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ambitionsource · 11 months

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AMBITION “Living Memory” [ 4.11 ]♮PART 1, half 1

RECAP

Over the shot of Isa and Farkle finally, finally having their first kiss:

Josh, voiceover: Previously, on AMBITION…

Last episode alone was a rush of major, life-changing moments -- violations of autonomy (with Justin’s forceful moves on Maya); hail Mary auditions (Vanessa), and the dawn of profound realizations (cue Zay staring at Charlie and suddenly no longer able to run from the truth that he has been, and remains, so irrevocably in love with him). Relationships erupting into excited, bright new starts -- if you’re Isa & Farkle -- while others crumble into resigned, quiet surrender.

Vanessa: Who does it help to pretend like that isn’t how things are? Who are we protecting? The only people we’re going to hurt are ourselves -- and it’s not fair, Zay. To me, or to you. [ with a shaky breath ] So what are we doing?

For every unspoken epiphany, however, there was an equally volcanic confession. Nigel informed his family of his desire to leave NYU and potentially transfer overseas to a less-than-enthusiastic reception…

Nigel: Hell, when I talked about Zay going out for all these touring auditions and stuff, you said it was cool. You said you hoped it worked out for him. Why is it great when he does it, but when I want to try for something more it’s -- Liezel, frazzled: You are not Zay Babineaux!

And Charlie managed to defy even that, finally revealing his true identity to his mother with predictable, yet still tragic, results.

Charlie, desperate: Mom, this isn’t -- I’m still me! I’m still your son -- Eleanor: Don’t say that to me! Stop lying!

In spite of all that, there was some levity… of a sort, as Yindra took an unconventional and truly wild boat ride for the weekend in the aim of making it into the coveted, elite girl group being developed by Jupiter Records. Although she gave it her all, it’s a wonder what might happen next, considering the experience itself -- full of panic attacks, smashed bottles, and catty gossip -- left little insight as to what might happen next. Hollywood might just prove to be more unpredictable than Adams Academy.

Kimmy: Stop, y’all. We’re women supporting women…

Somehow, all of this chaos -- new career moves, new betrayals, and the hard launch of romances new and long-thought-passed -- happened amidst the true universal centerpiece of life and death. For every start, there is an end, and Kenneth Friar finally met his after a long, tiring, and emotionally complex wait. How Lucas and Grace move forward in the aftermath, carrying all that mixed grief, remains to be seen.

Charlie: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

It’s the circle of life, and as our curtain rises on another episode, it begins again. Every action has an equal opposite reaction; every closed door invites another one to open. What gentle ends and potential new starts await us next -- and what ones came before that brought us to this moment of time in the first place?

If AMBITION has shown us anything so far, it’s that there’s certainly a story beneath every stone just waiting to be turned and told… so as autumn leaves fall in our world and new ones grow in theirs…

Yeah I’ll be singing Hallelujah, whether you like it or not!

End of recap.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Sunlight filters in through the curtains, casting the room in a warm glow. It’s still early, so FARKLE MINKUS and ISA DE LA CRUZ have yet to get out of bed.

Even when Isa starts to stir, they’re not in any rush to get moving. They let their eyes flutter open and roll onto their back, looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling. For a long moment, confusion reigns -- where are they again? What are they wearing? How did they end up here?

Then they turn their head to look at Farkle, and it all comes back in an instant.

The letter in a well-worn shared novel. The confessions; the unexpected and new forms of expression. The stuff they did with him -- with their best friend -- that they never believed could happen in real life.

But it did. Somehow, they ended up in bed with Farkle, and based on the fond expression on their face, they wouldn’t change that fact for anything.

He’s still sleeping peacefully, and Isa has no intention of waking him. They’re still drowsy themselves, and have half a mind to just drift back to sleep. They figure they’ll quick check their phone, see the time, and then disappear back into the blissful calm for a little while longer.

The peace doesn’t last.

Upon looking at their phone, Isa discovers they have missed texts. Quite a few, in fact -- one from Dylan, two from Riley. Several from Eric. As soon as they open them and read the messages, they’re wide awake.

Isa: Holy shit.

They sit upright, immediately dialing a number. When someone picks up on the other end, they forget to stay quiet, speaking at full volume and startling Farkle awake next to them.

Isa: Riley? I just saw your texts -- what the fuck is --

Whatever she says on the other end of the line, it leaves Isa gobsmacked. Not that the news is surprising -- they all knew it was coming -- yet it still lands like a bomb anyway. Isa climbs out of bed and gets to their feet, pacing the floor as they listen. Farkle pushes himself upright, still half-asleep but obviously concerned by their behavior.

Farkle: What’s wrong? Is everything -- Isa: [ to Riley ] So he’s dead. [ meeting Farkle’s eyes ] He’s really dead.

Farkle’s eyes widen, matching their somber expression.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - LATER - DAY

Isa is getting ready to go in a rush, Farkle helping them gather their things. Everything is frantic, neither of them having a second to breathe.

Farkle: The car will get you to Burbank. Do you need me to help with a flight, or -- ? Isa: No. No, uh, Zachary said he’d arrange the plane for me. Since it’s an emergency. Farkle: Okay, good. That’s good.

But they’ve got to go. Like now. It already feels like they’re days late. Farkle zips up Isa’s suitcase and helps carry it to the door where they’re slipping on their backpack.

Farkle: Well, okay, um, text me when you get on the plane. And when you land. Isa: I will. Farkle: And tell Lucas -- well, I feel for him. Let them know if there’s anything I can do -- Isa: Yeah. Yeah, will do.

Isa starts to head out the door, so distracted they don’t even think to say goodbye. Then they seem to remember something, viscerally, doubling back before Farkle shuts the door.

Isa: Wait, wait -- !

Farkle hears them just in time, giving them enough of a chance to slip back through the doorway and pull him into a kiss. Somewhat a goodbye, somewhat a reassurance; a desperate grasp for comfort in the midst of new chaos.

When they pull apart, Isa offers a hasty promise.

Isa: Talk to you later.

Farkle nods, managing a smile in spite of the confusion.

Then Isa is gone, shutting the door behind them. Farkle blankly follows a couple of steps after them, gently pressing his fingers to the cold surface of the door.

He sighs and spins to lean back against it, left in a total daze.

EXT. BURBANK AIRPORT - APRON - DAY

Isa jogs to board the small private jet waiting on the tarmac, the engine humming loudly.

INT. MACNAMARA PLANE - CABIN - DAY

They collapse into their seat, already exhausted, as the pilot informs them they’ll be taking off shortly. Isa goes to buckle their seatbelt and then pulls out their phone, shooting a text to their group chat with Dylan and Riley that they’ll be there ASAP.

It’s only once they’ve begun taxiing that Isa realizes one little detail about their current attire -- they’re still wearing Farkle’s sweater from the night before. Oops.

Pilot, off-screen: All passengers, please prepare for take-off. We’re all clear for departure.

Too late to change now… and honestly, it seems like Isa might find just a bit of comfort in that. They cross their arms and hug themselves lightly, looking out the window at the glaringly blue Los Angeles sky.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Not so in New York, where an overcast sky paints the city dismally grey even at sunset. A light drizzle leaves a shimmer on the concrete jungle, making it all feel even more monochromatic.

INT. CHARLIE’S APARTMENT - DAY

On the television, a local weather report notes that the cloudy, rainy weather is set to hang overhead for the next couple of weeks.

But no one is paying much attention to the television. CHARLIE GARDNER is half-eyeing it, but he’s more so listening to RILEY MATTHEWS converse quietly with ASHER GARCIA and DYLAN ORLANDO, who finally made it down from Rochester in the last few hours. When there’s an urgent knock at the door, Charlie is the one to answer it.

Isa is on the other side, still loaded down with their bags as they came straight from the airport. Charlie exchanges a weak smile with them and offers to get their things off their hands, giving Isa the chance to greet the others.

They don’t say much -- what is there to say -- but Isa does accept a tight hug from Dylan. When they let go, he does hesitate on their new yet vaguely familiar sweater, but opts not to comment.

Isa breaks the quiet first, glancing around to make sure they’re not missing the obvious before asking what’s on their mind.

Isa: Is he here?

EXT. CHARLIE’S APARTMENT - FIRE ESCAPE - DAY

LUCAS JAMES FRIAR is alone, hiding out on the cramped fire escape outside their apartment even with the drizzle. He has his arms wrapped around his knees, pulled in close on himself. His expression is blank, empty, which is almost more telling than if he seemed outright emotional.

Moments later, the window creaks open. Lucas doesn’t move as Isa climbs onto the fire escape to join him, settling down across from him and mirroring his posture.

He doesn’t acknowledge them. They don’t expect him to. They don’t need to say anything -- they used to do this routine all the time, back in the day. The quiet is fine.

They’re there. That’s what matters. And right now, after what’s just happened, it matters more than ever.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

A newspaper lands backside up on the doorstep of a home in the Quincy High neighborhood, already smudging slightly from the rain. The bottom right corner of the visible page becomes our focus, as we ease to get a better look.

The obituaries. There, prominently featured, is a black and white photograph of Kenneth Friar.

Community mourns a beloved coach, teacher, and father Kenneth James Friar 1981 - 2022

The rain starts to pick up, splattering on the paper and causing the ink to run. As Kenneth’s image starts to blur and blend, a distant drum line picks up… then it grows more prominent, as if it’s marching closer…

EXT. TEXAS HIGH SCHOOL - FOOTBALL FIELD - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

That’s because it basically is -- marching, that is.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Tusk” as performed by USC Trojan Marching Band || Instrumental

We’ve been transported back in time, smack dab into the middle of a high energy, high enthusiasm football game. Bleacher stands are packed on both sides; the high school marching band is getting folks hype. Cheerleaders are hollering and doing their choreography, with frenzied pom-pom movements and cheerful chants that the people in the stands echo. The outfits are delightfully mid-90s, and there is no rain in the sky here.

Suffice to say, it’s a far cry from the arts-centric, modern world of Adams we’ve grown used to.

That being said, it doesn’t seem like everyone’s cup of tea there either. In the shadows of the bleachers, a girl watches uncertainly, hovering just out of sight and getting a good look at the crowds without letting herself be seen. She’s petite, with ash blond hair plaited over her shoulder and a shy disposition. The whole scene seems just a bit too loud, too overwhelming for her. While she’s got on a cute sundress, you can hardly tell, as she’s hidden behind an oversized denim jacket that she’s practically swimming in.

It’s a younger Grace Friar, or as she was once known, GRACE KINSLEY (16). And before she was stuck in New York, living the non-life she is now, she was a teenager just like our mains.

The game continues out on the field, giving the cheerleaders the chance to reset and grab some water. This is when one of them catches Grace lingering by the bleachers, brightening and grabbing her attention with a wave. She enthusiastically gestures her over to the fence, and after a moment, Grace reluctantly leaves the sidelines and comes to meet her.

The cheerleader who greets her is full of bubbly charm, tall even as a teenager with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. She has deep red hair, as fiery as her personality, only tamed right now by necessity into a tight ponytail. Her grin makes up for it, though. This is RACHEL MCGUIRE (16).

She bounces on her feet as Grace approaches, reaching over the chainlink to give her a hug once she reaches the fence.

Rachel: You came! I can’t believe it. Grace: Yes, against my better judgment. Rachel: Oh, wah wah. You are so prosaic. Grace: Did you just pick that one up from the thesaurus today? I don’t think you’re using it right. Rachel: Maaaybe. But whatever, I’m just so glad you’re here! Isn’t it fun? Don’t you just love the energy? Grace: It is… something. All right.

Rachel rolls her eyes. Even if she isn’t going to convert her best friend to the wonderful ways of school spirit, she got her to come to at least one game this year, so she’ll consider that a win.

Rachel: And you’re coming to the party, right? It’s going to be so crunk.

Grace wrinkles her nose. That sounds like the last thing she’d rather do… this scene is already raucous enough. But Rachel senses her hesitation and before she can even say no, the redhead gives her a signature pout, signaling she’s not going to let this drop.

Rachel: Come on, please? Just once. For me. Grace: I don’t know… Rachel: Just for an hour. For thirty minutes. Hell, if you walk in and last five minutes, I swear I will stop asking to copy your English homework. [ taking her hands ] Gracie, it’s our junior year. I want you to experience one party before we graduate and become decrepit old people. Cheerleader: Rachel, come on! We need to get ready for the pyramid! Rachel: Lay off, Jessica! [ back to Grace ] Pleeease?

Well… when she looks at her like that, how can she say no? Grace’s turn to roll her eyes, but she can’t help but smile as she caves and agrees. Rachel jumps with glee and claps their hands together.

When Rachel turns to focus back on her squadmates, something catches her eye on the field.

A couple of football players are looking at them. Two of the cute seniors, the taller of whom is definitely eyeing Grace behind her.

Delightful. Rachel’s eyes widen with excitement, and she leans back to get Grace’s attention again.

Rachel: Gracie. That guy is totally looking at you. Grace: Huh? [ with a slight frown ] Shut up. No he isn’t. Rachel: Yes he so is. I saw it. Oh my God, imagine, you come to your first football game and walk away with suitors? Talk about proving me right that you need to get out more often. Grace: No -- that’s not -- shut up. [ crossing her arms ] They’re not even looking over here. He’s looking at the game. Rachel: The game is on time-out. And he was definitely looking at you. Grace: Doubtful. Maybe he thought I was someone else. Rachel: Is it so impossible to believe that -- Jessica: Rachel!

God, Jessica, could you chillax! Rachel groans, telling Grace they’ll pick this back up later. Grace seems grateful for the escape, gesturing Rachel on her way. She does a little mocking pom-pom move.

Grace: Stay balanced.

Rachel sticks her tongue out at her, then jogs to go join the other cheerleaders. Grace hangs by the fence for a moment longer, taking in the hectic scenery all around her… certainly more her best friend’s domain than her own…

And then she sees it, too. When she looks towards the field at the players, as they get ready for their next play, the left tackle on their team glances in her direction -- and seems to look directly at her.

She doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know her. But his blue eyes are like lightning, even all the way from there… and when he smiles slightly a second later, thunder rattles Grace’s bones.

Well, that’s enough being present and seen for one night. If only that was all. Grace whips around and makes a beeline back for the bleachers, a flush rising up her cheeks. She glances back over her shoulder only once the next play has started and there’s no chance he’ll still be looking at her.

In the rush of movement, all she can make out is the bright white “F” starting the lettering on the back of his football jersey.

Then he blocks an offense maneuver from the opposing team, and the crowd in the stands goes nuts around her, totally dominating the soundscape. The horns of “Tusk” blare loudly --

INT. HOUSE PARTY - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

And become the opening notes of an iconic party banger, playing through the tinny speakers available to the high school teens of the nineties.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” as performed by Cyndi Lauper || Instrumental

The mood is jubilant at the afterparty for the game, as it appears the home team carried victory. At least, that’s the impression you get as you watch the crowd of players hoot and chant for each other in the living room and chug down celebratory cans of beer.

At the same time, the cheerleaders are having a toast of their own, all raising their red solo cups and taking a shot of whatever their vodka of choice is. Rachel has dragged Grace into this circle as well, who dutifully sips her red solo cup along with the rest but with markedly less confidence.

Once the group disperses a bit, Rachel turns back to her friend and reemphasizes how glad she is that she decided to come out for once. She’s now let her cheer ponytail down and is fluffing out her hair, which looks even more vibrant red in the mood lighting of the party. Instinctively, she reaches out and starts to affectionately nitpick Grace’s hair too.

Grace: Don’t waste your effort. I’m never going to look like you. Rachel: You’re right. That is, I could never be as effortlessly adorable as you are.

She gives Grace a boop on the nose.

Grace: Okay, so, you’re already clearly drunk. Rachel: Am not. Not all of us are lightweights like you. I just happen to know what I’m talking about, which is that you are beautiful and smart and now that you’ve escaped your self-inflicted dungeon of imprisonment -- Grace: I don’t think being an introvert is -- Rachel: The whole world is going to see it too.

Rachel nudges Grace into taking off her armor of denim, allowing her cute dress to see the light of day. She helps her tie the jacket around her waist.

Grace: Maybe, but I’m not sure that’ll do much to cover up the whole… being boring and smelling like hay because I live on a farm thing. Rachel: All part of the allure. [ off her head shake ] I mean, mister left tackle certainly already noticed…

Oh, not this again… Grace grows more shy, pushing some stray hair behind her ear.

Grace: Again, you’re exaggerating. Rachel: Am not. Grace: Why would he even -- he was probably looking at you. You were right in front of me. We don’t even know each other. Rachel: As if that matters? In this case, it really doesn’t. He doesn’t know most people. He’s that senior that transferred over from Claremont. Which is good, because our last left tackle was so shit. But anyway, knowing someone or not does not preclude one from wanting to know someone. Which he does. Want to know you. Grace: How could you possibly know that? Rachel: Because I know things. Because I’ve had three boyfriends, and they all have to start somewhere. [ glancing over her shoulder ] And because he’s looking our way right now.

Rachel’s smile is downright overjoyed. Grace frowns and looks over her shoulder.

She wasn’t lying. The left tackle from earlier is chatting with the quarterback and another player, easy smile on his face… and he keeps glancing over at them.

At her.

Grace whips back around, all levity gone from her expression.

Grace: Oh my God. Rachel: I told you. I told you! Grace: Shut up. Shut up. It’s not -- they’re just looking. It’s not like… it’s not like he’s over here. Rachel: True… for now.

Rachel’s smile widens. She nonchalantly pushes away from the counter and traipses her way towards the boys, Grace watching her in mild horror.

Grace: [ in a whisper ] Rach. Rachel! Come back!

Rachel tosses her a wink over her shoulder, then flips her hair to prime volume as she saunters over to join the footballers. She begins to chat up the quarterback, complimenting him on the excellent win…

And giving mister left tackle a wide open playing field. Grace curses to herself and spins back to face the drinks on the counter, no clue what to do with herself. He probably won’t come over here. Why would he? Rachel is right in front of him now -- he’ll probably become enamored with her. Most men do. Plus, it would be a lot of effort to walk over here and talk up a wallflower. She’s worrying over nothing.

Even so, she feels compelled to seek out some courage. Grace reaches for the vodka bottle and quickly pours herself another shot, downing it compulsively before she can regret it.

Lo and behold, Rachel was right on the money. Grace swallows the liquor and grimaces at the burn in her throat, but she pulls herself back together right before another figure comes over to join her.

Left Tackle: Not bad. Don’t think I could down one of those that fast. Willing to pour me one, and we’ll find out?

Grace braves meeting his eyes, getting a better look at him. And boy, once she does, it is hard to look away. He was striking across the field, but he’s absolutely mesmerizing up close. Tall, well-muscled, with sun-kissed skin and sandy blonde hair. It’s clean cut on the sides but a bit longer on top, Freddie Prinze Jr. style, now fully visible without the football helmet.

Then there’s the eyes. Oh, those eyes.

Grace clears her throat, then does a little shrug. Somehow, she manages to come off coy, despite how her knees feel like jelly.

Grace: I don’t know. Probably not a good idea. I don’t want to be responsible for taking down our prized new left tackle.

He laughs, and the sound makes Grace crack a smile without even trying. And if that wasn’t enough, his smile is absolutely killer.

Left Tackle: Damn, if I’m going to be taken down by the cute little thing by the bar, I think my football career is in trouble. The offense on the other team ain’t got nothin’ on you, huh?

Grace shrugs again, figuring saying nothing is wiser than whatever stupid stuff might come out of her mouth. She’s never been great with words -- spoken ones, at least.

Thankfully, this seems to intrigue him rather than put him off. He leans against the counter.

Left Tackle: Well, if I’ve met my match, I’d at least like to know the name of the girl who is destined to take me down. Can I wrangle that much?

Hm, smooth… Grace contemplates for a long moment…

Grace: Grace.

Pretty. The left tackle smiles brighter, obviously thinking so himself, before nodding.

Left Tackle: Grace. Like the sound of that. [ holding out a hand ] I’m Kenneth.

Grace holds his gaze, taking him in, before letting her eyes drift down to his outstretched hand.

After a second, she takes it.

Cue title sequence.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

The rain continues, creating puddles on the grey sidewalks. A fresh but soggy newspaper left on the doorstep of a different apartment building remarks on the relentless torrent of dreary weather while also giving a subtle nod to the passage of time. Lettering onscreen emphasizes it moments later…

Three weeks later.

From there, the camera pans upward, heading to an upper floor.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGEL’S BEDROOM - DAY

NIGEL CHEY finishes zipping up his bag, ensuring it’s sealed tight before he ventures out into the rain. Droplets patter against his window as he secures his windbreaker.

He tosses a glance towards the window, obviously not thrilled about it. Considering how unenthused he is about NYU these days, it’s all too tempting to just blow it off and stay in.

But the last thing he needs is a drop in his grades. Not after the hell that was last semester -- and if he does want any chance of transferring, anywhere at all, he’ll want to keep his academic standing above water. So he shoulders his bag with a sigh and heads out.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - DAY

When Nigel emerges from his bedroom, his family notices immediately. They notice, but no one says anything, not sure how to break the tension.

It’s evident this cold shoulder has been going on for a while. ERNESTO CHEY exchanges a look with LIEZEL CHEY, tacitly encouraging conversation, but she keeps her mouth shut. Even if she did want to speak, she surely wouldn’t know what to say. REYNA CHEY watches the silent movement from her usual armchair, more riveted by it than whatever pathetic soap is on TV.

Nigel pretends not to notice, for once not feeling like the one who needs to placate and keep the peace. He could walk right out the door like he has for weeks now, but Ernesto manages to get a word in before he can disappear.

Ernesto: Quite wet outside today. Bad weather. Nigel: … yeah. Liezel: Be careful getting to NYU. It will be slippery. I don’t want you to get sick.

Nigel chooses not to acknowledge his mother’s comment. The silence stings, but Liezel says nothing else, dipping her head down to her work at the kitchen counter.

Ernesto: Are you sure you want to walk? I could drop you off. Nigel: I have my coat.

He gestures to his windbreaker indicatively. Hard to argue with that. Ernesto reminds Nigel of when dinner is, and he claims he’ll try to be there, but as of the last few days there’s no guarantee that’ll be the case. For better or worse, Nigel is demonstrating he can be self-sufficient when he wants to be.

Even if no one else seems happy with it. Nigel opens the door, Liezel braving one more meek comment.

Liezel: Have a nice day.

Nigel doesn’t respond, shutting the door behind him before she can finish the sentiment. It obviously hurts, though Liezel does a decent job of stuffing it down. It seems Nigel got his knack for compartmentalizing from somewhere.

Reyna, on the other hand, is less than pleased to see it. She frowns to herself, shaking her head slightly as Ernesto and Liezel awkwardly return to their business.

EXT. JUPITER RECORDS - DAY

In natural contrast to the eastern downpour, the sunshine is still relentless over in Los Angeles. It glares brightly against the glassy exterior of the Jupiter Records building, reflecting in all directions.

INT. JUPITER RECORDS - MEETING ROOM - DAY

The mood is decidedly more jubilant here, too, as the EXECUTIVES excitedly inform the gathered young women that they are the official finalists for the coveted five spots in the label’s girl group project. After the retreat and weeks of debate, they’ve narrowed it down to less than ten finalists, six of whom are present in the room with them.

KIMMY PRICE, who looks just thrilled to be included; TABITHA FLORES, who is already impatient to prove herself and tapping her manicured fingers on the surface of the long meeting table they’re seated around. ALEENA SAYYID remains curious but calm, while MADYSIN MAY is busy sitting up on the table and lowkey flirting with the Jupiter representatives present. RONICA LEWIS watches the rest of them wild mild interest, keeping her game face on.

And YINDRA AMINO. She’s managed to squeak her way into final consideration, though what exactly made each of them pass the test remains a secret. So for now she’s trying to remain agreeable and somewhat aloof, holding her few cards close to the vest.

But even this close to success, the pressure doesn’t let up. Because now that they’re this close, the scrutiny becomes even more intense, as the process now requires extra assessment to develop the ultimate configuration of the girls they have left. This means more chemistry tests, more vocal mixes, and any number of personal questioning while they build out the perfect presentation of girl group excellence.

