is...I just couldn’t stop thinking about how cute Spence would look in braids, anyway enjoy xxx 

gif credit: @zhuzhubii​

YOUR POV

My thumbs run over the edges of my book as I flip the page, stretching out my legs across the length of the couch. I lift my eyes from the pages of The Alchemist and look at Spencer. He’s propped up against the armrest of the large leather chair he’s sat in, with his fingers scanning the pages and his left palm cupping his cheek. I close my book and toss it on the couch next to me, I slouch down on the couch and toss my braided hair over my shoulder. Pressing my cheek against the pillows and lose myself in looking at him. The soft glow of his reading lamp lights up his small apartment, bouncing off the endless bookshelves and olive green walls. The sun has set since we both started reading hours ago, just the two of us in his apartment enjoying one another's company after a rough case the day before. After being together for a while, I have been able to pick up on his cues when he’s hurt and wants his space versus when he’s hurting and needs comforting...but this time, I have no clue what he needs.

“In most cultures it’s considered impolite to stare,” Spencer says without breaking his gaze away from his book.

“Mmm,” I hum sitting up on the couch to look at him even more. “Actually, staring has been proven to be a sign of attraction in modern society.”

“Is that so?” Spencer chuckles and closes his book, placing it on the side table next to his chair. I nod at him and bring my legs up to my chest crossing them to sit cross-legged on the leather sofa. He stands from his chair and takes a few steps towards me, before kneeling in front of the couch. Spencer rests his arms on my lap and looks up at me, “hi,” he whispers after a while.

“Hi,” I reply back and take a free hand to run it through his curls. Spencer instinctively leans into my touch and his eyes flutter shut. My hands continue to run though his hair and I gently scratch his scalp. After a moment or two, Spencer opens his eyes again and crawls onto the couch, practically on top of me. I guess he needs comforting, I think to myself and I lay down on the couch and Spencer presses his chest against mine gently collapsing into me. He rests his head against my shoulder, his lips inches from my neck and I wrap my legs around his. He hums contently as his arms loop around my body, bringing us even closer than before. My left hand goes back to his head and runs my fingers through his hair, while my right traces patterns on his back.

“Spence,” I mumble quietly. He hums in response so I know he hasn’t fallen asleep and I continue, “are you okay? You didn’t talk much when you came home yesterday and we barely talked today, if you don’t want to that’s fine. I just-“ I sigh and raise my hand from his back and run careful fingers over his exposed cheek. “I just don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me.”

“I know,” he says, turning his face to rest his chin on my chest, his eyes opening slightly to peer up at me. He smiles gently before laying his head back down, “thank you...it isn’t that I don’t want to talk about it, I just can’t right now.”

“Oh,” I sigh and return his gentle smile. I look down at him fondly and continue to comb out his hair.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want you to overthink anything...it’s not your fault. I just can’t bring myself to discuss it yet...the case was really bad, (y/n).”

I nod and press a kiss to his forehead. His eyes close in response and he grins to himself. Spencer has never been one for attention or physical affection, but over time, somehow he’s grown to be the more clingy and physical one. He even surprised his team when he willingly kissed me in front of them, because he said I was “just different”.

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer says and draws me out from my own thoughts.

“Of course,” I smile.

“Can you,” he hesitates and turns his face away from my chest, leaning up on his elbows to look at me in the eyes. My hand drops from his hair and cups his cheek, he presses a kiss into my palm before finishing, “braid my hair? No—sorry that was stupid, I don’t know why I-“

“Spencer,” I cut into his flustered stuttering. ��Do you want two braids or one?” His smile grows to an impossibly large size and his eyes crinkle up at the corners.

“Surprise me.”

—

“How did you learn how to do this?” Spencer asks looking at me through the reflection of the mirror. I’m sitting on the edge of his bed, Spencer between my legs, his back flushed up against the box spring.

“Braid hair?” I ask and he nods, “well, I always knew how to do basic braids because of my mom, but I taught myself how to French braid due to lots of YouTube videos.”

Spencer smiles at me through the mirror and his eyes fix on my fingers in his hair. Twisting the pieces over one another, slowly adding smaller sections I complete my small French braid at the top of Spencer’s hair. Two tightly woven braids lay on the top of his scalp, leaving his curls below loose and free in a half up-half down style. I pull out some pieces from the front of his braids to frame his face and I look fondly at him. He’s beautiful.

“You look so handsome Spence,” I smile and run my fingers up through the bottom of his unbraided hair. A blush creeps onto Spencer’s cheeks and he tries to hide it by peering his face away and into his hands. “Hey,” I pull his hands down, still watching him through the reflection. “I mean it, you look...hot”

“No-” Spencer starts to protest, his blush deepening.

“Yes you do...you look hot, but also kind of beautiful at the same time,” I giggle and Spencer does too. He rises from the ground in one steady movement and stands between my legs. He leans down and places a soft kiss on my lips.

“Thank you,” he says and kisses my nose before standing back up. His large hands cup my face and his eyes scan over my every feature.

“Do you like them—the braids?” I ask.

“I love them,” he smiles and drops a hand from my cheek to grab the ends of my hair. “We match.”

We both chuckle at his corniness, but my heart flutters at the thought of Spencer, Dr. Genius, wanting to have matching hair with his girlfriend….who would have thought?

“Yknow,” Spencer clears his throat with a small cough. “The case…”

I patt the side of the bed next to me and Spencer takes my cue and sits. He fiddles with his fingers and won’t look at me.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” I say breaking the silence and placing my hands over his restless ones. Spencer nods, but continues.

“The unsub was killing women with long hair, he would cut it and keep boxes upon boxes of their hair. He made wigs out of the hair, long straight ones. One victim, she looked like you…” Spencer hesitates and looks up to meet my eyeline. I nod my head to tell him it’s okay to keep going. “She had the same hair color, eye color, everything...my heart stopped when I saw her photo. For a second, I thought ‘that’s (y/n)’.”

This breaks him….Spencer sniffles as a steady stream of tears rolls down his cheeks. I move back on the bed and pull him with me. Instinctively, Spencer follows and cuddles into my side as I run my hands over his back. A sob rattles his chest and Spencer cries into my side.

“Shhh,” I coo and squeeze him tight. “I’m here. I’m fine.”

“I know, I just—I’m sorry”

“Spencer, you never have to apologize to me for this stuff...ever.”

Spencer shakes his head and buries his face again in my side. Silence falls between us again aside from Spencer’s soft cries. My hands continue to move up and down his back trying my best to comfort him. I just know I have to be there for him.

“Yknow,” I say, cutting into the silence. “I could teach you how to braid my hair….it’s not hard and I’m pretty sure that big ol’ brain of yours can handle it.” I whisper, placing a kiss on the top of his head, right onto the braids in his perfect hair. Spencer pulls away from me and his reddened eyes crinkle up as his smile widens

“You can teach me?” He asks sitting up on the bed looking back at me.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure this is the only thing I’ll be able to teach you, Spence—”

“No,” Spencer cuts me off and sits cross-legged on the bed facing me. “You’ve taught me so much (y/n). More than you know. I know how to love again because of you...I knew when I saw that victim on the board I had to tell you I loved you because I didn’t want it to be too late...I love you, (y/n).”

“I love you too, Spencer.” I smile and Spencer presses his lips to mine. “So these braids…I think we should start with the basics first.”

“Mmm,” Spencer nods, acting overly enthusiastic. “I think that’s the perfect place to start, Professor (y/n).”

—

well, its official, I can't stop writing about Spencer ...and I may or may not be writing another as y'all read this... ;) requests are open!

leave requests here! // masterlist

stay safe and wear a mask! -m

[silkeris]

I’m the Strongest | JJK

characters : sorcerer!reader x itadori yuji x megumi fushiguro ft. a crumb of satoru gojo

summary : you’re a special grade sorcerer with a mysterious cursed energy and is introduced to itadori yuji

word count : 1291

warnings : slight blood and violence

author’s notes : this was very rushed and ~spoiler alert~ drew inspiration for reader’s cursed energy from naruto. now i know the nine-tailed fox doesn’t work like that but just work with me here lol. oh, and grammatical errors. let me know if you enjoy and want me to make another part!

You were laying on your back, under the shade of a tree, gazing up at the clouds when you heard your teacher walking by. You propped yourself up on your elbows when you saw that he was walking with a pink hair boy. You were about to return to your position when something caught your eye.

A mouth on his cheek?

The boy quickly slapped a hand where the mouth appeared but as if the mouth had a mind of its own, had made itself known once again on the back of his palm.

Interesting, You had thought. Maybe Megumi knew something about this.

Turns out, Megumi was knocked out in his dorm room, bandages covering his body. You stood above him, with your hands on your hips as you assessed him. You leaned down and gently poked his cheek.

“Megumiii,” You said his name in a sing-song voice.

“Me-gu-mi!” You poked his cheek with every pause in his name.

He stirred awake and looked at you annoyed, “What is it?”

“Who’s the pink-haired kid?” You asked and seated yourself on his bed.

He huffed a sigh at your action. He answered, “New student that’s gonna join us. He’s also Sukuna’s vessel.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “No way! Hmm, so that mouth was probably Sukuna’s.” The last part you mumbled, mainly to yourself.

Megumi looked at you in confusion.

“Don’t worry about it. Also Megumi, ever since you graduated middle school I feel like the roles are reversed. Why is it that you’re constantly getting beat up now?” You giggled at him.

He sighed at you and threw a pillow in your direction. You quickly dodged it. You were about to tease him more when you heard Gojo’s voice in the hall. You both quickly got up and peaked your head in the hall.

“Fushiguro! A girl? Woah, were we interrupting something?” The pink-haired boy exclaimed.

“Ugh, as if. As beautiful as Megumi is, he keeps rejecting my feelings.” You told the boy.

Megumi sighed again and said, “There’re a bunch of empty rooms aren’t there?”

When Megumi started talking to Gojo, you introduced yourself to the pink-haired boy. “I’m L/N F/N!”

The pink-haired boy said, “I’m Itadori Yuji. Also known as Sukuna’s vessel!”

“So I’ve heard. So how does it feel to be with an old man inside you?” You asked him curiously.

“Hmm…” He looked up in thought, “I can hear him in my head so it’s interesting. He was also not a fan of being called an old man.”

He looked like he wanted to say more when Gojo interrupted, “Ahh! There’s my favorite student! I’ve seen that you have acquainted yourself with dear F/N-chan!”

You sighed at your teacher, “You act like I wasn’t here the whole time.”

“Oh! I forgot to mention! You have a mission tomorrow! Come see me later to see the details!” Gojo said to you. He turned to the two boys, “You two! We’re going out tomorrow! We’re going to get the third first-year student!”

“Uh, don’t your mean the fourth?” Yuji questioned.

“Nope,” Gojo replied and pointed at him, “Because you’re technically the fourth one.”

“Gojo-sensei!” He said.

“Yes, Yuji-kun!” Gojo said back.

“Why isn’t L/N-san coming with us?” He questioned.

“Because, she’s needed for a special-grade mission.” This time, it was Megumi who had answered.

“Uh,” Yuji said, “What does that mean?”

“Basically, it means I’m the strongest!” You had replied to him with the grin.

The two boys looked like they were experiencing deja vu.

You had just gotten back to Japan when you received a call from Jujutsu High’s assistant manager, Kiyotaka Ijichi.

“Hello?”

“L/N-san. I’m sending you coordinates. Please get here immediately. It’s an emergency.” He rushed out.

You immediately straightened up, “Got it. Please fill me in while I’m on my way.”

As you made your way to the detention center, you had gotten all the details about the situation.

“Where is Megumi and Yuji right now?” You asked Ijichi.

“It seems that they are around apartments in the area. I would advise going up onto a roof to get a view.” He answered.

You nodded and took off.

Crap, you thought. This was bad. Megumi, I swear, you’re just asking to be beat up this time. Seriously, the next time you wanna pull this stunt, I’ll give you a real beating.

You were running on a rooftop when something caught you eye. Two people fighting. More like one person fighting and the other taking all of the hits. You quickly ran and jumped off the building, landing in between the two.

“Hmm… What is this?” Yuji- no, Sukuna asked.

“I see. You don’t actually look like an old man.” You had replied to him. You quickly assessed the situation and saw that there was a whole in Yuji’s chest.

Holding Yuji hostage. But what does he want from Megumi?

“Megumi. Break time. I’ll handle this.” You smiled at him.

You activated your cursed energy, nine tails of red energy came out behind you.

Sukuna maniacally grinned and yelled out, “Show me what you got, Jujutsu Sorcerer!”

Before you could even attack, Megumi yelled out, “L/N! Stop!”

Megumi stumbled in front of you, facing Yuji’s body. “I didn’t save you because it was the right thing to do. I’m not a hero. I’m a jujutsu sorcerer. That’s why I never regretted saving you. Not even for a moment.”

The black markings started disappearing on Yuji’s body. He responded while smiling, “I see.”

Yuji looked away, bashful, “You’re so smart, Fushiguro. Thinking about all sorts of stuff, unlike me.”

Blood started dripping from his mouth.

“Oh! Sorry… Time’s up. Fushiguro, as for you, Kugisaki, L/N and Gojo-sensei… Well I guess I don’t have to worry about you two. Live a long life, okay?”

Yuji’s body dropped to the ground. There was a pregnant pause of silence.

“Y-yuji?” You stepped forward.

You crouched down to him, turned him onto his back and laid his head on your lap. You looked up to the sky and closed your eyes.

I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill those goddamn elders and everyone who was involved with this.

You took a deep breath.

“Fushiguro-kun. Please go get Ichiji-san.” You told Megumi.

He hesitated for a moment, then realizing that this was almost like an order, using his last name to emphasize it. He nodded in response.

When he left, you focussed your cursed energy into a tail behind you, to touch Yuji’s the center of Yuji’s forehead.

You were suddenly transported into a different place. No, almost like a different realm. You were at the bottom of a blood soaked and skeleton flooding shrine. You looked up at the pile of bones and saw Sukuna sitting atop, on a throne made of bones.

“Oh, what’s this?” He questioned. “Never has a soul forced its way into my domain.”

“What’s your plan?” You pressed him. “There has to be a reason why you’re still taking shelter in Yuji’s body when he’s dead?”

“The game has changed.” Sukuna replied simply. His silence after his reply told you that this was the end of the conversation for this topic.

He cocked his head and looked up to the never ending ceiling. “It seems that it’s time for you to go, little fox.”

Before you could say anything more, you were forced out and awoke to Ichiji shaking your shoulders. You looked around, a bit disoriented, and saw Ichiji. You grabbed his wrist tightly, your claws drawing the slightest bit of blood and said, “Get Gojo now.”

[dcbutinamrev]

“Please…I need you” for Ben/André

Of course! This is based off of and from the episode "Trial and Execution" (s3, ep. 10 in Turn: Washington's Spies.) and some of it my own imagination. I'm using a transcript of the episode to help me with this because I remember very clearly Andre and Tallmadge having a conversation in the carriage in the episode but I couldn't remember the exact words. If you'd like me to do a ficlet for your favorite amrev ship, send me a prompt with your ship and I'll try my best to make a ficlet of it!

***

Congress still refuses to pay me.

John Andre's coming here.

In exchange for 20,000 pounds, I shall transfer to you the plans for West Point.

Arnold's a traitor.

~~~

The accused, Nathan Hale, having been found guilty of espionage and treasonous conspiracy against His Majesty King George III, shall here by be executed as a spy on this day the 22nd of October, 1776. If the condemened has any last words. Let him speak now.

I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.

~~~

Major Benjamin Tallmadge shoots upright in his cot in his tent, his bright blue eyes wide and jaw slacked slightly. The bedsheets drape around his waist and he huffs and puffs as he sucks in gulps of air, blinking the dots he sees in his eyes. Still trying to catch his breath, Tallmadge clenches and unclenches his fists on the linen sheets as he glances around his surroundings. He begins to relax, his breathing much slower and calmer, as he realizes where he is. Tallmadge squeezes his eyes shut and bits his lip hard, hard enough for it to draw a small drop of blood. He swallows thickly and grimace as though a hand were clenching around his throat and it'd be difficult for him swallow. He lets out a shaky breath and blinks his eyes fast as he sits himself up agianst the pillows surrounding him. He feels his heart racing, fast as a lightning strike during a storm. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck tingle and his arms shake. His fingers twitches and he flops back down onto the pillows, his golden blonde hair untied from its standard tight braid.

He stares up ast the tent's ceiling, letting his arms drop and dangle on either side of his bed as he begins to be calm once more. His breathing now steady and his heart rate somewhat slowed, Tallmadge sits himself back up once more, running a hand through his hair as he lets an arm drape over his propped up knee.

It's quiet, Tallmadge thinks to himself. He frowns, swinging his legs around and grimacing when his feet touches the grass, still damp from the early morning's dew. He furrows his brows as he glances out at the small crack of the entranceway to his tent. Too quiet.

Tallmadge pushes himself up, straightens his bed and walks over to the wooden chair at the desk nearby where a couple of unfinished corrospondences are still laid upon the desk, his uniform draped over the back of the chair. Tallmadge huffs out a breath as he slips on his white shirt, adjusting the ruffled cuffs and buttons and tying his neck cloth and cravat rather quickly, his fingers fumbling over themseleves. He fixes his hair into a tight braid before slipping on his blue Continental coat.

Tallmadge gives himself a quick glance in the mirror and nods his head in approval once, his jaw clenched, before stepping out into the open, the flaps to the tent flapping behind him as he exits. He glances up at the sky, an overcast sky, and lets his eyes take a moment to adjust. Tallamdge jerks when he hears someone whistle, trying to get a horse's attention perhaps.

Tallmadge follows the noise until he sees General Washington and Colonel Alexander Hamilton along with the Marquis de Lafayette standing nearby. Tallmadge walks up to them, his back straight when he locks eyes with the General.

"Ah, Major Tallmadge," the General says, his voice gruff and smooth. Deep and raw at the same time. "Morning."

Tallmadge nods and bows respectfully before standing up straight again. "Morning, Your Excellency, sir."

"You do remember what occurs today, correct?" the General asks, quirking an eyebrow at Tallmadge expectedly.

Tallmadge grimaces and nods, swallowing hard as he remembers Hale. He licks his lips and grips his hands behind his back. "Yes, sir."

"We shall see you there," the General says.

Tallmadge nods again but doesn't reply as he watches the trio turn swiftly, their cloaks flapping along against the back of their legs as they disappear around the corner. Tallmadge closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath.

Oh, Nathan...

Is the last thing he thinks.

~~~

"Major Tallmadge," a smooth, elegant and rather light British voice says suddenly nearby as Tallmadge now stands next to a carriage, waiting. He ticks his eyes towards a man, a young man who happens to be in his late twenties to early thirties with smooth, combed back dark brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail, a braid behind his ear. A rounded chin and hooked nose, a thin smile and laugh lines on his cheeks. His uniform is clearly distinct, as it is a bright red indiciating his loyalty to the British. He smiles and nods once as he approaches Tallamdge. "Allow me to say that it is an honor to properly meet your aquaitance."

Tallmadge frowns, his brows furrowed as he presses his lips together. He swallows again and keeping his eyes trained on Andre with his jaw clenched, he forces a smile to appear and nods in greeting. Tallmadge steps aside as he watches Andre climb up the steps into the carriage and sits himself down. Tallmadge follows and watches a servant closes the door before walking around them. Tallmadge turns to face Andre once more. Andre grins as he pulls out a crumbled paper and charcoal and begins to sketch a rough line in what Tallmadge must think is the beginning of the subject's eye.

"Did you study portraiture back in Europe?" Tallmadge asks.

Andre ticks his eyes up from the paper and smiles thinly. "I did."

Tallmadge watches as he begins to sketch out the right eye. He bites the inside of his cheek, wondering what to say now.

"I wonder if you might indulge in my curiosity" Andre says suddenly, breaking the silence as the carriage begins to move. "Do you remember when you first heard my name?"

"Oh, I remember it well," Tallmadge says, keeping his eyes on the paper, watching the pieces come together. "It was a brisk Thursday, January, '77. Mr. Nathaniel Sackett, a friend of mine, he was telling me how he had managed to place a man within your inner circle posing as a Coldstream Guard.” He grits his teeth and curls his fists in his lap. “That man was later killed by a knife, as was Mr. Sackett.” 

Andre pauses his work and presses his lips together before glancing up at Tallmadge. “I would like you to accept my apology for Mr. Sackett. My orders for Lietuenant Gamble were to avoid violence at all costs.” 

Tallmadge eyes Andre before nodding once. “I accept.” 

A pause. 

“Though, I will not apologize for the punishment Lietuenant Gamble recieved of any kind,” Andre says. “Gamble knew well the risk of our particular business.” 

“I suppose Sackett knew the risks as well,” Tallmadge says.  I must say that he was quite impressed with the ruse that you concocted with Sutherland and Shanks.” A pause. Tallmadge scoffs mixed with a laugh. “ A master stroke, he would have called it.” 

Andre hums, dotting something onto the paper. “Hardly.” 

Tallmadge swallows, watching the man across from him. He bites his lip, seeing the twinkle in the dark brown irises, the sharp cut of his jaw, the braid behind his ear, the thinness of his lips, a blush pink. Tallmadge clears his throat, blinking his eyes. 

“I sometimes wonder if Sackett would have seen right through Benedict Arnold,” Tallmadge says, attempting conversation once more. 

Andre frowns and clenches onto the charocal. “Arnold was a faliure.” He looks up. “Culper is the master stroke. Seeing as I’m about to take a vow of enternal silence, who was the Culper contact in New York City?” 

Tallmadge narrows his eyes, clenching his fist and jaw and glances out the window, blinking his eyes. The vision of Hale before him, his Hale, his dear Hale, flashes right in front of his eyes before he could stop himself. He clearly sees the flaxen blonde hair, almost white, a glimspe of icy, cold blue eyes, the rough feel of pale skin against his. Tallamdge shakes his head befoer turning back to Andre, who has an eyebrow raised mostly out of concern. 

“I had...had a classmate in Yale College,” Tallmadge says, “by the name of Nathan Hale. I followed him into the army of ‘76. He was tracked and caught by Robert Rogers and...” Tallmadge lets out a shuddering breath and lifts a shoulder. “Subsequently hanged as a spy...” 

“And do you think his case and mine are alike?” Andre wonders. 

Tallmadge’s expression is blank, passive. “He did his duty for his country. You did yours for your king.” 

“Then I want you to know I see honor in both.” 

“Then you are mistaken.” 

Andre sighs and glances out the window, staring at his reflection as he watches the trees blur together as they roll by before glancing back down at the paper and smiles softly before glancing up at Tallmadge. “I didn’t do it for the king. I did it for a woman. That is the loss I regret more so than my own life.” 

Tallmadge doesn’t reply. He watches Andre fold the paper up and stuff it into his pocket along with the piece of charocal. He smiles thinly, a warm smily as an idea clicks into his brain. Andre reaches behind towards his braid behind his ear and grabs hold of the end of it. He pulls out a pocket knife and chops off a small piece before tucking the knife back into his pocket and grabbing Tallmadge’s wrist and placing the small piece of braided hair into his palm. He stares at it in shock and confusion before glancing back up at Andre. 

But Andre only smiles and glances out the window. 

~~~

Major John Andre climbs out of the carriage first once they have arrived at their destination, followed by Tallmadge himself. A servant slams the door shut. Tallmadge checks the ropes binding Andre's wrists in front of him before guiding him towards the tree where his fate lies. Tallmadge tenses as he appraoches slowly, swallowing the bile he feels rising up down his throat. He breathes shakily in and out as they march closer with each passing second, keeping his head up, back straight, shoulders sqaured, eyes narrowed and determined.

Andre turns to Tallmadge when they stop. Discreetly, Tallmadge clutches onto the braid in his palm. He can't seem to make his arm stop shaking. He swallows, licks his lips and turns to Andre. Andre nods reassuringly, a small smile on his face as climbs up the steps under the tree.

Tallmadge steps back between the Marquis de Lafayette and Colonel Hamilton. Hamilton glances at him worriedly for a quick second, which causes Tallmadge to clench his jaw and breathe in slowly, holding his breath as he tightens his grip in his palm. He wants to close his eyes, not watch as he Hale in Andre's place. But he remains strong and keeps his eyes trained, locked on Andre's.

Andre is given a white blindfold and he takes it. He stares at it for a breif moment, before ticking his eyes back with Tallmadge's. Tallmadge stiffens when he sees Andre giving him a small smile and a nod. He thinks he hears, "It'll be but a momentary pang."

That doesn't settle Tallmadge's nerves and fears. He presses his lips together, stands taller than before which causes the Marquis and Hamilton to excahnge concerned and confused looks breifly before returning to attention. Tallmadge tightens his grip on the braid still in his palm, helplessly watches Andre wrap the blindfold around his eyes. Tallmadge breathes in once again, holds his breath, and squeezes his eyes shut.

Please...I need you... he suddenly thinks.

"If the condemened has any last words," a rough voice declares. "Let him speak now."

Tallmadge squeezes his eyes harder, tightens his grip tighter and bites his lip hard enough for it to draw blood. His arms tremble, his fingers tingle against his skin from how tight his grip has been, he hears ringing in ears. He sees Hale before him instead of Andre, those piercing, icy, cold blue eyes, that pale skin, that light-blonde hair--almost white.

"I pray that you all bare me witness that I may bare my fate like a brave man."

There's a deafening crack and Tallmadge whimpers, breathing sharply in and out, trying to control his racing heart as he blinks his eyes open only to find that the world is smeared before him. He hears a voice calling his name, a French accented voice, the Marquis, out of worry and concern.

Tallmadge doesn't hear him, can't hear him due to the ringing in his ears. He unfolds his palm, his hand shakes, as he stares at the braid in his palm. He clenches his fist and glances over his shoulder where Andre was alive not but a moment ago.

Please... Tallmadge thinks, swallowing the lump down.

I need you...

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Be Mine, This Quarantine ~ (II)

Dean pulls out his phone, clicks on the camera icon, and takes a selfie.

He looks adequately grouchy in it - his uninterested eyebrow-raise, an indisputable declaration that clicking a picture of himself irritates and annoys him, as it should every respectable non-preadolescent person. Also, he manages to get Cas's apartment building, a little bit of the night sky, and his very last moving box of stuffs, in the frame.

It's labelled 'Socks' on the top, and should make Dean feel like a dork if he wasn't going to send the picture straight to Sam - the dorkier of the two of them, by far, and also someone who's well-acquainted with Dean's fascination for hilarious novelty socks.

No sooner has the message been sent, it's been seen, and Dean's getting a call from his little brother.

"It's dark." Sam greets, with all the subtle pointedness of a soon-to-be-lawyer. "Why is it dark?"

"Are you just staring at your screen, waiting for me to text you all day?" Dean throws back, and Sam makes a noncommittal sound. "And it's dark cause it's almost nine."

"And you're still not done?" Sam sounds surprised.

"Almost," Dean bites his cheek. He has to admit Sam has a point. Moving in's supposed to be a morning, in-the-sun kind of activity. "In my defense, I started late. Cas made me spend all morning at his place, getting to know Catsanova."

"His cat?"

"It's literally in the name, Sammy."

"Hypoallergenic?"

"Do I sound dead to you?" Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, she is. And cute, too. Black, and it's got whiskers. Responds to 'Cas'."

"Figures." Sam grins, audibly. Kid's always been an animal person - he's probably going to be asking for pictures all the time now. "It sounds pretty similar. So what, you say Cas, and both the cat and human come up to you?"

"Neither of them come up to me, cause neither of them's fond of moving. Big Cas ignores me until I make it like I'm dying, and Small Cas still doesn't really care." Dean laughs. "But I'm going to try and work up to it."

"Good luck." Sam says to that, before clearing his throat. "You should finish moving your socks in, Dean." There's a pause. "Thank you for listening to me about the quarantine thing, I guess. And staying safe."

Dean's first instinct is to immediately dismiss the sentiment, but then he decides not to. And settles for, "You too, Sammy. And thank you for the move-in-with-Cas advice."

Sam lets out a soft, "Yeah."

"But if you tell me what to do again," Dean adds, right after. "And try to threaten me with cheap flight tickets to Kansas? I'm not fucking giving in."

"And you're welcome for the caring about you." Sam retorts, and Dean rolls his eyes a second time.

"That's my job."

"Yeah, right."

"Just shut your face. Smartass." Dean can't contain his smile, in spite of himself. "Stay inside, okay? I've got Gabriel's eyes on you." That's Cas's stepbrother, also in Stanford, and Dean's not really used him yet - but he really could. Dude's sorta obsessed with Sam.

"I -" Sam huffs. "Jerk."

Dean grins. "Bitch."

The phone clicks, and Sam's gone. Dean picks up the last box - it's pretty light, so he props it on his hip and uses a free hand to slam Baby's door shut, and walks into the building he's going to spend (at least) the next three weeks in.

*

"Pizza's on it's way." Cas says from the couch, first thing as Dean enters and shuts the door behind him, setting the box on the floor.

He can't get a normal greeting fucking ever in these parts - but he doesn't really pay attention to it, because every braincell which isn't involved in keeping him alive and standing, fixates all at once, on the scene which beholds him.

He's obviously seen Cas plenty of times before - probably more keenly than he should've been seeing him, to be fair - but this is different. It's like seeing Cas in his natural habitat.

He's in the middle of the couch - typical roommate-lacking behavior - with bare feet propped up on two of Dean's boxes, like there wasn't any furniture around before Dean moved in. And in his collarless bee-patterned shirt and pyjamas which match the brown throw pillows, it's basically like he's dissolved into the couch under the weight of Catsanova who's settled on his tummy, with his hands around her, petting. His hair's enough of a mess that he could've had a reverse-Jonathan-Van-Ness moment by himself when Dean went downstairs for the last time, and his eyes are glued to the TV screen even when he speaks to Dean, and then proceeds to keep up a soft, toddler-voice conversation with his cat.

Holy shit.

Dean loves him.

This is going to be so hard.

"I changed out of my jeans," Cas adds, not even slightly in Dean's direction, per se. "I know you wanted to go out earlier, but it's Catsanova's dinner time now, and I was wondering if the three of us could just eat together. And watch The Middle." The last part, he directs to Dean, eyes wide and curious.

"Uh." Dean says, eloquently. "Sure."

The Middle's exactly the kind of thing Dean should've expected Cas would watch. It's sappy and sweet, and revolves around a hilariously dysfunctional family, and it's half ways to a sitcom and Dean can clearly imagine them bingeing through all of it - piled on the couch with the cat on Cas's lap, and he's still in the middle cause Dean really doesn't mind squeezing on his left as long as their shoulders brush and knees touch, and they're having pizza and Cas is in ratty graphic tees, and -

Alternatively, this is going to be a little bit perfect.

"I'll go change as well." Dean rubs the back of his neck, scanning the room for his bag which contained a set of clothes in case he got too lazy to unpack. As had happened.

"Are you going to be needing any of these?" Cas draws his attention to the two boxes he's got his feet on, by wiggling his toes.

"Nah." Dean checks the labels. "There won't be any pyjamas in DVDs or Boo -" He stops. That's supposed to be Books. "Boo?" Dean repeats, frowning.

"Catsanova likes scratching letters off of words which make them more adorable. Don't you, Catsanova?" Cas grins, running his hand through her fur as he talks about her. She doesn't really pay attention to it. "Say Boo again for us, Dean."

Dean fails to resist the blush. "Screw you. And do you always say her full name, like, all the time? I get that it's funny - or punny, or whatever," Castiel beams at that bit. "But it's kind of a mouthful."

"An earful, you mean." Cas muses.

Dean shrugs, because he's stuck trying to rein in the overpowering affection he feels for this messy, gorgeous guy, who always addresses his cat by her full name, and lets him move in for quarantine. "Just call her Nova or something. She's smart, she'll get it."

"But her name's Catsanova." Cas clarifies, as if it wasn't clear to Dean before.

"Your name's Castiel, Cas."

"I blame you for that."

"Sure you do, Happy Meal."

Cas scowls, not giving Dean more material to work with, and silently going back to watching the TV. "Spoilsport." Dean grins. "Isn't that what he is, Catsanova?"

She, once again, doesn't pay any real attention to them, but Cas's lips quirk up in a smile. They're done discussing nicknames for the cat apparently, so he moves on. "You can freshen up in my bathroom right now. There's no towels in the other one yet."

"Roger that."

Dean picks up his duffel and sets off for Cas's room. He's been to this apartment plenty of times, before. On his way, he passes what's going to be his room - previously, Cas's study slash storage, and takes a detour.

It's the same size as Cas's room, with smaller windows and grey curtains, and looks pretty comfortable, though Dean's more of a spend-all-day-in-the-living-room sorta guy. It's got wardrobes and shelves, for when it's morning and Dean resumes the elaborate routine of unpacking, and a desk at the side, and - oh, fucking hell.

Dean flings his duffel on the chair, which is the only place to sit in the entire room, - and marches out. "Cas!"

For once, even Catsanova reacts to him, jumping down from Cas, and Cas looks downright alarmed when Dean storms into the living room. "What happened?"

"Where the hell's your futon?"

"Oh." Cas pauses. Dean waits, impatiently for an answer, which seems to come to Cas fairly quick, bringing in its wake, a horrified expression of remembrance. "I lent it to Kelly."

"Then," Dean fixes Cas with an accusing glare. If he were standing, that would've been a finger jabbed at his chest. "Where the hell am I going to sleep?"

"Oh."

"Well?"

Cas blinks. And quietly declares - for the benefit of Catsanova, probably, because the two humans already know, and are staring at each other in despair. "I may not have completely thought this through."

*

"I call right."

"Right-now-right, or on-the-bed-right?" Cas confirms, voice coming in from the bathroom where he's brushing his teeth.

"You're on my right when we're sleeping." Dean declares, stifling a scowl. It's not like he's trying to be rude, but he really hadn't expected any of this. He hasn't expected to finish moving in at nine, and dinner at ten, and then proceed to sleep in Cas's bed for the first night he's here.

("I'm so sorry, this is completely on me -" Cas had kept apologizing, with blue eyes in full-on Bambi stare. "I can't believe I forgot about giving away the futon! I'm such a -"

"Whatever, Cas." Dean had frowned back, rolling his eyes. "S'not that big a deal. I'll take the couch."

"Of course not." Cas had looked horrified. "It's cold out here, and my couch is too small - it's just a three-seater. You're way taller than three horizontal butts, plus twice the armrest." Dean had given him a look for that one, and if he wasn't annoyed, he would've been laughed.

"So?"

"You're obviously sleeping in my bed."

"Well, you're taller than three butts too." Dean had sighed, still annoyed - but it slowly subsiding to some sort of thrill which was definitely associated with getting to sleep in Cas's bed.

"I know." Cas had sighed back, a little grim. "I'll just sleep with you.")

Now, Cas exits the bathroom, and walks straight to the bed, setting the pillows right. It's a King-size, so they're going to have enough space, really, but Dean's a little skeptic about getting under the covers first. So instead of climbing on his side, and settling in like his body really wants to, he lingers around, rummaging through his bag even though he has everything he needs.

His phone's plugged in next to his bed, and he's just in a t-shirt and pajamas now. Sure, he usually sleeps in just his boxers, but he has a fair idea of how ridiculous that'd be when Cas, right next to him, sleeps in a full, adorable ensemble.

And that's the last time he's letting himself think Cas - or his bee-themed outfits are adorable.

"I'm going to go put Catsanova to bed." Cas announces, with a smile. "To couch, to be honest. She sleeps inside the couch and I think she likes to think it's her very own hiding spot."

"So that's why I'm not sleeping there?" Dean throws back, stifling a yawn. Somehow, it's eleven, and that's not exactly late, but on a day you've moved into your best friend's apartment, and made friends with his moody cat, it feels pretty late. "Cause the three-butt analogy wasn't your best move, buddy."

"You guessed it." Cas returns, flatly. "I made us sleep in the same bed so that Catsanova's sleep routine didn't get disrupted. Now, how about you actually sleep, Dean?" There's one of those I-know-more-than-you-think-I-do smiles on his face. "You're clearly tired."

"'M not sleeping without you." Dean can't hold in the yawn this time, and it comes out garbling the last bits of his sentence and causing Cas to stare at him in a horrified kind of fascination.

"Before you." He corrects, his cheeks burning, when he actually hears himself. "That'd just be weird."

"Not at all," Cas shrugs. "But sure. Just come with me to Catsanova's night couch."

"Whose couch is it in the morning?"

Cas doesn't really think about it. "Hers, though she settles for indirect use of it's luxury, via our laps."

Dean nods thoughtfully, and follows Cas to the living room. The cat is already all fed, of course, and doesn't really seem keen on playing with them - probably because, and Cas told him this once, cats tended to have bedtime installed in their cat brains. Dean may or may not think that's adorable.

Catsanova curls up in the middle of the couch, much like her (nick)-namesake, and Dean's breath hitches when with a slight purr, puts her head on her paws. She's not a kitten, Cas had mentioned, but she's still so small, that she fits on just one cushion, and with her tail drawn up close, and squinting eyes, she's the cutest thing Dean's ever seen.

"Isn't this somehow better than even the best youtube cat videos?" Cas whispers, eyes turned adoringly at his cat.

"I don't watch -"

Cas gives him a look.

"Okay, yeah, I do, and it is." Dean gives in, rolling his eyes at being called out. "Maybe not better than the kitten falling asleep in the middle of dinner though."

Cas raises his eyebrows, impressed. "You're not wrong."

"But a close second?" Dean offers.

Cas smiles, softly, straight at Dean. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, with hands around his ankles, and Dean's on the low settee behind him, staring at both the cat and Cas, lazily smiling too.

It feels perfect. In fact, he's so physically exhausted and mentally blissed out that in the moment, that he's not even freaking out about the fact that after this, he and Cas are going to go sleep in the same bed.

(In his right senses, he would've been. When it got suggested - or pretty much, declared, he couldn't have put up a big argument, because if Cas could be so cool about it, how weird would it have been if he wasn't? Why shouldn't he be, indeed?

Except for the fact that he's in love with Castiel and growing increasingly aware of it as the day lives by, there's absolutely no other reason, he's sure.

So after a few weakly presented excuses, including his insistance that it isn't necessary - "Dean, of course it is!" - and bringing back the couch solution - "Dean, why would you sleep on the couch for my mistake?" - he'd given in.

He just couldn't come around to the point that he really isn't sure he'll be able to survive being next to Cas on a bed for an entire night, and figures that it didn't occur to Cas either.

Because of course it fucking didn't.)

"Okay, then." Cas lets out, standing up from the ground swiftly, though Dean holds a hand out. His voice holds a tinge of we're done here, like a superhero in a mission, and Dean grins, in spite of himself. "Let's go."

Since 'putting Catsanova to bed' apparently only includes sitting in front of the couch and staring at her in adoration while she falls asleep and eventually snuggles so close to the back of the couch that she ends up rolling inside, as Dean has now learned, Dean gets up too.

"How'd you like it?" Cas sounds proud.