Just peachy. Yindra manages a smile and does her best to hide her nerves, nodding along as the executives lay out expectations for this final step.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

The Friar apartment has a strange new energy to it. Although it looks nearly the same, just with one less body sometimes occupying the space, something about it has irreversibly shifted. It feels simultaneously heavier yet lighter; shaded with tension yet unburdened with fresh relief. Like although weight still hangs heavy overhead, the space is no longer perpetually holding its breath.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - DAY

The same seems to be the case for GRACE FRIAR. Although her features are etched with grief, and the bags under her eyes indicate more than a few restless nights in her recent history, there’s a serenity to her that wasn’t there before. She’s tired, but at ease, and she walks the floors of her apartment without dreading every creak under her step.

There’s miles to go before she sleeps, though. Kenneth’s passing may have happened in a moment, but the aftermath feels neverending. So much paperwork to handle, inquiries to follow through on. The man may be dead, but he was sure to leave things for her to clean up after him.

That, and the reminders never cease. She goes through the mail she just collected, looking for legal documents but finding more than a couple letters from well-wishers instead. Old friends from high school or Austin sending their condolences, mourning a great man and expressing their shared grief.

Folks who clearly kept up with Kenneth, but sure didn’t make an effort to stay connected with her.

More than that, they have questions. When will the funeral service be? Will there be one? If there’s financial straits preventing it, they’re happy to contribute. Kenneth was such a wonderful man, after all, it would be a damn shame for them not to have the chance to celebrate his life together. After three weeks, they just have to wonder… and if there will be one, they want to do everything in their power to clear their calendars to be there.

They’re not the only one with these questions. Grace herself has them -- one of the many things keeping her up at night -- but pulling something together has been harder than she anticipated. She knows she could find the help, of course…

But it’s not just about her. Grace places the mail on the kitchen counter and doubles back, heading across the living area to the other end of the apartment.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S BEDROOM - DAY

As they attempt to downsize and sort through Kenneth’s belongings -- and he certainly had the most things to possess out of the three of them -- Lucas has taken on the task of going through the items stuffed into the closet in his already closet-sized bedroom.

But he’s not making very quick work of it. It’s more like pulling teeth, Lucas seated against the doorframe of the closet and mainly sitting in thoughtless silence. He’ll occasionally pull some random item out of the darkness, turn it over in his hands and try to find meaning in it, before ultimately chucking it into the cardboard box they’ve deemed trash or back into the depths when he can’t decide where it belongs. More often than not, he’s been aiming back into the closet.

Grace arrives in the doorway, gently knocking to get his attention. He stops staring into space and meets her eyes.

Grace: How is it going in here? Lucas: [ with a shrug ] Fine.

Given the trash box only has about one more item in it than the last time Grace checked on him, that’s likely. But she doesn’t point that out, treading cautiously towards what she actually wanted to discuss.

Grace: I’ve gotten more letters. From friends in Austin. They send their best. Lucas: Good for them. Grace: Many of them are asking about services. If we’ve got a date yet. [ a beat ] If we’ll have a date at all…

Lucas doesn’t have the answers, and it’s obvious from his expression that he doesn’t want any. He clenches his jaw and tilts his head back against the doorframe. Grace would like to do the same, but she pushes through and addresses it head on.

Grace: I think we need to decide if we’re going to do this. We can’t keep putting it off. Lucas: Okay? Sounds like you’ve decided then. Grace: I haven’t. I want us to be able to figure it out together. I know it’s -- it’s complicated. But people are asking, and three weeks is quite a long time after someone -- Lucas: Why the hell do I care what “people” think? It’s not their stupid family. [ tossing something into the trash box ] If they care so bad, why don’t they throw a party themselves?

Fair enough. But not helpful. Grace crosses her arms, trying not to bristle at his tone.

Grace: I get that this is weird. I know. You think I don’t know just as well as you do? [ touché ] But we need to act on it. We need to do something. Even if it’s just to get it out of the way, to allow everyone to move on. Including us.

Lucas’s jaw twitches, but he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t look at her either, but the lack of a pithy comment is better than usual lately.

Grace: We can’t just stay in this limbo forever. It doesn’t help anyone. Least of all you. So how about we just… do it. Go through the motions, get through it, and then we can put it to rest. For good. Lucas: [ under his breath ] What a perfectly normal way to talk about burying your husband…

Yes, but when has anything about this family ever been normal? Even so, Grace is clearly put off by the comment. She knows this is hard for him -- she has no doubt about it -- but he seems to forget she lived it all too. In fact, she lived much, much more of it than him.

She doesn’t say any of that, though. If he’s going to act like a kid about it, then she’ll do her best to buck up and act like the adult in the room.

Grace: I’m going to move forward with funeral preparations. Jack and Eric said they would help us with the logistics, so I’m reaching out tonight. [ a beat ] You can be involved, or not, that’s up to you. I get it either way. But I can’t do nothing anymore. Lucas: Okay. Whatever. [ deadpan ] You’re the parent.

Just in case she forgot. Since their situation has been so fucked up, and convoluted, and he basically raised himself. Since she’s never seemed very good at being one before, guess now is as fine a time as any.

It’s almost like he’s fourteen again. Like he has so much anger, so much pain, and he doesn’t know who actually deserves it, so Grace gets a heaping share. All the nuance of their world has died with Kenneth, and now it’s just the two of them left to sort through it and remember how to live with it all.

Grace is giving all the patience she has left towards him, but God, if it isn’t hard sometimes. She chooses to hold her tongue and steps away, leaving Lucas in the quiet once again.

He doesn’t seem thrilled with how that went either, but holding everything together is taking up enough of his mental power right now. He swallows the ache in his throat and sniffs, reaching for another pointless object in the darkness.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Some of that darkness lingers with MAYA HART, who looks about as tired as Grace. She’s seated at the kitchen table but isn’t eating her breakfast, instead staring blankly out the balcony door towards the bright Los Angeles sun.

Her shine is dulled enough that Farkle notices, remarking on it when he exits his bedroom with his backpack and finds her at the table. He jokes about catching her in a rare pre-glam moment, which she just manages to remember to smile at.

Farkle: Honestly, I’m more impressed I managed to catch you at all. I feel like you and I have just been missing one another constantly since you got back from your retreat. Melissa and Justin must really be working you hard for the EP. Maya: Um, yeah. Yeah, it’s just been… super busy.

She’s a good enough actress that her delivery is just believable enough -- at least with someone as equally consumed with their own emotional baggage as Farkle. That’s what Maya wants to discuss anyway, using Isa as a convenient route to get the topic as far away from her and Global Beat as possible. Once they gloss over any updates from the Friar front…

Maya: Isa tell you all that? Farkle: No, Riley. Isa’s been… I’m sure they’re overwhelmed. And busy. Just with everything going on with Lucas. Maya: Right. They did leave in a pretty big hurry. [ a beat ] I couldn’t help but notice the couch was all clear when I came back though. That weekend. Farkle: Oh… yeah. Well. You know how I like to… keep things clean. And tidy. Maya: Mhm. It certainly didn’t look like anyone had slept there the night before, though. Let alone anyone six feet tall. Farkle: [ clearing his throat ] Yeah. Well. Isa said I should just share the bed with them. That it was stupid to be on the couch when we’ve been friends for -- you know, a long time. Maya: Right… Farkle: And it’s comfortable. Casual. We were just being, you know, cool about it. Maya: Of course. So must have been a good weekend, then? Farkle: Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’d say… yeah. Maya: Good vibes. Chill times. No big news to report. Farkle: Uh, nope. Yeah. Yeah… no, yeah. Maya: Right.

For such a good actor in his own right, Farkle really is terrible at being nonchalant. Maya can see right through him, and it’s the first time in days that she’s felt compelled to crack a smile. He meets her eyes, and she simply quirks an eyebrow knowingly.

That’s all it takes. Farkle caves, spilling into a hasty explanation about everything that happened with Isa. Partially just because he can’t seem to help himself, but also because it’s clear he has been dying to tell someone. With the way things ended so abruptly, with Isa having to rush off to help Lucas, it feels like he’s been living his life on pause for the last three weeks.

Maya listens attentively, with mild amusement, letting him stammer out all of the spinning thoughts in his frazzled head until he manages to wear himself out.

Maya: Wow. Farkle: So now it’s like -- I mean, I’m trying to be cool about it. And I am. This is a serious time, and I want to respect that and give them all the time they need. I get it. But I’m also like… I mean, what am I supposed to do with myself? We didn’t really get to talk about it, and like -- I had sex with them. One of my best friends. Maya: Ew. But yeah, crazy. Farkle: And I don’t want to like make a big deal out of it, or be insane, but how am I supposed to not be crazy about that? Am I insane for wanting like… I don’t know, a shred of insight as to what they’re thinking about the whole thing? [ hiding his head in his hands ] For the love of God, am I ever going to stop being a disaster? Maya: Sources say no. But that’s okay, that’s my favorite thing about you.

In any case, she understands why he feels so wound up. If something that big shifted between the two of them, it would make her anxious too. He’s valid, but she can only hope Isa will have the sense of mind to let him know what they’re feeling about it sooner rather than later.

On the other hand, she can’t help but find the whole thing just a little bit funny.

Maya: I’m just trying to figure out when exactly you became such a hot commodity. Like, Zay? Sure, he’s always been hot shit -- and wouldn’t let anyone forget it. But you, my darling, baby giraffe Farkle Minkus? When did you suddenly become such a whore?

Farkle groans, shoving Maya’s elbow and making her laugh. Although the comment is in jest, Farkle feels the need to defend himself.

Farkle: It’s not like that. This wasn’t just… I mean, yes, okay, hooking up with Charlie was one thing. Maya: Still insane, by the way. Farkle: But this isn’t the same. It’s Isa. It’s not… it’s always been different with Isa.

The sentiment is said so delicately for how it may as well be stating the obvious. But Maya doesn’t rib him for that. Instead, she softens, eyeing him with equally gentle fondness.

Maya: I know.

She may have been onto it even before either of them, in fact. She knows Farkle has long carried this torch -- and how fragile his heart has been as of late. As long as he’s closer to being happy, that’s all she really cares about.

For now, though, he has to go to class. When he asks if Maya will be heading back to the studio today, she freezes momentarily, before expertly deflecting. She claims she’s been doing some last-minute song-smithing here, and that her producers gave her the all-clear to hermit away until she’s got it polished how she likes. So if he sees her milling around the apartment more than usual, he shouldn’t think anything of it.

Never mind the real reason she can’t bear the thought of stepping foot back inside Global Beat. If Farkle never finds out -- if no one ever does -- then all the better.

INT. NYU - THEATER - DAY

A matinee production of Ghost is currently rolling, EVAN SCOTT and his co-star playing the Whoopi Goldberg role occupying the stage. The show must go on, and it certainly is, the world inside the theater walls proceeding as if nothing has changed.

Which explains why Riley is mentally anywhere but onstage. She’s waiting in the wings, due to reemerge under the lights in the next scene, but her focus is elsewhere. She’s pacing the darkness and engrossed by her phone, keeping up a text conversation with Lucas. He’s given her the update about Grace wanting to move forward with services, so there’s a lot to discuss and unpack.

Riley tries to type out a thoughtful reply, but Lucas beats her to her next message.

“Don’t worry about it. Probably easier to just talk in person”

Which is likely true, but also feels like a convenient way to nudge confronting the feelings as long as possible. Riley hastily deletes the paragraph she had typed before, instead agreeing and assuring him that she’ll be there as soon as this performance wraps up.

On stage, someone repeats their line more forcefully, but Riley still doesn’t notice. It’s not until a stagehand nudges her and informs her she’s missed her cue that she pulls it back together, quickly pocketing her phone. From her perch on a stool in the shadows, IMOGEN LEE snorts.

Imogen: Damn, Riley. If you’re basically out to lunch, I can take over. I have been studying my lines…

Riley so does not have the bandwidth to deal with petty understudies right now. She ignores Imogen and takes a deep breath, doing her best to shove the real world from her mind and get back into character.

As she steps out onto the stage --

INT. NYU - DRESSING ROOM - LATER - DAY

Riley finishes stuffing her bag in a hurry, still half in costume and make-up as she rushes to leave. The show has just barely wrapped up curtain call, but she doesn’t have time to waste.

INT. NYU - BACKSTAGE HALLWAY - DAY

As she steps out of the dressing room, she nearly runs into Evan, who catches her arms before she can topple over. Once he confirms she’s all right, he asks where she’s running off to.

Evan: Auditorium is this way. You know Hill is going to have notes. She -- Riley: She always does. Yeah. It’s not that I don’t want to hear them, I just… I really have somewhere else I need to be. [ checking her phone ] Did you feel like the orchestra was moving at the speed of sludge today? We’re like twenty minutes later than usual. Evan: Uh, no. I was more concerned with remembering the right notes.

He says it playfully, but there is a slight edge to his tone. Imogen isn’t the only one who’s noticed Riley seems less than focused -- and now it’s starting to affect the production.

Still, Evan approaches it more tactfully than their peer. He lowers his voice to give them more privacy, waiting until a couple of their castmates pass by and disappear through the stage doors to speak.

Evan: You missed your cue. Before intermission. Riley: Yeah. Yeah, I know, sorry. Evan: All good. It’s just a college musical. I just wanted to check… like, is everything okay? You haven’t seemed quite like yourself.

No, Evan. No it’s not. She doesn’t have time to be there for her friends who are facing some of the biggest auditions of their lives, nor have basically any involvement in her roommate adjusting to letting their father into their world. She can’t be there for her friend who just ended a toxic relationship, or help her candidate jump into his hard-won new role.

There’s just been a major death in her may-as-well-be family that has shattered all sense of normalcy, and she doesn’t have nearly enough time to help pick up the pieces. There’s just not enough her to go around.

But none of that is his business, so she shrugs.

Riley: Yes. Yeah, it’s just…

She really doesn’t have the words to express it. After another wordless head shake, she settles for little.

Riley: I’ve got a lot on my mind.

Clearly, if she’s forgetting when she’s supposed to enter stage right. Before Evan can respond, she’s distracted again by her phone, buzzing with another text from Lucas.

“Don’t bother. Don’t want to burn you out between shows. It’s all pointless anyway”

The frown on her face signals this isn’t the kind of reply she wants from him. Evan eyes her curiously, but wisely decides not to dig deeper right now. He opts to stick with the things he can address.

Evan: Well, whatever you’ve got going on, don’t be any later. I can take any notes Hill has for you -- aside from the imminent comment about your late entrance. Riley: Of course. That would be great, Evan, thank you. I owe you big time.

He nods, offering a smile and leaving her be. He glances back at her over his shoulder as he steps back into the auditorium, watching her become absorbed in her phone yet again.

Another text from Lucas.

“Just go home. Talk later”

Her boyfriend is going through what may very well be the biggest emotional clusterfuck of his life, and she can’t be there for him. Not the way she wants to be. The longer she’s gone, the easier it is for him to do this. To pull away; to recede into himself and bottle it all up. To be crushed under it, when this is precisely the moment he has to power through. She hates that she can’t be there, when all she wants to do is be there by his side to endure it together.

There’s not enough time -- and she dreads the possibility that she might just lose him too.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I Have Nothing” as performed by Whitney Houston || Performed by Riley Matthews

Although she’s been killing it on the stage, nothing beats a Riley performance that’s coming authentically from the soul. As she walks the backstage halls of the theater, singing her solo soliloquy, it feels more captivating than any professional staging or bright stage lights could fabricate.

That always goes doubly when she’s singing about Lucas. The lyrics are more than fitting. In the same vein as “On My Own,” “My Man,” and “Better,” no kind of performance demonstrates more of Riley’s range than the ones straight from her heart -- and at this point, the two are one in the same.

Lucas is her heart. And if he’s breaking, she’s broken too.

Don't walk away from me I have nothing, nothing, nothing If I don't have you

Once Riley reaches the end of the hallway, back in front of the stage doors, the camera pans away and makes her feel smaller and further away. Before the key change can hit around 3:05, her vocals start to distort, sounding far away and bleeding into Whitney Houston’s original track --

EXT. RURAL COUNTRY ROAD - FLASHBACK - DAY

Which becomes diegetic, playing through the chunky over-the-ear headphones of Grace’s portable CD player. She’s on her walk home from the bus stop, her family farm a good mile out from where the closest public school bus drops off.

Grace doesn’t seem bothered by the walk. It’s one of her favorite times of the day, actually, time to be alone with nature and get lost in her thoughts. With a well-worn pair of cowboy boots and the autumn breeze, there’s no better chance to find a second to breathe.

Only today, it seems, she’s not alone. She frowns slightly when the song starts to end and she hears gravel crunching behind her -- someone driving along the dirt road. It doesn’t get much use on a typical afternoon. She glances over her shoulder.

An older but very cool blue Ford pick-up is ambling down the street. She expects it to pass on by -- maybe doing business with the Carmichaels down the hill -- but it slows as it approaches her. For a moment, she tenses, not sure whether she should be wary…

Until she recognizes the face behind the wheel. Beautiful eyes, and that smile that could start wars.

Kenneth. He pulls up beside her and rolls down the passenger side window, offering her one of those coveted smiles. She removes her headphones, looping them around her neck.

Kenneth: Howdy. Fancy meeting you here. Grace: I live here. Kenneth: In the middle of the road?

Grace blushes, already flustered just from his attention. They’ve been chatting a bit for weeks now, definitely flirting here and there, yet he doesn’t seem to lose any effect on her. It’s almost annoying. She pushes some hair behind her ear.

Grace: You know what I meant. Kenneth: Sure did. That’s why when my parents surprised me with this baby this afternoon, and I got to take it for my first drive, I thought hey -- what better place to cruise for a while?

So he came right to see her. Grace doesn’t know what to do with that information, so she breezes past it.

Grace: It’s nice. I like the color. Kenneth: I know. You love blue.

Yeah… she does. After a beat, Kenneth runs a hand through his hair.

Kenneth: Can I give you a ride? Grace: I’m used to the walk. It’s okay. Kenneth: I ain’t asking if you can handle it. Knowing you, I’m sure you can. I’m asking if you want a ride.

Well. That is different, isn’t it. Does she hold out her resilience, stay sane and keep walking the path of safe, familiar independence… or does she get in the car with him?

Somehow, the choice is easy. Grace takes a deep breath and steps off the grass, approaching the car. Kenneth’s expression is utterly delighted as he leans across the console to unlock the passenger door.

She climbs up into the seat and exchanges a shy smile with him.

EXT. KINSLEY FAMILY FARM - FLASHBACK - DAY

Kenneth pulls up outside Grace’s home, putting the truck in park. Directly in front of them is the farmhouse, a modest but charming dwelling surrounded by acres of green. Several dozen feet away, the red wood of a barn is visible, and adjacent another dozen feet, a roomy stable with a fenced-in riding pasture.

INT. KENNETH’S TRUCK - FLASHBACK - DAY

Although there’s nothing holding her back, Grace doesn’t immediately get out of the car. There’s something nice, and a bit enthralling, about sitting in his passenger seat.

Grace: Thanks for the ride. Kenneth: ‘Course. Any time. Grace: Don’t make promises like that. You’re gonna end up a chauffeur before you know it. Kenneth: Hey, if it means getting to spend a little more time with you, then I’m game.

The compliment comes out effortlessly smooth. So damn charming… Grace can feel the blush crawling up her cheeks.

She flushes even further when Kenneth takes a long moment to take her in, gazing at her with a soft shade to his features. After a moment, he starts to lean closer…

As per usual, Grace panics and deflects. She interrupts his move with conversation, letting words spill out of her without thinking.

Grace: What are you up to for the rest of the afternoon?

Kenneth hesitates. The slightest edge of frustration creeps into his features, but it ebbs away quickly and is replaced with amused fondness. There is something about this little cat-and-mouse game they have going on that is all the more enjoyable. It’s like the more she plays hard to get, just dancing outside the perimeter of his obvious interest, the more appealing she becomes -- whether Grace is doing it intentionally or not.

Kenneth: Probably practice. Some weight-training -- coach says I need to gain another five-to-ten to maximize my impact on the field. Grace: [ sure, she totally gets what that means ] Uh-huh. Kenneth: So the usual. Football, avoiding homework, ignoring my dad when he tries to grill me about football and/or homework. How about you? Grace: Um… homework. [ off his laugh ] Then maybe some writing, if I have time. Kenneth: What kind of writing? Grace: Just… personal stuff. Silly stuff. Nothing important. Kenneth: You like, an author or something? I didn’t know you were into all that. [ off her shrug ] So when do I get to read your stuff? Grace: Yeah, uh, try never. Kenneth: Oh, come on! Don’t tease me like that --

He reaches out and playfully tugs at her braid, which she giggles at before swatting his hands away. Their hands brush and linger for a moment longer than necessary, before Grace pulls hers back and twiddles with the end of her plait.

Kenneth slouches back in his seat, whistling and shaking his head as he gets another good look at her.

Kenneth: Dang. A bona fide writer. I mean, I knew you were smart and everything, and you’ve got those killer grades in English. But… Grace Kinsley, you truly are something else.

No one has ever said anything like that to her before. No one has ever looked at her like that, the way he is right now. Like she’s actually there rather than invisible -- like there’s something worth seeing.

It’s thrilling, but also terrifying, so Grace feels the sudden instinct to bolt. She offers another shy smile and starts to gather her bag.

Grace: First things first, I have to feed the horses, so. Best get going.

EXT. KINSLEY FAMILY FARM - FLASHBACK - DAY

Grace hops out of the car, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Kenneth looks disappointed to see her go -- and a bit disappointed that his excuse to prolong heading home has run out.

Kenneth: Writer girl, horse girl -- is there anything you don’t do, Kinsley? Grace: Football.

Kenneth barks out a laugh, which earns another smile from her. Kenneth thinks on that, a moment of vulnerability breaking through.

Kenneth: As someone who does, gotta admit, think right now I’d rather be feeding the horses.

The comment surprises Grace. Given how good he is at the game, how much of a king he seems like on the field, she assumed football was naturally his whole world. She never would’ve guessed there was even a hint of conflict hidden beneath that strong veneer.

Somehow, the moment makes her feel the desire to open up too.

Grace: Do you want to see them?

The invitation slips out before she can question it. Kenneth contemplates… then grins.

INT. KINSLEY FAMILY FARM - STABLES - FLASHBACK - DAY

Grace pulls open the door to the stables and enters first, signaling for Kenneth to move quietly. Since he’s new, his presence might unsettle the horses. He playfully mimics her gesture, pretending to zip his lips.

Tellingly, the horses do react to the unfamiliar face. They grow skittish, whinnying in apprehension. Grace shushes them and talks softly as she makes her way further inside, Kenneth hanging back a bit to watch. Although it’s a marvel to see how natural she is with the creatures, he seems a little perturbed by their reaction to him.

Kenneth: Don’t think they like me. Grace: They don’t know you. Like I said, they’re shy around strangers. Kenneth: Fitting. Sounds like someone else I know.

Grace rolls her eyes, petting the nose of one of the ponies rather than responding.

Kenneth: Guess they should work on their socializing skills. How many other people have you brought in to meet them? How’d they fare?

This time, Grace is silent for other reasons. Her expression grows more guarded, and slightly embarrassed. The lack of an answer speaks volumes, though, Kenneth putting it together fast enough.

No one. Grace hasn’t brought anyone else in here.

This is her safe space, a sacred shelter, and somehow he’s managed to find his way inside.

Cautiously, he saunters over to join her by the horses and does his absolute best to be unassuming. Considering he’s a hulking football player with no sense of subtle, it doesn’t work, the horse Grace is currently petting skittering away a bit as he approaches.

Kenneth: Sorry. I’m more trouble than I’m worth. Grace: Don’t say that. Kenneth: Think they’ll ever like me? [ looking at her ] Do I have any chance?

The question feels loaded. Grace meets his eyes.

Grace: You have to earn their trust.

She’ll do her best to help him, if she can. Utilizing her own goodwill with the horse, she lures it forward again, back up to the edge of the pen. She soothingly rubs its nose and then dips her forehead against the flat of its muzzle, Kenneth watching in bewildered fascination.

Once it seems calm enough, she glances his way… then takes his hand, gently guiding it up to brush the horse’s nose.

Cute a moment as that might have been, it doesn’t quite land. Because nope, this dude has not earned its trust, and it’s not playing the same games Grace may be. The horse brays and shuffles backwards again, out from under their hands.

Kenneth: Damn it. Grace: [ with a laugh ] Don’t worry. Just give it time. Kenneth: … so does that mean I’m welcome back here again?

It sure does seem to imply… Grace realizes that, pausing and glancing at their hands. They’ve come to rest on the edge of the gate, hers still laid on top of his tan fingers.

Kenneth doesn’t seem at all opposed to that. In fact, he starts to flip his hand to link their fingers together, but Grace slips away, retreating further into the stables to distract herself with the horse feed.

As much of a tease as she seems intent on being, Kenneth manages to take it well. He swallows his impatience and follows her over to the oat barrels, taking a good look around. An item hanging on the wall above her catches his eye.

Kenneth: What’s that?

Grace follows his gaze, landing on the same sight. It’s a decorative horse shoe, slightly larger-than-scale and made of shimmering blue glass.

Grace: Nothing. Just some art. Kenneth: Well, I don’t believe that. Wouldn’t be hanging in such a high place of honor if it wasn’t special. Grace: It’s in a stable. Kenneth: Which is a place of honor to you. Ain’t that right?

Touché. Grace doesn’t deny that, keeping her eyes on the oat scoop.

Grace: My mama got it for me when I was little. From a local artist in North Carolina, when my parents went. I couldn’t go, stayed with my grandparents, but she knew I was sad about it. I wanted to see the wild horses. So she brought me back the next best thing.

Learning a lot about each other today. Kenneth continues to look at it, absorbing how much it means to her… then lets his gaze drift back to her.

Kenneth: So you were always big on ponies? Or did she just take a lucky guess that you’d be obsessed -- Grace: How did you know my favorite color is blue?

The question slips out unprompted, confusing Kenneth. He raises his eyebrows when she turns to face him, her expression guarded… but delicate too.

Kenneth: What do you mean? Grace: When I saw your truck. I said “I like the color,” and you said you know. That I love blue. Kenneth: … yeah? Is that wrong? Grace: No. It’s right. It’s exactly right. How did you know that? Kenneth, amused: Is that a real question? You told me, Grace.

Once, in some inane conversation in the last few weeks, she must’ve mentioned it. Offhanded, to fill the space, not thinking anything of it herself.

But he heard her. He listened.

Grace: Oh. I don’t remember that. Kenneth: Well, I do. [ a beat ] I remember everything you say.

Oh. Grace’s stomach flips, and that flush returns to her cheeks. She doesn’t turn away from him, but her gaze dips to the floor, not sure if she’s ready to be so seen.

But Kenneth is ready. He’s been ready. He steps closer.

Kenneth: I like listening to you. Grace: I don’t know why. I’m not good at it. Talking. Kenneth: I think you’re dang good at just about everything. Grace: I’m not. I don’t… talk, and I don’t… let people in here -- Kenneth: And yet, here we are. Grace: I don’t let people in. You hang around long enough, you’re gonna figure out why. I’m nothing special. I’m -- I’m just -- Kenneth: Grace.

He’s made it in front of her now, closing the distance between them. Grace has backed up against the feed station, nowhere else to run and hide. Nearby, the horses whinny uncertainly.

With a tender touch, Kenneth reaches and tilts Grace’s chin upward, guiding her into meeting his eyes again. Not allowing her to shy away. This time, she doesn’t pull away.

The space between them grows thinner… Grace has the sense she should slip away, the relentless instinct for self-preservation, but it’s suddenly hazier in the magnetic storm of his grip. They inch closer… and closer… their lips almost brush…

Kenneth: [ in a murmur ] Do I have any chance?

In an instant, Kenneth gets his answer. Because despite his eagerness, Grace caves first, leaning into their first kiss. The first one is slow, testing the waters, and they break for a quiet moment to catch their breath when they pull apart.

Then, it’s game over. Kenneth cups Grace’s face and pulls her into another kiss, this one more urgent than the first. And by some grace of God, or maybe the Devil, Grace loses all her reservations in the thrill of his embrace. She matches his fervor and kisses him back, grabbing his flannel and pulling him close.

We pan up and away, lingering on the decorative horseshoe…

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Out of the fog of the nineties and back in the present, Charlie is back at Chubbies. He has his travel journal open and colored tabs ready to organize, but that seems to be as far as he’s gotten. He’s distracted this afternoon, lost in his own head as he stares blankly out the window and watches people pass on the sidewalk without really seeing them.

He certainly doesn’t see ZAY BABINEAUX, who enters the diner from the other side of the street. Unlike Charlie, he’s energetic and alert, and he only brightens further when he spots the all too familiar back of Charlie’s head.

But he has to tread cautiously -- it’s been a minute since his little revelation during his audition, but the feelings haven’t changed. So he may not be able to pull off nonchalant as expertly as before. He needs to act strategically to avoid embarrassing himself.

So Zay does what he does best. He goes for a tease. He quietly approaches from behind and then strikes by surprise, reaching over the back of the adjacent booth to tap Charlie on his far shoulder. He jumps in response, naturally looking over his shoulder until he realizes that’s silly a second later, since he’s just looking at the window -- and whips his head back around just in time to find Zay standing at his table with a cheeky smile on his face.

Charlie: Jeez. Zay: Hi. You’re twitchy today. Charlie: You scared me. Zay: Since day one. It’s basically my job.

Charlie resists the urge to roll his eyes. Zay plops into the booth opposite him, asking how things are going. What’s he working on? Before Zay can get too close a look, Charlie swiftly closes the journal and subtly pulls it closer to himself.

Charlie: Nothing much. Just killing time until those college acceptances come through. Zay: Seriously? Charlie: Were you expecting something else? Remember who you’re talking to here. Zay: Wah, wah. But no, not particularly. I just feel like -- I don’t know, I assumed you were booked up. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.

Yeah… that would be the lowkey mood-swing-depression hibernation… classic ostracized-by-Eleanor coping mechanism. Charlie avoids getting into it, though, clearing his throat and shrugging.

Charlie: No, yeah, I’ve just… um, been busy.

Response of the month, apparently. Zay can tell he’s being vague, but he decides to let it go for now, because being near him again already feels volatile and pushing any buttons when he’s so internally unsteady feels like risky business.

And he already has a big ask on his mind. Speaking of colleges and acceptances…

Zay: So. Turner. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it. Charlie: Oh, shoot, yeah. Sorry, I totally meant to follow up -- Zay: Why are you apologizing? Don’t apologize to me. Charlie: Okay, right. Sorry. I mean --

Charlie winces at himself, earning a laugh from Zay. He takes a second to compose himself, skipping the compulsive apologies, then starts again.

Charlie: I meant to check in earlier. Zay: Before you evaporated? Charlie: Sure. So, what? Did you hear anything? I feel like if you had, you would’ve said something. Zay: Correct. Believe me, if they’d told me anything worthwhile, you’d be the first to know. [ shaking his head ] No, they’re saving that big reveal for later. But they’re doing a post-audition semi-formal gala of sorts this week to celebrate everyone’s hard work, and for getting this far, blah blah blah. Charlie: Wow. That’s nice? Zay: Yeah, in theory. Only they’re also announcing the three finalists for the two spots at this thing, rather than sparing us all the tragedy or just saying which two got picked upfront. Charlie: Wow. That’s… a lot. Zay: No fucking kidding. Blood might be spilled, Carrie style. Not to mention it’s such a dramatic as fuck way to do this whole thing, but I guess that’s kind of par for the course in the business. The other part is that we all get to do some sort of solo presentation, like a little talent show, to make us all feel good and special before they harpoon most of our high hopes.

It’ll be interesting, at least, there’s no doubt about that. Based on his expression, Charlie seems grateful he’s not trying to exist in this industry more and more every day.

Zay: Anyway, the circus allows each of us to invite a plus-one, and I was thinking you could come with me. [ a beat ] You know, as a thank-you for showing up in the first place.

It takes Charlie a minute to process the request, and once he does, he isn’t quite sure he can believe it.

Charlie: Oh. Zay: I know I didn’t exactly sell it that well, but I swear it’ll be fun. Probably. Maybe. At least entertaining. And not stressful for you, considering you don’t have any stakes in the whole thing. Charlie: Well, aside from you… Zay: Aside from me. But personally. All the more reason to have you there -- I’m going to need all the luck I can get. Charlie: No, right, ha ha. For sure. I just, um…

Charlie subconsciously grips the edge of his journal, hugging it a bit closer to him.

Charlie: Is Vanessa gonna be cool with that? Or are you all not allowed to like, be each other’s plus-ones? Zay: Oh. No. No, uh… don’t think she’d like that very much anyway.

That’s foreboding. Charlie frowns, confused, opening the door for Zay to truly catch him off-guard. Forgot to mention this little detail…

Zay: We ended things. A bit ago.

Charlie stops breathing. For how sharply those words just sent electricity through his veins, though, he does a remarkable job of keeping it together.

Charlie: Oh. Shoot. [ frown deepening ] I’m sorry. Zay: [ waving him off ] It’s… you know. Whatever. I mean, honestly, it’s fine. For the best. Like, we liked each other, but with the competition and everything…

Not to mention the whole still-in-love-with-your-ex thing. But details, details. Regardless, the point is that there’s certainly no issue here. There’s no barriers to entry, and no reason not to follow his gut and invite him along.

That is, except for Charlie himself. If he doesn’t want to go, no harm, no foul.

Zay: Like I said, I totally get if it sounds like a lot. You were just my first thought.

If Zay says one more nice thing so easily like that, he’s going to knock him out. But Charlie manages to keep his cool, contemplating for a moment before shrugging.

Charlie: Why not? I’d be happy to come. Thanks for inviting me.

Zay grins, relieved. Charlie aims to shake off the strange tension that seems to have resurfaced between them, taking a shot at his expense.

Charlie: Besides, it’s probably wise for me to tag along. If this really is going to become a bloodbath, you’ll need someone to cover you -- or pull you out of there before you commit murder.

He kids, but he hasn’t met the Turner cohort yet. Zay makes a face.

Now that he’s gotten through his high-stakes request -- and got the answer he hoped for -- Zay’s brain is working enough again to think about anything else.

Zay: Speaking of shit we meant to ask about, how did that thing from the other night go? When you left the audition? I know you were pretty serious about it.

God, Zay, you have no idea… and he still won’t, as Charlie side-steps the question once the initial rush of dread wears off.

Charlie: Oh, yeah. Yeah, it went… great. All good.

Zay smiles, and Charlie just manages to mirror it.

INT. JUPITER RECORDS - OFFICE - DAY

To round out the afternoon, Yindra finds herself specifically called into the office of one of the main label representatives putting the girl group together. The LABEL REP greets her cheerfully and invites her to sit wherever she’s comfortable.

Label Rep: We’re just waiting for one more.

That has Yindra more uncertain than before. She figured being singled out was either very good news or very bad news, given they’re running at six right now, but if she’s not the only one then she isn’t sure what to think.

Even more so once Aleena appears in the doorway, receiving the same warm greeting.

She and Yindra eye each other curiously for a second, both trying to suss out what could have possibly brought them both here. They’re not similar voice parts. They don’t have the same core skills. Aleena is far from Yindra’s most direct competition, far as she could surmise.

Even so, there they both are. Aleena offers a tight smile and takes the seat next to Yindra, both of them turning their attention to the label rep.

Label Rep: First, I just wanted to offer my most sincere congratulations. It’s quite the feat that you both made it this far in the process, and I hope you’re very proud of yourselves.

Yindra senses hedging, but Aleena beats her to a pithy comment.

Aleena: I’m saving the pride for if I actually make it, personally.

So they can skip all the niceties. What is this really about? The rep gets that signal, clearing their throat and getting to the point.

Label Rep: It’s no joke about how talented both of you are. Between us, you two are certainly some of the strongest contenders in this crop, and I’m not just saying that. There’s so much going for each of you, so in that regard, keep doing what you’re doing. Yindra: But…? If we’re here discussing it, surely there’s a but.

Indeed. The label rep goes on to explain that as they well know after the retreat experience, the label is taking everything into consideration when crafting the ultimate girl group to resuscitate the genre. That goes for skill, but marketability as well. Looks are one factor, of course, which neither girl should be worried about -- they’re both gorgeous. However…

Label Rep: The general public is a fickle beast, particularly the American subset. Did you know consumers will become averse to a product they traditionally love just because the packaging suddenly changed colors? Or because the text of the brand name is just slightly too big?

Point is, the smallest details really do matter. That goes doubly for the industry, where being an entertainer basically invites scrutiny to an abnormal degree. This is something the label is keenly aware of, and trying to anticipate every angle as they put together the perfect combination of women. For the two of them…

Label Rep: The concern has been raised that your names may be… too similar.

Yindra frowns, confused. Aleena looks less caught off-guard, but just as perturbed.

Yindra: I’m sorry? I don’t understand. Label Rep: With a girl group -- or any group, for that matter -- you want each member to be distinct. To bring their own unique personality and flavor to the table, that dissuades any sense of interchangeability. You want there to be the feeling that this combination of girls is it, the absolute pinnacle of personas coming together for a master class in performance. Aleena: Right. Sure. Yindra: But I don’t see how that applies? Our names aren’t similar. I mean, I guess they both end in “A.” Aleena: So does Tabitha. Label Rep: Yes, well -- Aleena: And Ronica. Yindra: Wow, maybe there are a lot of “ah” ending names -- Label Rep: That’s not the concern. But the reasoning is beside the point.

Regardless of why, they’ve honed in on these two as a potential issue, and they want to be ahead of the curve by proactively finding a solution. Thus, why they’ve summoned them there today.

Label Rep: We’re hoping that one of you -- or both, if you so choose -- would be willing to take on a nickname. While a member of the group.

Something more distinct, and ideally poppy. A pseudonym that’ll ring fresh with the rest and help create the perfect symphony of names that just flies off the tongue.

Although she can’t put her finger on why, the suggestion makes Yindra uncomfortable. Despite how cheerfully the rep is pitching it, something just doesn’t feel right. Aleena seems equally resistant.

Aleena: So you want us to play a part. Label Rep: No. No, not at all -- Aleena: You’re asking us to take on a different name. Isn’t that inherently being someone else? Label Rep: Absolutely nothing about either of you needs to change. You have great assets all around, and we want to highlight that. It’s just about… finding the right label. Spicing up the packaging. That’s all. We want to give you the best chance for success.

Only a name isn’t just a label -- it’s an identity. It’s Yindra’s identity, and she isn’t sure she wants to get her start being known by something else entirely.

Label Rep: Some of the greatest artists out there today have stage names, after all. Like Lorde! Or… or, um… Yindra: Lady Gaga. Aleena: Cardi B. Yindra: Halsey. Aleena: Lana Del Rey. Label Rep: Yes! Yes, all of the above. You totally get what I’m saying.

Except she couldn’t be bothered to do her own research first… well, suppose that’s the joy of having the grunt work in a project like this. It’s certainly not one of the label executives sitting down with them to have this conversation.

Aleena: So how is this being decided, exactly? Label Rep: Well, that’s the best part. We know you all are working on building collaboration, and we want to foster that one-hundred percent. So we’re putting the choice in your hands! The two of you can work it out amongst yourselves who would like the fun little name remix.

Oh, even better! They not only want one of them to drop their identity, they’re going to make them battle it out to pick who. Less blood on their hands. Aleena and Yindra exchange an awkward side-eye.

Label Rep: To help you decide, the label is going to send you a list in the next couple of days with some of the new names they’ve been workshopping for you. So you’ll have a much better sense of what this new pop persona might sound like before you have to pull the trigger.

With that, she’ll let them go, but they’d love it if they could hear back before the end of the week.

INT. JUPITER RECORDS - HALLWAY - DAY

As they exit, Yindra tries to make conversation, mostly to cover her own discomfort.

Yindra: That was weird, right? Kind of dumb to make us have to work out their aesthetic preferences, but -- Aleena, flatly: It’s not about aesthetics.

Yindra pauses, uncertain. Aleena stops walking and sighs, deciding to just give it to her straight.

Aleena: It’s not that our names are similar. You said it yourself, they’re not. They’re basically at opposite ends of the alphabet. Yindra: Yeah. Which is why it’s dumb that -- Aleena: It’s not that they’re alike. It’s that they’re not white enough.

Yindra’s stomach drops. That must have been where the itching sense of distaste came from. It wasn’t said out loud, not by the label, but…

Aleena: Look, I’ve been in this business a couple years now, and they all play the same games. [ with an eye roll ] They want diversity points, and lucky them based on the girls we’ve got left, they’ll get them. That’s not a bad thing. But… God forbid it sounds too much like it.

If prime marketability is what they’re after… well, something’s gotta give. Apparently. Whether that’ll be Yindra or Aleena, though…

For now, remains to be seen. Aleena claims she’ll hit her up later, once they’ve both had time to think through this bullshit.

Aleena: That is, if this doesn’t make you wanna run for the hills. Wouldn’t blame you.

Or is she just saying that, so she’ll get out of her way? Hard to say.

Yindra doesn’t respond, left standing in the hallway and suddenly feeling more alone than ever.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

Riley steps into a similarly lonely entryway, though the promise of company is just around the corner where the light is shining. It’s strange to walk this apartment without feeling like you’re treading on eggshells, but that’s exactly what she does, heading into the living area.

Grace spots her first, currently sitting on the couch going through boxes from the bedroom. She stands when she sees she’s there, more than a little surprised.

Grace: Hi. I didn’t realize you were stopping by. Riley: Yeah. I hope that’s okay. [ holding up a takeout bag ] I figured with everything you guys are working on, you probably aren’t super focused on meal prep. This place is on the way from NYU, so thought I’d grab something. Keep everyone fed. Grace: That’s sweet. Thank you. But I hope you’re not taking too much time. Shouldn’t you be at the show -- Lucas: Riley?

Both women pause, turning to look at Lucas standing in his doorway. He heard her voice and couldn’t be sure he wasn’t going crazy -- although despite his request that she skip coming by, he doesn’t seem upset to see her there.

Lucas: I thought you weren’t coming.

Riley can answer both questions in one. She smiles at Grace, then holds Lucas’s gaze, resolute.

Riley: I’m between shows. I’ve got time.

To her, being there for him is never going to be a burden.

That little detail cleared up, she passes off the food to Grace, encouraging them to dig in whenever they’re hungry. She’ll grab some before she heads back for the evening show, but in the meantime, what can she help with? She’s eager to contribute however she can.

Now that she’s there, Lucas isn’t going to fight her on it. He gestures for her to join him and she happily obliges, the two of them quietly discussing whatever minimal sorting Lucas has managed to accomplish.

Grace dutifully takes the food into the kitchen before returning to her own task, pausing for a moment to listen to Lucas and Riley chat in the other room. It’s reassuring, honestly, to hear how different his tone is with her. Far less unpredictable, and less abrasive, than she’s been navigating the past couple of weeks.

It makes her smile, even just a bit… and in some ways, it takes her back. She settles back onto the couch and goes back to sorting through one of the smaller boxes she pulled from their bedroom closet, a mish-mash of mementos and photographs.

As she lingers on one of her and Kenneth from high school…

EXT. AUSTIN SUBURBS - MONTAGE - FLASHBACK - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Alright” as performed by Supergrass || Instrumental

We’re thrown back into the rose-tinted world of the late nineties, fully submerged in the whirlwind of Kenneth and Grace’s young romance. It’s reminiscent of The Notebook, full of whimsy and charm. They walk the halls of school together, Kenneth insistent on showing off his new girl despite her shyness and less-than-popular everygirl status. She attends more games to cheer him on, a joy to both Kenneth on the field and Rachel cheering on the sidelines.

He indulges her hobbies too, though, infiltrating more time in Grace’s sacred space as she cares for the horses on their farm. He listens attentively enough while she bores him with details about them, and the two get playful as she teaches him how to harness and ride one. He also makes a habit of bothering her while she’s trying to do homework, or write in her journals -- he even snatches it from her at one point and starts to flip through it, which she only manages to get back once she’s playfully wrestled him for it and he’s stolen a kiss instead.

Of course, they do that too. Kiss. More and more frequently, the longer they spend together. At school, on the sidelines during games when they’re between plays, after Kenneth takes her home. Deeper and longer kisses in his bedroom, or hers, or in the barn when he’s managed to distract her from the horses. In one shot, he nudges her back against the wall and kisses her hard, Grace’s decorative horseshoe wobbling dangerously on its hook.

Though Grace remains more hesitant than him, and more likely to turn her cheek or shy away from his affection with a bashful grin, Kenneth isn’t deterred. He seems to take it in stride -- more of that hard-to-get game he felt she’s been playing with him since they first met. If he is frustrated, he’s doing a good job of hiding it, and she usually makes up for it with another adorable quirk or embrace a moment later.

It almost feels like a dream. The whole sequence of little moments and memories is so disarming and endearing, it’s almost possible to forget who we’re looking at and what they become. Some things are less clear in hindsight…

In fact, watching the two of them here, they could pass for any of our favorite AMBITION duos. Cute, carefree, full of natural chemistry and the undeniable desire to be near each other.

Feel alright…

EXT. THE HIGH LINE - DAY

Nigel and Zay are on the High Line, taking the chance to share a walking lunch in an otherwise hectic week. They both commiserate about the fact that they’re glad they’re not the ones dealing with funerals and all that, let alone this week.

Zay: I’ve got enough on my mind with this whole transfer gala thing. I told Riley if she needed anything, she can totally hit me up, but… suffice to say, Friar always reminds me that I am extremely lucky to have the family I do. [ elbowing him ] We lucked out in one way at least, huh? Nigel: Oh, yeah… for sure.

The agreement is hollow, but not enough for Zay to notice. He can sense that Nigel isn’t quite zoned in, though, so he tries to gear the conversation towards him. How is this semester going? Any better than last -- he hopes?

Zay: Surely NYU is realizing what they’ve got with you in their ranks, or I don’t know, man. If they don’t choose you, they oughta lose you.

He says it jokingly, but he has no idea exactly how spot on he is. Truly no clue, because of all people, Nigel hasn’t told him one word of his UK ambitions. Not that he couldn’t, in fact, he knows Zay would empower him without hesitation. He’s all about bold moves and asserting your worth.

Yet, even now, Nigel demurs. He opts not to say anything, because when he looks at Zay, all he hears is a relentless echo in his brain.

You are not Zay Babineaux!

He loves Zay, but he can’t understand this. They’ve never been the same.

So Nigel shrugs, redirecting the conversation back to Zay’s big events this week.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Despite how casually she played things off with Farkle, Maya is far from the pinnacle of productivity these days. She mainly spends her time holed up in her room, pretending to be songwriting but not actually getting anything done. If you asked her, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell you how she spends most of her days. It all feels like a big blur.

Until lighting strikes and brings everything into sharp, stinging focus. Maya sits up from her blanket cocoon when her phone vibrates with a text. She’s already preparing what she’ll say to Farkle to deflect, or assure him she’s busy, but it’s not from him.

It’s Justin.

“Hey hey heyyy, hope everything is good with you! wondering when ur thinking about getting back into the studio? we’ve got hit songs to create for your big EP debut haha”

It’s so casual it’s actually disturbing. As if nothing happened, as if everything between them is exactly how it was before the retreat. It’s so easy for him to brush it off and forget -- no big deal, no consequences.

It’s not that easy for Maya. She’s been doing everything in her power to forget about it, about him, for weeks. But it’s a losing battle, considering he and Melissa were becoming her whole world. Seeing it thrown back in her face is so unsettling, it makes her sick.

Literally. Suddenly sure she’s going to vomit, Maya pushes the blankets off of her in a frantic rush and races for her bathroom.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - BATHROOM - DAY

She collapses on the tiled floor in front of the toilet, dry heaving and hands shaking. Thankfully, nothing comes out, but that’s mostly because she hasn’t been eating too well lately either. Once the intense bout of nausea subsides, she groans and falls back against the side of the bathtub.

Maya has never felt this way before. So unsteady, affected by the smallest shift in the wind. So… weak.

She hates it. She hates it, and there’s nothing she can do about it. The damage has already been done.

But at the very least, she can protect herself from attacks like this. With vitriol, she reaches for her phone and opens the text thread with Justin, then slams the block button.

Brief moment of empowerment ebbing away, Maya crumbles again, folding in on herself and slouching down to let her forehead rest against the cold porcelain of the bath.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Justin isn’t the only one wondering about Maya’s absence. JOSH MATTHEWS has noticed -- partially because it’s so quiet without her blathering on and on about herself.

And because he’s got outstanding business with her. He never did hear back after he left her that voicemail, even though he’s been checking his messages and missed calls repeatedly. He thought he might be able to catch her in the office, at least let her know he left it in case she just for some reason missed it…

But clearly, that isn’t going to be so simple. Because for weeks now, M.H. has been M.I.A.