"Her sleep routine? She did all of it herself." Dean tells him, as the both of them drag themselves to Cas's room. Even Dean knows the house well enough to not have to think about it. "I don't know what I expected, but that wasn't it."

"Did you imagine cuddles and lullabies?" Cas laughs.

"You built it up, buddy."

Cas shrugs nonchalantly, as they reach the bed, and Dean's too tired at this point to even care who's getting in first. All he notices is when they're both in - Cas half-sitting up, legs stretched out under the comforter, and Dean lying on his side as he speaks to him.

"All you did was watch her sleep." He mutters, not really thinking anymore. Sleep is fast trailing his heels, and well, he's stopped running from it.

"I like watching over her." Cas answers, easily. "And it's a sign of trust that she lets me, to be fair. Cats aren't shy, but -"

"Territorial?"

"I guess."

"Huh." Dean closes his eyes. The pillow under his head is the perfect percentage of soft, and it's warm inside the comforter, as compared to the cold in the room. He pulls it up to his neck, trying to tuck himself in without making it obvious.

There's a pause.

"I didn't want to sleep before because," Dean confesses. "Sometimes you look at me." He likes it, but hopefully that doesn't come out in his voice.

There's a weight shift in the mattress, as Cas lies down too. Straight on his back, hand curved above his head, staring at the ceiling.

"It's weird." Dean mumbles. "Kinda."

Cas says, "Okay." But Dean's already asleep, slightly huffing when he exhales, and so there's nothing said in return, and Cas reaches to turn off the lap and goes to sleep, too.

*

Thing is, falling asleep when you're tired is easy. Staying asleep when you're anxious is not.

Dean blinks awake, with a startled breath, and takes a beat to process his surroundings. Gauging by the darkness in the room, it's a long way till sunrise. He stretches drowsily, an unconscious habit of getting up, and his hand nudges against something.

It feels like muscle, and hair, and turns out to be Cas's forearm, because as soon as his eyes get adjusted to the minimal light - he discovers Cas is right there.

They've both migrated towards the middle in their sleep - more Cas than him, Dean assumes quickly, and are still facing each other. When Dean draws his hand back, folding it under the comforter again, there's a few inches between them everywhere - yet suddenly, he's extremely awake, and aware, and losing it.

Cas is quietly asleep, features completely free of tension - with his face smoothed over in sleep, and lips slightly parted. He's unfairly beautiful, and practically a head-jerk away from Dean's pillow, and it's crazy how much it's all getting to Dean.

Even asleep, he's driving Dean nuts.

He doesn't even know what he wants to do - keep staring at this picture of serenity, force himself back to sleep, or something entirely different, but was he does is turn around.

He turns a hundred eighty degrees, keeping his eyes closed, and finds himself facing Cas's bookshelf.

The easiest way to deal with this burst of emotion is to sleep, he convinces himself, and maybe he'll forget about this in the morning. Maybe he'll fall asleep trying to read the titles of the books in front of him, and forget about waking up to Cas in front of him, dreamy even when dreaming, and forget about being overpowered by just about everything in that moment, as he is right now.

He just needs to go back to sleep.

Dean's repeated this to himself enough times to actually be drifting off to sleep, when he feels an arm randomly fall around his waist.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Cas, still asleep, has apparently decided to put his hand around Dean as if he were a fluffy stuffed toy or something, and it's landed ridiculously close to his abdomen, and his toes curl, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

And if Dean inadvertently pushes back towards the warmth radiating from Cas, and ends up little-spooning him because he's somehow backed up until he's reached Cas - then that's just a whole other thing he's never going to think about.

He finally goes back to sleep, not having to try and read the book titles at all, because apparently Cas hugging Dean to himself like a goddamn pillow, is all his fucking insomniac brain's ever needed.

(Although, he's never sharing a bed with Cas again, because he's sure he couldn't survive another such night.)

*

Catsanova wakes Cas up at six, meowing stubbornly at the door because she doesn't care about Dean's private, middle-of-the-night freakout as long as Cas gets up to pay her due attention, and Dean wakes alone at nine, and ends up pretending he's asleep until Cas comes with coffee.

He doesn't look at Dean different or at all, while climbing on bed with the tray - and Dean definitely doesn't notice that he doesn't, because he's obviously not paying attention.

And he obviously doesn't care.

[ssa-montgomery]

You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid

Word Count: 2247

Summary: Addison, Mark and Derek have all been friends long before the events of Grey's Anatomy and what we see them go through as Attendings. Their days in Medical school involved a whole lot of laughing, flirting and of course some actual studying. This is one of those average days.

Characters: Addison Montgomery x Derek Shepherd, Mark Sloan

Warnings: Fluff, Mark being a flirt, mention of cheating 

A/N:  So welcome to the first one-shot in a new series! This series is going to be a bunch of loosely connected flashback one-shots to Addison, Mark and Derek's days in Med school! I have a few ideas for future one-shots already but I am open to any requests you might have. If you want to see more of these please let me know and I can add you to the taglist!

The title is taken from the song "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid" by The Offspring

Feedback is what motivates me to work so please let me know what you think! Reblogs are also greatly appreciated.

Taglist is open!

"Bonjour ma chérie." Mark had spotted Addison making her way down the steps in front of the building ahead of him and raced to catch up to her before she disappeared into the crowds of students outside. He draped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side with a grin.

Despite having mostly separate classes for the day they both finished at the same time, unlike Derek who still had one class left. It was the beginning of summer and the temperature had been increasing over the past couple of days but Mark was still wearing one of his signature leather jackets, his motorbike helmet tucked under his free arm. He had gotten his bike at the start of the school year and Addison had barely seen him outside the apartment without it since then. She was certain part of the reason behind that was that the girls on campus seemed to love the bike too.

"Hey, Mark." Addison laughed bumping her shoulder against Mark's. "I see those conversational French lessons are paying off."

"Yes, they are." Mark nodded his head and let out a laugh of his own.

A comfortable silence settled over them as they walked further down the path together, heading towards the end of campus. The heat of the sun was pouring down on them through the gaps in the trees that surrounded the path and Addison was grateful for the loose sundress she had slipped on that morning. She let out a content sigh and allowed herself to appreciate the calm moment at the end of a long day of classes.

"You coming back to the apartment to hang out?" Mark asked looking down at her as they started to draw closer to the end of the path.

"I can't right now. Tennis practice." Addison gestured to the sports bag she had hanging off one shoulder. Her mother had signed her up for tennis when she was younger and it was one of the few activities from her teens that she had actually enjoyed which lead her to continue with practice in college and now in med school too. She knew once she started her internship she wouldn't have the time for it anymore so she made the most of it now.

"Oh right, maybe I could come with? I've never seen you play." Mark suggested.

"Mark we both know you just want to go and watch pretty girls in short skirts play sports." Addison sighed, she considered Mark a close friend and had learned many things about him since first meeting him, one of them being his extensive dating history and the fact that he loved to flirt with anyone he could. Addison herself included.

"I mean, yeah but like I could also be your personal cheerleader. Wait, does tennis have its own cheerleaders? Because that's just more pretty girls in short skirts."

"Mark!" Addison shot him an exasperated look and lightly elbowed him in the ribs.

"Okay okay sorry." Mark snorted. They had reached the end of the path and came to a stop on the street outside campus. Mark's apartment was in the opposite direction to Addison's practice so he removed his arm from around her shoulders and moved to face her as they talked.

"I thought you were with that girl from our Gross Anatomy class anyway? What was her name again?"

"Oh uh yeah, that didn't work out. She dumped me, threw all my stuff out of her fourth-floor dorm window. Including my Gross Anatomy textbook that got ripped in half, I had to order a new one." Mark sighed shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. 

"Oh, Mark," Addison said sympathetically reaching over to lightly squeeze his arm. Addison sat next to Mark in that class and she had watched him flirting with that girl from across the classroom before he finally met her in the library and actually asked her out. She had seemed sweet and Addison thought that what Mark had described seemed out of character. "I'm sorry, she seemed great."

"Well I mean I had it coming, I was also sleeping with her roommate."

"Seriously Mark." Addison scoffed rolling her eyes. "Never mind I take back my sympathy you did have that coming. You're such an ass."

"But you still love me?" Mark questioned flashing that familiar grin at her.

"Hmm, sometimes." She teased. She had never expected to become as close to Mark as she was now. He had been in a couple of her classes since she started med school but she hadn't paid much attention to him. That was until Derek Shepherd, the cute boy in her Gross Anatomy class had introduced himself to her in the library one day and asked her out on a date, even then Mark had been by his side and she quickly learned they came as a package deal. After that, she started to spend more and more time with him and they became good friends.

"So are you gonna swing by the apartment to see Derek? Maybe we could all hang out together?"

"Of course Mark, I'm coming straight over once I'm done with practice." Addison smiled at him.

"I'll see you later then, knock 'em dead at practice Red."

"Thank you, Mark. I'll see you soon."

~~~

Addison pulled her key out of her bag and easily slid it into the lock, pushing open the door to Derek and Mark's shared apartment. Derek had a key made for her a few months ago after she started to spend more time at their apartment than her own. Her apartment was left empty most of the time with her at Derek and Mark's and her roommate and best friend Naomi at her boyfriend Sam's. The apartment was a decent size with an open living room that they spent most of their time in and kitchen. Derek and Mark both had their own bedrooms but over time Derek's room had become his and Addison's with her slowly adding her own clothes to his wardrobe and her leaving her books there because "it was just easier" with her there most of the time.

When Addison stepped inside the main room was empty and at first, the whole apartment seems silent. For a moment she wondered if they had both already gone to bed but it was still early and that was unusual for them. She dropped her sports bag down on top of the counter in the kitchen and made her way towards Derek's bedroom. As she came closer to the door she could hear Mark and Derek laughing on the other side. She cracked the door open slightly and stuck her head around, peering into the room.

"Having a slumber party without me?" Addison chuckled looking at them both sitting in the middle of Derek's bed. 

"Sorry Addie, you took too long to come home and now I've taken your boyfriend. You'll need to find someone else." Mark teased resting a hand on Derek's knee.

"I can't blame you, good guys like him are hard to come by." Addison opened the door fully and walked into the room to join them. Mark cocked an eyebrow looking her up and down as he took in her outfit. She had come straight from practice just like she had promised and she was still wearing her tennis gear, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail that had now fallen out of place with strands fallen into her face.

Derek glanced over at Mark and noticed the way he was staring at Addison. Reaching behind him Derek grabbed one of his pillows and hit Mark in the face with it, pushing him onto his back so he could hold the pillow over his eyes. Mark's laughter was muffled by the pillow and he pushed at Derek's chest but he refused to move the pillow.

"Mark, stop eyeing my girlfriend."

Addison crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes at them. She had gotten used to their antics over time and was rarely surprised by them any more. Mark and Derek were so close Addison had almost mistaken them for brothers before she really knew them. She understood why now, they had grown up together and Mark truly was the brother Derek never had in a house full of sisters.

"Honey, I'm going to go take a shower and change out of these clothes," Addison said making her way across the room and planting a soft kiss to Derek's cheek.

"Okay." Derek nodded smiling up at Addison.

"So um, do you think you could move this pillow now before you suffocate me?" Mark asked once he heard the lock on the bathroom door click closed behind Addison.

"Right, sorry." Derek laughed moving the pillow back onto his lap, holding his free hand out to help Mark sit back up.

"It's just you know, there are three doctors in training in this apartment but with me down I don't know if I trust you two with the CPR. Plus I doubt you want Addison giving me mouth to mouth."

Mark swiftly rolled out of the way of the pillow that Derek hurled in his direction and narrowly avoid falling off the edge of the bed as the pillow tumbled to the floor.

~~~

Addison emerged from the bathroom half an hour later in her pyjamas, her hair twisted up into a loose bun. Her makeup had been removed and she looked relaxed. She padded across the floor and crawled up onto the bed next to Derek who was lying on his usual side of the bed, his back propped against the headboard. Mark, on the other hand, was sprawled out across the foot of the bed staring up at the ceiling. The pillow Derek had thrown at him was sitting on his chest and he had one arm draped across it.

"So what are you two doing? I was thinking about going over the content of today's class if either of you wants to join." Addison explained curling herself into Derek's side.

"Ever the vigilant student Addie." Mark chuckled. "Yeah, that would be good."

"Of course." Derek nodded in agreement, threading his fingers through the loose parts of Addison's hair. Addison leaned into the contact and let out a satisfied hum.

"Perfect, we can use my textbooks since Mark's got damaged." Addison teased throwing a sly smirk at Mark.

"Oh come on! It was only one of them." He groaned rolling over onto his stomach, moving the pillow so his head was now propped up on it.

"Well mine is right here, it will save you getting up." Derek smiled, kissing the top of Addison's head before reaching over to his bedside table to drag his bag closer trying not to disturb her too much.

He pulled out his copy of Gray's Anatomy textbook and dropped it onto the middle of the bed so they could all easily see it. Addison pulled herself away from Derek and sat up to flick the book open, crossing her legs underneath herself. She opened the page they had been working on that day and noticed the notes that Derek had scribbled in the margin, he had also labelled the detailed sketch of the brain. 

"I took some more detailed notes on the neuro section, don't mind all the writing," Derek explained fidgeting nervously with the edge of the page.

"Look at you already knowing what speciality you're interested in." Addison giggled playfully pushing at Derek's arm. They all worked hard in their classes but Derek had always been the most focused out of them and he spent a lot of his time studying. Addison wasn't surprised that he was the first out of the group to find a speciality he was seriously interested in. He had put the hours into the research.

"At least, for now, Neurosurgery seems the most interesting to me. You know you're working with the part of a person that makes up who they are, their personality, their ability to perform tasks. It's a speciality you can really help people with." Derek said. He sounded passionate when he spoke about it and they could see that this genuinely might be his speciality someday. 

"I think I might have found a speciality too," Mark said then. They both looked at him slightly surprised. Mark had never really shown interest in anyone speciality before this and they hadn't known he was even considering one already. "I've been really interested in plastics recently. I don't want to tie myself to one speciality before we even start internship but I will definitely be looking into it more. I think it has the potential to really help some people."

"I think I'll need to try a bit of every speciality before I really know what I'm interested in," Addison explained honestly. Originally she had thought she would be interested in General surgery but the more she learned about neonatal she felt herself being pulled more in that direction as a speciality. "Although OB/GYN does seem interesting, you know not only are you saving one life but you're saving two. Plus it has a few different paths you could take when you really start to define your speciality.2

"We'd make a badass surgical team." Mark grinned up at them both.

"Hell yes, we will." Derek laughed.

"Maybe we could have our own practice together someday." Addison agreed.

Taglist: @thewaywardimpala

[oudenoida]

❦ - Changing clothes facing away, showing off their back (Ty and Luca)

Luca was under no delusions about what the house he shared with Max and Dash was like. He’d seen enough American movies to know that aside from the incredibly ordered and neat corners of it that Max was responsible for the three of them lived in something akin to a frat house; which honestly was part of the reason Luca liked it so much. But it also gave him just a tiny twinge of… was that shame? Was he even capable of feeling shame? Every time Tybalt Weymouth slept over. While he’d never been invited to the Celestial Sanctuary it was the stuff of myth, a palace hidden inside a mountain befitting the magical royalty that tread its halls, and he was very much aware of how his very messy bedroom; with tarot cards, underwear, and various drugs/alcohol scattered around it, didn’t really stack up next to “living castle”. He’d been awoken by the sensation of Tybalt sliding out of his bed and rolled over, hand automatically going to the deck of worn cards on the windowsill, drawing a single one out and looking at it. He’d thought it subsonic, but apparently his mewl of discontent at being confronted with the High Priestess reversed had caught Tybalt’s ear. 

“Not good?” 

He turned just in time to see Tybalt slide the t-shirt he’d been wearing off, revealing a broad landscape of back muscles Luca hadn’t even known you could get that toned, and he lived with a professional athlete. Words escaped him for a moment as he felt himself flush and he was suddenly glad he still had the worn quilt that was on his bed covering himself from the stomach down. On a very fundamental level Luca knew he was hot as fuck. His customers told him that, random people on the street told him that, and he told himself that on a daily basis. But he knew for all his tattooed and muscular sex appeal he didn’t hold a candle to his… whatever the fuck Tybalt was. He found the words a suddenly-half-naked Ty had stripped away from him and delivered them with what he hoped was a characteristic level of disinterest. 

“Just being yelled at by the Universe for being a bad person. So, you know. Nothing new. Or as you might say.” His voice took on a dramatically affected American accent, “Nothin’ new.” 

Ty flipped him off as he slid a collared shirt on, tugging a pair of jeans over muscular legs that Luca was now having a hazy memory of commenting on. 

“Did I tell you I wanted to wear your legs like a feather boa last night?” 

“You did. Right before I rendered you speechless for awhile.” 

Luca gave a little shiver as he looked at the upside down woman giving him a death glare from a small rectangle of cardstock. “I remember. Big fan of that, Weymouth. Big fan.” He could hear the wispy voice of Professor Trelawney in his head as he looked at the High Priestess. She means to tell you you’re not listening to your inner voice Lucas. She never had gotten his name right, When she’s reversed it’s a call to stop and breath and turn inward. What is your mind telling you, your heart telling you, that you’re trying to block out?

He slid the card back into the deck and looked up to see Ty looking down at the sweat-stained t-shirt in his hand, Trelawney still echoing in his head, “Uh I took a bunch of shit to the thrift shop the other day so there’s like… an empty drawer in the dresser if you don’t wanna like bring that to work with you or something.” It violated a pretty fundamental if unspoken tenet in their relationship; impermanence. They had existed in a neutral detente for months, a cycle of ghosting and late night hookups that they had staunchly refused to tie any sort of label too. Tybalt was well aware of what Luca did for work, and while it hadn’t come up in any sort of serious conversation Luca couldn’t image the Weymouth scion settling down in any capacity with a whore. 

The look he received was inscrutable and Luca was reminded that he was looking at a man who had been a hair's breadth away from being called Lord. “You just happen to have an empty drawer? I know how Ava shops for you, Santos. I find that hard to believe. I’ll just shove it in my bag and wash it at home tonight. Thanks though.” 

Propping himself up on one elbow to watch Tybalt put the shirt in his bag he could see the edge of the High Priestess poking out of the desk, one disapproving eye pinning him to his pillows. You have to listen, Lucas. You listen to the forces of the world very well, nobody in this class can read the cards like you can, but even you need the reminder to listen to yourself. Sometimes the most important messages don’t come from the deck, but from within. 

Ty had one hand on the doorknob, and Luca could already hear the knob turning and the hinges creaking when it finally burst out of him, far louder than he had anticipated, loud enough where Dash was sure to bring it up later, but bursting out all at once like a ruptured dam. 

“I fucking love you!” 

The doorknob stopped in its rotation but Tybalt’s back remained turned, though, if Luca was reading posture correctly, slightly more rigid than it had been previously. There was no response, no indication other than the cessation of movement that Tybalt had heard him at all and Luca swept his legs out of the bed, planting them on cold hardwood and keeping the quilt over his lap.

“I… I love you, okay? I know. I know this breaks all the rules we never talked about but we both know are there but I love you. When I wake up and you’re not here it’s a shitty morning and when I lay down and I’m alone, or really even when I’m not alone but it’s not you I don’t sleep for shit. I know. I know what we are. I know what this is. What this isn’t. But… I fucking love you. Leave the fucking shirt. Leave a bunch of shirts. Leave shirts and boxers and sweatpants and a toothbrush in a stupid cup by the sink and the smell of you on my blankets and the heat of you on my pillows. Just…. Leave something.” 

From behind him he could swear he heard the gentlest of laughter and the whisper of card against card as she slid back inside the deck but he was too focused on the stationary man in front of him to check to see. Ty’s hand drifted from the doorknob to his pocket and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the door and breathing a quiet chuckle, “Is it part of your inherent divinatory magic where you just know exactly what’s going to throw me for a loop? I know you’re a gifted seer. Does this come with it?” 

Now it was Luca’s turn to stay silent, head low staring at the floor between his feet. He could tell whatever the outcome this was a turning point for them. Either Tybalt was going to walk out the door for the last time or something bigger was going to happen between them, but whatever forces sometimes gave him a glimpse of a possible future were criminally silent in the moment. It wasn’t until he saw a pair of shoes step between his bare feet and felt a finger tilting his chin up that he felt the blush of hope in his heart. 

“I love you too, Luca.” 

He watched as Tybalt knelt so they were at eye level, leaning forward to brush a gentle kiss to Luca’s trembling lips, “Breathe. I can hear your heartbeat from here. I’ll leave the shirt. I’ll leave the shirt and the toothbrush and the me. I didn’t know you could say that many words in a row… but I love you too. Fuck the rules. You know how I feel about rules. What rules did to my brother, to me, to our fathers. I don’t give a single fuck what rules we had between us. We’ll write new ones. But the first one is this…” The kiss deepened and they both stood, Luca leaning into the feeling of Tybalt. 

“We’re going to start saying stuff out loud. I fucking love you, you dumbass. I just can’t believe you said it first.” 

[vegetacide]

Whump●tober - Secret injuries

Veg-notables: This went in a direction I did not expect it to go.. As I woke up this morning inspiration hit me up the back of the head and I ended up rewriting the whole thing from a different perspective than I had intended. Scrapped over 1100 words as Kayo burst in the front door and demanded I write her instead of Scott and V… She can be rather scary and demanding.. 

Thanks  @gumnut-logic for dealing with me filling your inbox through I know this is not what I originally sent you last night and well.. I am expecting various hard candies to be lobbed my way.. 

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Hospital room conversations, a little medical jargon and some emotional turmoil.  

Characters: Kayo, Scott and a sleeping V.. yes he is out cold but only sleeping this time. 

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous posts can be found HERE.

24.Secret Injuries

Enjoy…

oOo

When Kayo returned sometime later the room was quiet again, the only sound that of heart monitor and the ambient noise from the hallway through the door at her back.  The shuffling of feet,  the squeak of wonky wheel on an IV pole as it was pushed by,  the laugh of a nurse.  

Despite the lightening of the mood,  the lessening of the dread that  pulled the family down there was still a lick of something hanging like a fine gossamer shroud over everything.  An inkling of apprehension that tickled up the back of her neck and had her checking blind spots and exits out of habit.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm her nerves,  Kayo crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the thick wood paneling of the rooms only egress.  Taking in the now familiar space and its two occupants with a critical eye.

A top-notch ICU room with all the bells and whistles that money could buy.  Temperature controlled,  recessed linear circadian optic lighting,  drone docks hidden away behind remotely accessed ceiling panels,  an alphabet worth of med scanners and monitor,   heated gels filled bio-bed with anti-grav capabilities, the works.  Helped that the family had made several large anonymous donations over the years.

If the donations had been anything but anonymous Kayo was pretty sure there would be a wing with the Tracy name on it but the Tracy’s weren’t the type to  flaunt their charitable endeavors.  Stroking egos was the last thing on their minds, their only goal was to save lives in anyway they could so they used their money.  Considering they had enough to buy a small country several times over,  the hospital had benefited greatly from their generosity. 

Now the Tracy’s were benefiting for their own kindness and they had a fleet of some of the world’s top Doctors to go along with it which she was eternally grateful for.    

Virgil; the man whom she had come inexplicable entangled with, was asleep again.  Propped up amongst bleach white pillows and snoring softly. Her eyes instinctively watched his chest, counter the length of the rise and fall of his chest, the  tightness in her own loosening as the information in her head computed back as safe, alive, still with her. Thank God. 

She noted randomly that the bed had been adjusted, most likely in an attempt to alleviate the discomfiture he had been experience since rousing from his coma, that he was trying and failing miserably at hide from her.  She was well acquainted with his penchant to spare those around him from worry but really,  after everything that had happened?.. Men. 

Shaking her head at her other half, she turned her attention to Scott.    

He sat hunched over close by, eyes distant as he stared off at the middle distance in deep thought.  Elbows braced on his knees,  hands rubbing worriedly between his thighs as if trying to wipe something off them. 

Kayo narrowed in on the movement,  her mind conjuring up scenarios and only dark things came to mind as the bruised knuckles finally registered. She’d missed that in the drama of her world coming unhinged at the seams.  

She pushed away from the door,  stepped further into the room and Scott’s eyes finally shifted to her.  No surprise on his expression at seeing her there.  He hadn’t acknowledged her upon entry but he’d known she was there. 

“The blockers are helping enough.”  His voice though soft, was heavy with emotion but Kayo didn’t comment on it. 

“I know.”  She replied coming up the end of the bed and resting her hand on one of Virgil’s covered feet. A physical act of reassurance she couldn’t explain but viscerally needed.  

“His speech..” He started and couldn’t seem to finish.

“I know,  Doctor’s said there could be some neurological damage from the cerebral edema. He has no idea he is slurring or muddling up some of his words but it’s gotten better since he woke up.  Swelling is still going down.”

Scott’s head bobbed up and down once.  “Nurse came by.” 

“I ran into her just outside,  she filled me in.  The neurologist will be by in a bit, she’s just getting out of surgery..”  Kayo stopped, unsure if she should continue or not.  Scott wasn’t doing so well and she didn’t want to burden him more.  He already blamed himself for GlobalMax. 

She needn’t had hesitated though, Scott already knew.  

“They keep checking his pupil response every time they come in.”  

Kayo closed her eyes, a despondent weight settling over her. The news she had secretly been dreading, fears that she had been right about voiced and confirmed by Scott with his concerned words.

“Did he say anything to you?” She asked, knowing that if Virgil hadn't told her about his sight the chances were slim that he would have mentioned it to Scott. 

“Not a peep but I suspected as much.  The Doctors did warn us.”  Scott looked down, rubbed once more at his battered fists, flicked his glance at the growing  medi-chart that hung off the end of the bed.  

Kayo watched Scott worry away at his hands,  his apprehension tightening his shoulders, distorting his usually impeccable posture.  “Have you put any ice on those?” She queried, shock spearing through his eyes as they shot up to hers.  

She leaned on the bed by Virgil’s feet,�� hands in her lap playing with loose thread of her sweater.  “He might not be able to see the damage, Scott but I certainly can.”  She waited a beat,  “So can the others, mind you they won’t ask but they’re worried  about you and so am I.” 

Something flashed in his eyes at that, something she hadn’t seen in a long time as his vibrant blue gaze jetted up to hers and skittered away again.

Her own pulse kicked at the look but it was an instant only.  Something that would never be followed through on or explored.  It was from a childish youth years before she knew the truth of her adult self.  The strength of her feelings for the sleeping man quietly snoring at her back.  His leg resting against her spine, residual heat from his fading fever radiating through her clothing and warming her skin. 

Had she known then what she did now, that wellspring of youthful emotion would have fizzled to non-existence but that was the journey of life.  To experience its highs and it lows, and to see how far one could go in either direction without breaking or succumbing.  She'd found her peak, the pinnacle of her high and it was interwoven intricately with the mind behind loving, steady, sable brown eyes.  

Scott's athletic shoulders shrugged, not as wide as his brothers but just as able in a rescue. They carried many a burden, had sagged slightly under pressure but held firm time and again to whatever life threw at them.  This time though she wasn't too sure as doubt glossed over their resilience, maybe this time it would be too much. 

"You really should get them tended." She was well versed in the pain he was most likely experiencing having had her fair share of tussles over the years.  Some she'd won, some she'd lost but the pain in one's hands was always the same.  Bone deep and achy.  

"I will..just…". His attention turned to Virgil. Scott hadn't left his side since his return from wherever he had disappeared to but Kayo had her suspicions.  The haunted look in his eyes told her plenty.  

"Scott," Kayo put a hand in his jumping knee, the one she was sure he hadn't been aware danced up and down when he was overly tired and distraught. It stopped its mad jitter, his piercing blue turned back to her. "When was the last time you slept?" 

He'd comforted her during her time of need, now it was her turn to do the same in whatever small way he would allow.  She knew it was hard for him to admit needing it, a task usually delegated to Virgil to suss out but he wasn’t up to it and it would be sometime before he would be. 

"I'm doing okay, Tin". A childhood name, one seldom used and a testament to Scott’s current troubled mind.  

"No, you're not." 

His eyes shifted to the hand still on his knee and she lifted it, tucked it into the crook of her arm as she folded them again across her chest.  

“I have to be.” For his family, for the commander he was forced to be in the absence of their Father.

"Grandma was asking after you, maybe you should go and see her. She’s gotten antsy since the Doctor’s veto’ed her access to force her to rest.��� Kayo tipped her head towards the door. “I wont leave him.”  

“She made you come in here to get me, didn’t she?”  He knew the woman well.

Kayo’s lips perked,  “You know Grandma,  always looking after her boys.”  She stood, offered Scott a hand.   “It was either me or TI security and a tranq’ gun. I figured I was the better option.”, 

Scott snorted, “You figured right since I could fire them all.” He took her hand,  groaned as she dragged him up to his feet.  

He stood in front of her a moment, close and she caught a whiff of his aftershave so different from Virgil’s but so Scott.  An awkward beat and she stepped back swinging out her arm to gesture towards the door dramatically.  “After you.” 

A slight uptick of a smile,  a flash of dimples before a quick glance over to his supine sibling. “You’re right.” He said as he stepped past her, long legs eating up the short distance. 

He stopped at the door,  back to her still. “Kayo…?”

“Yes?”  Her fingers combing through Virgil’s hair, brushing the tangled mess back from his pale brow.  

“..nevermind..”  and Scott was gone, the door swinging shut quietly in his wake. 

Not all injuries were visible but they hurt all the same.  

oOo

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

[artificialqueens]

For Your Safety, Chapter Six (Branjie) - Kite

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you so much for all of your lovely comments so far!

-x-

“I can’t do this. I’m not right for you.”

“Brooke, wait.” She hears Vanessa yelling, then feels a tug at the sleeve of her robe. She turns to face her and feels her breath catch in her throat. Vanessa is staring up at her with her jaw tightened and her breathing is ragged. She looks angry and hurt and confused all at the same time.

Brooke takes a deep breath and looks up whilst blinking away her tears. Then, reluctantly, she pulls away from Vanessa’s grip. “I’m sorry. I really can’t do this.”

She makes it no less than two steps away before Vanessa is gripping her arm again, tighter this time. “Don’t you dare walk away from me right now.” She yells harshly. “I mean it.” She adds in a much softer tone.

Brooke turns back to face her once more, guided by Vanessa gently pulling on her arm so that they are face to face. Brooke has to shift her eyes upwards and away from Vanessa. She can’t bare to see the look on her face. Can’t bare to see her tears.

“Vanessa, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let that happen. I shouldn’t have let any of this happen. You deserve so much better than me and I was a selfish asshole when I asked you to stay. I’m just going to do what I should’ve done months ago pay for you to fly back to Tampa-”

Vanessa shushes Brooke softly, as she rambles, stroking her fingertips soothingly down the side of her face. “Shush now, baby. Calm down.”

But Brooke can’t stop. “I can’t. I just can’t do it anymore. It’s too much.” She’s shaking her head almost violently as her breathing quickens into harsh pants. It’s like someone has sucked up all the air in the apartment.

The edge of her vision is fuzzy and she can feel her heart pounding in her ears.

“Look at me.” Vanessa whispers, cupping Brooke’s face in her hands and forcing her to look down. “Baby, I know you’re scared of this. You get all these feelings and shit and you try to bottle them up inside you like they don’t mean nothing. I’ve tried to give you time to get your head on straight but I’ll be honest with you, mama, this is fuckin with me too.”

Brooke shakes her head softly. “What do you mean?”

“We keep getting so close and I think it’s finally going to happen between us and then it just… doesn’t.” Vanessa looks away and starts chewing her lip. “I get it if you don’t want me. It’s fine. But you gotta tell me, baby.”

Then she takes a deep breath and drops her voice into a low, sultry tone. “Otherwise, you’ve gotta get back down here and finish what you started.”

Brooke brings her hand up to cover Vanessa’s that rests on her cheek and squeezes her eyes tightly shut.

“Brooke, it’s okay.”

Fuck it.

Brooke opens her eyes and looks down at Vanessa gazing back up at her, then stoops to capture her lips in a kiss. Vanessa tilts her head back and moans softly when their lips meet and pulls Brooke closer.

It’s softer this time. Not frantic or rushed. It’s gentle and leisurely. They have all the time in the world.

Vanessa delicately tugs on Brooke’ lower lip with her teeth, deepening the kiss slightly. After a few moments Brooke pulls back to press their foreheads together. She wants to say something, but nothing feels right. Then she feels Vanessa’s hands on the belt of her robe, causing all the thoughts to fly from her head.

Brooke covers Vanessa’s hands with her own, stopping her. “What are you doing?” She whispers.

“I’m taking your robe off.”

Brooke swallows and shakes her head softly. “We should wait.” She’s so afraid of what just happened that she wants to make sure Vanessa knows they can take it slowly if she needs to.

Vanessa smirks back at her. “Brooke, I’ve wanted this since the first night we met. We’ve waited long enough.”

Brooke’s face breaks into a smile as she sighs softly, and before she knows it their lips are colliding once more. They alternate between kissing and giggling as they stumble into Brooke’s bedroom. The robes are abandoned somewhere in the hall.

“Fuck off outa here.” Vanessa mumbles whilst Brooke nudges her backwards into the bed.

Brooke freezes and pulls back. “What?” She stammers.

Vanessa laughs loudly. “No, no, not you baby. These damn kitties are behind me.”

Brooke is unable to stop herself from laughing too. It’s so stupid. So perfect. Together, they attempt to wrangle the cats out of the door through fits of laughter.

“Get outa here, Mary, I’m tryna get my ass laid.” Vanessa yells as she flaps her arms towards the cats. “Your mama is about to have the night of her life.” Brooke is practically crying with laughter as she watches.

Eventually the cats scurry off down the corridor and as they do, Brooke pulls Vanessa into a tight embrace. When the laughter dies down Brooke drops her face into the crooke of Vanessa’s neck, nuzzling into the skin.

“You bring so much light and joy into my life and I’m so sorry for making this more complicated than it needs to be. I really do love you.”

She hears Vanessa’s breath hitch then feels her fingers tangling in her hair. Vanessa tugs Brooke away from her shoulder gently so that their gazes can meet. “You aint just saying that? Cause this has been a long night and emotions are running high, and I don’t want you to be saying that cause you think you gotta. And I don’t want you to regret it in the morning or something.”

“I’m so fucking sure about this. I spend my life worrying and doubting myself, but falling in love with you is one thing I’ve never doubted. I adore you.”

Vanessa chews on her lip and inhales deeply. “Brooke, I’m not so good with words so I can’t say all that shit like this is some kinda movie, but you came into my life and did all that stuff and everything is better now and it’s like Toronto is my home even though I used to hate it and I thought I was gonna be alone and-”

She’s rambling. “Ness.” Brooke says softly, cutting her off.

Vanessa blushes and smirks up at her. “ I’m just trying to say that I love you too, baby.”

Brooke pulls her into a delicate kiss… which doesn’t say soft for long. “Bed.” Vanessa practically growls between kisses. “Now.” Brooke is more than happy to comply.

Usually, Brooke likes to be in control, but when Vanessa crawls on top of her to straddle her lap, she’s more than happy to yield and let Vanessa guide her. She trusts Vanessa so much that she allows her body to relax rather than letting it succumb to nerves. She rests one hand on Vanessa’s hip and drags the fingers of her other up Vanessa’s side, tickling her gently.

Vanessa’s hands are less calm and somehow it feels like they’re everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair, cupping her face, clutching her shoulders, palming her breasts. When Vanessa’s thumb flicks over her nipple, Brooke lets out a moan and feels Vanessa grinning against her lips. Then, Vanessa drops her lips to Brooke’s jaw and starts trailing wet, open mouthed kisses downwards.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening.” Brooke breathes out.

“Less – talking – more – enjoying – baby.” Vanessa smirks, punctuated by kisses.

Brooke chuckles softly. “Right, sorry.” She says with a blush, but after a moment her thoughts bubble up once again and she props herself up on her elbows. “But isn’t it just so much better than you ever could’ve–oh.”

Vanessa’s mouth around her nipple cuts her off mid sentence. She twirls her tongue slowly, then releases the nipple with a pop. “You thinking too much, baby. Just relax. Enjoy it. We can talk after.” Vanessa whispers as she peppers Brooke’s chest with kisses.

Brooke nods quickly and settles back into the pillow, desperately trying to push away all thoughts other than how great Vanessa’s mouth feels on her skin. Eventually, when Vanessa’s kisses begin to trail down her stomach her mind goes blank and she draws in a sharp breath in anticipation.

Gentle lips ghost over Brooke’s inner thigh, planting soft kisses into the skin, inching closer and closer to where she wants them to be. She feels Vanessa’s devilish smirk against her skin as she squirms beneath her, writhing in excitement for the pleasure she has not yet felt. “Vanessa.” Brooke groans, practically pleading her to stop teasing.

With that, Vanessa swiftly adjusts so that her arms are hooked beneath Brooke’s thighs, and finally, her lips make contact.

She drags her tongue up the length of Brooke’s centre, then gently sucks on the tight bundle of nerves at the top. Brooke wonders if it’s possible to blackout from pleasure. If it is, she’s pretty sure she’s going.

Vanessa alternates between kissing, lapping and sucking at her with such precision that Brooke is sure, without a doubt, that this is the best sex she’s ever had in her life. Its gentle, yet firm. Too much, yet not enough. She tangles her fingers in Vanessa’s hair as she brings her closer and closer to the edge. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut and her breathing comes in fast pants as Vanessa’s tongue thrusts against her.

Maybe it’s because she’s wanted this for so long, or maybe it’s just because it’s been close to a year since she last had sex, but it only takes a few more minutes for Brooke to finish. As she does, she throws her head back so hard against she pillows that she’s surprised she doesn’t injure herself. Vanessa kisses gently at the skin of her inner thigh as her ragged breathing slows and she rides out her wave of post-orgasm bliss.

As the haze clears, her mind is suddenly whirring at full speed as she goes over what has happened that night. Less than an hour ago, she was picking a fight with Vanessa out of some twisted bitterness. Of all the ways Brooke had thought this night would turn out, this was not one. God, she’d told Vanessa she loves her. Twice. And Vanessa had said it back. Brooke can feel all of her muscles clenching as she worries about what this means and where they go from here, but then she feels Vanessa nuzzling at her neck.

Vanessa curls her arm around Brooke’s waist and tangles their legs together, pulling them closer, forcing Brooke’s anxieties to melt away. Brooke quickly brings her arms up and circles them protectively around Vanessa’s petite frame.

Now that she has her, she’s never letting her go again.

After a few minutes of cuddling, Brooke tilts Vanessa’s face up into a slow, soft kiss as she grazes her hand down Vanessa’s side, determined to reciprocate a hundred times over, but Vanessa catches her arm before she can move any further.

“Its okay, baby, you can barely keep your eyes open.” Vanessa whispers, lacing their fingers together and nuzzling back into Brooke’s side.