Josh clicks into his drafts in his email, where we see he’s crafted an entire email of all his notes to Maya about her demos. Thoughtful, even-handed with praise and constructive criticism, having given each of them more effort and time than Melissa or Justin have thrown their way combined. He wrote them down in the off-chance she rejected him outright, so he could at least give her the material to do with as she pleased…

But he can’t send it. He can’t let go of the hope he might be able to discuss it with her in person.

It’s dangerous to contemplate it here anyway. He goes back to his inbox, skimming through an email that just came through from Ernest Floyd. Based on the amount of exclamation points he included, he’s very excited about whatever he’s cooking up.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said and been putting it to work. I’m putting a bunch of new stuff together, and I can’t WAIT to show the world. I’m using one of those demo tracks you made me last summer -- prepare to be AMAZED!!!!!”

That’s nice. If only anyone on Earth cared. Josh starts to type out a canned encouraging response, just so he knows he’s still in his corner, but he’s distracted as MELISSA SUZUKI returns down the hall from lunch. She gives him a cheerful greeting as she passes. Josh returns it, about to let the moment pass…

Josh: Hey, is Maya coming in today? Or… at all this week? Melissa: Oh. You know, I’m not sure. I don’t think she’s on the calendar. [ playfully ] That’s your job, isn’t it? Josh: No, she isn’t. She hasn’t been. [ a beat ] I just thought maybe you all were meeting off schedule or something. Or she might stop by. I feel like she hasn’t been around in weeks.

Sure hasn’t, Josh. And Melissa knows this -- there’s a moment where her features flicker with recognition, and bizarrely, what looks like a hint of shame -- but she brushes it off a second later.

Melissa: I think she said she was going to take some time out of the studio, actually. Do some workshopping on her own. Josh: Oh. Okay. Melissa: But she should be back soon. I’m sure.

Melissa gives him a smile, then lets it drop. Josh doesn’t question further, but something about it all is still bothering him… if she’s working so hard on stuff on her own, then why is she leaving him on read? He thought they had gotten through their rough patch, that things were in a good state. If it’s not just her being petty for no reason again…

What is he missing?

[ 411 Hub ] [ Next (Part 1, half 2) → ]

#411

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

Text

Suptober Day 1: Harvest

wc: 1.7k tags: fluff with the side of tiny case fic, established relationship, spoilers but cw they are drugged with cider,

It was a long hunt. One that they accepted as their last one, but, of course, they can never sit still enough not to take an easy local hunt. By local, he means a two-day trip away, but still, they saved a couple of old folks from a ghost, which was fun. Dean sure enjoyed getting thrown around until Cas finally burned the dentures.

Like he said, long hunt.

They stayed at a nice little Airbnb overnight. During breakfast, their waitress told them of the Harvest Festival a town over. Cas was still a little bruised up, but Dean convinced him to go, at least to try their famous apple cider.

“We’ll make a day of it! Just me and you.” With that, Cas agreed, taking Dean’s waiting hand across the table.

The festival was lively when they arrived in the afternoon, with more people than they expected considering the small town they were in but apparently when they say famous they meant it. The tents lined up with food from funnel cakes, donuts, chicken, and some pumpkin spice beer that Dean chugged down even though it tasted like shit.

They eventually ended up with bags filled with treats and souvenirs to take home to the kids--Sam and Eileen fall into the kids’ category. They each held a bag while Dean held Cas’ hand tight in his own, dragging him around from seller to seller, buying and tasting as he went.

“We should start heading home, or soon you’ll be too full to drive.” Cas teased as Dean finished off their bag of apple crisps. “You think we’re feeding an army.”

“Considering how Jack eats, we might as well be.”

“He gets that from you, you know.”

They continued their banter as they made their way out of the festival and to the parking lot.

Then they were stopped by a woman wearing a volunteer pumpkin shirt, “Aw, leaving so soon? Don’t ya wanna stay for the fireworks?”

That quickly took Dean’s attention, brightening up his whole face so much that once again, Cas couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. Instead, earning himself a small kiss on the cheek as a thank you before being was dragged to the car to drop off their items.

Once back in the festival, they walked around until another volunteer told them about the amazing view of the fireworks at the middle of the corn maze.

“It’s a small maze, but in the middle is a little hill. So it’s usually first-come, first-serve. But I haven’t heard of anyone taking it as of now.”

Once again, Dean was easily hooked in and took Cas along for the ride. Not that he was complaining. He enjoyed watching Dean get excited over small things, things he wouldn’t have permitted himself to get excited for before. Of course, it helped when Dean hooked his arm around Cas’s waist to tug him close, whispering, “Ever kissed someone in a corn maze, Cas?”

“You know I haven’t, Dean.”

That did it for Cas. A promise of a spectacular kiss that will put the fireworks to shame.

At the entrance of the maze stood a cider cart, and Cas made a beeline for it. “I at least wanna be warm if you are going to make me walk around in the cold.”

“On the house.” The saleswoman winked at them, and something uneasy passed through them, but they ignored it as she motioned them to go right on in that the fireworks should be starting soon.

They took their hot cider and walked right in, taking hold of their hands as they walked through the maze in comforting silence. Watching the sky above them change from orange and pinks to the dark night sky.

When the maze opened up to a clearing, Dean started to run—taking the small space on top. It was tall enough to see over the cornstalk and watch the lights twinkle from the festival up ahead. They could even see groups of people exiting the maze from their left, and for a second, Dean wondered why they didn’t run into anybody on their walkover. It looked like a lot of people were going through the maze, but nobody passed them.

That thought was quickly dismissed as the first firework lit up the sky, cheers from the crowd echoed the loud boom, and Dean felt secure with an arm hooking around his shoulders to bring him in closer. So they sat there watching the firework show and polishing off their now cold cider until Cas couldn’t wait another second.

Gently, he turned Dean’s face just enough so they could start the kiss slowly. The snap crackle pop of the fireworks above their heads just kept lighting up the fuse between them until Cas asked for them to find another place to spend the night.

“Should we go now?” Dean kissed down Cas’s jaw, feeling the hastily nods instead of seeing it. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

They both stood up and took one last look at the view before they got down. Turning left, where they were sure they saw the other folks exit from before. Every few steps, they pulled each other for another kiss-- smiling into them like giddy newlyweds--until they started to realize they’ve been walking for way too long.

The fireworks had long been over, and they soon realized it was their only source of light. It soon became so hard to see anything that they didn’t dare let go of each other’s hands. They tried to go back to the hill to see if maybe they could see the trail from there, but it was like it never existed in the first place.

“Fuck!” They turned the corner to find another dead-end. “Isn’t this shit for children!”

“You know we haven’t seen or heard anyone in a while. Not since-”

“We came in here. I know. I was thinking the same thing earlier when we were on the hill.”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Cause you stuck your tongue in my mouth and impending doom took a backseat.”

They started to run, calling out for help as they did, but it only felt like they were going in circles.

Then Dean yelled, “Hallelujah!” When a flashlight shined into their faces.

“There you two are. It’s time to go.” The old man sounded so relieved to find them. He didn’t look sinister. He didn’t even make it sound like they were gone for that long. “You two okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. We got lost, I guess.” Dean shrugged, watching as Cas stared ahead of him.

“Many people do. But they always find their way out, though.”

They followed the man out of the maze while Dean’s knuckles brushed alongside Cas’. They were listening to the man recite a memory when suddenly Cas tugged at Dean’s arm.

“Dean.” It was a shocking gasp.

“Cas?” Dean turned around to watch; Cas’s eyes rolled to the back of his head before dropping like a ragdoll. “Cas!”

And just like that, Cas was out to the world.

Dean fell to his knees to take Cas into his arms, but it was useless. He was heavy, and Dean’s body was starting to tingle, his muscles becoming weaker with every passing second.

“Don’t you worry about your little friend.” The man flashed his light on Dean’s face. Blinding him, but Dean kept glaring up at him. “Just like you, he won’t feel a thing.”

“What did you do to him?” He tried to growl, but it came out too breathless for it to be threatening.

“Same thing we did to you. Same thing we do every year to a couple of tourists.”

Dean could feel himself slipping out of consciousness, but he kept trying to shield Cas from whatever was coming.

“Don’t fight it, boy.” The man walked over to him, raising his flashlight high above his head. “Hate it when they struggle.”

And with a single hit, Dean was knocked out. Falling over Cas. Hoping that at least he gets killed first this time around.

Dean woke up again when he felt someone kicking his legs with little to no effort. His arms were numb, and he realized it was because they were pulled back and tied around some huge boulder.

“Dean?”

Dean recognized the voice and happily groaned out a complaint. “Hate small towns. Creeps. All of them.”

Cas chuckled in relief. “Glad you’re okay.”

Dean blinked a couple of times before his eyes focused, looking across from him to find Cas in the same position as him. Cas looked dirty, a few scratches on his face from being dragged, which made Dean furious—tugging at the ropes that hold him back from checking for any more injuries.

“Fuck! Shit! You okay? They hurt you?”

“Not as much as they did you.” Dean didn’t feel much pain besides the stretch on his shoulders and a raging headache. “I guess that’s not true. You have a swell on your head.”

“Yeah, well, I went down swinging. Unlike you.” Cas didn’t look amused, but he looked concerned. Dean followed his gaze, looking for an explanation or a way out. “I guess we’re either bait or dinner.”

“I’m used to being bait.”

“And I’m used to being dinner. Well, aren’t we a match made in heaven?” This time Cas glared, and weirdly enough, it made Dean relax a little. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

The plan was simple, while Cas may not be a full-powered-up angel, he was still an angel. And he was stronger than an average human. So with a little more force, Cas had his arms free, rubbing his wrist while shrugging at Dean, “I always see humans do this.”

“Yeah, cause it hurts, so if you can just-” Dean motioned for his arms and Cas quickly reached to untie him. Then, when they were both free, they once again started to look around the empty cornfield. “I say leave now and call for backup; come back in the morning.”

“Considering we have no weapons, I think that would be for the best.”

“So much for date night.” Dean took Cas’s hand, and they quickly started to get themselves out of there. Running like maniacs as they pushed through the endless corn.

“I actually enjoyed myself today. You know, before the whole being drugged and left for dead part.”

“Really? That was my favorite part.” Dean joked, squeezing Cas’s hand as they made their way to safety. “You think all the stuff we bought was drugged?”

“Won’t stop me from having another donut.”

“Man, I love you.”

#suptober21 #wormstachewrites #fic #destiel #deancas #sorry its so late. work today was draining emotionally #established destiel #case fic

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imherongraystairstrash · 3 years

Text

Puzzles

A/N: Idk if this is good, but I wanted to write it so bad, so I did it because I can:

Ship: Sophideon + Family fluff

Title: Puzzles

...

Sophie woke to the warmth of Gideon’s body and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. She could also hear the children, speaking in hushed tones and giggles. Cracking open an eye, she saw that they were currently sitting side-by-side by the coffee table, their backs facing her. Her left arm was resting on Gideon’s chest, and it rose and fell with his steady breathing.

She realized that their legs were tangled together under the thick blanket that she could only assume their children had placed over them. She closed her eyes and took a blissful stretch before resting her temple on her husband’s shoulder. He was still asleep, emitting soft snores that she felt in her belly.

They had been patrolling all night, and had barely gotten any sleep before their children woke them up again, ready to begin the day. Sophie and Gideon lasted until midday before they must have fallen asleep. The fact that they’d managed to stay awake that long surprised Sophie.

She wiggled her toes a little bit and adjusted herself, so that she could stretch the leg that was thrown over Gideon’s hips. His hand was warm on the small of her back, and she didn’t want to accidentally shift in such a way that would cause it to slip off her. Therefore, each movement was minuscule and delicate.

Gideon’s breath stirred the smallest tendrils of her hair. She looked up at him, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. She loved him very much. So much so, she often surprised herself, as she had never thought she could ever love someone again, after what had happened to her all those years ago. She kissed his jawline and put her ear to his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat against her cheek.

It was times such as these that she felt as if the world stopped at her fingertips; like no matter what happened, she would be fine, as long as she were here, with Gideon by her side and their children near.

She heard Gideon grunt softly, as he always did before he woke up, before slowly opening his eyes. He blinked a little, his dazed eyes slowly roaming the room, and closed them once more. He turned to where she was, resting the tip of his nose against her forehead.

“Good morning,” he muttered, his voice an octave deeper than usual and thick with sleep.

“Evening is more like it,” she replied, reaching up to stroke his impossibly soft hair.

She felt Gideon’s muscles shift as he stretched them, the hand he had on her waist tensing briefly as he did so.

Finally, Gideon let out a breath through his nose and said, “that was the greatest sleep I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

Sophie chuckled softly. “I would have thought the best sleep of your life would have been on our wedding night.”

Gideon opened his eyes and smiled, “we didn’t do much sleeping that night, though, did we?”

Sophie nudged him with her elbow. “Why is it that you’re only like this around me? You act diplomatically and mature to everybody, and yet you say the most scandalous things when it is just us.”

Gideon pressed a soft and lasting kiss on her lips. He then brought his lips close to her ear and muttered, “I’m not trying to woo everybody else,” before kissing the spot where her jawline began.

Sophie’s eyes shuttered closed, Gideon’s warm breath sending shivers down her spine, but she turned her face away from him and nodded in the direction of their children. “We should spare them the sight of their parents kissing.”

Gideon turned to where they were huddled around the puzzle. Sophie resisted the urge to turn his face towards her and kiss him regardless.

He looks back at her soon enough, his sea green eyes bright in the soft light the fire emitted.

“They’re not paying attention.” He said, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face with his knuckle. “They have their backs to us.”

“They could turn around at any second and begin shrieking, like two of them did last time.” Sophie said.

It was no mystery to anybody who the two that had done said shrieking were.

Gideon presses his lips together at the memory of that before raising his eyebrows and smirking.

“What’s that smirk all about?” Sophie asked.

Before Sophie could so much as to guess what it could be about, Gideon turned on his side and lifted the thick blanket so that it shielded them from the children.

“How is this?” He asked, kissing her nose.

Sophie huffed out a laugh. “It’s better, I suppose. At least this way, our eardrums will remain intact.”

“Hallelujah.” Gideon said, flashing her a dazzling smile, that made her insides melt. She put both of her hands on either side of his face and lowered his lips towards her own. They kissed softly, unrushed and lavishingly so.

Gideon was so warm. His body seemed to emit heat when he slept, which meant that right now, his skin was hot enough that it felt as though Sophie were standing right in front of a furnace. It ended up working in their favor, because whenever Thomas gets too cold at night, they plant him next to Gideon and he’s able to fall asleep. They’re absolutely adorable when they sleep together, if Sophie does say so herself.

Sophie giggled against his lips, causing them to break apart.

“What?” Gideon asked, his smile soft as he kissed the corners of her lips.

“I just thought about something silly.” She said, spreading her hands on his chest and roaming upward, intertwining them at the nape of his neck.

“Would you care to elaborate?”

Sophie shook her head giggling.

“Come now,” he said, playfully, “I’m dying of curiosity.”

“Alright. I was thinking about the time you slipped off the roof while we were patrolling in London.”

Gideon laughed through his nose, burying his nose in a particularly sensitive spot of her neck. “I’m never living that down, aren’t I?”

Sophie shrugged her left shoulder and kissed Gideon’s bottom lip when he lifted his head.

“Not a chance.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her shamelessly, his hands sending shivers through her as they travelled up and down the sensitive skin of her waist and hips.

“We should stop,” Gideon said, breaking apart. “Before they realize we’re awake.”

“Yes, I suppose we should.” Sophie said.

They kissed once, twice and then thrice (for good measure) before reemerging from the blanket.

Once they’d gotten over their daze, they arranged themselves in each other's arms, fitting like pieces of a puzzle, and gazed towards their children. They were quiet as they built a puzzle Sophie had left out for them while she and Gideon rested on the couch for a while. They hadn’t expected to fall asleep, but thankfully, the children were still entertained by the puzzle. Barbara had a blanket over her shoulders and had placed little Thomas in her crossed legs, periodically hugging him and adjusting the blanket, so that he didn’t get cold.

Thomas, on the other hand, took every opportunity Barbara was looking away to try to crawl out from the blankets and watch the puzzle-making action.

Eugenia was humming to herself, picking up random pieces and fitting them together. Every time she’d manage to get them to go together, she’d get up and do a little twirl, before sitting down once more and starting the whole process all over again.

Thomas was the first to realize they’d woken up. He gave them a toothy grin and crawled out of Barbara’s arms. Using the table to slowly get to his feet, he padded over to Eugenia.

When he got close enough, however, Sophie reached over Gideon’s chest and scooped him up. She tucked him into her arms and kissed his little cheeks.

“You’ve been caught by the love monster.” She said tickling and attacking him with kisses. Thomas giggled and tried to squirm away from her, but she held on tighter.

Part of her wants to hold Thomas forever. It felt like just yesterday he’d been born, four months and two weeks premature. He was still so small and light in her arms and got sick far too easily, but she thanked the Angel everyday for his life. Her miracle child. Who seemed very keen on getting away.

She stopped peppering him with kisses enough to hold him away so that she could see his face.

“You don’t love the Love Monster?”

He met her stare before putting his hands on her cheeks and kissing her forehead. Sophie

raised her eyebrows at him and when he giggled again, she tucked him in her arms.

“No,” she heard a soft voice say.

She pulled back. “What?”

“I love Mama, not the Love Monster.”

Gideon chuckled and ruffled his hair.

Sophie gave Thomas a final kiss on the forehead and let him go to his sisters.

They watched their children put puzzle pieces together, Eugenia aggressively so, going so far as to slam her fist upon two tricky pieces.

“Mama! Papa! Do you like it?” Eugenia said, gesturing towards the unfinished puzzle.

They both craned their necks to see.

“Oh. Erm…”

“We love it!” Sophie said.

“It’s lovely.” Gideon added.

When the kids turned around again, Sophie covered her mouth.

“There’s not a single puzzle piece that’s connected to its corresponding partner, is there?” Gideon asked.

“No, I’m afraid that in the hours we’ve been asleep, they haven’t managed to piece any together correctly.” Sophie said.

Gideon pressed his lips together and shrugged. “Well…”

“They’ll get more intelligent with age.” Sophie said.

“Yes, yes. I should think so.”

“I should hope so.”

They looked at each other and smiled, and then laughed, perfectly content with the life they had made for themselves.

...

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @ninacarstairss @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @readersconfessions812 @nightshade3465 @livvyheronstairs @zemiraa @proudtobealuthor @neurogliadudette

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

#sophideon #sophie lightwood #sophie collins #gideon lightwood #thomas lightwood #barbara lightwood #eugenia lightwood #tlh #tsc #tlh fanfiction #tid #tid fanfic #lightwood #ana fics

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tipsydipsydo · 3 years

Text

Der Geliebte

Pairing: Jungkook x artist! Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 6.4k

Rating: 16+

AU: non idol! Jungkook x artist! Reader AU!

Genre: strangers to lovers AU; friends to lovers AU! (idiots to lovers AU!); love at the first sight! AU; soulmate to lovers! AU (kinda?); unbelievable amount of fluff; a little angst (fluffy angst!!,); tiny amount of smut (one paragraph xD)

Warnings: tiny bit of smut/some sexual tension between both of them; Jungkook is a poor shy thing and is fucking nervous around the reader all the time; teeth rotting fluff; both are so in love with each other that they’re getting stupid to not realize it; both are insecure that they’re not meant for another... just fluff, fluff, fluff and painfully obvious pining over each other!

A/N: Hallelujah, I finally did it! After I made Sibi @borathae wait over three months for her Christmas + Birthday Fanfic I finished it two weeks to late for my sweetest Darlings Birthday! I am so incredibly sorry that I made you wait for such a long time and really, Sweetie, you have all the rights to be still mad at my stupid ass! Nevertheless... I love you so goddamn much and I hope the fic made at least a little bit up for it... Love you!!!! 💕 💕

Summary: You and Jungkook met right at the first day you opened your own atelier in Seoul after you had to leave your old home behind you. You love paint canvas with landscape motives, other people just roll with their eyes when they hear that you choose such usual, almost boring things to paint. Not so Jungkook, he seems to be different than most of visitors. It’s almost like he can read your feelings through your paintings...

Status: Edited (I am sorry for any still existing errors in here!)

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

* Jungkook’s POV *

"In what are you getting yourself into, Jungkook?"

I quietly ask myself as I get rid of my clothes behind the paravent and throw the dressing gown over his body which you laid out for me. My hands are sweaty, they tremble slightly and my heart beats wildly, as if it wants to jump right out of my chest. Excitement spreads throughout my body, leaving a faint feeling in my stomach and a certain blush rises in my cheeks. I still can't believe what I've gotten myself into . But... you looked at me so pleadingly with your dear and downright innocent eyes that I would have done anything for you with that look of yours. I want to make you happy, see that happy and contented smile on your lips, which always makes a whole horde of wild butterflies break out in my belly. 'Normally I was the shyness and silence in person and with you... with her, I feel for the first timesomething like peace and security. Especially when I consider how shy I usually am around women.', I ask myself and I don't really know the answer to that. But what can I do against my feelings? I don't really know, on the one hand they scare me, on the other hand they feel so exciting and new that I don't want to eliminate them at all.

I don't even know exactly when the whole thing started. In which moment my feelings for you grew, when I felt more than just fascination and admiration for you and your artwork. Six months ago, a small studio had opened in my district, your own studio. On the day of the opening I simply went to it of pure curiosity, I had always had such a weakness for art and photography.

I can still remember exactly how I stood in front of one of your works and was literally speechless and overwhelmed by this picture and all his small details. This painting represents a classic image of the countryside, which was often to be found everywhere. But this work was different. So full of small details and ornaments. It was so much more... As a viewer you can see a beautiful clearing, which is surrounded by trees and protected from too many curious eyes. The ground of this clearing is overgrown with dense and lush green grass, which from the incoming sunlight almost invites you to let yourself fall into the grass. It reminds me instantly of my carefree childhood, when I rolled in it without overthinking my actions too much and those times when I playfully wrestled with my best friends around until our clothes had grass stains all everywhere. I could almost smell the scent of wild, untamed nature. The longer I look at the picture, the greater the longing became. Maybe I could visit this beautiful place one day, together with my partner, my significant other. Playing around with each other, chasing your beloved one until you fall into the grass breathless laughing and cuddling. Maybe we could have a picnic there and feed each other with homemade sweets?

I didn’t know that such a "simple" landscape painting could touch and awaken so much more in me, in my soul. Suddenly, such a wanderlust came over me that I gasped for air and a heavy lump formed in my throat. My whole body was tingling and my heart was literally screaming to get away from this dreadfully grey and monotonous daily routine of my boring single life, for at least some weeks. I want to go to this place, where I could draw the warm and fresh, natural air could deep into my lungs and pamper myself with homemade delicacies. Just to let the soul dangle and don’t stuck with my closely clocked work life. Maybe sleep until 10 o'clock in the morning and then maybe have a nice nap later. Enjoy the warm nights and hear the crickets chirping. This longing was... irrepressible. This particular wanderlust for nature, just to be out of the city, this longing for exactly this abandoned and untouched forest clearing literally overwhelmed me. What was it for an artist who could trigger such feelings and emotions in me?

I had been so absorbed in the artwork that I had not even noticed that a person step next to me. "Do you like the work?", asked a soft melodic voice, which spoke perfect Korean, but was pervaded by a light accent, which I could not quite assign. I flinched a little, but this bright, happy laugh gave me a tingling goosebumps all over my body. What a beautiful laugh... I turned to the person who was the owner of this beautiful voice. I was startled when I realized that the artist and owner of this studio was standing in front of me personally. I recognized her again, as I had seen a small photo of her in the newspaper article that drew my attention to this beautiful studio in the first place. Already in this picture she had radiated something so strong, colorful, cheerful and lively, which caused an excited flutter in my stomach.

I admit, I already laid an eye on her just by her appearance. Unfortunately I always had a hard time getting to know people ever since, let alone to talk to women. And now having you, Y/N, personally standing right in front of me, made me feel fluffy and excited in my stomach. Nothing is left of this otherwise so sassy and self-confident man that I used to be. Only a nervous and stodgy twenty-three-year-old idiot, who did not know what to say or wanted to say, now stands in front of this stunningly pretty and intelligent woman.