“I want to-”

“God, I do too. But you need to sleep.” Vanessa chuckles. “I’ll be here in the morning.” She tells her, then delicately kisses the skin beneath her earlobe.

Brooke wants to protest, but Vanessa is right, she can barely keep her eyes open. Reluctantly, she lets out a deep sigh and pulls Vanessa tightly against her chest. “You promise?” Brooke asks through a stifled yawn.

“I promise, baby.”

[audreysjensens-blog]

central pines - chapter three - the f stands for “fuck” [elodie davis x reader]

chapter song : girlpool - pretty 

Your stomach had been doing incessant flip flops since you’d met Elodie, and you were pretty sure that she kept looking at you when she didn’t think you could see.

You were probably just seeing things, the rational part of your brain said, kicking you for objectifying this poor new girl. Or, wait, maybe that’s the shame talking-

You quickly swatted away the negative thoughts and started to lead Elodie through the dorm hallways, stopping at your newly shared room.

You stepped inside and made a sweeping gesture for Elodie to enter, which she smiled graciously at, despite the fact that you were cringing on the inside at your own blatant strange behavior.

Fuck.

“So,” Elodie said, tossing her backpack on the plain, uncovered bed and wheeling her suitcase next to the headboard. “Pretty plain on my side.”

“Yeah,” you chucked, sitting back on your bed and crossing your legs. “You can decorate, though. I mean, we have free days every Wednesday, and we can go into town and stuff. I mean, you’re supervised, but barely. Just enough not to get any ideas while still being able to have a decent time.”

Elodie let out a small sigh and sat back on her bed, mimicking your movements and resting her head on her hands in her lap. “I’m assuming no visits with friends, or anything.”

You smiled then, leaning forward and propping your chin on your clasped hands. “I mean… If you happen to run into some friends when you’re out on the town… I’m sure no one’s going to break it up.”

Elodie sent a small, secret smile your way, her eyes darting over your face and then back down to her feet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was checking you out, but a visitor in the doorway quickly cleared that thought out of your mind.

“Hellooooooo, new roomies!” John said, swinging his foot into the doorway like he was in a low-budget production of Hello, Dolly! He walked in and was soon followed by Elodie’s father, a taller, scruffy looking man with a slouchy sweater vest.

“You’re, uh, Y/N, right?” Mr. Davis said, awkwardly reaching behind himself to stick his hands in his back pockets and trying not to look too hard at Elodie. “I’m excited Elodie’s going to have a roommate that I can already get a good vibe from.”

“Thanks, Mr. Davis!” you said, leaning back on your hands and grinning at the fact that he was quite obviously incredibly uncomfortable talking to you. The parents always are.

He started to look around your poster-adorned side of the room, eyes flitting about until they landed on one of your homemade posters, an upside down pink triangle.

“Lesbian sign!” he exclaimed, and when your eyes went wide and you let out shocked laughter, Elodie looked downright murderous.

“Oh, I mean, I’m an LBGFQ ally,” he started uncomfortably, despite the fact that he completely butchered the name of the community. “I do some research here and there, because Elodie… Okay!” he cut himself off, probably sensing the daggers that Elodie was sending his way. “That’s enough out of me.”

You kept your giggling to a polite minimum, hiding your laughter behind your hand as John quickly tried to change the subject. Thank god Mr. Davis had enough grace to go with it, allowing himself to be swept up into a conversation about John’s new favorite show (Two Broke Girls, if you can believe it) and following him out the door.

Elodie seemed to be looking anywhere except for your eyes, head down in her hands and a cringing frown on her face. When she looked up, though, you were still laughing, and she joined in, thankful for the out you had given her.

“So… LGBFQ huh?” you said, almost barely able to speak over your laughter.

Elodie let out a breath between cackling, trying to keep her voice even. “The F stands for fuck.”

This sent you on a whole other cycle of breathless laughter, and it took almost a full minute for the two of you to get back to breathing normally.

The laughter dwindled down and the quiet replaced the noise in your room, almost waiting for you or Elodie to break the silence. Luckily, though, some music tinkering out of Elodie’s headphones broke the abrupt lack of sound.

“What are you listening to?” you asked curiously, rearranging some pillows on your bed and trying to look completely unbothered at the fact that this new girl was cute and funny.

Elodie shyly picked up her yellow headphones, a small blush overtaking her cheeks before handling them like they were made of glass. “Just some older music that some people I used to know made. I’m trying to find some new stuff, though.”

You stood up then, leaning over and sitting next to Elodie and glancing over at her Spotify.

“Hmm,” you said, looking at the album cover that adorned the screen. On it was a girl with blonde hair and red lips, looking away from the camera as if its very existence was bothersome. “She looks cool. You knew her?”

“Yeah,” Elodie breathed, fingers delicately handling the phone like the album cover was going to look at her at any moment. “She’s sort of my ex.”

“Shit, sorry,” you said, unconsciously drawing your legs into your chest. “Bad ending?”

“You could say that,” she sighed after speaking. “I doubt she ever wants to see me again.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you piped in, leaning on your hands and giving Elodie a reassuring smile. “You seem great.”

Elodie smiled at you then, and your stomach did another backflip. You could feel warmth rush into your cheeks, and you were so close; your elbow was centimeters away from Elodie’s arm, and the sudden proximity combined with your eye contact startled you into speaking.

“If you’re looking for some new stuff, I’ve gotten into this band called Girlpool recently,” you said, tucking your sleeves over your hands (a nervous habit that you hated if you were conscious that it was happening).

“I’ve heard of them!” Elodie said, a sudden nod lighting up her features. “I used to listen to their album Powerplant.”

“Really?” you grinned, leaning closer to her. “They have a new album, What Chaos is Imaginary. It’s really good, if I do say so myself.” You mimicked tipping a fedora, throwing in an, “M’peccable music taste.”

Elodie started laughing again, scooting closer to you on the bed. “What song do you like on there the most? Usually I don’t do whole album listen-throughs, so I wanna start with something someone likes.”

You felt your face flush again as she moved the phone closer to you, and almost a slight explosion as you took the phone and the two of your hands touched. You glanced down at the screen, pretending not to notice Elodie staring at you (she was probably just trying to be nice) as you typed in the song title and handed the phone back.

You heard the speakers on her headphones abruptly stop and start the song, “Pretty”. It was your favorite, and you were hoping that Elodie liked it too.

“Here,” she said, flipping one of the headphones inside out and gesturing it to you. “Group listen.”

You felt your stupidly happy smile take over your face again, and you leaned your head close to the speaker as Elodie put the other headphone on her ear. You let the music flow through the two of you, closing your eyes at the melodic guitar chords and crashing drums.

I remember seeing you in dreams

Trying to understand what this sadness means

I hate the way I feel confused

Like I'll always be a part of you

You were such an idol

Yeah, you were the whole world

Now, you see, you look pretty broken…

You opened your eyes again and saw Elodie’s dart quickly back from where they were resting on your face. She blushed and looked down, and you were too caught up in the fact that she was looking at you at all to do anything other than keep listening.

[coolspacequips]

"sweetie, i would never think that." and "come lay down in my lap." Shance

okay bear with me!!! This is rly rough because i just wanted to write it quickly, im trying to get better at being quick and a bit more brief so that i can get more writing done without being overwhelmed lol... also trying to stop being shy and just POST STUFF

also its kind of cheesy shangst/hurt/comfort LISTEN who doesnt love lance comforting shiro?

Lance stirred restlessly as the small hours of the night seemed to creep by, somewhere between asleep and awake despite his best effort. He just couldn’t seem to get comfortable, and it wasn’t until he turned to press closer to Shiro, seeking his warmth, that he finally figured out why.

The sheets at his side were cool to the touch, and all at once Lance realized that he could hear the harsh sound of muffled breathing. His eyes fluttered open, squinting through the darkness to see the hunched shape of his boyfriend, turned away from him and curled in on himself at the very edge of the bed. He could just make out the sharp curve of Shiro’s fingers digging into the scarred flesh of his right shoulder, clearly trying to keep himself quiet, and Lance could all but feel his heart aching in his chest at the sight.

“Babe...?” He murmured, voice soft with sleep and concern. Shiro’s breathing hitched and fell silent, grip tightening, and Lance propped himself up on an elbow, rubbing at one eye as he tried to focus. “You awake over there?”

Silence filled the room, but before Lance could ask again Shiro let out a quiet, shaky sigh. He didn’t turn around, clearing his throat carefully.

“Yes. Yeah, I’m awake,” he said lowly, his words strained, the grip on his arm unrelenting. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be,” Lance insisted quickly, sitting up, hand hovering as he fought the urge to give Shiro a comforting touch. He knew better by now, not wanting to overwhelm him. “Do you want me to turn on the light?”

“No,” he answered after another pause, and Lance could see him shaking his head in the dark. “No, Lance, it’s fine. It’s late, just go back to sleep.”

“Shiro,” Lance said gently. “I told you that you could wake me up, no matter what time it was. I meant it.”

“I know, Lance, but this...” Another pause, another shaky breath. “I don’t want... You have to deal with me so much, I don’t want you to think that I’m... That I’m weak,” he pushed the final word out, tight with self-loathing, and Lance’s eyes widened in pure disbelief.

“Sweetie, I would never think that!” He exclaimed, shaking his head quickly, shifting to rest his back against the headboard as he gazed down at the other. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met! I mean, you know how much I think of you,” he said. “But I also know that you’re human, too. It’s okay to hurt, Shiro. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

There was another stretch of silence as Shiro seemed to gather himself, breath hitching quietly as he tried to even it out. “I know,” he said, thick with emotion, and took a few more steadying breaths before continuing in a soft whisper. “...I’m glad you’re awake, Lance.”

That quiet confession made Lance feel warm, needed, and he propped a pillow behind his back as he readjusted, giving his thigh an audible pat. “Come lay down in my lap, corazón,” he murmured invitingly, and Shiro hesitated for only a moment before turning carefully to take him up on the offer.

Lance cradled him lovingly, fingers running through soft, pale hair as Shiro nuzzled firmly against him. Letting him keep his face hidden, Lance helped his boyfriend through his go-to breathing exercise, talking him through it in a soothing tone until he felt him begin to relax in his lap.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Shiro mumbled against his leg at last, the sleepiness of his tone doing Lance’s heart some good. “Hate to keep you up, though.”

“Please, Shiro,” he scoffed playfully, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple. “I don’t mind. I love you more than I love my beauty sleep, after all.”

“Woah. Consider me humbled,” Shiro said, feigning amazement, though the effect was lost when he yawned loudly, drawing a chuckle from Lance when he snuggled closer. “I love you, too, Lance; more than all the stars in the sky.”

Lance’s expression melted into a cheesy smile at that, and he carded his fingers back through Shiro’s hair once more, murmuring sweet nothings until he realized that Shiro had managed to doze off once more. Pressed back against his warmth where he belonged, it didn’t take Lance much time at all to follow after.

[shes-claws-deep]

Shimada Bros Vampire AU

A thing me and @thedevilinherself did on a discord server. It’s a bit disjointed but hopefully still readable. Enjoy!

For your consideration; your laying on a bed, legs spread wide as the two vampire Shimadas brothers nestle between them, biting, licking and sucking on your thighs as they feed. If they're going for the inner thighs, that's gonna be super tender and sensitive

And the venom from their fangs leaves you even more sensitive, over stimulated as your boys worship you with great gratitude. And then to thank you they simultaneously eat you out. Competing to please you as they are practically making out around your clit and slit. And if you're on your period, they fight for the drips of blood that come out every time you cum or when you get close.

You’re nice and sensitive when you’re on your period too.

And the venom in their fangs numbs the cramping so you try to spend all of your period on your back with at least one of them between your legs. And they are more than willing to oblige. Maybe even sometimes on your front, cuddling a pillow and watching tv or something, while they prop you up on your knees so they can eat you properly and stuff their entire face into your ass.

They are eagerly digging in, making sloppy noises as they scoop out as much blood as they can with their tongue. When they finally take a break their mouth is a mess with your blood, eyes dark and lusty, breathing heavy as palm their stiff cock. 

Or maybe they have you lying on Hanzo’s chest (groping his boobs) while Genji kneels behind you and eats you out so good that you drip all over hanzo's stomach.

God, you know I'm game for Hanzo boob worship. Hanzo's growling as he watches his brother eagerly burying his face in your ass. It's made worse as you scoop up some of the blood from your stomach, slipping your fingers into his mouth to suck as you tease him with the taste of your sweetest blood. He wants to feed on your neck, desperately needing to satisfy his hunger, but he holds back, not wanting to fill up before his turn with you.

You're happily teasing him with your finger, swirling it inside his mouth and playing with his tongue and his fangs until you gasp, eyes wide and mouth agape. Above your back, Hanzo can see Genji rising behind you, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he starts fucking you hard. Almost about to admonish his brother for jumping his turn - Hanzo's supposed to have a snack before the main course, goddamnit - until the metallic taste of your blood blooms across his tongue. You pricked your finger on the tip of his fang.

He can't hold back, sucking on your finger before biting your wrist, feeding in a fevered frenzy as his hips give small needy thrusts. Between Hanzo sucking you dry and Genji fucking you senseless, you can't control the sounds that escape you, forgetting how your back hurt and stomach hurt.

At first, you flinch from the pain. His fangs burn as they sink into the tender skin of your wrists, the pull of his sucks bringing weakness to your body as his venom replaces the blood he takes. Slowly, ever so slowly, you feel lightheaded and warm, sinking deeper into the vampire brothers' embrace as they both pin you to Hanzo's wide chest. 

Pleasure and desire cloud your mind, taking over your body. Making you squirm between them and rub your chest over Hanzo's own as you start rocking your hips weakly in search of more stimulation. "Aannnhhh," you moan with fluttering lashes. "Pl-please..." 

Hanzo growls with want and licks the wounds on your wrist closed.

TheDevilinHerself: I have to wonder if Hanzo would force his way in before Genji finished to make sure he gets his turn.And which brother would eat you out afterwards, cum and all, just to get that last bit of blood from you?

Shes-claws-deep:  i can see genji being that nastybut then he might snowball it and pass to you via a kiss~

hanzo would hook his leg around you and push genji away with his foot, then roll you both over so he can fuck you. in the meantime, he gets his hands under your thighs and pushes it up to your chest, pinning your knees to your shoulders and opening you up for him so beautifully.

Hanzo's got you pinned while Genji pouts off to the side, unable to keep himself from pumping is own dick at the sounds that escape you. Hanzo's intent on breeding you, determand to watch you overflow with his cum. Your pale from the loss of blood, head dizzy and mind spinning as you babble.Hanzo loves hearing your gibberishyour words coming out as praise taht sooth his ego and indulge his pride

Whenever Genji comes close, Hanzo snaps his head around to hiss at him. No. His turn. Instead of snapping back, Genji just slinks around you and holds your legs back, letting his slick soaked cock slap onto your face as he does so. "For you, aniki," he croons. Now with his hands free, Hanzo grins toothily and grabs handfuls of your breasts instead. So soft and so perfect, filling his palms, your nipples stabbing at his calloused skin as he gropes you roughly. His touch isn't gentle. Not by a long shot. But it makes you moan filthily nonetheless, your body so delirious with pain and pleasure and weakness that you arch your chest in response. More. Even more. Genji's cock bobs at your mumbled pleas, precum leaking from his tapered head to drip onto your parted lips. He watches with dilated eyes, transfixed on the single clear droplet as it stretches down down down into your mouth.

Eyes rolled back into your head, from somewhere deep in your sex fuiled haze, you recognized the way his eyes trained on you, on your mouth. Despite the way your mind spun, despite the growing ache in your hips, despite Hanzo's cock balls deep in you, you were hungry for more. Your tongue lulled out, head leaning back as you offered up your mouth to the younger brother. His surprise was gratifying, the lust that laced his smile and the shine in his eyes showing his hunger.Hanzo was more then a little annoyed at your offer when his brother had already had his taste of you, but the way your cunt clenched around him was more then enough to distract him

Still, not one to be one-upped, Hanzo readjusts his hold so one hand has its claws digging deep into the flesh of your waist. Now with a new handhold, he resumes his backbreaking pace, slamming his cock deep inside you. Your battered walls clench helplessly around his thick cock, the ribs and piercings dragging on your soaked pussy lips with every pull and thrust. Wet slaps of flesh against flesh fill the air, joining the sick sucking noise of your pussy dragging on his fat cock.Genji, on the other hand, is busy with your face and your mouth. With his hips alone, he rubs his cock all over your face, chasing your lips and tongue as you readjust to lick and suck on his bobbing cock. Ah, but he never makes it easy for you. Teasing you, he lifts his hips and sets his balls on your face instead, rocking his hips and smearing your juices all over your already slicked up face. "Lick my cock," he commands softly, taking one hand from your ankle to finally angle his cockhead to your lips while he rests his clenching balls on your forehead. "Suck it."

You oblige greedily, swirling your tongue around the head as Hanzo's thrust kept you bobbing on his brothers cock. The brothers competed for your attention, Hanzo's grip drawing more of your delisious blood as he fucked you raw, cock causing your walls to spasm and your legs to tremble. Leaned over you, he nipped at your breast, fangs dragging down your flesh to draw small beads of blood that he hungrily lapped up. Genji on the other hand, was more then distracted by your mouth. The sweet way your warm crevis envelopped him, the sloppy noises you made as you tryed to get a seel on his length, it spired him on. giving small bucks as he angled himself better into your mouth, his balls dragged across your face, not that you minded.

You'd never admit it to them for fear they'd catch on, but you loved they way they competed for your pleasure

Genji moans softly as he rocks against your face, his hands slipping under your head to support the back of your neck as he roughens his thrusts. Bit by bit, he slips further into your mouth. Raising your head up and back at the same time. Pushing and pushing until you're batting at Hanzo's hands weakly when Genji finally forces his cock down your throat. "Oh fuck, you feel so good," he whimpers airily. Your throat is convulsing around his sensitive cock, milking him until he actually presses in deeper in search of more of that heavenly feeling. His eyes roll in his head, his eyelashes flutter and his hips shake as he whines, "Take me all the way down. Yesss just like that." 

 Suddenly, Hanzo rears up from his position at your breast to grab his brother by the neck, pushing him out of your tight throat and throwing him aside violently. "Watch it!" Hanzo hisses, gathering you into his arms as you cough weakly and spit thick globs of saliva all over yourself in an attempt to recover from the absurdly long deepthroat. "You almost suffocated her." Then he turns his attention to you, ignoring the fluttering of your walls around his still throbbing cock as he soothes your neck with one hand, wiping away your spit with the other. "Are you okay?"

[forduary]

Forduary 2019 Week 1 - Recovery, Praise

AO3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Summary:

Science owl is bullied. Crusty mackerel saves the day. Much angst, many comfort.

SLIDING INTO THE END OF FORDUARY LIKE MABEL ON A MAPLE-SYRUP SLIP-’N’-SLIDE

So I’ma do two things this year. One: All four stories are linked, like chapters in a book! Two: I. Brought. ANGST.

Trigger warning: Bullying

“Hah, he’s really squirming now!”

“Quit thrashin’ and get in there!”

“Whoa, check it out, he’s gonna fit!”

“Get off me – get off!”

Ford struggled as hard as he could, but Crampelter dragged him toward the supply closet of the science lab. His two neanderthal accomplices stood on either side of it, grinning. The closet was barely bigger than a full-length locker, its shelves stocked with microscopes and jarred mutant frogs.

Crampelter shoved him in. Ford braced a foot against a bottom shelf and pushed, but Crampelter grabbed the back of his head and slammed Ford’s skull against a shelf. Before Ford could recover, one of the troglodytes kicked at his legs. As he started to fall the closet door swung shut, hard, hitting his back and pinning him in with his legs half-collapsed beneath him. He felt an ankle give and gasped with pain.