Her eyes sparkles like jewels, full of joy, struck me with interest and a playful smile lays on her lips. "Did you not understand my question?", she asked kindly, but nobly reserved. Immediately a rosy puff settled on my cheeks and I stuttered nervously: "Y-Yes, excuse me! I... I was just somewhere else with my thoughts and was completely surprised that they were addressing me personally.... Your works are truly unique! They still show such ‘usual’ motifs and yet they are so special because of these finely elaborated details and this passion with which this work of art was painted. They really are... Unique artworks that you do not forget so quickly. Even for untrained eyes as my owns, I can see that a talented artist has worked on it. I am very impressed by your work, especially this work here!" You could hear the honest admiration from my voice and my heart leapt as she reacted bashful to all of my compliments.

"Thank you, really, thank you so much! I really appreciate to hear such nice words like yours, even if it is rare. I am often criticized for my ‘lack of creativity’, caused by my chosen motives. I just love the rough, almost untouched landscapes of my hometown, I try to depict the ‘normal’ as something beautiful, unique. I would like to ‘really see’ what we already take for granted again. As a wonderful creation, a work of art. Nature is a wonderful example of this, or the architecture of buildings as well. Architects are also artists, although unfortunately they are not seen as such. I just want to offer the obvious things a more meaningful space again.... People like you have become rare. I have observed how you have recognized the true meaning, this beauty and aesthetics in such a ‘usual-looking’ motif. And this pleases me so much that you can read 'between the brushstrokes'. Oh... Excuse me, I always talk way too much when someone shows an interest in art or music, my personal passions. Besides that, I have not introduced myself to you yet, I am Y/N! I was obviously so pleased to see your understanding, empathetic look at this work, if you understand what I mean... Anyway... I can guess that you knew my name already, don't you? What about you? May I know your name?", asked you, beautiful artist, with her really stunning smile.

I swallowed nervously, never before had a young lady mixed my emotions so much in me. Even the picture of her in the newspaper article, which I had read out of boredom in one of my lectures, got me so emotionallyconfused. I didn't want to say it in front of my teasing friends, but I had been really excited when I set off this Friday night. And now the creator of these works of art stood before me and seemed to want to have a longer conversation with me. My heart beats to my throat and I got sweaty hands from this nervousness in my poor body. Honestly, as soon as I wasn't surrounded by my clique of friends, I automatically turned into a nervous, slightly abashed blushing and stuttering guy who behave like an inexperienced teenager.

In private life, without my best mates by the side, I am not so confident and daredevil. After all, I always had someone who could cover my back when things get tough, while I am on my own without anyone I know. You could usually only believe and trust, not control. That's probably why I struggled with interpersonal relationships. I always overthink too much and have some struggles with my self-confidence.

And now this attractive young woman looked at me with such interest and joy, just me. I was actually the reason for her interest. A joyful and blissful tingling seized every pore, every fiber of my body. Yes, in fact it was just me! Not my best buddy Seokjin, whom I have known since childhood and always sought the attention of everyone. It was no exaggeration to say that he was perhaps a little narcissistic, but only to cover up his own insecurities. Never would I have thought that someone would manage to get this personification of self-love under control. I admired his wife for standing up to Seokjin and keeping him and his dad Jokes at bay. Believe it or not, she of all people had the pants on in the house and knew how to deal with my best friend.

My gaze glided over the figure of the person in front of me and once again I took a sharp breath. I was so nervous to face her personally, a person I already deeply admired and had quite a respect for. I simply did not want to do anything wrong, even if this charm of hers was almost tangible and paralyzed my entire brain with its function. I can already picture how my mind waved wildly goodbye to myself and went to the summer holiday in the Caribbean.

This carefree smile and these beautiful eyes harmonized wonderfully with your complexion. Your features were awake and alive, seemingly always a slight smile surrounded the corners of your mouth, which provoked almost paradoxical reactions in my body. Your smile awake countless butterflies to flutter around in my stomach, which made me quite nervous and at the same time you radiated such a sense of security and calm, as if there was no reason not to get a word out of shyness. My gaze, which I hope examined you unobtrusively enough, wandered to your hands. You had long fingers, I could really imagine how they elegantly held the handle of the paint brushes and worked on these small details extensively in such a calm behavior. Which satisfied and concentrated calmness you possibly radiated while doing that...

A small, noble clearing of your throat again tore me out of my fantasies and speculations. God, what was I today but inattentive! How rude I must have seemed to you...

"Oh, sorry... I... I have not been able to keep my thoughts together all day..." I lied to seem at least a little more credible. Nervously, I pulled on the knot of my tie to loosen it up a little before I have a circulatory collapse. Before I went here, I thought for a long time about what I should wear for this occasion. Jeans and T-shirt were out of the question, too casual and almost an insult for your atelier. A complete suit, however, seemed too overdressed to me and so I decided for a black dress pants and a dark blue dress shirt.Understanding, Y/N nodded and gave me a cheering smile, which made my body tingle again. This woman drove me half crazy alone with his friendly gestures. How could it be that this polite lady got me confused right away?!

And somehow, it gave me a frenzy to leave my secure, anonymous side as a visitor to her exhibition and irrevocably reveal my true identity to you.

"My name is Jeon Jungkook."I answered in a slightly trembling voice, hardly daring to look into her eyes and rubbing my neck unobtrusively.

* Jungkook’s POV *

If only I had guessed what would change in me, how you changed me. That so much more would develop from a pure interest and a simple formal business contact... that you want to make me one of your artworks.

I take another deep breath before I dare to step out from behind the dark red paravent. It is pleasantly warm in this room, I should not freeze, if I am already so freely clothed. My gaze wanders through the small room with the huge, floor-to-ceiling window, which floods the entire room with light. The walls of the room have been painted in a dark orange and red colors and dark wooden planks lay out on the floor. It looks so comfortable due to the warm, dark tones. The orange-yellow evening sun dipped everything into something so cozy... sensual. Somehow into even a little erotic?

Y/N wants to work a lot with the light of the evening sun in this painting, which could be a little complicated if it is not suitable or if it is cloud-covered. But if you have put something into your head, especially in relation to your art, then you do everything you can do to go through it! Also the changing forces of nature cannot stop you from trying to realize your idea. Sometimes, you’re someone who is quickly frustrated and dissatisfied with yourself as well, especially when something doesn't work as you wants it to. Nevertheless when it comes to your passion, drawing and painting, you don’t let your idea go away, if you want something, you’ll find a way to make it happen. These are qualities that I know all too well of myself and thus my fascination about you only grows even more. The more time we spent together and I get to know more and more sides of you, the more attracted I became to you.

Your art means a lot to you and you’re quite tough in this respect, can not be overcome by the reproaches and the crushing criticism. That’s exactly what I admire so much about you, having the courage to stand up for personal passion. When I get criticized, all too often I think about really giving up on it, so that I don't have to endure all this criticism anymore. And then I look at you. How focused you are in this moment and carefully prepare for your next project. How you adjusts you easel to the right height, let your self-stretched canvas snap into place, spreads brushes of all sizes and shapes on the small side table next to you and prepares youracrylic colours. I swallow again, as I watched this happen. I am about to become one of your next artworks.

A little uncertainly I walk towards Y/N, the thin dressing gown tightly drawn around my body... never before have I felt so naked and vulnerable. This here is something else. I feel something about it... I feel something for you. For this pretty lady, who sprays her cheerfulness around her and could conjure a smile on the lips of even the most grumpy person. This joy almost kills you, completely engrossed this person and gives you the feeling of floating. You will get the feeling of being welcome at Y/N. To be accepted, with all the flaws and weaknesses that one has. She just smiles at you so gently and lovingly and just says, it's okay. It's okay to be the way you are. Imperfect.

"It is precisely this imperfect, this contradictory and also unpredictable thing that makes us human. That makes us an individual and also interesting. If we were really all as we are expected to be, it would be boring and monotonous. The surprise is only a real gift. Each of us is a very individual gift to a very specific addressee, who is the only one who can truly appreciate this gift. Only then did the recipient find the right person as his gift... Well, if the recipient knows about his gift...", Y/N once said with such a certain look at me, when we went out to dinner together in a restaurant in the evening to clarify some details. I wanted to help her find good contacts in Seoul and help her sell her works.

I can still remember it exactly... it was a quite... extraordinary evening. I was of course once again incredibly nervous and excited. At that time, I did not want to fully realize how much I already like you. Secretly, I had observed my opposite. Your positive and friendly disposition had turned my head all around... and in addition, this beautiful body and her elegant fingers, which already haunt me in the most erotic way unintentionally in my dreams.

I could not prevent my dream pictures from shooting through my head, which is why my cheeks turned dark red in embarrassment. These fucking fantasies in my head! My eyes stare at the cutlery as if it were incredibly interesting because I didn't dare look up. There were scenes in my mind that made my ears turn red and I would’ve loved to hide behind the menu card. Your body, which made her look like a Greek goddess.

Naked, body covered in sweat, your body shook in lust, you sit up with a wonderful moan... You are on top of me, I could admire your beautiful, almost divine body as you sat on top of me... and rode me. This breathtakingly beautiful distorted face of yours, as if all this pleasure you feel is carved in marble... lids closed, your lips, swollen from all the kissing, are slightly opened which let your lustful whimpering escape. This grace and elegance, as you rose from me and then lowered yourself again... as your hands glide erratically over my stomach, searching for support... you suddenly threw your head back and clenched even more tightly around my length. The addicting sounds you’ve made... it’s like the most beautiful melody in my ears... squelching noises and even more of yourjuices gushing out of your sweet, so sweet pussy when you came...

An all-too-familiar laugh tore me out of my extremely indecent thoughts, which quite relieved me at first. Until I raised my head and not too far away I recognized no one but my best friend Kim Seokjin, who made very questionable hand signals in my direction. Oh my God, no! I knew that he had recently changed his job and got accepted for a position as a chef in a new restaurant... but not in this Restaurant! He will never let me life after he found out I was on a “Date” with a woman...

Even though Seokjin was on the other side of the restaurant, I could almost feel his smirk on my own skin. Fuck it, just pretend as if you do not know each other and hit him really hard tomorrow morning in the gym where we meet up for our work out. I quickly turned all my attention back to the person sitting opposite me and tried to ignore Seokjin as best I could.

It was only at the end of the evening, when I had said goodbye to Y/N, that I realized that this meeting had much more of a date than a "business dinner". How familiar we had talked with each other... how much I had thought about licking Y/N the drop from the chocolate sauce of her lava cake from her lips... how it would be... to kiss and touch you...

A noticeable blush has settled on my cheeks as I attended our first meeting together... or even Date in this Restaurant thought back. Four months had passed since then and I suffered from longing for you. You would never see me like I saw you. The reason you wanted to draw me was simply that she needed someone as a model. In addition to landscapes and cities, you want to devote herself gradually to more other motifs. And since I have been the first inquired. Your pleading eyes made me say yes. But I know that for me you have no more than the feelings for a casual friendship. It hurts to see how you flirt around so casually with all those other people. I would never be the gift for you as you are for me. If only the recipient would notice that there is a given heart laying in your hands...

"Ah, Jungkook! I’m glad that you're ready!", your cheerful and melodic voice cuts through the silence of the room and you’re walking towards me with excited shining eyes. "Come~," you say and lead me to the chaiselongue, which is placed in front of the large window. The soft, orange light of the evening sun falls on the wine-red fabric of the restored chaiselounge in baroque style. The upholstery has frames covered in gold and also the lion feet on which this historic furniture stands are gilded. Everything was decorated with so many Details, it looks so incredibly elegant and luxurious. On the left side there are some cushions in the same color and an elegant design is carved on the backrest, literally inviting to get used.

"Surely you know the movie 'Titanic', right? Do you remember the scene where Jack used charcoal pencils to draw an nude coal picture of Rose as she laid on the sofa? I would like to draw you in a similar position. I hope it's okay for you if I look at you more closely without a dressing gown... i want to get an overview of your body proportions.", you say, looking me straight in the eye. I notice that you’re very concerned about my privacy and does not want to overstep any of my personal boundaries without my consent. I nod slightly at first until I get a clear yes over my lips. She looks at me silently for a few seconds before reassuring me once again that we can always stop at any time if I feel uncomfortable. Especially your patience and mindfulness of my boundaries shows me how important it is for you as well and how I actually relax noticeably. Y/N smiles cheerfully at me and I slowly loosen the belt of the dressing gown and let the last garment slide to the ground. I feel her in-depth look at me... he is not uncomfortable... only... exciting... in a few different ways.

I swallow again and lie down on the chaiselongue as instructed. You correct my arm and leg position, also rearrange all of the cushions correctly. To my own relief, you put a red cloth over my crotch area. Not that I am ashamed of anything, I am more than comfortable with you already... I just have some worries that I will get a visible problem if I constantly feel your look on my bare skin.

"It should be able to guess something, but not be allowed to see everything right away...", she whispered with a smile, before her fingertips unintentionally glide tenderly through my happy trail. One of your last smiles are... not really to interpret. Then you return to your easel.

* The Reader’s POV *

Carefully you sit down on your old painting stool, already quite worn out on the edges and stained with the most different types and tones of colors. It had originally been dark brown. You smile dreamily when you think back that you’re used to dangle your legs around when you were a little kid because it was way too big for you back then. For eighteen years now you have exactly this stool and this easel. They had been a gift from your grandfather for your fifth birthday. He had awakened the passion of painting and drawing in you and passed his talent on to you. A certain melancholy seized you when I thought back to how you used to paint your first real picture on canvas with your new easel in the old music room in your grandfather's country house.

It had been the old, dusty grand piano, which must have been more than a hundred years old at that time. How the country house survived all these wars unscathed, you ask yourself to this day. Perhaps there had already been something magical about it at that time, which should remain untouched. Perhaps the small estate should remain an inconspicuous symbol of hope, the hope that at some point the sun and peace will return when the unbearable suffering and sorrow of this cruel time is over. When the wars were over and all those seeking protection who had fled to this country house were able to return to their own homes again. This house, this estate you can explain your childhood with a single word. Home.

You lift your thought-lost look from your empty, folded hands and look to Jungkook. He takes your breath away every time you see him. He is so special, such a wonderful and yet you firmly believe that he has not been chosen for you, such an ordinary woman as you are. He would belong to someone else with whom he would be happy, although he is the only one who was able to understand and read your works, the language in them. It... it had been such a beautiful moment when, six months ago, he stood in your newly opened studio, so absorbed by the painting of the forest of your childhood. All the other visitors had only looked at it briefly and smiled wearily at the fact that it was again only a landscape painting, but did not grasp what the story behind this work was. Why the artist chosed this very motif, to see, to feel what the creator wanted to communicate through the work.

But Jungkook had been different. He had given the work, your personal heart, a chance to unravel the true meaning behind it. He did it slowly, bit by bit with his eyes... grasped with his whole mind and heart and finally let himself be influenced as a whole. You could tell from his body reactions that he felt exactly what you had felt when you painted it last summer. Longing. Infinite Longing. Mixed together with melancholy, a little homesickness and sorrow to a unique emotional color. The day you painted it was the last time you saw the house in your official possession. Your grandfather had left it to you. But unfortunately you lacked money, you had to pay some debts and with the best will you could not earn the money in other ways. So you had to sell it with a heavy heart. Your beloved birth and childhood home and the associated lands, you had to sell your true home away. The picture is the only thing left of it. And Jungkook was the only person who understood what you wanted to express with the painting. Longing. My Homesickness.

When all these sensations came upon him, he involuntarily clenched his hands tightly, his chest lifted and lowered quickly, his Adam's apple hopped repeatedly. His eyes were glassy. He experienced your longing as directly as you did. He... is so special. So infinitely amiable. He... he is the only person who’s able to read your true feelings in your works. He is able to read between your brush strokes.

So today you will try him... to paint a confession of love with this act. Maybe he could read... what you feel for him. Even if you know that you will probably never see him again. Because you would not be the recipient of his love and affection. He's just too... too... gifted for a simple artist like you. He would never be your gifted person.

Your gaze glides tenderly and caressingly over his body. Trying to absorb every little detail of his body, his charisma and his character into you and let it flow into the painting. Every birthmark you want to put on the canvas and hold on. You want to show Jungkook how beautiful he is. How godlike he lies before you on this majestic chaiselongue, how masculine and muscular he is, as if he wanted to embody an Adonis. You want to paint every muscle, even the smallest visible muscle, on the canvas in a realistic manner, you want to capture the strength and security that he conveys to you over and over again and make it visible to him. And yet... his gaze often corresponds to that of an intimidated, insecure fawn, which does not dare to want to get up on his legs on his own. The fear of falling again is too big. Through this painting you want to show Jungkook what he really is, what he represents for you and what you feel for him. He is... so contradictory. He is strong, godlike, powerful... and at the same time, so infinitely uncertain, vulnerable... almost pure.

Silence enters your little studio, only the regular breathing of the other and the muffled noise of the busy world outside the door could be heard. Here... here, it feels like time is standing still for a moment for the two of you. Your shared eternity had begun.

To your happiness that it is summer right now and it stays bright for a long time. Today you take more time than usual to mix colors. You want to mix a shade that perfectly matches his skin tone. You want to get the exact color of his black hair down onto the canvas, and the perfect brown for his beautiful eyes. The evening sun and the leaves of the huge treetops in front of the large window conjure up the most beautiful patterns on his immaculate body. A game of light and shadow. It seems to you that Jungkook's body, every single pore of his body has a tiny diamond, so that he begins to sparkle in the sunlight like an infinitely precious jewel. The evening sun warms him, lays a thin layer of sweat over his body. Every detail you try to bring to the canvas, every feeling, every movement of my heart, everything you feel for him, you want to bring to this canvas. You want to make him a masterpiece. Because for you, he is the most beautiful specimen, the only true crown of the human creation.

Some black strands have come loose from his manbun and have fallen on his forehead. It looks stunning, to see him like that. I had never seen him with a messy or even completely open hair... but even now these strands loosened from the braid make his facial features look so much softer and more relaxed. In it, the adult and strong man united with a young, vulnerable, shy boy. The result is... infinitely beautiful. He possesses both sides, so he makes the seemingly inexhaustible divine human being.

His eyes, drawing his eyes with that expression in them, cost you a lot of nerves. Too often you misunderstood this infinite longing that you find in his dark, brown eyes. Again and again you have to restrain yourself, not just to get up, to go over to him... and to kiss him.

This longing look you misinterpret is as longing as you own... according to your closeness, your touch, your affection... according to your love. Because you love him. You love everything about him, his sheepish laugh, the way of rubbing his neck shyly, the way he speaks and explains his point of views about things, how he smells... just everything... every blemish he blames on himself, you think it’s like an artwork on him. He is so perfectly imperfect that you just fell in love with him.

The sun has already set and only the last pink and purple streaks could be seen in the sky, with which the past day says goodbye to the world. One last time you can hear the velvety stroke of the brush over the canvas before you finally put the brush aside. It is finished. You have given everything that is in your power, used all of your artistic abilities and knowledge to the utmost and you have incorporated everything that you feel and think about into this artwork. And what you see put a smile on your lips, but also makes your pulse rise. What will Jungkook say when he looks at it? He will see it... can he read what you feel for him in it?

With a trembling voice, you call Jungkook and look at him one last time. The last time the sight of this male beauty was granted to you. One last time.

After Jungkook has wrapped himself in the dressing gown again, he slowly comes towards you and your easel. Your heart is throbbing as if it really wants to fearfully flight and jump out of your chest. Your body gets hot and cold at the same time and suddenly your hands get sweaty, the dried color on your skin mixes with the sweat to a uncomfortable mess in your palms, which somehow makes you even more nervous. Then he stands next to you. Looking at the canvas for the first time himself. The last brushstroke is still drying.

Once again there is silence, which makes you incredibly nervous and with every second that passes, you want to follow your instinct to escape. Jungkook's pupils are dilated and blown out, whether with bewilderment or horror, you can not recognize. One of his hands shoots up his mouth, he trembles all over his body. Suddenly you hear a suppressed, throaty sobbing. Surprised and a little appalled, you look at Jungkook, who has shut his eyes tightly and presses the palm of his hand even harder on his mouth, as if he wants to muffle every sound. Tears escape the corners of his eyes. This is a reaction... which you would not have expected...

Gently, mindful of any kind of resistance, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't sob, he doesn't whimper. He just cries. Tenderly, consolingly you hold him, without wanting to distress him. He literally presses his face into the crook of your neck. Salty tears drench your blouse, but it doesn't bother you. The reason why he had such an emotional outburst, you just don't understand. But still... it's okay. It is valid.

As he slowly calms down and his breathes becomes regularly again, he carefully lifts his head out of the crook of your neck and wipes the last tears out of his eyes dry in slight embarrassment. He slowly releases himself from your embrace until you finally stand silently in front of each other.

"What title you’ll give this artwork?", he asks softly, in a rough, throaty voice. You swallow . "It shall be called 'Der Geliebte'. ...it is german and translated it means... ‘The beloved’ ", you say barely audibly and lower your head. After this confession, you can no longer look him in the eyes.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath in and you're actually just waiting for a devastating response from him that would be like a death threat. But nothing of this happened. Instead, your chin is suddenly raised by his fingertips and you look into Jungkook's beautiful eyes. He bites his lower lip a little uncertainly,his own gaze falls on your pretty shaped lips.

"Do you... do you allow me to kiss you?", he asks quietly... barely audible for you even though you’re standing so close to each other. He doesn't dare to look you into the eyes after such a question, he is too afraid that you deny his request. But you can hardly believe your luck, a high pitched ‘yes!’ flew over your lips and before you can control yourself, you press your own lips right onto his. They are incredibly soft and kiss you back in such a delightfully and endearing insecure and shy manner as no other could ever have done it.

Your heart beats full of joy and bliss and in your belly, the butterflies fly somersaults of all different kinds that your whole body began to tingle. Your mind cannot get a grasp of all this yet, but this... you don't need any more of it at this moment anyway.

The kiss is tender, shy and somewhat uncertain from both sides. Jungkook is very insecure and shy, but before he can escape like a frightened deer again, you put your arms around his neck and let your hands rest in the nape of his scalp. Again and again you detach yourselves from each other only for the fraction of a second to get a breath of air into your lungs in order to find each other lips again... until you stopped for a few seconds.

"I like you... I like you really, really much, Jungkook... I even dare to say that I fell on love with you.", you mutter softly against his lips. His shy, happy smile was too much for you, so you immediately kiss him again. Perhaps because of the sheer joy and maybe of the certainty that he feels the same for you, the next kiss turns into something more passionate than before...

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johnismyreason · 4 years

Note

I have a request for a oneshot! Meeting tom in a bar, chatting, flirting, ending up at his place and having $ex🔥

It always takes me so much time to write something I’m sorry... Anyway I hope you’ll enjoy :)

warnings: smutt, alcohol (kinda), praise kink, no foreplay, dom-ish!tom, and obviously the usual bad English

The longest day ever. Ugh.

It was one of those days where you just think I just should’ve stayed in bed. Your alarm clock didn’t ring. You cracked your favourite pair of jeans right before heading out, making you running late even more. Your boss gave you yet another assignment in addition of you hundred of other ones. Stacy, your favourite co-worker, wasn’t here because she was on vacation with her boyfrie- fiancé now, wow she just texted you a selfie with her ring, and you remain single. Someone spilled their coffee on your shirt and didn’t even apologise. And finally hen you thought nothing bad can happen anymore, the rain was pouring. Of course you didn’t take your umbrella or a coat with a hood. Thank you London shitty weather. And of course, a car splashed the only puddle of water all over you. You wanted to cry, scream and burn everything down. You lift your head and read in bright red lighting the holy word “PUB”. Hallelujah. You didn’t even think about it, you just walked in.

The place was almost empty, which didn’t bother you at all, since you had enough interactions with humans for the day, maybe even for the week.

You sat at the bar, your coat drenched, your hair sticking to your face, your make up was gone and your mascara left black ink under your eyes. You were sticky and looked gross, but you couldn’t care less anymore. After three minutes with your head between your hands and elbows on the counter, the bartender bring you a shot of vodka.

“Wait,” you called him, “I didn’t order yet”

“Yeah, well, the guy over there got this for you” he replied, pointing at a curly hair young man sat on the banquette behind you, who, with a tight smile, waved shyly at you with just two fingers.

You looked at him with your tired eyes. Shit, he’s cute. He must has a weird obsession for desperate girls. You take the small glass and poured it down your throat.

“Thank you,” you told him a little louder than expected but you didn’t bother pretending you were sorry for three other customers. The young man got up and walked towards you, his bottle of beer in his hand.

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, seating on the stool next to yours. “You looked like you needed it” he chuckled.