The troglodyte laughed. “Teach him for tryin’ a build a satellite for aliens! He already is one!”

“Where’s your bodyguard now, huh, Pines?” Crampelter banged on the door. Ford was crammed in so tight he could barely breathe, and every hit on the door threatened to crack his ribs against the shelves. “You hear me, Freak? If you want out you better beg for it!”

“My thoughts exactly, unless you want me to pound your face in.”

Stan! Shouldn’t he still be at his boxing match?

Crampelter growled. “Back off, Meathead, or I’ll make that shiner the least of your problems. Although with your looks, it might actually be an improvement.”

“Where’s my brother?”

Ford didn’t have enough breath to yell. He banged his elbow against the door.

“Just a little cleanup,” Crampelter sneered. “Putting the freak with the other mutants where he belongs.”

“THAT’S IT!”

Stan yelled and there was a massive crash, like the entire stand of glass beakers had been overturned. Crampelter, Thug 1, and Thug 2 grunted and cursed, punctuating insults with loud bangs and the muffled thud of fists. Something huge and heavy fell against the side of the cabinet, jarring the door. Several frog jars toppled and a couple of them crashed over his head. Formalin and frog juice spurted over his his hair and soaked his shoulders. More jars hit his bent leg. Pain flared and Ford broke out in a cold sweat.

There was an especially nasty crack and a horrible yelp, then Stan was bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“YEAH YOU BETTER RUN, CRAMPY! I SEE YOU NEAR MY BROTHER AGAIN YOUR FACE IS GONNA GET REUNITED WITH MY FIST REAL QUICK!”

There was a second of silence, then something scraped in the door. Stan was picking the lock.

“Sixer? You ok?”

“I can’t breathe,” he whispered hoarsely. His chest was really starting to hurt. He couldn’t inflate his lungs.

“Gimme a second, almost got it.”

Ford closed his eyes and started calculating pi in his head. He’d only gotten to the sixtieth digit when the door swung open and he started to fall back. Stan caught his shoulders, but Ford tried to catch himself with his bad ankle and cried out.

“What? What? Sixer?!”

He took a shaky breath and glanced back. “Don’t worry, I – Stanley, your face!”

Stan’s face looked like someone had repeatedly bashed it with a hammer. He had shiners on both eyes, a cut on one cheek, and the other cheek was already swelling to twice its size.

Stan grinned. Which, all things considered, looked rather horrible. “You think this is bad, you should’ve seen Crampelter’ face, he looks like mincemeat! ‘Sides, mosta this is from the fight. Guess what? I won!”

“Good, that’s good,” Ford said, leaning on the closet. His ankle throbbed and his ribs ached.

Stan grabbed Ford’s arm and looped it over his shoulder. “C'mon, we gotta get you fixed up.”

“You’re one to talk.”

They had to move very carefully out of the classroom. Stan had turned it into a warzone: the beakers really had been knocked over, ceramic displays of neurons and plant cells lay shattered over the lab tables, and a few of the tables had been overturned themselves – one of them was even lodged in the ceiling.

Normally the sight of desecrated science equipment would have been deeply disturbing. Today Ford didn’t give it more than a passing glance. He just wanted to get home.

The two of them moved quietly out of the room and down the hall. At least the janitor was nowhere in sight. In unspoken agreement they bypassed the nurse’s office and headed out of the building for the side gate. They could always get ice at home, and it was just better if they could get to their rooms before Pa closed the shop for the day. The last thing Ford wanted right now was another lecture on being “a real Pines man”.

They were only a few blocks from home when Stanley finally spoke.

“Want to hang out in the Stan O’ War?”

“Maybe later, Stan.”

“I could bring you your nerd stuff. You know Ma ‘n’ Pa don’t care as long as we make it home by eight.”

“Not right now.”

Ford concentrated on moving his feet, concentrating on mathematical proofs as they went. He was pretty close to practicing Fermat’s Last Theorem, anyway.

“Uh, Sixer? What’s that gunk in your hair?”

“Formalin.”

“Like baby stuff?”

“Not formula, formalin. A solution of formaldehyde and water. From the frogs.”

“Oh. Uh, well…you make it work! Right?”

Ford looked at him.

“Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad. Listen, you know Crampelter is full of dog turd, pardon my French. Heck, the whole school is full of morons.”

“I just need some ice for my ankle.”

They’d reached their back door. Stan reached up with his free hand, got the spare key from the gutter, and let them in. Ford let go of Stan and hobbled toward the freezer.

Stan stopped him. “I’ll get it, okay? Just go upstairs and do nerd stuff.”

Ford wasn’t really in the mood to argue. He braced himself against the wall and limped into the hallway, sort of step-hopping up the stairs. He grabbed a cleanish set of clothes from the hamper on his way to the bathroom, cleaned himself off, and then made it to his room, where he collapsed on Stan’s bed. He knew Stan wouldn’t mind. He just wasn’t up to climbing the ladder at the moment. His ankle felt hot and nausea rose in his gut. He closed his eyes.

The Theorem. Just focus on the Theorem.

Something cold slapped him in the face and he yelped.

“Stan!” Ford pulled off the ice pack. “Are you trying to break my nose?”

“Tryin’ ta get your attention, sure. Move over.”

Stan shoved his way onto his bed and Ford quickly made room. Stan lay stretched out, his head on his pillow, and Ford rested his back against the wall with his legs over Stan’s stomach. Ford leaned over and put the bag of ice on his propped-up ankle.

“This too,” Stan said, tossing another ice pack at him. “For your face. You look almost as bad as me.”

“Gee, thanks. Where’s your ice pack?”

“It popped. Besides, people see me looking like this, they know not to mess with Stan Pines, Master of Punches!”

“You really need a different title.”

“Hey, I won my sixth boxing match in a row! I got all the titles!”

Ford made a sound of agreement and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His head ached. He’d forgotten where he’d left off with the Theorem.

He felt Stan shift under him. “Look, Sixer, you’re smart enough to know they’re just pickin’ on you because they can. It’s how idiots like them get their kicks.”

“It’s how you get your kicks with Roger Morris.”

“He started that rumor about you, he was asking for it. Why don’t you just read a nerd book or something? Want me to get you one?” He gestured to the bookcase in the corner of the room, so laden with texts the shelves were sagging.

“No, no. I’m – I’m fine.”

Stan sat up, dumping Ford’s legs onto his lap. “You don’t want to read? Did you get body-snatched or something?”

“Would you just leave me alone?” Ford snapped. He struggled to get up, but the angle was too awkward to manage.

“Hey – ow!” Stan caught Ford’s wrist and he couldn’t squirm away. “Geez, Ford, what’s gotten into you?”

“What do you think?!” Ford burst out. “You keep telling me I’m smart, but that’s the whole problem! That’s exactly why I’m getting picked on! Because I stick out like – like my stupid sixth fingers! If I’m so smart, why haven’t I figured out a way to keep Crampelter off my back? Thanks to him I got beaten up and you look like someone stuck you in a meat grinder face-first!”

“Yeah, and I still look handsome! Eh? Eh?”

Ford jerked his hand away. “This isn’t a joke, Stanley! Being a freak is bad enough. Being a smart freak just draws a massive target on my back.”

“C’mon, Sixer, I love that you’re smart!”

He snorted. “Sure, because you get great grades sitting next to me.”

“That too! But look, you’re not the only one with a target on their back. You’ve seen how Pa looks at me. Plus Crampy and the Goon Patrol liked beating me up all the time before I got good at boxing, and I only had the regular number of fingers.”

Ford stared down at his hands. “If I could just - just hide my intellect the way I try hide my hands…”

“Then I would be the smart twin, and we both know I’d get us into way more trouble than I already do.” Stan punched Ford lightly on the arm. “Bein’ smart is part of what makes you you, Sixer. If you weren’t so smart, you wouldn’t be my nerdy book-lovin’ poindexter of a brother.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ford said drily.

“Point is, I wouldn’t change anything about you, ever. You don’t have to change just to make some morons happy, at least not around me. And I don’t feel like I hafta change myself when I’m around you, either. So what if they call us a freak or the bad twin? You’re a genius, and I’m a six-time boxing champion, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

A lump rose in Ford’s throat. “I…don’t feel like I have to change, either, around you.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’!” He grinned and laid back. “You just wait. One more year a this stupid town and then we’ll be out on the open ocean. Beaches, babes, smooth sailin’, maybe a kraken or two for you and a smokin’-hot mermaid for me!”

“Stan, mermaids are reported to drown sailors.”

“Plus you’ll come up with the best treasure-hunting equipment on the planet!” He swiped a magazine off his nightstand and shoved it at Ford. “Speaking of which, I saw this amazing picture of a doohickey that can detect mermaids underwater!”

“It’s called 'sonar’, Stanley,” Ford said. He tried to sound annoyed, but a smile was tugging at his lips.

“It's called the awesomest of awesome! We’re gonna be out on the ocean for months at a time, Ford. I’ma need some hot dates. You think you can make one a those puppies?”

“Yes,” Ford said immediately. He opened the magazine, but he knew already he could make decent sonar equipment. He’d already read the entire selection on naval technology at their local library, actually, not to mention doing a good deal of extrapolation on how to use advance the current sonar capabilities. He opened the magazine.

“I knew it, I could practically build this in my sleep. But we’ll need supplies.”

Stan sat up eagerly. “Done! What supplies?”

“A sheet of metal, a blowtorch, wires, an ultrasonic sensor…”

[gosecretscribbles]

Forduary 2019 Week 1 - Praise, Recovery

AO3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Summary:

Science owl is bullied. Crusty mackerel saves the day. Much angst, many comfort.

SLIDING INTO THE END OF FORDUARY LIKE MABEL ON A MAPLE-SYRUP SLIP-’N’-SLIDE

So I’ma do two things this year. One: All four stories are linked, like chapters in a book! Two: I. Brought. ANGST.

Trigger warning: Bullying

“Hah, he's really squirming now!”

“Quit thrashin' and get in there!”

“Whoa, check it out, he's gonna fit!”

“Get off me – get off!”

Ford struggled as hard as he could, but Crampelter dragged him toward the supply closet of the science lab. His two neanderthal accomplices stood on either side of it, grinning. The closet was barely bigger than a full-length locker, its shelves stocked with microscopes and jarred mutant frogs.

Crampelter shoved him in. Ford braced a foot against a bottom shelf and pushed, but Crampelter grabbed the back of his head and slammed Ford's skull against a shelf. Before Ford could recover, one of the troglodytes kicked at his legs. As he started to fall the closet door swung shut, hard, hitting his back and pinning him in with his legs half-collapsed beneath him. He felt an ankle give and gasped with pain.

The troglodyte laughed. “Teach him for tryin’ a build a satellite for aliens! He already is one!”

“Where's your bodyguard now, huh, Pines?” Crampelter banged on the door. Ford was crammed in so tight he could barely breathe, and every hit on the door threatened to crack his ribs against the shelves. “You hear me, Freak? If you want out you better beg for it!”

“My thoughts exactly, unless you want me to pound your face in.”

Stan! Shouldn't he still be at his boxing match?

Crampelter growled. “Back off, Meathead, or I'll make that shiner the least of your problems. Although with your looks, it might actually be an improvement.”

“Where's my brother?”

Ford didn't have enough breath to yell. He banged his elbow against the door.

“Just a little cleanup,” Crampelter sneered. “Putting the freak with the other mutants where he belongs.”

“THAT'S IT!”

Stan yelled and there was a massive crash, like the entire stand of glass beakers had been overturned. Crampelter, Thug 1, and Thug 2 grunted and cursed, punctuating insults with loud bangs and the muffled thud of fists. Something huge and heavy fell against the side of the cabinet, jarring the door. Several frog jars toppled and a couple of them crashed over his head. Formalin and frog juice spurted over his his hair and soaked his shoulders. More jars hit his bent leg. Pain flared and Ford broke out in a cold sweat.

There was an especially nasty crack and a horrible yelp, then Stan was bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“YEAH YOU BETTER RUN, CRAMPY! I SEE YOU NEAR MY BROTHER AGAIN YOUR FACE IS GONNA GET REUNITED WITH MY FIST REAL QUICK!”

There was a second of silence, then something scraped in the door. Stan was picking the lock.

“Sixer? You ok?”

“I can't breathe,” he whispered hoarsely. His chest was really starting to hurt. He couldn't inflate his lungs.

“Gimme a second, almost got it.”

Ford closed his eyes and started calculating pi in his head. He'd only gotten to the sixtieth digit when the door swung open and he started to fall back. Stan caught his shoulders, but Ford tried to catch himself with his bad ankle and cried out.

“What? What? Sixer?!”

He took a shaky breath and glanced back. “Don't worry, I – Stanley, your face!”

Stan's face looked like someone had repeatedly bashed it with a hammer. He had shiners on both eyes, a cut on one cheek, and the other cheek was already swelling to twice its size.

Stan grinned. Which, all things considered, looked rather horrible. “You think this is bad, you should've seen Crampelter' face, he looks like mincemeat! 'Sides, mosta this is from the fight. Guess what? I won!”

“Good, that's good,” Ford said, leaning on the closet. His ankle throbbed and his ribs ached.

Stan grabbed Ford's arm and looped it over his shoulder. “C'mon, we gotta get you fixed up.”

“You're one to talk.”

They had to move very carefully out of the classroom. Stan had turned it into a warzone: the beakers really had been knocked over, ceramic displays of neurons and plant cells lay shattered over the lab tables, and a few of the tables had been overturned themselves – one of them was even lodged in the ceiling.

Normally the sight of desecrated science equipment would have been deeply disturbing. Today Ford didn't give it more than a passing glance. He just wanted to get home.

The two of them moved quietly out of the room and down the hall. At least the janitor was nowhere in sight. In unspoken agreement they bypassed the nurse's office and headed out of the building for the side gate. They could always get ice at home, and it was just better if they could get to their rooms before Pa closed the shop for the day. The last thing Ford wanted right now was another lecture on being “a real Pines man”.

They were only a few blocks from home when Stanley finally spoke.

“Want to hang out in the Stan O' War?”

“Maybe later, Stan.”

“I could bring you your nerd stuff. You know Ma 'n' Pa don't care as long as we make it home by eight.”

“Not right now.”

Ford concentrated on moving his feet, concentrating on mathematical proofs as they went. He was pretty close to practicing Fermat's Last Theorem, anyway.

“Uh, Sixer? What's that gunk in your hair?”

“Formalin.”

“Like baby stuff?”

“Not formula, formalin. A solution of formaldehyde and water. From the frogs.”

“Oh. Uh, well...you make it work! Right?”

Ford looked at him.

“Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad. Listen, you know Crampelter is full of dog turd, pardon my French. Heck, the whole school is full of morons.”

“I just need some ice for my ankle.”

They'd reached their back door. Stan reached up with his free hand, got the spare key from the gutter, and let them in. Ford let go of Stan and hobbled toward the freezer.

Stan stopped him. “I'll get it, okay? Just go upstairs and do nerd stuff.”

Ford wasn't really in the mood to argue. He braced himself against the wall and limped into the hallway, sort of step-hopping up the stairs. He grabbed a cleanish set of clothes from the hamper on his way to the bathroom, cleaned himself off, and then made it to his room, where he collapsed on Stan's bed. He knew Stan wouldn't mind. He just wasn't up to climbing the ladder at the moment. His ankle felt hot and nausea rose in his gut. He closed his eyes.

The Theorem. Just focus on the Theorem.

Something cold slapped him in the face and he yelped.

“Stan!” Ford pulled off the ice pack. “Are you trying to break my nose?”

“Tryin' ta get your attention, sure. Move over.”

Stan shoved his way onto his bed and Ford quickly made room. Stan lay stretched out, his head on his pillow, and Ford rested his back against the wall with his legs over Stan's stomach. Ford leaned over and put the bag of ice on his propped-up ankle.

“This too,” Stan said, tossing another ice pack at him. “For your face. You look almost as bad as me.”

“Gee, thanks. Where's your ice pack?”

“It popped. Besides, people see me looking like this, they know not to mess with Stan Pines, Master of Punches!”

“You really need a different title.”

“Hey, I won my sixth boxing match in a row! I got all the titles!”

Ford made a sound of agreement and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His head ached. He'd forgotten where he'd left off with the Theorem.

He felt Stan shift under him. “Look, Sixer, you’re smart enough to know they’re just pickin' on you because they can. It’s how idiots like them get their kicks.”

“It's how you get your kicks with Roger Morris.”

“He started that rumor about you, he was asking for it. Why don't you just read a nerd book or something? Want me to get you one?” He gestured to the bookcase in the corner of the room, so laden with texts the shelves were sagging.

“No, no. I’m – I'm fine.”

Stan sat up, dumping Ford's legs onto his lap. “You don't want to read? Did you get body-snatched or something?”

“Would you just leave me alone?” Ford snapped. He struggled to get up, but the angle was too awkward to manage.

“Hey – ow!” Stan caught Ford's wrist and he couldn't squirm away. “Geez, Ford, what's gotten into you?”

“What do you think?!” Ford burst out. “You keep telling me I'm smart, but that's the whole problem! That's exactly why I'm getting picked on! Because I stick out like – like my stupid sixth fingers! If I'm so smart, why haven't I figured out a way to keep Crampelter off my back? Thanks to him I got beaten up and you look like someone stuck you in a meat grinder face-first!”

“Yeah, and I still look handsome! Eh? Eh?”

Ford jerked his hand away. “This isn’t a joke, Stanley! Being a freak is bad enough. Being a smart freak just draws a massive target on my back.”

“C’mon, Sixer, I love that you’re smart!”

He snorted. “Sure, because you get great grades sitting next to me.”

“That too! But look, you’re not the only one with a target on their back. You’ve seen how Pa looks at me. Plus Crampy and the Goon Patrol liked beating me up all the time before I got good at boxing, and I only had the regular number of fingers.”

Ford stared down at his hands. “If I could just - just hide my intellect the way I try hide my hands…”

“Then I would be the smart twin, and we both know I'd get us into way more trouble than I already do.” Stan punched Ford lightly on the arm. “Bein' smart is part of what makes you you, Sixer. If you weren't so smart, you wouldn't be my nerdy book-lovin' poindexter of a brother.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ford said drily.

“Point is, I wouldn't change anything about you, ever. You don’t have to change just to make some morons happy, at least not around me. And I don’t feel like I hafta change myself when I’m around you, either. So what if they call us a freak or the bad twin? You’re a genius, and I’m a six-time boxing champion, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

A lump rose in Ford's throat. “I...don’t feel like I have to change, either, around you.”

“That's what I'm sayin'!” He grinned and laid back. “You just wait. One more year a this stupid town and then we’ll be out on the open ocean. Beaches, babes, smooth sailin', maybe a kraken or two for you and a smokin'-hot mermaid for me!”

“Stan, mermaids are reported to drown sailors.”

“Plus you'll come up with the best treasure-hunting equipment on the planet!” He swiped a magazine off his nightstand and shoved it at Ford. “Speaking of which, I saw this amazing picture of a doohickey that can detect mermaids underwater!”

“It's called 'sonar', Stanley,” Ford said. He tried to sound annoyed, but a smile was tugging at his lips.

“It's called the awesomest of awesome! We’re gonna be out on the ocean for months at a time, Ford. I’ma need some hot dates. You think you can make one a those puppies?”

“Yes,” Ford said immediately. He opened the magazine, but he knew already he could make decent sonar equipment. He'd already read the entire selection on naval technology at their local library, actually, not to mention doing a good deal of extrapolation on how to use advance the current sonar capabilities. He opened the magazine.