“T’was that obvious ?”

He chuckled again before replying “a bit.” and you smiled lightly too. He didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, just looking at you. “I’m Tom by the way” he introduced himself and extended his hand to you.

You looked at his hand, a little surprised by his traditional behaviour, but took it anyways “Y/N”

“Nice to meet you Y/N”. Another smile appeared on his thin lips . He was really cute. “So, what happened ? It seems like you had a rough day, don’t you ?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer. His jaw was sharp and his fingers were long and thin around the bottle.

“You wouldn’t want to know, it’s too long, and boring, and sad and... yeah, pathetic” you said, your head resting on your palm, staring at the counter.

“Well thank god we have all night, and you might think it’s an odd coincidence but, boring, sad and pathetic stories are my favourite.”

You thought about it. He’s a stranger in the creepiest pub in London, you don’t know nothing about him, and he doesn’t know nothing about you. You look a mess and weird, you’re drenched, why does he want to know about your day ?

“You like desperate girls, don’t you ?” you finally said.

“What ?” Tom replied, genuinely confused.

“Or maybe you’re the desperate one and is ready to pick the most rubbish looking girl, as long as you can have your release” you teased

“N-no, no ! I-I just... I saw you by the window getting splashed by the car, I felt so bad for you and I hoped you would come in so I can offer you a drink. I-I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I’ll leave-”

“Wait !” you stopped him from getting out of his stool, placing your hand on his forearm. Now you felt bad. He’s the first and only person today who didn’t annoy you in any kind of way. “Please, stay. It’s been a long day. A very long day” you sighed. Tom sat back on his stool with a tight smile. He ordered two other beers for him and you.

“Wanna talk about it ?” he gently proposed. You nodded and started your narrative. You gave all the details, from the sound of your ripped jeans, the tone of the unkind comment your coworker spat after pouring his coffee on you, to the very beautiful diamond your friend got when she got proposed to what seemed the perfect guy. Tom listened to everything, and kept his focus on your eyes, sometimes your lips, but just for a second. You finished your story after what felt like 10 hours of speaking.

“Wow... that was... a fucking shitty day” he chuckled bringing you warmth to your heart.

You chuckled “I’ll drink to that,” taking your beer and clinked it with his. You sighed dramatically and turned to him.

“What about yours ?”

“Mine ?” he said after taking a sip. “Well, it was way less interesting than yours” he laughed. “Um... I woke up. Got to the grocery store, worked out, watched TV, worked and got to this bar. And now I’m talking to a very pretty girl.” you blushed, not expecting him to say that.

“I bet she smells like flowers” you roasted yourself.

“More like a wet dog but that’s light” Tom teased and you hit him lightly on his arm. You both laughed lightly.

“We’re closing,” the bartender cut you.

“It’s only 9 o’clock...” you responded, your eyebrows frowned.

“We’re closing,” he repeated.

You looked at Tom, rolling your eyes “It’s because of my bad luck, I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be. This gives me the opportunity to ask you if you want to come to me place, have another drink.” he asked shyly, putting the money on the counter.

You looked at him awkwardly stuffing his hand in his jean pockets, waiting for your response. He’s really cute. Fuck it, let’s go. You bit your lip into a smile and nodded a yes. His eyes widened.

“Really ? Great ! Um, let’s go then,” he let you walk first towards the door but opened it for you. He told that his appartement is just a few minutes walking from here.

You followed him in the almost empty streets, talking about everything and mostly about him. He was nice and funny and it felt like you knew him for years. He led you to his building and then apartment which was gigantic next to yours. He took your coat and offered you to dry your hair with his hairdryer while he sets everything to eat. You agreed and followed him in his bathroom. You came back in the kitchen where Tom was preparing dinner. There was a central counter illuminated by three industrial-style lamps. Tom had a folded tea towel on his shoulder and seemed very concentrated on cooking his dish.

“Pasta alla tomato,” he announced with a proud smile and his fingers pinched together, noticing you coming back from the bathroom.

“I’m not quite sure, that’s how Italians call it” you laughed standing next to him.

“Who cares ? It’s gonna be delicious,” he smirked. “Wanna taste ?” he asked with a low voice, his spoon ready to make you taste the tomato sauce. You nodded eagerly, making him chuckle. You parted your lips and leaned towards him, welcoming the spoon in your mouth. You moaned at the taste and watched his pupils dilate for a split second.

“It is delicious,” you confirmed licking your lips. Tom watched your tongue dancing on your mouth and felt his heart beating fast. Suddenly, it was too hot in the room.

“We um... we should take some plates,” he tried to resonate him. He moved around you to grab two plates, forks and knives and placed it on the counter, in front of the chairs.

You kept talking about life and laughed at the strangest stories you two lived. You were having the best time. Tom was nice, funny and it felt like you knew each others for years. Everything since the bar was simple and comfortable. Also, he was really cute. You couldn’t take off your eyes of him. You admired the stain of curls falling on his forehead, and how his biceps contrat when he runs his hand through his hair to replace it. The little wrinkles around his eyes when he was smiling and the joyful burst of his voice as he laughs.

You also noticed a small stain of tomato sauce on his jaw, and without thinking about it, cutting Tom in his sentence, you swiped your thumb over it and brung it to your lips. Before you could reach your mouth, Tom stopped you, interlacing your hand with his fingers, pulling it to his face. He plunged his gaze into yours and wrapped his lips around your thumb. He licked softly your digit without breaking the eye contact. You stopped breathing, your heart pounding in your ears.

“That was mine,” he almost groaned. He then kissed delicately your other fingers while you starred at his lips and his face. He sometimes made eye contact with, making you loose your mind, before closing his eyes refocusing your fingers. He pulled gently on your wrist close to make you lean towards him. Your faces are a few inches away and the tension is so thick, the space between you is barely breathable.

“Y/N,” Tom whispered “please let me kiss you” he tilted his head waiting for your answer. Your breath was jerky, your pupils dilated and all your senses in turmoil. You leaned a little more, closing your eyes and nodded slowly.

Tom placed his other free hand on your cheek and closed the space between you. His lips were warm and rough at the same time, but his kisses were soft and caring. He wanted to make you feel good. The leaned position wasn’t the most comfortable though. So without breaking the kiss, Tom guided you up and sat you on his lap.

“Hm, much better” he said between kisses. You giggled and ran your hands through his soft curls. Tom navigated his lips down your neck and sucked on your hot skin. You tilted your head back giving him all the space he needed. Tom then traced his way down to your chest, his hands running up and down your back, waist and hips. You gently pulled on his curls to bring back his lips on your mouth, both whining and moaning.

“Tom, I need more... so much more” you desperately moaned out of breath. He didn’t say anything. He just got up, holding you around his chest and walked to his bedroom. After letting you falling gracefully on his bed he got up and took off his tight t-shirt. You discovered his muscular features, making you want to touch it.

“Give me your hands,” he nicely ordered. And you obeyed. He placed your palms on his pecs and slowly ran them all over his upper body. Your eyes stared frantically every inch of his skin, in awe of his features. Tom looked at your face with a slight smirk, admiring you.

“You like what see ?” that was so cocky yet so hot. You would gave laughed if it was anyone else, but there was something about him that was so hypnotising.

“I really do,” you whispered, still caressing him.

“Y/N, can I take off your clothes” he gently demanded, lingering his long fingers on your arms.

“Please,” you whimpered. Tom took the time to kiss you before pulling up your almost tired t-shirt and bra.

“Gorgeous,” he groaned and ran his warm hand on your breast. You moaned his name when you felt his lips around your nipples. “you’re so beautiful Y/N”. He pushed you against the mattress, stil sucking on your buds. He slid his hands down your body to take off your panties. “Can I take these off ?”

“Yes, you can” you answered desperately. He wasted no time and admired your glistening core.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you” Tom got up and grabbed a condom in his bathroom. When he came back he stumbled while taking off his boxers, making you giggle at his eagerness. He almost jumped on the bed and placed the condom on his very hard cock. You looked at him with wanting eyes, licking your lips.

“Do I need to work you out a little ?”

“No, no, don’t worry about that, you’ve done enough” you giggled and he responded the same way. “Please, I just need you...” you whimpered. Tom leaned on you to kiss you, and ever so smoothly entered you. You both moaned loudly.

“Fuck Y/N, you feel amazing” he stayed immobile for a little while so you can accommodate to him, until you moved your hips. He got the message and started thrusting gently but deeply.

Tom never stoped kissing you. On your lips, your cheeks, your neck... every bit on your skin that was reachable was showered by his lips. It was like a drug to him. You couldn’t get your hands off of his body, running them on his back, abs, chest and hair tugging a little on his curls. And each time your did that, he groaned and moaned. He made the prettiest sounds and you were loving it. Tom sped up his movements, holding close to him.

“Tom... umm you feel so good ! Gosh, please don’t stop”, you praised him and deepened his thrusts. They were more calculated, more passionate. Seeing him responding to your praises this way, made you want even more from him, so you continued.

“Um, yes just like that, oh fuck ! Tom, fuck you feel amazing !” he became animalistic in his thrusts and you felt your orgasm getting closer.

“You like this cock pretty girl ? um ?” he groaned in your ear “do you feel how perfect it is for you ? how it makes you loose yourself ? I feel you clenching baby...” his thrusts sped up even harder wanting you to release your pleasure “cum for me Y/N, I’m right behind you. God, fuck- your pussy feels so good, so tight !”

Your nails scratched his back, searching for something to hold onto, you arched your spine and let your orgasm took over you. Tom thrusted a few more times before he cums in you, moans and groans filling the air. He relaxed his body on top of yours, both you regaining your breath. Who knew, after spending the worst day ever, you would end up in a stranger’s bed. Tom eventually rolled on the side, giggling.

“What’s so funny ?” you asked a bit embarrassed.

“Nothing, nothing,” he reassured you, kissing you softly, “it was just... mind-blowing.” You felt your cheeks heat up against his palm.

“I know,” your confirmed. “Thank you for brighting up my day” you joked.

“Anytime, love !” Tom smiled before hesitantly asking you “actually, I was thinking, maybe we could go on a date, or something... I spent a really good time with you. I’m not only talking about the sex, huh, it was an amazing evening.”

You bit your lips and kissed him delicately “I would love that. I had a great time too”

#tom holland #tom holland request #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #peter parker #tom holland imagine smut #tom holland imagine fluff #tom holland imagine #peter Parker x reader

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ladyxskywalker · 2 years

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comfort tag game 💐

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no pressure tags 💌 @paper-n-ashes @hopeamarsu @clydesducktape @tlcwrites @artemiseamoon @mariesackler @writeforfandoms @honeymunson @justrunamok @pearlstiare @saradika @serkenobi @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories

please make your own post, do not reblog 💌

comfort foods: pizza, my favorite chinese food, baked ziti, a grilled cheese sandwich with soup, fries, hot wings, linguine with mussels, spicy roast beef, a nice piece of chocolate cake, strawberry ice cream

comfort beverages: hazelnut or mocha coffee, earl grey or lady grey tea, chocolate shake

my comfort songs: a thousand miles from nowhere, I could fall in love, como la flor, always, the magic, this light between us, nutshell (live), bleed the freak, would?, no excuses, heaven beside you, hallelujah, wander this world, what a feeling, slow burn (aly&aj), slow dancing, all the pretty places [💌]

my comfort stories: (movie, book, fanfic): the holiday, ever after, you've got mail, the karate kid

my comfort characters: lorelai gilmore, regina mills, fallon carrington, klaus mikaelson, luke skywalker, obi wan kenobi, johnny lawrence, joe cruz, kim burgess, king francis & queen mary, henry de tamble

my comfort daydreams: kissing layne staley in 1993, falling in love with klaus mikaelson in a fictional world, sailing or seeing a waterfall, being in a field of wildflowers on top of a mountain, a meet cute where I am the leading lady of my own story

my comfort memories: one summer in college when me & my friends spent a perfect day together, playing catch under the brooklyn bridge, going to the beach, being little, going to concerts with my best friend joe & taking pictures with the bands, getting to go for a ride in his ford bronco with the top down, crazy parties at my friends' house when we first met that reminded me of beloved 80s movies

my comfort videos: (youtube, tiktok, etc.) orsara recipes, frankie cooks, carlo and sarah, recess therapy, the dodo, joewayyy, hnicholsillustration, selena live at the astrodome, alice in chains videos

my comfort outfits: (any season) my black sabbath shirt from their final tour with their picture on it, jeans, & black suede ankle boots, leather jacket; fall sweaters, sports shirts for my fave teams & players; cute fitted tops with jeans, or dressy shorts, strappy sandals, charm bracelets, my heart necklace, & matching ring 💕

my comfort friends: in my daily life, my best friends anthony, javan, & josh 💛🌼

my comfort activities: watching baseball with my mom, going to the park & getting pizza with my bro, having a drink at my new favorite bar, going to the beach, crocheting, listening to music & singing with my favorite songs, eating out at the diner

my comfort objects: (stuffed animal, painting, momento) my soft baby yoda, my tiny kittens stuffed animals I've had since I was little, my stuffed fuzzy hedgehog with a funny winter hat, my duckie that I've had since I was little, my brooklyn nets teddy bear that I call 'kevin bear' after kevin durant, a painting in my room that my best friend javan made for me, smooth rocks from the beach

misc. comfort things not listed above: cozy hugs & warm laughter, joking around & being silly, flowers in my backyard, my favorite sweatshirts, socks, & cozy blankets, baking cookies, going to the nature trails

#tag games #comfort tag game #feel free to tag yourself ! 💌#this was a lot of fun #& had me really thinking about everything for a moment #pxk queue #I'm sleeping now 💫

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gas-station-trackphone · 4 years

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Fic Recs/Mandatory Reading for Reddie fans

Here is an incomplete list of some of my favorite Reddie fics on ao3, because i cannot get over the sheer talent of this fandom’s wonderful writers! A lot of these are the Greatest Hits that you’ll find on almost every fic list, but that’s why I consider them mandatory reading. like if you haven’t read some of these, what are you doing?

the years go by like days by georgiestauffenberg, rated M

the 27 years in between, but better because richie and eddie stay together. every time i think of this fic, i think of that lady gaga meme where she’s like “brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, etc” and maybe it’s bc this is one of the first reddie fics i ever read, but this one is always gonna be my favorite

broken record by spunknbite, rated E

the mother of all time loop fics. every reddie veteran gets chills at the phrase “the house on Neibolt was still standing”

literally everything by stitchy

like seriously just clear a few days bc you’re not gonna want to stop reading this author once you start. no other author has made me literally fucking cackle in one paragraph and sob in the next like this one, pls do yourself a favor and devour all their works like i did

the night we met (take me back) by camerasparring, rated E

ch2 fix-it where eddie shows up at richie’s door alive and with no memory. great slow burn with a wonderfully conflicted richie, 10/10

let’s hear it for my baby! series by cloudings, rated E

OOOOOOOHHH boy! a modern teen!reddie grindr AU that’s both steamy AND sweet?? more like a fucking blessing amen hallelujah

a heart that laughter has made sweet by marjaani, rated E

another lovely teen!reddie fic that’s got it all! sweet, stupid boys, humor, a teeny bit of angst, and some 5-alarm fire smut with some top eddie, as a treat

keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theappleppielifestyle, rated T

angst with a happy ending is my favorite, and this one is just fantastic. so sweet, so sad! and stan is featured as eddie’s afterlife buddy and idk about y’all but i cannot get enough of stanley uris in my reddie fics. read this, then read all this author’s reddie fics, they’re all amazing

collateral by loosecannon, sheepknitssweater, rated E

a post-ch2 fic that i guess could be classified as fix-it, BUT with some very interesting twists. they beat the clown, everyone lives, but no one really gets the tropey happy ending. the WIP sequel is also incredible and i live for the updates.

the greater fool series by mischiefmanager, mostly rated T with some E

this is a series i’ll reread a lot bc it’s so fucking good. follows young reddie into early adulthood, mostly a bunch of cute shit where they figure out themselves and their relationship. also contains the single best teen reddie fic in existence, he came in through the window, but reading the whole series is a must

brokeback derry and everything else by Amuly, rated E

27 years in between, richie and eddie reconnect in their 20s and meet back up in derry twice a year to remember and love each other before going back to their lives and forgetting. so much pain. there’s a lot of sweet stuff in there, but you can see shit’s gonna get complicated from miles away and the anticipation almost gave me stomach ulcers (in a good way). ultimate angst with a happy ending.

let me name the stars for you by playedwright, rated M

speaking of angst with a happy ending...Martian AU!!!!! this one fucked me up in the best way, i literally called my roommate at 2am to vent to her about my emotions after reading it. i go back and reread chapter 8 just to be overwhelmed by it, and it makes me cry every time. plus, there are awesome sequels/companion pieces in the series! read this, i beg you!

walk through fire for you by hyruling, rated T

unwind after all that angst with some cute, drunk, confused eddie being very upset when he finds out richie is engaged. richie only teases him a little before pointing out the matching ring on eddie’s finger.

in the heat of the summer (you're so different from the rest) by kaboomslang, rated E

post-ch2 slow burn with tags that really say it all, including but not limited to: eddie moves to california and richie is a mess, Eddie Kaspbrak’s Hot Girl Summer, and cute middle aged man dates

pivotal moments by danfanciesphil, polypocket, rated E

high school reddie has a sort of fwb thing goin on, but emotions get in the way. featuring wonderful bevchie friendship, hella miscommunication, cute double dates, high eddie, and a happy ending

like a bullet in the back by jerry_duty, rated M

adult idiots in love! a personal favorite trope of mine! slow burn with a fair helping of angst but a really great ending. richie stays with eddie in new york while he’s there on business, and it takes these losers SO LONG to figure it out but the way they dance around it is very cute

no sense of living without aim [WIP] by liesmyth, rated E

richie and eddie meet on grindr in the 27 years between and hey, whadda ya know, they fall in love! i really love this fic but i’m pretty sure it’s been abandoned. i’ve had it open on my phone browser for like 3 months with no update but i still check it regularly bc i’m pathetic and this fic is just so good i’m DYING to know what happens next so read at ur own risk

a strange sense of familiarity [WIP] by Katranga, rated E

another “they meet and fall in love without remembering” fic, and even though it’s not complete yet, it gets regular updates. oh, also, i’m obsessed with it. they’re long distance fuck buddies who can’t admit they’re in love, and then they get hit with the childhood memories! and everyone lives! what’s not to love! also PLEASE read kisses take like mint and every other reddie work by this author, they are all fantastic

adult friends by sudowoodo, rated T

AU where adult reddie meet at a first aid seminar for work (immediately fall in love), become friends, become best friends, and finally get to be happy. has some super repressed eddie and intensely pining richie, which is always fun, and genuinely made me laugh out loud. also please check out this author’s other reddie fics, there’s some super sweet kid reddie in there that really warms the heart

the mind's a funny fruit by joldiego, rated T

eddie wakes up barely alive in derry, has 0 memory, calls himself richie, and moves in with some lesbians. an absolute must read that ought to be on every reddie fic rec compilation. i read this a long time ago and just thinking about it makes me want to read it again.

now what i'm gonna say may sound indelicate [WIP] by IfItHollers, rated E

it took me entirely too long to find this fic since i joined the fandom, and it’s truly a fucking masterpiece. it’s almost at 200k now and still unfinished, and the slow burn is excruciating, but this is a legendary fic for a reason. eddie spends the first chunk of this fic in the hospital recovering from the massive chest wound, and then he and richie move the recovery to ben’s cabin in the woods. the author’s notes for each chapter are a story in themselves

signs of a new lifetime by swordfishtrombones, rated T

one of the sweetest, most romantic reddie fics i’ve ever read. a fresh take on a classic concept: post-ch2, they’re in love, they haven’t said/done anything about it yet, BUT!!! it’s not angsty! they are all cute and giggly like “you say it first!” “no, you say it first!” and it makes me fucking MELT

broadcasting tower by swordfishtrombones, rated E

back-to-back recs from the same author! bc i love these fics so much! sort of similar to the last one in that they both know what’s up and just haven’t said it, but this one’s got the angst! i didn’t know when i read it that it was the same author as the other fic, and i thought how funny, i found another reddie author that perfectly captures this pair in such a wonderfully romantic way! i also just noticed there’s a follow up to this so now i have to go read that immediately

eurydice; the original comeback kid by Vulcanodon, rated M

for the love of god please read this and the other work in this series. it’s a ch-2 fix-it with some intense action sequences and major pining, and it has haunted me since i first read it

love on the telephone by tempestbreak, rated E

okay this one is really just 30k of pure smut but it’s also so sweet and features a mini sexual awakening for eddie and some insecure richie with an emphasis on how much they love and trust each other. also it doesn’t hurt that the smut is fire, like does anyone else want that twink obliterated, or is it just me?

the boy who loves you by candlejill, rated E

eddie lives, richie confesses, things are chill and then they’re not. richie’s career flourishes, which is always nice to read and is what ultimately catalyzes eddie’s gay awakening and realization of his love for richie. it’s got some sad angsty parts and a very sweet ending, and it up there as one of my favorite reddie fics of all time

richie and eddie break up [WIP] by skeilig, rated M

a refreshing and realistic take on life ch-2 for the losers, because being in love at thirteen doesn’t mean you can fall into a perfect relationship at 40. i’ll admit, i’m hoping this will ultimately be a “richie and eddie get back together” fic, but it’s still a very good read (and often very funny in the second chapter) at the moment in the midst of their break up

september 1989 and everything else by pineapplecrushface, rated T

cute kid reddie figuring it out and making me smile. the follow up to this and the after derry series by this author are also personal favorites

go west by ssstrychnine, rated T

road trip fic! an absolute work of art slow burn with teen reddie in the 90s. it’s so beautifully written i just wish i could go back and read it for the first time again

the edification of eddie kaspbrak by tozier, rated M

character study with some incredible fucking prose, my lord it gorgeous. explores how eddie learns about love as he grows up, and it’s super fucking sad sometimes bc the poor boy doesn’t know how to have the things he wants and i just want to give him a hug, but it’s really a spectacular fic

circular motion by sinchronicity, rated M

soulmate!AU that follows book canon and even though it’s been a long time since i’ve read it and the details are fuzzy, i remember absolutely loving it and thinking it was incredible

tell me you know by RichiesToesHurt, rated E

college losers with some severely pining and jealous richie with a lovely ending

predicament bondage [WIP] by dgalerab, rated E

i resisted reading this fic for so long, recently broke and binged all of it, and now i’m like frothing at the mouth for updates. richie’s a closeted actor/comedian who meets eddie, a professional Dom, when he needs help researching a role. they become friends, they develop crushes, richie realizes he’s a sub, and it’s just so much fun to read

there’s a lot more fics to rec so i might add on to this in the future, but in the meantime my biggest tip for for reading fanfiction that took me embarrassingly long to figure out: focus on the authors! if you read something you like, check out the rest of the work by that author bc odds are you’ll like that too. i mentioned it in a few specific works above, but check out the authors catalogues for these fics. if i included every work by these authors that i loved, this list would be miles long

feel free to add on any great stuff i missed, there’s sure to be tons of it!

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #fic rec #IT movie #it stephen king #losers club #these are mostly just my ao3 bookmarks #there's more in my ao3 if you want to check me out: lilypond3

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #248: “To Save the ETERNALS!”

October, 1984

Scarlet Witch: “It’s raining ETERNALS!”

Hallelujah?

This is a pretty striking cover. The white background is what sells it. Having an actual background would busify the cover too much.

So last times on Avengers: Bored after giving the chairman role to Vision, Wasp takes Starfox’s invitation to crash a party hosted by Sersi, a truant Eternal. Some other Eternals come to fetch Sersi for a Big, Important Eternal Thing and Wasp and Starfox end up getting dragged along when they try to stop the kidnapping.

After Sersi and Ikaris recap the Eternals’ ENTIRE HISTORY, Starfox realizes hey he’s an Eternal too! So he gets invited to the big, important Eternal Thing. Which is turning into a giant flying brain. As ya do.

But jerk fiend and eventual Great Lakes Avengers punchline Maelstrom takes advantage of all the Eternals being a giant brain and attacks, knocking out spectating Avengers Wasp and Captain Monica Marvel.

So thats a lot.

Vision and Scarlet Witch arrive in Greece after seeing Maelstrom on the video phone.

While Vision flies off in a big hurry, Scarlet Witch goes back into the Quinjet for some good exposition.

She continues to be worried about how Vision has been acting lately. Because after seeing Maelstrom, Vision barely said a word during the flight to Greece and kept pushing the engines until Wanda was afraid they’d blow up. But since he just took off and she can’t fly, she calls up what files the Avengers have on Maelstrom.

Which is Benn Grimm, the Thing, reporting on Marvel Two-in-One #72, where he teamed up with Black Bolt to fight Maelstrom who claimed to be the son of a renegade Inhuman. In the end, the Thing tossed a tube of anti-terrigen gas in his face and then Maelstrom appeared to die in an underwater cave-in.

Vision returns from his reconnaissance and does Wanda a startle so she finally unloads on him for how he’s been acting.

Scarlet Witch: “You don’t seem to be thinking at all these days! We haven’t had a real conversation since you became Avengers chairman! Half of our trip to Washington was taken up by a private meeting you had with the president! Afterwards, you didn’t even have the decency to tell me what you talked about! I had to hear from a reported that you’d discussed making the Avengers chairmanship a cabinet level post! We used to be so open with one another! What is happening to us? What is the matter? Is it me?”

Vision says ‘its not you, its me’ although in the context of him being at fault and not breaking up with her.

But he promises to do better and that she’s important to him.

Which would be heart-warming and romantic if he wasn’t making this face over her shoulder.

Why.

Anyway, with uh whatever that is handled, Vision reports what he found on his scouting nyoom.

He found the Eternal city on the side of Mount Olympus because of course its there.

Although. Wait. Where do the Olympians live? Are they neighbors? Do the Olympians live in another dimension or something? I vaguely remember something like that.

And Vision found Maelstrom who’s wearing a silly techno-harness connected to a big machine and has Captain Marvel and Wasp chained up at his feet.

You have problems, Maelstrom.

Not least of which is that his big scheme is to absorb the giant brain to make himself more powerful.

He blabs his plan to the Wasp who woke up when she sensed the opportunity to sass.

Wasp: “You seem awfully sure of yourself, Maelstrom.”

Maelstrom: “Ah, the Wasp! Back among the conscious, I see! Yes, I am quite confident... Supremely confident, you might say.”

Wasp: “But not so confident that you felt you could keep us here untied!”

Maelstrom: “If you are trying to shame me, it will not work. I am quite without shame!”

Curses, he’s immune to petty ego games.

Wasp also assumes he’s an Eternal which he’s quick to correct. No, see, his mom was a Deviant. And I guess his dad was an Inhuman, based on the Thing’s report on him. But its not like he wants revenge for all the Deviants being compressed into a giant cube.

After all, the Deviants killed his mom and raised Maelstrom in their slave pits.

In fact, after Maelstrom absorbs the giant brain, his next plan is to release the Deviants from the giant Deviant cube one by one and then do harm to them.

But, yeah, no. He does look like an Eternal. Easy mistake to make. The Eternals have been making that mistake as Maelstrom has just been hanging around for days with all the Eternals assuming he’s just some Eternal.

He’s actually maybe a little bit regretful that he has to kill them all to absorb the giant brain since the Eternals have actually been nice to him?

Maelstrom: “But power belongs to those who are willing to seize it!”

Interesting guy, Maelstrom.

He starts absorbing the Uni-Mind and totally spaces out doing that. But unfortunately, Wasp is in no position to capitalize on it because he put some leech manacles on her which are preventing her from shrinking. And Captain Marvel is completely out cold.

But Vision sneaks up intangible through the ground as he do like to do and intangibles his fingers into Maelstrom’s harness, shorting it out.

The energy discharge knocks Vision on his ass unconscious but Maelstrom just has to take a knee.

He yells up at an ominous figure standing up on a tower for not telling him that Vision was sneakign up on him. Maelstrom obviously thinks that this Deathurge is his minion but Deathurge has differing opinions.

Deathurge: For so long have I been with Maelstrom, yet still he does not understand! Still he thinks of me as his lackey! When will he learn... it is a darker power I truly serve!

Kinda wonder why he’s here. He doesn’t seem to be helping Maelstrom’s great brain heist and mostly just seems to... stand on a tower and look ominous.

But while Maelstrom was distracted yelling at a guy, the Uni-Mind breaks free of Maelstrom’s siphon and then explodes into a bunch of Eternals again.

Because it would be very improbable if that happened.

Your plan scheme just got Wanda’d, Maelstrom.

Huh. When I saw the cover, I wouldn’t have guessed that Wanda is the reason why its raining Eternals, hallelujah.

Goes to shows.

But since it was very improbable indeed that the Uni-Mind would explode into peoples, Wanda is wiped out.

Captain Marvel starts waking up and Wasp orders her to bust the chains, don’t even think about just go go go.

And Monica Marvel CHOOOMs the leech manacles.

It’s probably a testament to her power that she can bust right through the power dampening handcuffs but Maelstrom immediately hits her with some pink with kirby krackle which apparently is an energy field for sapping strength and down goes Captain Marvel again.

>=|

Wasp dodges the pink energy and gets out of the way so Vision can shoot his forehead laser at Maelstrom.

I sometimes forget he has that thing.

Vision: “Yes, Maelstrom, I have found your weakness! you are vulnerable to energy that is not purely kinetic! That is why you required the power siphon to absorb the psionic energy of the Uni-Mind!”

Maelstrom insists that he’ll still kick Vision’s ass except we’ll never know if he was talking out his ass or not.

Starfox wakes up from being a giant brain and decides to go punch the bad guy.

Except except except.

Punches is kinetic energy. Fool that he is, Starfox just recharged Maelstrom.

Starfox: “I am Eros, called the Starfox... son of Mentor! The blood of the Eternals flows in my veins... and I am an Avenger! Thus I have the greatest stake in seeing you fall!”

Maelstrom: “No doubt! But you’ll not accomplish it this way!”

And then suddenly giant Maelstrom just picks up Starfox and hurls him at Vision who is forced to super-dense catch Starfox instead of intangible out of the way and let the idiot hit a wall head first.

Hm. Guy absorbs kinetic energy and gets beefier? So he’s like a less stylish Sebastian Shaw?

That’s not a flattering comparison for you, Maelstrom.

Makarri, Thena, and Ikaris of the Eternals wake up and also try to jump on and pummel Maelstrom.

... God, its like they weren’t even paying attention.

Good thing they’re immortal because they have no survival instinct among them.

Maelstrom throws them off and then whips out the pink bio-kinetic energy again, using it to crowd control the Eternals.

Then he announces that yeah, sure, the brain thing was foiled. But he absorbed enough information while he was draining the Uni-Mind that he has an even cooler plan for even greater power now.

So his new plan is to just leave. And go do something else.

‘Walk away with no further conflict you say? Nuts to that!’ - Scarlet Witch, presumably.

In fairness. This isn’t really a no harm, no foul situation.

I wouldn’t give Maelstrom over to the Eternals to add to the Deviant cube but he’s just going to do more asshole things if he walks away.

Starfox wants to go over and start punching Maelstrom again because. I DUNNO! The man is supposed to be smarter than this!

Vision stops him and tells him that instead he’ll need to use his pleasure power on Vision’s mark.

Starfox is startled that Vision knows about his secret weirdo power but this isn’t the time for a conversation.

Instead its time for microwaves.

Vision signals Captain Marvel to do her thing and she flies at Maelstrom, turning into infrared and microwave radiation, toasting Maelstrom up.

Then Wasp pew pews with her pew pew, while staying ten feet away so he can’t absorb any kinetic energy. That’s apparently why her stings sucked when she tried shooting him before. She got too close.

Well, her stings are bio-electrical so him absorbing her bio-kinetic energy would probably weaken them? Probably?

Maelstrom actually panics a little because the Avengers aren’t being dumb. They’re pelting him with energy attacks from a distance, wearing him down and not giving him a chance to build up his energy stores again.

I’m proud of you, guys. I knew you could fight smart if you put your minds to it.

Then with Maelstrom weakened, Starfox tries to use his PLEASURE BEAMS and tells him that actually we’re all friends here, won’t you be our friend?

Starfox: “The others will tell you I’m not one to hold a grudge! Besides, you really don’t want to hurt anyone! You’ll be much happier giving yourself up!”

Maelstrom: “Giving... up? Y-yes, that does sound nice. I... No!! What are you doing to me?!?”

So since Maelstrom succeeds his will save against the persuasion check, or something, Scarlet Witch just casts a spell of ‘on your knees, asshole’ and makes Maelstrom fall to his knees.

Realizing that he might actually be defeated, in the city of his mother’s enemies no less!, Maelstrom calls out for Deathurge to attend him.

Deathurge: “At last, the call I have longed for!”

Hmmmm. Maybe Maelstrom should have been more specific.

I admit that its very possible that this is exactly what Maelstrom wanted Deathurge hanging around for. But having a guy standing by to kill you so you don’t have to tally an L sure is an interesting way of going about things.

Also, the narration says spear but Deathurge’s weapon is clearly a very anime scythe. A dude in Bleach had two of this exact weapon.

Captain Marvel, as the nyoomiest of the Avengers, flies at Deathurge as the “spear” returns to his hand. He tries to hit her with the “spear” but it goes right through her and then she goes right through him when she tries to tackle him.

Since they can both be intangible, Deathurge declares this a stalemate and drops down into the ground. Captain Marvel tries to follow as x-rays but loses the ominous weirdo.

So that was a thing that happened.

Maelstrom sure folded like nothing once people who knew how his powers work actually started fighting back.

And I can’t even ding him for explaining his powers because he didn’t. Vision just did his research.

Anyway, even though the Uni-Mind ritual was interrupted, the Eternals still learned what they should be doing. Since the Eternals have grown stagnant on Earth, THEY’RE GOING TO SPAAAAACE!

Most of them anyway.

Ikaris, Sersi, Thena, Valkin... Lets just say the main Eternals are going to stay on Earth.

The Eternals chosen to go out into space form a Uni-Mind again, grabs the Deviant cube, hurls it out of the solar system, and then takes off into space.

“So does the Uni-Mind, in all its wisdom, protect its native world from the Deviant menace.”

Eeeesh.

I thought squeezing them all into a cube was bad enough, now you’re sending them into space forever? You couldn’t find a planet where they can’t hurt anyone and just dunk them there?

Back down on Earth, the Avengers and Eternals watch a giant brain fly into space.

Wasp: “To think, this all started with Starfox and me crashing Sersi’s party! I certainly never expected to be in Greece at day’s end, watching the Eternals leave Earth!”

Really makes you think. That its a good thing that most Avengers’ day job is being an Avenger.

Captain Marvel asks Starfox if he’s sorry that he didn’t go with the giant brain and he says participating in one Uni-Mind thing was an incredible experience that he wouldn’t have missed but he’s a free spirit and there’s a bunch of stuff he still wants to do on Earth.

Which Sersi certainly agrees with.

The Avengers offer her a lift back home and she has perhaps the greatest of attitudes about everything that went down.

Sersi: “I hope my friends in the city have kept the party going! If they haven’t... well, we’ll just have to start one of our own!”

That’s the spirit!

But meanwhile, halfway around the world in a secret underground lair, Deathurge pops out of the floor.

Villains are villainous and all but you can’t beat the class of “secret underground lair.” Step up, heroes.

Deathurge struts over to some tubes and goes Everything Has Transpired According to Plan.

Because inside one of the tubes (or maybe all of the tubes??) is a fresh new Maelstrom body!

Deathurge: If all goes as you have planned, you shall soon awaken within this newly prepared body, ready to live again. And, as ever, I will stand by... ready to attend... Until all your lives have been lived!

Well!

No wonder Maelstrom has a dude standing by to pop him. He’s got extra lives!

Anyway, that was the unexpected Eternals three-parter nobody called for. But Avengers is the place to go to tie up loose ends from other books and concepts.

Avengers’ll accommodate you, they have room in their hearts and publishing schedule.

Follow @essential-avengers because there’s more Maelstrom coming! Wait, is that anything people want? There’s also Hercules! I know people like Hercules! He gives the best hugs! Also like and reblog if you like to reblog.

#avengers #Maelstrom #Deathurge #Eternals #Starfox #the Vision #Scarlet Witch #captain marvel #Monica Rambeau #the Wasp #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #just another one of those days for the avengers #the eternals have a really galaxy brain idea

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buckyscrystalqueen · 4 years

Text

Ain’t Sayin’ She’s a Gold Digger: Part 3

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Negan x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: Sugar baby relationship, swearing

Word Count: 3,343

Part 1 / Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“OK, do you know what I think sounds much more fun than watching you work right now?” You asked from the bed as you rolled on to your stomach on the sheets toward where Jeff was working at the desk in the master bedroom.

“Playing the piano some more?” He asked without looking away from his laptop. You smirked and shook your head as you set the book you grabbed from the main room’s collection aside, pulled your knees up to your chest, and sat up.

“Well I can do that any time.” You giggled as you pulled off your night gown and tossed it toward the desk by his left elbow. He startled the slightest bit when it hit him, and he turned around to look at you with his eyebrow raised as you shot your underwear at him like a sling shot. “When else am I going to be able to skinny dip on the top of a cruise ship?” You turned on your heel with a giant smile and headed over to the veranda doors without a look back. “You coming or is work more fun to you?” He grumbled ‘Goddamn’ under his breath as you turned the corner and headed up the stairs to the small hot tub. The water felt absolutely perfect as you stepped into it, and Jeff finally joined you when you got the jets figured out and turned on. “Oh, no!” You said with a shake of your head as you moved in front of the stairs and shook your head as he set down a pair of robes from the closet. “This is a no clothing zone.”

“Yea, I’m still not fucking walking around with my dick out.” He laughed as he glanced over his shoulder before taking off his boxers and quickly getting into the hot tub.

“OK, who the fuck is gunna see you up here?” You laughed as you sat down in the seat next to him and put your legs across his lap. “The birds? I hear they are huge gossips.” You squeaked a laugh when he tickled your sides and pouted at him when he stopped.

“Gentlemen my age aren’t meant to skinny dip…”

“Huh? What does that even mean?” You asked as you threw your hair up in a messy bun on top of your head.

“You have tattoos?” He asked as he tilted his head a bit to see the tattoo that ran down your rib cage. You glanced down at it and nodded your head as you sat up so you could turn toward him a bit.

“The first song mama Beth taught me on the piano was Hallelujah. She wasn’t having none of that Twinkle Twinkle shit with her… with her own kid.” You sniffled and shrugged your shoulders. “So she taught me her favorite song. And it was the song that got me into Juilliard… well, sort of…”

“Story?” He asked gently as he slowly dragged the tips of his fingers up and down your shin.

“Well… OK, here’s the thing.” You started as you got comfortable in your spot and shifted the jet toward a small knot in your back a little more. “So if you haven’t realized by now, I am not normal. In any sort of capacity.”

“Nooo….” He sassed, teasingly. “You don’t say?”

“Shut up.” You laughed as you flicked a bit of water at him. “Its more fun to live life outside the box. So when I sent in my audition tape, I did the most stereotypical classical song you could think of. Beethoven. Bleck. But it got me through to the auditions so yay. But when I got into the practice room before the auditions and was warming up, I heard one of the ladies who worked at my… second? Maybe third group home say ‘don’t be afraid to be different’. Now, she had been talking about how I went through a phase when I was 13 of wearing bright, clashing colors every day because I thought it looked cool. But it just kinda changed my thinking that day. So I went into my audition and mashed up Hallelujah and Can’t Help Falling in Love, because it was playing on my iPod when I walked in to Juilliard, on the spot. Took me the full thirty minutes to figure out how to do it, but I did it. And it got me in.” Jeff sat silently for a moment, really taking in your story in a way you didn’t see, before he nodded his head.

“Where have you been all my life?”

“Disney gift shop.” You responded with a smile as you pointed at the water color Stitch outline on your hip. He smiled and slid his hand up to brush his thumb across the ink, before moving his hand to a more respectful place on your leg.

“My tattoos were all decisions made by a much younger man.” He laughed as he picked up your legs a bit so he could turn toward you.

“Yay stories!” He laughed again and nodded as he situated your legs on his lap again. He went one by one, showing you all five of his tattoos, and giving you an insight you had to assume not many people saw of the millionaire. You were absolutely enthralled with this man, and the more you listened, the more you wanted to know. And the more you got to know him, the more you wondered how it was possible that this man was single.

“Hey, Jeff.” You breathed as you used your and his legs to scoot closer to him. “How come… well… how come you’re a Sugar Daddy?”

“That’s…” He started as he looked out at the star splattered sky and the open ocean in front of the bow of the boat. “That’s a story for another day.”

“OK.” You whispered softly with a nod as you turned on the bench so you were right next to him and laid your head on his shoulder. “I have time to wait.” You felt him nod his head as he kissed the top of yours, before he rested his cheek on your head and looked back out at the stars.

“You are too good for me, sweetheart.”

“No, I’m not.” You giggled as you snuggled into his side. “I’m apparently just as fucked up as you are.” He huffed and nodded his head again as you both pointed to a shooting star at the same time.

“No, sweetheart. You are perfect.”

——

You had no idea where time went those next two weeks. Between the ten different ports in three different countries, and trying to learn as much as you could about the cruise experience as a whole so Jeff knew his company was exceeding his expectations of his company. Even though you knew he had work to do, you still couldn’t help yourself but be a flirtatious distraction just to see the smile that you could tell felt foreign to him.

“What, do you think you’re permanently stealing my shirt?” Jeff asked as he came out of the bathroom with a towel in his hands, barely covering himself up to tease you. You did a double take as you put your freshly cleaned clothes in one of the three harder side suitcases you bought before the trip. You glanced down at the shirt you had stolen from his part of the closet on the first or second night, and nodded your head.

“This is now mine.” You said with a smile as you dropped your jewelry bag on top of the first full suitcase and closed the top. “I’d just give up on thinking you’re getting it back… hey…” He hummed and looked up at you with his eyebrow raised as he stopped drying off his hair, and you tilted your head to the side like a lost puppy. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk.” Your stomach dropped to your toes as you nodded your head in total understanding.

“OK.” You whispered with a tight smile. “It’s OK, I understand. You… you don’t have to fly me back private.”

“Wait, what?” He asked as he threw the towel around his waist on his way over to where you were standing. “(Y/N), I’m not sending you home, baby girl. I’m trying to tell you that… we may need to renegotiate our arrangement.” You looked over at him as a single tear fell on each cheek. “No, don’t cry. You’re staying with me.”

“Why would you say it like that then, jerk?” You asked as he pulled you into a hug.

“Because I’m not good with the sappy shit.” He chuckled as he kissed the top of your head.

“So rude.” You said with a huffed laugh as you pushed him away. “Go away. I don’t like you right now.”

“Well I guess I’m going to have to send you home after all then.” You rolled your eyes at him and went back to packing your bags as he grabbed the pair of boxers he had left out when he packed while you showered. He hesitated a moment as he watched you set the outfit you were planning on wearing into London aside, and met your eyes when you looked up at him to continue. “My wife left me for another man.” You nodded your head and put down the pile of bras in your hand to walk around the bed to where he was standing.

“I know, honey. Dana told me.”

“Did she tell you I was to old to find another girlfriend?” He asked as he gently wrapped his hands around your upper arms and sat you down on the bed. “Because I am.”

“No.” You huffed as you used your legs to pull him a step closer to you. “No, you are not.”

“Yea, I am.” He sighed as he looked down away from you. “And I travel to much and work to hard…” You interrupted his thoughts before he could even get started by gently placing your fingertip on his chin and adding pressure until he looked at you again.

“Did you know that I’m worthless?” You asked him, honestly. “That I’m not worth anyone’s love. Because my last foster mother told me that every day before I aged out. Did you know that’s why I’m still single? Because just like you, I’ve been waiting for someone to show me that the wait we’ve both had to do was worth it.”

“You’re not worthless…”

“And you’re not old.” You countered as you ran your fingers through his wet curls. “And no, you don’t have to pay me to want to be here with you. You didn’t have to pay me to want to spend time with you at all…”

“I’m…” He started as he looked away again, but he leaned down enough to drop his forehead on yours.

“It’s OK to be scared.” You whispered as you closed your eyes and put your other hand on the back of his neck. “I’m scared that I will never be good enough for you no matter how expensive the clothes you put me in are. After all, I am an orphaned college drop out…”

“No you’re not. I’m the millionaire that is way to old to date anymore…”

“Alright, you’re wrong too, so if the point that you’re trying to make here is you want me to keep traveling with you, I can honestly say that you are never getting any work done again.” He smiled broadly and picked his head up enough to look at you and nodded.

“I think I’ll be OK with that.” Your smile grew with his as he closed the distance between the two of you and captured your lips with his. He pulled back quicker than you would have liked for your first kiss, and your smile turned into a pout as he adjusted his boxers. “What? I have work.”

“The fuck you do!” You laughed as you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back over to you. “You can’t kiss me like that and just walk away.”

“Oh, I’ll do whatever I want to, sweetheart.” He teased as he pushed you down on the bed between your suitcases and clothes. “I’m in charge.”

“No, you think you’re in charge.” You countered as you wrapped your arms and legs around him. “But in reality, I’m the one in charge here.” He hummed and kissed you again with a small nod.

“OK.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello?”

“Dana!” You said with way to much enthusiasm for 7:30 in the morning as you wandered around the Royal Suite of the Ritz Carlton you were staying in for the next few days while Jeff took care of some business he had. “Good, you’re awake. I’m stealing Jeff from you because no one else is allowed to have him ever again.”

“(Y/N)?” She asked hesitantly as she probably looked at her phone. “Where are you? Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane?”

“Well no, not any more. Oh, but you will never guess where I am!”

“You’re interrupting my Bachelor binge so it better be good…”

“I’m in Abu Dhabi.” You finished quickly as you sat down on the chaste lounge chair in the bathroom. “But I don’t wanna talk about that, I wanna talk about Jeff.”

“Of course you do.” She laughed as you turned the chair toward the window where you wanted it to look at the beautiful pool and beach below you.

“OK, one. You said he owned a couple hotels, not that he was the CEO of the freaking Marriott.”

“Didn’t know…”

“Second, and much more importantly, how the hell did his ex wife tell him he was to old to love?”

“She what?”

“Yea, broke his poor heart. My guess is that’s the only reason that he’s been coming to see you. To just pay to have someone not break his heart like that again. D, this man is God’s honest one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met. And funny! Oh, so funny! He had me nearly pissing myself at dinner every night on the cruise. I’ve had more fun in the last two weeks than that time we went to Coney Island and got wasted. You remember that night?”

“Of course I do…”

“And that’s saying something.” You continued over her to get your point out. “And whats more, I was concerned I’d only see the money… I don’t even care! Honestly, I just want to keep spending time with him. Shit, I’d never buy another nice thing in the world if it meant I got to spend more time with him. Dana… Dana this man is perfect. Like he’s a sculpted from the Gods, sweet as homegrown pie, loving, caring, compassionate, selfless piece of sexy as fuck hunk-a man.” Your best friend laughed at your description as you scooted down on the chair a bit more with a smile. “Thank you, Dana.”

“You’re welcome, (Y/N).”

“Guess you’re on your own going to the Bachelor mansion now.” You laughed as you crossed your legs and bounced your foot in the air. “I’ll let you borrow my dresses if you want so you don’t break the bank. OH! And I have my rent. I don’t know when we’re coming back because Jeff has a meeting here today and one in… I think Australia on Thursday, and I think he’s gotta stay in Australia for a bit, but I’m not sure. He told me when he was getting ready for the gym but I was half asleep and drooling. But he put some money in my bank account so I could make sure you weren’t late on bills until I figure out work again…”

“You don’t have to work if you don’t want to.” Jeff said softly as he walked into the bathroom, drenched in sweat from his morning workout. “Hi beautiful. Hi Dana.”

“I’ll Venmo you money later Dana, and Jeff says hi. Gotta shower and go drool some more. Call you from Australia!”

“Bye Jeff. Bye (Y/N). Have fun you traitorous bitch… leaving me in the single world…” With a smile, you said bye once more and hung up the phone to jump in the shower before breakfast.

“So I’m a… hunk-a man?”

“Hell yea you are!” You laughed as you dropped your phone on the lounge chair and reached for his shirt. “You are a bad eavesdropper.”

“Yea, well you were talking pretty loud.” He laughed as he pulled the tie of your robe free and grabbed your waist to pull you closer.

“I’m always loud.” You giggled as you pushed his shorts and boxers down as he walked you backwards across the room to the shower.