“I knew it, I could practically build this in my sleep. But we'll need supplies.”

Stan sat up eagerly. “Done! What supplies?”

“A sheet of metal, a blowtorch, wires, an ultrasonic sensor...”

[galfridus1]

Happy Birthday Arthur!

It’s 17 August here and it’s Arthur’s birthday!! Many happy returns!

Here’s a fic, inspired by prompt from @thestarrynightgazer and with thanks to @maybeishouldwait for comments. This is part one of three/four depending on whether you count reblogs.

***

“It’s his birthday? Today?”

Zeldris looked at Gelda with absolute incredulity, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he griped as he shot out of bed, quickly rummaging in the wardrobe for something to wear. “Now I’ve got less than eight hours to find him a present.”

Gelda looked up at him, her face calm and serene as she propped herself up with a number of pillows. “I would have thought you’d remember,” she chastised, a slight smile curving the left side of her mouth. “How long have we been living together now? Time enough for you to know when Arthur’s birthday is. And besides it’s on the calendar…”

“Yes, yes alright!” Zeldris grumbled as he pulled on some clothes. “What’s happening anyway?”

Gelda looked at him, her violet eyes gleaming and Zeldris felt the breath catch in his throat. It was the one feature they shared, their eyes so like one another’s, their beauty causing him pause even after all these years. “You have no need to worry,” she chuckled, “I’ve sorted everything out. The party will be here. Arthur knows nothing about it but everyone else does, and I booked catering. The cake is a masterpiece.”

“How are you always so organised?” Zeldris muttered as he checked his reflection in the full-length mirror, running a hand through his hair to make sure the spikes were arranged in their proper place.

“It’s easy really,” Gelda replied, “You just have to pay attention and get stuff done. Which is what you should do now. I have suggestions for gifts if you’d like?”

Zeldris paused, his lips pressed together as he battled temptation. “No. I do this every year. I’m going to get him something myself this time.”

Gelda laughed, the tinkling sound reverberating through the air. “Well, good luck. Text me if you draw a blank.”

***

Four hours later Zeldris sincerely regretted telling his girlfriend that he did not need her help. He had scoured what felt like the whole of Oxford Street, trying and failing to find something Arthur might feasibly want as a gift. But it was all to no avail. The problem was Arthur had everything any twenty-five year old could possibly want, and if he got him alcohol again Gelda would no doubt raise her eyebrows, the expression saying ‘I told you so’ more clearly than any words could convey.

Still, a bottle of some random liquor was better than nothing. Turning abruptly, adroitly dodging the crowds swarming past in the opposite direction, Zeldris made his way back to the department store he had listlessly explored earlier that morning. The day was hot, the relentless August sun beating down on the shoppers who dragged their feet limply down the tarmaced street but Zeldris trudged on, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the odd smell of grease from the stalls dotting the sides of the road caused him to gag slightly. He just wanted the whole sorry experience to be over. Thank goodness Gelda’s birthday was not until April next year.

He was nearing the pretentious facade of Selfridges when a conversation caught his attention, the words somehow penetrating his consciousness above the hubbub of chatter. His eyes strayed to a small girl walking alongside her mother, clutching at a lead for dear life as an enthusiastic puppy pulled her forcefully along. The animal looked delighted, oblivious to the weather, and Zeldris was surprised to feel a twinge of longing piercing his chest. It looked so much fun, and of course Arthur had always wanted a dog.

Zeldris stood stock still, causing several passersby to bump into him forcefully. And why not? True, a dog was not ideal - they shed hair like nobody’s business and made their surroundings smell like mouldy old socks when wet - but the three of them were older now, and well off. They could easily afford to look after a pet, and it could always live outside in the garden. And as a gift it was at least original; Gelda could hardly complain that he had wimped out this time.

***

About half an hour later, Zeldris was standing in the reception of Battersea Dogs and Cats home, the only place he could think of in central London where one might find a canine at short notice. The walls were covered in pictures and leaflets showcasing the charity’s many success stories, sorry-looking mongrels, skeletal and with mangy fur, transformed into sleek, happy and well-beloved pets. He was just congratulating himself on his brilliant idea when the voice of the receptionist pulled him back to reality.

“You need to book an appointment for an interview about adopting a dog,” she gently explained as she tapped on her computer keyboard. “We have slots next week, but nothing available until then, I’m afraid.”

Zeldris felt his heart sink slightly. “Is there nothing sooner?” he asked cautiously. “I was really hoping to get one today.”

“Well that’s out for a start,” the woman said sharply, her eyes drilling into him as she turned away from her screen. “We are very careful here. We don’t let just anyone adopt a dog. There’s an initial interview, a home visit to check suitability, and then an observation when a suitable pet has been found. The whole process takes about a month.”

“A month?” Zeldris asked incredulously. “But… I mean…”

“If you’re after a specific dog, don’t worry, there’s always plenty, and sometimes the cute ones aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” the lady continued, her expression softening slightly. “We have dozens of Staffies and they’re great companions. People look down on them, but they’re wonderful. I have three myself.”

“It’s not that,” Zeldris said quickly, feeling an unwelcome heat flooding his cheeks. “It’s… well this is embarrassing. It’s my boyfriend’s birthday today and he’s always wanted a dog. I really wanted to surprise him.”

“Awww!” The noise that issued from the woman’s mouth was somewhere between a sigh and a swoon. “That’s so, so… romantic,” she gushed, and Zeldris felt the blush he was trying to manage spiral out of control. “But it doesn’t change things,” she added more gently, a sad smile on her face. “There’s no way you can adopt a dog as a surprise. Our team will need to talk to your boyfriend too.”

Zeldris was on the point of making a hasty exit when he caught a calculating look in the receptionist’s eyes. “But…” she began, her lips pursed in thought.

“Go on,” he encouraged, with some effort forcing his face to return to its normal countenance. “You have something in mind?”

“As it happens, yes,” the woman continued, the words accompanied by a vigorous nod. “You see, the team raided a kitten farm a few days ago. The poor things were being kept in such awful conditions and… well the upshot is we have far more cats than we know how to deal with. And a slot for an interview just opened up. If we have a cat that’s a match for your family then you can take it home with you today.”

“A cat?” Zeldris mulled over the idea and the more he thought about it the more pleased he became. They were by far superior animals in every way. They cleaned themselves, did not require walks, and had the added benefit that they would keep any pests at bay. Zeldris pictured himself sitting on the sofa, a dainty feline jumping up to him and laying its head in his lap. And Arthur did like cats. Maybe not as much as dogs but he did like them. Only last month he had been encouraging a stray to visit the garden, that is until the sorry-looking animal had given him fleas.

“Thank you, why not,” he finally said, returning the receptionist’s eager smile as the lady started tapping away at her computer once more.

***

No long after, Zeldris found himself being led up the stairs towards a room that smelled strongly of biscuits and bleach. The walls were lined on all sides with cages, perspex doors with holes in giving a glimpse into the almost identical habitats within. Each cat had bowls of food and water, a litter tray and a box to hide in, as well as a few toys scattered about on the white laminate surfaces. The occupants however could not have been more varied: the cats came in every colour imaginable; some ran up towards their doors, rubbing their heads against the plastic in greeting while others shied away, turning their backs.

The interview had been an informal affair consisting of a few questions about the household amenities and some quiz-like queries about the cost of vet care and insurance. Zeldris was glad he had read the blurb on the organisation’s website as he’d waited for his meeting with one of the Home’s volunteers to begin; the answers he’d needed were still fresh in his mind.

“Now let’s see…” the volunteer murmured as he leafed through the notes of interview, the papers rustling slightly in his fingers. “Three adults, all of you working long hours, and no children. I think we have just the cat for you.

“I have to warn you he’s lazy, which is good because he will basically do nothing to the house while you’re at work. But don’t expect him to be a good mouser,” the young man added as he led Zeldris to a cage in the corner of the room. Inside sat one of the fattest creatures Zeldris had ever seen; the white and ginger cat was at least as wide as it was long, if not wider, and sat at its empty food bowl with a mournful expression. It looked like a circle more than anything, or perhaps a stuffed cushion, though the colouring reminded him strongly of Arthur.

“His name is Cath, don’t ask me why,” the volunteer said as he gave the cat an affectionate look. “And as you can see he likes his food. We’ve put him on a diet since he’s arrived and he’s not been too happy about it. But I think some proper fuss will help him settle.”

Zeldris, regarding Cath with something approaching disgust, was on the point of asking if any other unwanted felines were possibly available when the volunteer opened the cage. Before Zeldris knew what was happening the cat had launched itself into his arms and started purring loudly, the vibrations reverberating through him as Cath fell asleep.

“He’s… not done that with anyone before,” the volunteer said incredulously. “He must really like you!”

“Probably just hungry,” Zeldris muttered under his breath but deep down he was secretly pleased. It was nice to be holding the cat, who was even heavier than he looked, in the knowledge that the feline was at least a bit choosy.

The young man retrieved a wad of papers stuck in a plastic folder next to the cage, his eyes flicking from side to side as they traced the words on the pages. “Cath has a clean bill of health, and he’s been fully vaccinated. He’s ready to go,” he said cheerfully as he gave Zeldris a wide smile. “He’s a well adjusted cat too. Nothing untoward in his past; his previous owners just couldn’t afford to feed him I think.”

Prising Cath out of his arms proved more difficult than expected but eventually, between them, two volunteers managed to wrestle the animal into a travel box. So it was that, loaded down with food, a litter tray and, of course, the enormous cat in a cage, Zeldris set off in a taxi heading for home. He imagined how pleased Arthur and Gelda would be even as the weight of the cat pressed into his lap.

It was only as he approached the terraced house the three of them shared that he noticed his phone, the lock screen flashing to show he had several missed calls and a veritable flurry of unread messages, most of them containing the words ‘where are you’ in capital letters. It was much later than he had thought, and the party would likely be starting soon, that is if it was not already underway.

In a rush, Zeldris paid the taxi driver and made his way as quickly as possible to the door of the house, hampered in his efforts by the amount of cargo he carried. He was met on the threshold by a furious Gelda. “Where have you been?” she hissed, her eyes smouldering into his own before she caught sight of the amount of stuff he was carrying, “And what is all this?”

“I got him a cat,” Zeldris said lamely, his voice sounding unsure even in his own ears. Gelda stared him with undisguised astonishment, before her face morphed into an enormous grin. In a second she was kneeling before the travel cage, cooing like an imbecile at the still-purring feline.

“That’s an amazing idea! You are completely forgiven,” Gelda said in rapture as she opened the cage, the huge cat launching into her arms in an instant. “Let’s go give it to him now. We’ve already done the reveal. He was surprised,” she added with a little reproach in her voice as she settled the cat more securely in her arms. “Where did you get it from?”

Zeldris felt slightly aggrieved as Gelda led the way towards the dining room, the cat still purring contentedly in her arms as she sashayed down the hall. “I got him from Battersea,” he grumbled as he followed behind, having deposited the various bags at the door. “And for your information it was a bit of a mission. I think I should be the one to give him to Arthur…”

“Surprise!” Gelda shouted as she flung open the door, revealing a large group of people all holding glasses. The mahogany dining table was groaning with food, an absolutely enormous cake standing proudly in the centre. It was shaped like a castle, iced walls and turrets rising up proud to form three tiers of confection topped with red and green flags. “It’s Castle Camelot,” Gelda whispered into his ear as Zeldris stared at it in amazement. “You know, because he’s Arthur Pendragon. Cost me a small fortune to commission but I think it’s worth it.”

The guests were just beginning to make suitable noises in response to the cat’s appearance when, without warning, it launched itself from Gelda’s arms. Zeldris watched in horror as Cath leapt onto the table and, without hesitation, nose-dived straight into the castle cake, knocking it into pieces in an instant.

The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. The tall turrets fell to the table, crumbling on impact, covering the pristine white tablecloth in icing and jam. The guests looked on with horror-stricken faces, mouths open in shock and eyes wide as saucers. The previously cheerful room was now silent as the grave save for the mewls of the cat, who was devouring the cake as if he had not eaten in weeks, small globules scattering from his whiskers into the mass of golden crumbs. Zeldris felt Gelda stiffen noticeably at his side, the soft sound of her breathing betraying her perturbation; it took a lot to upset her but once she was she cried easily. He dared not turn to look into her face, sure that she would be on the point of tears.

Amidst all the commotion, his eyes caught Arthur’s and he felt terrible on seeing his boyfriend’s face was a picture of desolation. Then, suddenly, Arthur began to laugh. First, his lip twisted, a faint chuckle bubbling up before the sound built and grew into an almighty guffaw. Arthur threw his head back, tears of mirth beading the corners of his eyes as he stared at the mess which had once been the most elaborate cake ever to be constructed. Arthur was of course quick to smile, but it had been a while since he had looked quite this happy.

With some relief, Zeldris felt the change in atmosphere trickle through the room as their friends caught the mood, smiles and laughter returning as they passed bottles of wine and spirits round to replenish their drinks. Glasses clinked and jokes passed as the guests quickly retrieved their phones to capture the sight of the ruined cake. It would no doubt be the star of social media before the hour was out, along with the feline who had caused the destruction.

With some trepidation, Zeldris slipped an arm around Gelda, unsurprised to feel her tremble in his grasp. He was relieved to find that she leant into his touch. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her as he held her close, both arms encircling her waist as Gelda pressed her face into his shoulder. “They did say he was on a diet but I never thought…”

“That. Was. Hilarious!” Arthur said heartily, moving round the table to join them. He had managed to scoop up the cream-covered cat before it moved on to the rest of the food, depositing dairy smears and crumbs all over his jacket in the process. With a slightly apologetic look, Arthur kissed Gelda tenderly, stroking her hair with his free hand and Zeldris felt her relax against him. It was nice, comforting, the effect only slightly marred as Arthur added with unbridled enthusiasm, “I love him! What’s his name?”

“Cath,” Zeldris confirmed as the now-stuffed animal rubbed its face into Arthur’s chest, continuing to purr as if it was some sort of drilling machine. “His name is Cath. And starting now he is not allowed in the dining room.”

[guileheroine]

aubade

n. a love song written in the morning. The first and next and next time that Asami wakes up with Korra (canon compliant) 🌖 🌞 💛  / 5.2k / ao3

One

The first time Asami awakes next to Korra, it’s a result of the sensation of falling - of almost falling from the corner of the mattress because her friend is sprawled across a good three quarters of the cabin cot; she can tell because her elbow is somewhere in Asami’s side. Like a hypnic jerk, but very, very real, and thank goodness. The early rush of adrenaline already doing the job of the instant airship coffee that has begun her daily routine for the past week.

When Asami starts, a moment’s disorientation sees itself to a moment’s irritation, push that elbow away! But it only lasts a moment, because really, what did she expect? Two full grown women on this tiny bed. Her one at home was probably as large as this cabin. She should have made her bed on the floor, or asked Korra to, but then she hadn’t known that Korra would fall asleep here when her own room wasn’t much more than a metre along the hallway. Asami blinks into the dim headache of definitely not enough sleep. Had they stayed up so late? It hadn’t felt that way. Well. The energy has to go somewhere when you spend your day slumped around a meeting room table.

Her hand scrambles for Korra’s arm - she’s so warm? - and Asami lifts and moves so delicately the limb that she had seconds ago considered shoving away. Korra remains fast asleep; and somehow that is suddenly interesting, her first roommate, if you will, in so many months. Asami sits up, turns, and watches her for a second - the regular swell of her chest, flutter of a strand of hair against her mouth, draw of breath, so peaceful, the strange draw of that draw…

Ah. And then a second’s a minute, so she pushes her legs out of the covers and the image into her brain. (People just look lovely in such moments of serenity, these intimate circumstances to which she rarely bears witness, and what a lovely friend she has.)

She fumbles for a set of clothes and her toiletries with only one one or two glances back to the bed, and rushes off to the bathroom.

Two

The second instance is so similar and so nice that she wishes two could make a pattern. Except this time, Korra knees her somewhere in the kidney region and it’s the impact that wakes them both.

She holds her breath for the second that she knows Korra is registering the action, and right on cue she hears, “Shit,” hushed - a beat and then the most tentative “Asami?”; and that she isn’t prepared for: her name on a breath so cautious and quiet in Korra’s groggy voice.

“It’s alright,” she says, her own voice creaky from disuse, turning slowly to Korra and bracing her head against her palm. She watches Korra relax visibly and burrow back against her pillow, as if she’s ready to slip back into sleep. Asami folds her arm under head to prop it up further and smiles. “Actually beats having Tenzin knock on your door for a wake-up call.”

Korra tenses again, the stiffness of her body under the cover indicating a little more wakefulness than a moment before. “I woke you?! Sorry…” And she looks it, wide, stricken eyes and perfect pout.

Asami shakes the apology off, suddenly conscious of her own very sleep-soft, very makeup-less face. “You woke yourself, too.”

Korra looks her full in the face then, for the first time, smiling as she stretches. Asami draws the covers up over her own mouth, a little abashed at her own body’s unexpected lightness in the face of that smile.

“So, Ba Sing Se today,” Korra sighs and rubs her eyes. It’s the kind of thing she would say with gusto if she were a few more hours awake. “Can I ask you something?” She says suddenly, turning fully and mirroring Asami. Asami blinks to attention and she continues. “What do you think of that kid? Kai.”

“You’re wondering if we did right bringing him along? I have no idea,” Asami replies. Korra laughs a little, looking her way again with a rather sweetly appreciative eye. “I have no idea what a good kid makes.”

“Me neither,” says Korra. “Guess I’ll just have to trust my instincts.”

Asami shrugs, smoothing her hair into one fist and out from under her head, laying it away from herself where it won’t rumple any further. (She should really get into the habit of tying it up for bed.) “Mako’ll keep him in check. Or Jinora will.” She grins. “But kids love you, Korra. Trust your instincts for sure.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s enough to make them behave okay. I mean, you can tell Kai’s a loose one.”

“I know,” says Asami. “I knew a few like him when I was that age.” Korra leans forward curiously, airbending a few strands of the pile of Asami’s hair between them as she does. Asami swallows her start at the action (it feels...well, it feels almost like being touched directly, when the hints of air skimming her skin are so deliberately driven by another person.) “But it was kind of the opposite situation. Orphans don’t have anyone tethering them, and rich kids don’t have anything stopping them, if they’re rich enough. There was this one boy who said he would teach me how to bend earth and fire if I let him into the garage with the unreleased Future Industries motorbike models.”

“See, kids love you, too, Asami,” Korra ribs, and Asami clucks, rolling her eyes. “Did you let him in?”

Her silence and embarrassed frown says yes, and Korra ‘aw’s with her mouth, smirk turning to a genuine smile. Asami interrupts before she can tease again. “Not because I wanted to bend! It was his charm, you know,” she says resignedly.

“I wonder what I’d’ve done,” Korra muses. The covers slide off her shapely shoulders when she lifts herself onto her elbows. “I only ever - well, I only ever hung out with other kids when I went home to stay with my parents.”

“I always wondered about that,” Asami tells her, meeting her eyes and suppressing the weird urge to pull the covers over her again. Korra stops her airbending mid-hair swirl and tilts her head. Asami explains, “Like you being so... isolated. I thought I grew up kind of isolated, but I think some of that was just my personality!” She laughs. “I can’t imagine how it must have been for you.”

“Well, I just thought that was normal.” Korra resumes the absent bending, somewhat sober. “I was pretty young.”

“I know.” Asami says. “I read about you, about your training” - Korra perks up. “I didn’t really get why my dad didn’t seem that excited about hearing about the new Avatar,” she continues with a not quite rueful laugh, because not even that thought can ruin the ease of this moment, being here so relaxed in another's company when she was used to leaving bed as soon as she woke. “But I remember thinking it was so cool, and also being like, ‘is she going to be okay?’”

Korra begins laughing halfway through Asami’s sentence, but before she can reply, there’s a sharp knock on the door, and they both turn sharply in turn.

“Asami? Uh… guys? Asami, Tenzin wants to have a look over the itinerary with you before we land, to make sure we get on top of fuel and stuff when we get there…” It’s Bolin voice.

Asami gives Korra a guess-I-better-get-up sigh and calls out, “Thanks, Bo! Just a minute!” As she makes to sit herself up, her gaze stops on the ends of her hair still coiled in the air around Korra’s fingers. Their eyes meet over it.

“Sorry,” Korra says, withdrawing. “Your hair’s so pretty.”

Asami smiles. So are you. “No, it’s a mess in the morning.”

Three

She wakes on a couch the shape of a right angle, herself on the one leg, Korra on the adjacent, a tangle of blanket at the vertex where their feet (almost) meet. Korra is buried head to toe under a large green blanket.

Their bedrooms in Zaofu are separate, but last night they had talked long enough in this drawing room to fall asleep here. Asami glances around. Opal had seen herself to bed before she fell asleep, and Mako and Bolin must eventually have done the same. The couch opposite her where they had sat bears the signs of wear, goatrabbit-wool cushions ruffled, and the table between is littered with mugs, stemware and even a few ochoko cups.

Almost experimentally, Asami presses her foot into Korra’s through the blanket tucked under them.

“I’m not asleep,” comes the immediate response. It takes a few moments for Korra to draw herself out of her cocoon and sit up. “The sunlight hurt my eyes,” she explains when she emerges, looking, frankly, adorable with her tousled hair.

“You’re not hungover, are you?” Asami teases sleepily.

“Never have been in my life,” is the self-satisfied answer she receives.

“I bet. You’re so healthy,” Asami says, which sounds kind of silly, but she hopes cover of sleepiness will deflect any question about that. She reaches behind her to fluff her cushion so that she can sit up better, and smooths her blanket over her front.

Korra carefully follows the path of Asami's hands as they fix her makeshift bedding, before her eyes resettle on her face. “You sleep okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve slept in my office before, no different to this,” Asami assures, patting the couch. “You?”

“Fine,” says Korra, nudging Asami this time. The fleeting contact leaves Asami unexpectedly warm and she curls her foot under its cover. “Tea?” Korra continues brightly, springing off the couch with a burst of energy that defies her air of sluggishness moments before. She disappears through the doorway in the direction of Zaofu’s many mini-kitchens.

Asami sits up into a cross-legged position as she waits, her blanket pooling in her lap. Korra returns shortly with a slender, steaming pot held between heat-impervious hands. She pours from it into one of the few clean cups left on the table, handing it to Asami with a careful, rather unnecessary “It’s very hot,” that still doesn’t fail to warm Asami’s heart.

Asami takes a cautious sip as Korra plops onto the couch with her own cup. The flavour takes her by surprise. “Oh, wow, it’s… smoky.”

Korra grins. “Yup! I hope you like it. This stuff is huge in the Water Tribe. ‘Cause it feels so warm, right? I was surprised to find it here but Su has, like… a whole teashop.”

“I like it.” Asami holds her cup close and inhales deep, watches Korra smile with something akin to tenderness at the gesture.

“You can get it much stronger than this,” Korra continues happily, “and it’s perfect with fig cookies - I make ‘em good, by the way,” she proclaims, raising her brow.

“Do you? You should teach me,” Asami replies lightly. “I’m kind of a total failure in the kitchen.”

“I knew there had to be something wrong with you!” Korra delivers her quiet admiration so matter-of-factly that it catches Asami almost off-guard, as far as a compliment can. “I will, for real. You teach me to drive, I’ll teach you to bake. And cook, if you like.”

Of course, there are no cars to drive and little time to cook when they’re travelling a continent, but somehow the notion so ordinary, of Korra sharing her time and trust with her on matters so… everyday, kindles a warmth in Asami that’s almost exciting in its simplicity. She feels easy; what a rare feeling.

“Deal,” she says, smiling. “It’s only fair you’re not the only one making a fool of herself.”

“Okay, Asami, lesson one: no slandering the teacher.”

Four

Airship, again, en dismal route to the Northern Air Temple.

There’s a storm waiting on the horizon, waiting for dawn - and everyone is waiting under the stifling air; a surge in atmospheric pressure with every hour that ticks them closer to the Red Lotus.

Asami sleeps a few scattered minutes, and the moment she gives up on rest altogether is the moment that Korra slides into her cabin without knocking, still in day clothes. She opens her eyes onto her, and wishes she could close them again for the dread.

“Asami, can I talk to you.” A request, not a question.

She sits up and offers her hands in one swift motion. “What is it?”

Korra walks forward and perches on the bed, sliding steady and warm fingers into hers. “I just… I can’t exactly be alone with my thoughts right now. And can’t sleep, obviously. I’m nervous.”

She sighs deep and the sounds settles straight and heavy in Asami’s own chest, instantaneous, centre of pressure. As Korra continues to stare back at her, disquieted and at once beautifully resolute, I’m scared, too is the second thing that springs to Asami’s mind, the second thing she presses back into her throat, the second least helpful admission she realises she might make right now. She moves back on the bed and pats the space in front of her.

“We can talk. Come and sit here.”

Korra releases her hands but keeps her thoughts for several hours, as Asami tries intently not to give in to praying for another quiet morning with her.

Five

A night after the first night that Kya’s ministrations allow for Korra to have company for longer than an hour or two, she gets her wish. Asami wakes on Korra’s bed at Air Temple Island, over the covers with Korra under and awake, not sleeping (still not sleeping.)

Asami reaches for the book she had fallen asleep on. She fingers the groove in her cheek and then the corresponding crinkle in the page. “Shall I read some more?” The curl of a thumb in the ends of her hair signifies permission granted.

But they don’t speak that morning.

Six, seven, eight? Ten?

Korra sleeps and Asami wakes in fits and starts. There are good days, bad days, worse days.

Bad mornings. “Asami! I can’t breathe -” Like ice seizing up her spine, a painful wrench from the oblivion of sleep straight to hyper-attention, skipping every pacifying step in between.

Some times the way empty consciousness blurs to sleep and back makes it hard to distinguish between them in the first place, and the only provable constant, point of clarity, is their togetherness in space; head or hands or hair touching.

“Asami. Get up! Get the Pai Sho board back out. I’m beating your ass for real today.” Good mornings.

Eleven

It doesn’t take more than a second to gauge what kind of morning it is, because Korra takes her wrist as soon as her eyes open.

Asami groans, “Oh, it’s early,” as she shields her eyes from the morning sunshine with one hand and braces into a sitting position with the other.

“Kya says we’re leaving earlier than I thought,” Korra says, with a sad little smile. “Will you do my hair? Like I used to have it before.” Before is a designation easily understood now.

Asami acquiesces and meanwhile Korra talks away, the best of signs, though her tone is subdued like always. And the best of signs wills Asami to try again: “The offer still stands, you know. I can come, too, if you like.”

When the head against her hand droops, she wishes she could retract her words. Then Korra states quite simply (and a little awkwardly, the way true candour tends to be), “I don’t want to keep you.”

So it’s a question of dignity, really. Look at me claiming your time when I have nothing of service to give in return. Which couldn’t be farther from the truth, of course, but Asami knows not to press the issue. Before she can deliver her understanding acceptance of Korra’s answer, Korra continues, all in a rush.

“But I appreciate it, Asami, I really, really do.” She turns in her chair as Asami lets go of the last tail of her hair, and her eyes are wider than Asami would have expected. “I appreciate you.”

Asami’s acknowledgment is the offering of her arms, because that’s the language they've become used to (not) speaking in, and how strange, howmuch, to hear her friend voice her feelings instead, no less voice the gratitude that Asami doubts she is even owed…

As soon as Korra hugs her, Asami comes to understand it as a goodbye hug, so she holds and lets Korra hold. “Seriously,” Korra is saying. “I love you. I love how kind you are always, even though you’re busy enough and smart enough to not have to be. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, and I love you,” says Asami into Korra’s shoulder, cuts these two thoughts loose long last from her throat like the wind floating over the bay outside. Really, that’s the gist of her feelings.

Twelve

But two years is not enough to cut the thought of Korra loose, of course it’s not.

She wakes with the thought sometimes, and it wakes with her; and once, she thinks, she wakes with Korra.

Asami stirs when the sound of a comfy little sigh prods against the blanket of her consciousness. When she follows the sound with a reach of her hand towards her right, the warm weight of an arm materialises over hers; suddenly familiar, suddenly a person, a person in particular. The arm curls around to pull its attached body closer to Asami, until she has soft hair under her fingers, belonging to the warm head pressed in her shoulder. Sunlight colours her eyelids golden, mirroring the brilliant warmth somewhere deep inside of her. That means it’s way past dawn, so Asami supposes she should rise in spite of her pleasure. She opens her eyes.

Then she wakes, late for work, without Korra.

Twelve

Three years and the thought still has her, but she’s somewhat guarded now. So when Asami does awaken next to Korra for the first time in a lifetime, she spends a cautious minute… checking.

She watches from the corner of her eye dark limbs that radiate warmth tangled in one of her spare blankets. Breath rising and falling under a crinkled blue shirt; a face she can’t quite see but hair grazing a shoulder - above the shoulder, and, oh, yeah, that’s definitely new so it can’t be in her head. After all, you can’t dream a face you haven’t seen - and, well, even if she has seen her, the hair makes her face a different face, right? -

“You okay?”

She turns her head to find Korra watching her.  “Huh?”

“You were just being very still.”

“Yeah,” she says, exhaling a smile. “I’m fine, I just… Good morning.”

Korra laughs in reply, though Asami’s not sure what at. Then she sits up in that familiar, straight-to-attention motion. “It’s late, isn’t it?” She yawns with a glance at Asami’s table clock. 10.00 am.

“Yeah,” is Asami’s muted, monosyllabic reply, because now that she’s fully awake, fully secure in her senses, her heart is suddenly beating very hard at the sight of Korra (Korra!) sitting all casual in her bed.

“Have you been up long?” Korra says, lifting her hand Asami’s way in such a manner that Asami thinks for the briefest of moments that she’s going to slide it over her covered waist. But it remains hovering for a second, then curls in the narrow bed space between their bodies instead.

Asami wishes she could hold it. “No. It’s fine, we were up so late last night.”

So very late. I’ll drive you to the ferry, Asami had said after they had been roped into dinner at the mansion with an adulatory Prince Wu and a hundred of Mako’s family, but halfway there she was fighting the urge to take the turn for her apartment instead, and two-thirds of the way Korra had stopped abruptly in her account of her time in Zaofu to say you’re not working tomorrow, right, Asami? Which was, naturally, can I stay with you tonight? And then through several rounds of tea they had set to sharing, set to unpacking together piece by careful piece the months upon months apart. Korra had done much of the recounting, which meant Asami’s heart had done much of the aching. But when she hugged her goodnight at the end of it, Asami had felt something click into place again: Korra had a way to go, and so be it, but she was here within the reach of all the relief Asami had to offer once again, so she would receive it for as long as Asami could give (forever, incidentally), and that was that.

Presently, Korra stretches and yawns again.

“You sleep okay?” Asami asks to distract herself from the sudden urge to pull her back down into bed. Intrusive thoughts.

Korra grins. “Never better. Well, not in a good while at least.” She glances around after a moment. “I like your bed. I’d forgotten how hard the beds at Air Temple Island were.”

Rather than saying something rash like you’re welcome to stay here in response, Asami busies herself with climbing out of bed and getting dressed. Korra accepts her offer to use the bathroom first, so Asami unties her hair and begins to brush it through whilst she waits.

“You never wore your hair like that before,” Korra says upon returning, in reference to the ponytail Asami has just taken out.

Asami shrugs. “Yeah - it’s just better for work, you know…”

“No, I like it. It’s very, um, elegant. Very you,” Korra croaks in the direction of her hands, and it makes Asami smile, and wonder a little bit.

“Breakfast?” Asami says. “I usually just grab something and go, but it’d be nice to sit down with a real meal since you’re here.”

“I’d love that,” Korra says, one foot already out of the door towards the kitchen. “But let me make it for you.”

Thirteen

It’s something special, a turn of the tables, the first time Asami wakes from a nightmare next to Korra.

“Woah,” she hears, and feels Korra take her wrist and the small of her back at once and pull her quick and straight up like wheels skidding short; up in one motion out of sleep and out of her dread dream world. She’s held in that sitting position for a moment, whilst she claims her breath, once, twice, three times.

“Damn it,” she says, finds herself inexplicably on the verge of tears. “Sorry. Sorry, you need to sleep. It’s probably almost dawn.”

Korra wraps warm, firm arms around her and changes the subject. “Do you wanna get some air?”

Asami carries herself to the veranda and lets the cool night breeze waft over skin she wishes she could scratch the despair out of. The agitation of feeling inside of her is strange; grief-relief, a contrary combination that makes it hard to sleep. She’s safe, Korra’s safe, they’re all safe, technically speaking, and that’s more than she could have said mere hours ago. But the fresh anguish of her father’s death that she didn’t bear mere hours ago is one more thing that makes Asami believe she’s not supposed to make it out of things one hundred per cent; maybe she doesn’t deserve to.

Korra appears beside her a second later with a cup of water. After they both drink, she mirrors Asami’s position against the wood railing, pressing their hunched shoulders together. Warmth runs along the line of their touching arms like a golden thread and the breeze carries the scent of Korra about her.

It’s calming company.

At some point, she’s crying again. When she lifts her arm to brush the tears away, the movement alerts Korra, who looks at her for the first time in a while.

“Long day,” Asami murmurs, almost apologetically.

“Tell me about it,” Korra says, and puts her hand to Asami’s back, fingers light on the space between her shoulder blades. She lays her head on Asami’s shoulder, but before she settles there, there’s another first: Korra leans forward and presses a kiss against her cheek, warm and delicate. Then she falls back against her, eyes closed, heavy.

“Oh, Korra, you must be drained,” Asami sighs, her own head falling onto hers. “Go to sleep, okay? I don’t want to keep you.”

Korra gives a small shake of her head, still nestled into her, and responds with utmost certainty. “I want you to keep me.”

The words camp out in Asami’s head for the next two weeks.

Fourteen

They had held hands and arms and waists all day yesterday, and then talked the night away in their cozy, makeshift bed (something of a pattern by this point.)

The fourteenth time that Asami awakens with Korra it feels fresher, freer than each time before, like she’s teetering on the edge of something new; something pleasant that’s waiting for her to fall headlong into it, but not pressing her in the least. It’s fitting for her very first time in the Spirit World.

Asami’s hands are all to herself when she wakes up, but Korra’s sitting cross-legged right next to her, left knee nudging her blanketed legs.

She feels heat and light before she opens her eyes, and smiles as she shields her face. “It’s so warm.”

“Rise and shine,” says Korra happily. “I told you we wouldn’t need a tent!”

Asami stretches with a rather carefree groan. “I guess not. Well, good morning! Is it morning here?” She asks, turning onto her side as she looks up at the bright sky, evenly illuminated across its whole expanse. “I don’t see any sun.”

Korra shrugs and they both giggle. Asami considers her properly, takes in her bare feet, the pale blue shirt she’s changed into and the way her skin glows warm under the pseudo-sunlight, flecked here and there with the wispy blush blossoms of the tree they’ve camped by. “You look well-rested,” she says, reaching up to brush a few off her arm with the pads of her fingers. “What are you up to?”

“Tea. I brought your favourite.” Korra gestures in front of her to a small steaming pot and a pair of cups.  When Asami turns her attention to them, she sees a tiny pair of eyes flash out from the second cup as Korra pours into the first.

Spirit? she mouths at Korra, who nods and taps the cup lightly. “Come out,” Korra calls gently. “Tea’s going in here…”

Immediately and somehow still tentatively, the creature hops out of the cup and behind Korra’s hand, peering up at her with a pleading little frown. “Sorry, Avatar Korra.” Asami watches curiously; she’s never seen a spirit so small, or so quietly deferential to Korra. Its eyes dart back to Asami for a second before it hides again behind Korra’s hand.

Korra laughs. “Hey, it’s okay. This is my friend, Asami.”

The spirit peeks out again, at Asami, then Korra, and back again. Korra retracts her hand slowly. It moves a teensy step forward, regarding Asami with a kind of wary curiosity.

“She’s very, very nice,” Korra encourages, and Asami opens her palm flat in front of her. “She won’t hurt you.” The spirit springs into Asami’s palm, not taking its blackbean eyes off her.

“Hi,” Asami says as Korra watches the creature watch Asami. The spirit repeats it back, barely audible, and then says a little louder, “I like your hair.”

They both laugh at that, and Asami lifts a lock of her hair into the creature’s tiny arms.

“Would you like to join us for breakfast?” Korra says sweetly. The soft, careful tone of her voice makes Asami’s heart flutter, even though her words aren’t directed at her.

The spirit nods shyly and climbs onto Asami’s shoulder. Asami sits up at last and Korra places a cup of tea in her hands, and then Asami watches her pick a up a piece of a strange silvery fruit from a plate on her other side that she hadn’t noticed before.

“What’s that?” She says.

Korra tilts her head in the direction they had come over the previous day. “It grows over by that lake. We can eat it! The spirits call it moon melon. Try some -” And she lifts the piece to Asami’s mouth. The flavour’s syrupy and a little of it drips down her chin - Korra catches it with her fingers; it feels like a caress.

Asami watches her lick them clean, nonchalant, captivating, and decides she’s going to kiss her today, if it’s all right.

One hundred and forty

She opens her eyes suddenly, immediately cognizant of the fact that the shift in the weight of this unfamiliar hotel mattress has woken her. Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the hint of light and her body to the clean cold of early, early morning.

“Oops,” whispers Korra, who’s reaching across over Asami to her bedside table. “Just wanted to check the time.”

Asami relaxes and pulls the cover over head. Korra lays back down with a soft “Sorry, Asami,” and pats the back of her head. “It’s three-thirty by the way. Hours more to sleep. But sorry for waking you.”

In response, Asami switches sides to face her and pulls her closer; it’s okay, honey, I don’t mind. She blinks blearily a few times as Korra burrows closer. The mellow blue of dawn-in-an-hour reflects softly on Korra's skin, casts it just visible. Just inviting. Asami cups and strokes her shoulder, then kisses it where it meets her neck, then her neck, and then one more time against the cold. It warms her considerably so she does it again, once in each spot.

“Okay, I get it," she hears Korra mumble laughingly, “you accept my apology.”

“Yes,” murmurs Asami, smiling through another kiss as she rubs her free hand across Korra's back, and then smiling wider at the welcome difficulty of having to talk and smile and kiss at the same time. “But since we're both awake now and you did wake me, I think it's only fair for you to kiss me back...”

Asami hasn’t kept count, but a hundred and forty is as pleasant and precious as fourteen (and so is almost every number between.)

∞

Her favourites are the ones where they awaken together and don’t have to separate for the next few minutes or hours, but the truth is that every morning is singular, even if for just a moment, because every morning brings its moment of cognizance: oh, here’s Korra. The feeling sticks, no matter where she wakes up or who makes the tea or how few her minutes to get dressed and dash are, and long after she’s learnt exactly how to cuddle up for optimum temperature and perfected the art of morning kisses that don’t smear lipstick, until there’s more salt than pepper in her hair and long after still, the feeling sticks.