“Oh, I fucking know it.” He muttered as you wrapped your hand around his length. He kissed you softly and shook his head as he pulled his hips backs and turned on the water. “Sorry, baby girl. I have a lot of phone calls to make and work to catch up on from being away for two weeks before my meeting.”

“OK.” You said with only a slightly disappointed pout.

“But I know there’s a lot to see around here…”

“Do you care if I go see?” You asked as you stepped under the water and got your hair wet. “I just…. umm… well just in case I can’t come back?”

“(Y/N)…” He said softly as he gently pinched your chin and pulled it down so you would look at him. “Absolutely. I totally understand. Don’t ever feel guilty about experiencing the world if I’m working. As long as we’re together, you can spend whatever money you want, and go and do whatever you want in the cities we’re in. I don’t ever expect you to just sit in the hotel because I have to, OK?”

“OK.” You whispered with a nod of your head. He smirked at you and gave you a chaste kiss before stepping back to wash his body.

“Just give it some time, sweetheart. It’s gunna take some time to get used to my lifestyle, but we’ll get there. Find a routine, that’s the easiest way to do it.” You nodded your head and took the shampoo suds from your hair to wash his as well so you could wrap your arms around his neck.

“You really are too good for me, Jeffrey. Seriously.”

“Nope. That would be you.”

——

Coming back home after a month being away was a bit of a shell shocking experience. Your bedroom seemed way to tiny and was still covered in empty shopping bags and ripped off tags. You didn’t have an issue with the room and your apartment itself, it’s just that you had gotten used to Jeff being around, and it seemed so empty without him.

“You can just set them on the bed.” You sighed as you gestured to the queen sized bed in the corner.

“Bitch, I’m not your maid.” Dana laughed as she dropped the suitcases she helped you carry up on the floor. “You got it.”

“Dana!” You whined as you dropped shopping bags, and the other suitcase on your bed. “I can’t even!”

“Oh, you’ll be fine!” She called out as she headed a few feet down the hall to the kitchen to grab a trash bag. “Come on, let’s get this shit cleaned up so we can find room in that closet of yours for all this fancy shit you got now.”

“I brought you presents.” You said as you started grabbing tags off the bed and shoving them in the trash bag with the shopping bags she was picking up and throwing out. “I grabbed you something from every country I was in.”

“You don’t have to do that, hun.” She laughed as she set aside the tissue paper from the bags, and the shoe boxes to reuse for Christmas and birthday gifts and storage boxes to replace the old ones in her, your, and the hall closets.

“Yea, but I couldn’t help it.” You said as you threw out the last of the tags and grabbed the other suitcases. “There’s a lot of stuff that just screamed ‘you’ so I just had to get it. And it’s for me, too so it all works out in the end.”

“Alright, fine. What is it?” She asked with a laugh as you started digging through the bags.

“OK, we have this from London.” You said as you pulled out and handed her a boxed union jack coffee mug to add to her collection of random coffee mugs. “And this necklace is from Scotland.” You handed her the next small box and turned the slightest bit to point at the box. “It’s made from a Scottish plant and all the necklaces are one of a kind. There’s a little history card in there so you can read about it. And then of course, from Ireland…” You paused for a moment with a giant smirk as you pulled out a large bottle of Irish Whisky. “Shocker. I also grabbed two Avoca throws for the living room for our beds or something from Irelands oldest weaving mill, and a cute coffee table book. I got one from Australia, too.”

“So you went a little crazy.” She laughed as she looked at the two blankets you had set down.

“And then I got this for the dining room from Abu Dhabi. It’s a Turkish lamp but it looks so cool.”

“Oh wow!” She said as you pulled out the three orb hanging lamp from it’s box.

“And I had to get some pashmina’s…”

“Oh so perfect!” She said as you laid out the half dozen scarfs in various colors and patterns on the bed for her to see.

“I figured we could share them so we both have six colors to choose from, and if we like a certain color or pattern more, I can pick another one up if I go back to Abu Dhabi or Dubai or something. And I grabbed a bag of the coffee they had at the hotel because it was AMAZING, and some spices to cook with. I had a lot of time to spend money in Abu Dhabi.” You laughed as you added the empty bag to the trash bag on the floor. “And lastly, Australia; another place I had way to much time to shop in. I grabbed some opals to add to your crystal collection, I got myself a new pair of Ugg boots, some Vegemite because I actually liked it, surprisingly. I don’t know, I’m weird. And then some chocolate, more coffee, some tea, and oh, this awesome bottle of wine we had at dinner.”

“Woman! How much damn money did you spend?!”

“And the last two things…” You said as you pulled out two different stuffed animals held the kangaroo out to her. “I asked Jeff if it was OK, and I adopted a kangaroo in your name and a koala in mine. I got to meet them both, and I have pictures so you can see them too. But they are so cute so I had to adopt them. And you’ll get sent pictures every year to see their rehabilitation and release into the wild. Oh, and I ordered a didgeridoo to put up on my wall that should be in in a few weeks because it was too big to fly so I had to ship it.”

“This new too?” She asked as she hit the Pandora bracelet on your wrist.

“That was Jeff’s idea. So I can remember all the places he’s taken me.”

“You two are so disgusting.” She laughed as she started collecting her presents from the bed to bring them to her room so she could also grab a bottle of wine and help you unpack to hear all the stories she knew you had. “I got the wine and the extra hangers.”

“I’ll start a playlist.” You said as you put your koala stuffed animal on your pillow and pulled out the rest of your souvenirs to put away. You started with your closet and pulled out all of you old work clothes, to pack away in a tote under your bed for future use just in case. Hangers got piled up on the bed and wine got poured as stories started to flow. Dana worked on hanging up your new shirts, and skirts, and made room for shorts and pants on the shelves and in your dresser, while you hung up all of your dresses in your overflow wardrobe, before cleaning out your old makeup and replacing it with the new stuff. Bathing suits went in the box under your bed with your old ones, lingerie went into your dresser, and shoes and purses went in any space you had left, since your bedroom was pretty small and already full of stuff you had collected over the years. But even though it took you two hours to reorganize and put away, you still hadn’t run out of stories and you decided to give Dana a break because of the exhausted look on her face.

“OK, I’m done.” You laughed as you stacked up your suitcases at the foot of your bed to put out in the hall closet eventually.

“Sorry, sweetie. I just had a new client hit one of my girls last night so I was dealing with the cops half the night and this wine isn’t helping.”

“D, oh my God, why didn’t you interrupt me? Girl, go sit down! I could have unpacked by myself! I’ll order a pie for dinner and find something on Netflix to zone out to.”

“God, you have no fucking idea how good that sounds right now.” She laughed as she headed out of the room. With a nod, you grabbed your cell from the Hermès bag you had coveted of the woman in the Subway, and followed your roommate out to the living room to just veg and hang out until you both passed out on the couch in positions that was sure to make your back hurt the next day.

——

Pounding on your door woke you up way to early, and being the closer one, you threw off your slightly tangled blanket and trudged to the door from the couch. You looked up at your handsome visitor through sleep fogged eyes, and shook your head.

“No.”

“Sweetheart where have you been?” Jeff asked as he pulled you into a hug. “We were supposed to meet at the gym 45 minutes ago and your phone is going straight to voicemail...”

“I’m trying to fucking sleep!” Dana screamed from the living room as she got off the couch and headed into her room.

“Sleep time, baby.” You sighed as you grabbed his hand and pulled him into your apartment tiredly. “Sleep.”

“I can’t, I have shit to do today.”

“No, sleep time.” You repeated as you locked the door behind him and dragged him a few feet down the hallway to your bedroom. Your clothes from the night before hit the floor and you were too tired to even look back at him as you pulled back the blankets and climbed into bed against the wall in just your cotton thong. “Sleep with me.”

“Fine.” He muttered as he stripped down to his boxers and got into bed in front of you. “But only for an hour...”

“Shhh!” You hissed as you snuggled into his chest and almost instantly fell back asleep. One hour turned into almost five, which is when Jeff got tired of watching you sleep and decided it was time to wake you up. He very gently kissed your forehead and slowly rubbed your back, before his lips moved to your temple and down to your cheek.

“Supposed to be sleeping.” You grumbled when he kissed your nose.

“It’s almost eleven, baby. And I’m getting hungry.”

“There’s leftover sushi in the fridge.” You muttered as you pulled the blankets up over your head. “And some of a teriyaki bowl. Fried rice… but the spring roll is Dana’s.”

“OK, but I want to see your beautiful face with me…” You started when Dana threw your bedroom door open, and you sat up as she held her phone out.

“Chelsea got tickets to Burning Man.”

“She what?!” You asked as you scrambled over Jeff to get to the phone.

“I grabbed six.” One of your closest friends said on speaker as you took the phone from your roommate and grabbed Jeff’s gym shirt off the floor.

“That’s mine.” He said, which made you simply swipe your hand in his direction.

“How did you get six tickets?”

“Sold a townhouse on the Upper East so I jumped when I got that check this morning.”

“So what, six tickets, one vehicle pass?” Dana asked as she leaned on your door frame and bent down to scratch her leg.

“Yea.”

“So what, the three of us and who?”

“I figured asking Kara and Mac…”

“They broke up last week.” Dana said as she looked up at you with a shrug. “Mac cheated.”

“She did not!” You gasped over Chelsea in shock. Dana nodded her head and took a step back so Jeff could scoot past to go to the bathroom.

“OK, so just Kara.” Chelsea said as you gestured down the hall to the living room. “And I was thinking Mickey.”

“OK, I love Mickey, but I would kill him after three days.” Dana laughed.

“What about Steph?”

“I would kill her after two days.”

“OK well first, let’s ask this. Do we wanna make it a girls trip? Because (Y/N) has a new beau.”

“Ooo! Is this the cruise guy? I heard he’s stupid cute.”

“He is.” You laughed as you set the phone down on the coffee table and went into the kitchen to grab a pen and paper.

“I mean you said he’s older though? Like how old are we talking?”

“I’m 45.” Jeff called out as he headed into the kitchen to start making coffee. “Not that old. Coffee?”

“Oh! Didn’t realize he was there, sorry.” You called out that she was fine as you grabbed coffee mugs, and the container of coffee grounds for Jeff before heading back to discuss your plans.

“Keep a ticket on hold for right now for him.” You said as you sat down on the couch beside Dana and tucked your knees up to your chest. “I’ll get back to you in a couple days on that. And the last ticket has to go to Kenzie. She’s been trying to get us all to go with her for years and she’d be ideal on the prep front on what we actually need to bring.”

“Oh, yea I like Kenzie.” Chelsea said, excitedly. “I approve.”

“OK, so we have a line up. The three of us, Kenzie, Kara, and possibly Jeff. And if not Jeff, we can see if Matt wants to go.”

“Oh, he’s fabulous.” Dana agreed. “Alright, Chelsea, get your laptop. Let’s get a Zoom call going so we can start working out details. I’ll send you the room number in a minute.” She said OK and hung up the phone just as Jeff was coming out with three cups of coffee.

“So what is Burning Man?”

“It is a life changing experience.” Dana stated as she started a new group text chat for the Burning Man group. “It’s a week long event…”

“Not to be confused with a festival.” You interrupted as you started the list of what you would need to make this trip happen.

“Not a festival, but it is at the same time. It’s put on by artists, and musicians, and free spirits dedicated to self-expression and anti-consumerism.”

“It’s supposed to be a life changing experience.” You chimed in as you looked up from your notes. “We’ve been talking about going for the past five years since Kenzie went the first time.” Jeff nodded his head as your other three closet friend’s voices floated out of the speakers, but his next statement made everyone fall into stunned silence.

“I’ll tag along if you don’t mind it. Sounds like an interesting experience even for someone at my age. I’ll cover the costs, too so you all don’t have to worry about that and just enjoy the experience.”

“Wait, what?” Chelsea asked as Dana turned her laptop so the girls could see the three people in your living room.

“Who is that?”

“Is that the guy?”

“That’s the guy.”

“Guys, he’s right here.” You laughed as you waved your paper at the group. “Do we wanna plan this shit or what?”

“OK! OK! We’re planning!” Kenzie laughed as she got up to grab something on her end. “Now, I usually stay in a tent, but it’s usually just me and Stacy…”

“Oh, Stacy! We forgot Stacy!” Dana whined.

“I’ll cover her ticket.” Jeff said with a small nod as he sat back in his chair with his coffee. “And all of yours too.”

“What?” “No way!” “You don’t have to do that.” “Yo, I’m broke! Shut up!”

“You’re gunna give them all heart attacks.” You laughed.

“I’m not sleeping in a tent, either.” He said more to you with a shake of his head. “You want to be the one to look into an RV or should I have my assistant do it?”

“Oh, I know there’s a place out there we can rent from…” Kenzie tried but you shook your head as you added the RV to your list.

“No, he means he’s gunna buy one.” You said with a glance up at your friends. “Can we stop focusing on Jeff and focus on Burning Man, please?”

“Yes, Burning Man.” Dana said for you as she clapped her hands. “So, Kenzie. What do we need to know?”

“Who’s…”

“I’ve got the list started already.” You said over Chelsea as you waved the paper around.

“OK, Burning man is a fucking beast.” Kenzie said as she sat down on her couch with a meticulously organized fire red binder in typical Kenzie fashion. “It is not a foot race, it is a fucking marathon. You all need to be prepared. So let’s get started with my prep list…”

Part 4

#negan x reader #Ain't sayin' she's a gold digger #Negan thirst squad #Negan's thirst squad

33 notes · View notes

nursejoyirl · 4 years

Text

Hallelujah (afterlife!Fred x reader)

Context: Your name is Andromeda (Annie) Karkaroff. It’s 6 months after the battle of Hogwarts and Fred’s death. Fred had been your lover and boyfriend for three years at the time of his death, and you’ve been grieving his loss heavily. This one-shot is inspired by Hallelujah, Rufus Wainwright’s cover and some lyrics from Car Seat Headrest songs. This is my first time attempting to write fanfic so please give constructive feedback!! I’m thinking about writing more on this topic if people are interested!

CW: brief mentions of s**cide

Fred’s smile is the same in death as it was in life. He briefly raised his eyebrows, peering through those mischievous brown eyes, hands relaxed into his front pockets. He rocked back and forth between his toes and his heels. Moonlight danced across his skin. He’d never been more beautiful. And he’d never seemed more tragically real.

youtube

You shift in your sleep. It was rare that sleep found you these days, as grief usually took its place. Your eyes open, staring at the ceiling. They watch the fan run in circles for as long as they can, trying to count the number of rotations that pass, as you desperately try to take your mind off what plagues it.

Footsteps fall at the foot of your bed. A jolt of panic runs through you as your eyes flicker downward, your body frozen, not daring to move.

“What are you doing here, Fred?” the whisper escaping your lips hardly giving away the pounding in your chest.

You slowly sit up in bed, exposing your shoulders and chest, your breasts barely covered by a satin nightgown. Your lips press together tightly, and a wave of anguish swells in your chest. Your breath hitches on the inhale. “Fred?” You croak, betraying the impending tears in your eyes.

Fred chuckles, walking towards your side of the bed. “Say it again, love. You know how it gets me going.” He sits down, his weight creating a dip in the mattress that inadvertently moves you closer to him.

“Fred, is that really you? Or is this all in my head?” You desperately whisper.

“Annie,” Fred’s eyes meet yours. “Just because it’s happening in your head doesn’t mean it’s any less real.”

A long silence passes between the two lovers.

Fred’s face turns towards the window. “I miss you, Annie.”

A sob escapes your throat. “Freddie-“ you grab his hand, “Freddie- I- I don’t know what I’m doing here without you. I’m living in hell.” Tears come without hesitation now, the taste of salt stinging in your mouth. “There’s so much pain within me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I’ll ever get better.” You shake your head, using the soft sheet to wipe your face, quickly inhaling some snot. “I thought we’d be together forever, Freddie.”

“We will be together forever,” Freddie turns away from the window, meeting your eyes. A breeze flows through your open window, tousling his fiery hair. “If only in dreams, in your heart, in your memories.” A crooked smile on his lips. A twinkle in his eye. “Death and time don’t make our love any less real.” A beat. “After the Battle…I had plans. To ask you to marry me. I’d been thinking about it for months.” His thumb runs over the back of your hand before letting go, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulls out a box of dusty purple velvet. Your eyes drill holes into it. Fred’s slender fingers pop it open, revealing a pear-shaped ring of Morganite set on a simple gold band.

“What is-” you begin, but Fred cuts you off.

“I did a lot of research. There’s a phrase they say in muggle weddings, ’til death do us part.’ he shakes his head with a scoff.

Your eyebrows narrow, gaze fixed on the ring.

“I hate that saying. Nothing, not even death himself, could stop me from loving you, sweet Ann,” Fred chuckles in disbelief. “You’re my soulmate. And here I am, in death, and my soul cannot tear itself from you.” Fred’s voice breaks as he looks at the ring. “I’ve come here every night to watch you sleep. Hell, what I wouldn’t give to join you under those covers, as a real man.” He sniffles. “A man with a warm body. Who can marry you, and care for you, and give you children, and grow old with you and die with you.”

His eyes meet yours once again. You sit up on your knees and lean forward, reaching out your hands to grab each side of his face. “I want that too, Freddie,” you cry in a volume that threatens to awaken your mother next door. His right hand meets yours that caresses his face. “There’s this…nothingness inside of me. This vast expanse of grief where you used to exist. It’s a massive black hole, it’s swallowing me alive, Fred!” You shake your head. “I don’t know how much longer I can take it here.”

Fred grabs your wrists with his large hands. “You have to forgive yourself, Annie. You have to move on.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” You spit. “When I go to this same room every night, without you. And sleep in the same bed every night, the same fucking bed, with the tear in the duvet and the red stripes,” Your gaze turns to the window, “And that moonlight, it makes me feel like I’m dying. Do you know how many nights I’ve drowned here? How many times have I drowned?” Your voice grows to a desperate cry.

Fred presses his forehead to yours. You inhale his scent and are immediately taken back to the years of memories you made together, from the very first kiss to the very last laugh. It’s all too familiar. Fred’s lips kiss your wet cheek. “I would let myself die and be reborn a thousand times over if it meant I might be with you again,” you breathe.

“But you can’t.” He says tersely, biting back his sadness. It’s not what you want to hear. He tries to pull away, but you grip his wrists.

“Please, Freddie-“

“I’ll always be with you, love. As long as I wander in this godforsaken afterlife, my heart will be set on you. But I can’t move on until I know you have, too.”

“I don’t want to move on, Fred. I can’t do that! You know I can’t! What do I have to do, kill myself?”

“There’s a wonderful life ahead of you, sweet Ann. You’re so young.” Fred breathes.

“So were you!” You exclaim.

“Exactly, Ann! You have what I never will. A life to do as you please. I’m forever stuck in death, a timeless shell of who I used to be, but you have years to experience this life, this…short, fleeting human life.” Fred kisses your hands. You shake your head, refusing to accept his words.

“No, Freddie. Don’t you understand? I will never have a life without you in it. I refuse. It can’t be that way. There’s no point in me going on without you, feeling this way-“

“You HAVE to, Annie.” His voice is stern. He frees his wrists from your grasp and turns away from you.

“Please, don’t do this Fred. Please.”

Fred stands up and paces toward the window. He places his hands on the sill, head hung low, and takes a deep breath. “You’ve loved before me. You can do it after me. There’s someone out there waiting for you, someone who understands, someone who can give you what I can’t.”

“I DON’T WANT THEM!” You roar. You jump out of bed, running towards him, forcing him to turn to you. “I want YOU, Fred. Only YOU! That’s what true love is, Freddie. There’s only one.”

Fred shakes his head. “See that’s where you’re wrong, my love.” His voice softens. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You soften at his touch, leaning into his hand, wishing the moment would last forever. He pulls you into an embrace. Your arms grip his waist, resolving to never let go. There’s so many warm tears coming from your eyes that you can’t see at all.

“You might have been the only one for me, Andromeda Karkaroff. You, beautiful, sweet, courageous thing.” He kisses the top of your head with a sob, his tears landing on your scalp. “But I know, I know, that I am not the only one for you.”

His words don’t even register with you. “I love you, Fred. I love you, I love you, I love you,” you declare.

He strokes his hand down your hair one last time, his fingers twirling the ends around themselves. “And you know I love you too, Annie. I always, always will.”

And then he’s gone. Your arms go limp around nothing. You frantically glance around the room, desperately looking for him, but it’s as you feared- he is as gone now as he ever was.

But then your eyes land on your bed, where sits a small box with an impossibly real ring, reflecting the moonlight in perfect sparkles.

You sit down on the bed, taking the box in your hand. You slide the ring out, carefully examining it, rolling it between your fingers. Finally, you place it on your left ring finger. It’s a perfect fit. It’s real. He had been real.

You remain fixated on the ring and decide you’ll never take it off. You might live the rest of this life against your will, but you would never stop loving Fred.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley twins #george weasley #george weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley one shot #harry potter one shot #harry potter one shots #nursejoyhp

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deans-mind-palace · 4 years

Text

Glooming hearts

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Summary: The one time Dean plays matchmaker for his socially awkward friend and angel who is just as worse as his friend. It’s funny and maybe he gets a lot more involved than he wanted to. Both have no experience with dating and Dean helps in his own way. Still, Dean likes watching how the chaos he caused envolves around him. What could possibly go wrong?

Word Count: 1,839

Warnings: bad pickup lines, fluff, confused and cute Cas, awkward dating

Author’s Note: This story is based on the request by @zizzlekwum Can I get F!reader x Cas where reader is really socially awkward and I mean Cas is Cas so they end up I guess just pining for a long time until like Dean decides to lock them in a closet or something so they can work their shit out. Enjoy and show it some love.

"No, Cas, you still don't understand the concept," Dean sighed and rubbed his temples as he stared at his angel friend with a pitiful look. "You must compliment her," Dean repeated, sipping his beer. The angel with the blue eyes sat upright on the sofa opposite. So stiff that his back was not touching the backrest. "Dean, I have-" Immediately Dean raised his hand and interrupted him, putting the beer bottle down again. "Ah ah! It's no compliment that someone looks very functional, Cas." The said angel frowned in confusion and gave Dean a questioning look. "You are to compliment her on her character and appearance! Her eyes, her hair, her smile, a new top, I don't know. Even better you compliment her on her character. Women especially love that. And you must dominate her. Every woman wants to be protected and have a man she can be herself with. Where she can give up all control and let go while he looks out for her." Cas nodded hesitantly. "I understand," he said slowly. Dean looked at him in surprise. "Yeah? Really? Hallelujah!" "No, not really..." Dean threw his arms in the air in desperation.

It was maddening. Ever since Cas told Dean that he thought he felt something for you, he had been coming to Dean for advice all the time. Dean had noticed that the angel really cared about you and did his best, but Cas regularly made Dean despair. He had been pulling his hair so often lately that it would be no wonder if it fell out soon.

"You know what, Cas? Google some pick-up lines..." Dean conceded defeat. The angel was about to give an answer when Sam walked into the room and interrupted. "Are you coming? Y/N and I have been waiting outside by the car the entire time." Dean jumped up immediately and rushed past his brother to the Impala where Y/N was already waiting for the boys. "Yes! For God's sake, yes!" Sam looked at his brother in confusion, and then his gaze wandered to Castiel. He had learned long ago not to question everything. "Will you ride with us? If not, we'll meet you there," said Sam, drawing the angel's attention to the hunt ahead. The angel looked out the motel window without answering. "Is Y/N joining us on the hunt?" he finally asked in his deep voice before his cool blue eyes fixed on the younger Winchester brother. "Yes, she's already waiting in the car." Cas nodded as if the words would take time to reach him. Then he was gone. Sam sighed and left the motel, only to see the angel sitting in the back seat of the car next to you.

You were terrified when Cas suddenly appeared next to you in the car. "Cas!" you shouted in indignation. "Y/N?" He tilted his head like a puppy and looked at you questioningly. His blue eyes made you forget what you wanted to say. "Never mind." You stuttered and looked away embarrassed. A rosy glow rose across your cheeks as you bit your lip and looked out the window in a hurry. Dean turned up the music and tapped the steering wheel as he sang along and drove you to a haunted house where a poltergeist was said to be haunting.

After a few minutes driving Cas had pulled out his mobile phone and hurriedly typed something you couldn't see. He seemed to be completely engrossed and his forehead lay in folds. "Y/N?" he asked, but he did not lift his gaze from the phone to look at you. "Hm?" "Did the sun come out or did you just smile at me?" You looked at Cas in confusion. What was he trying to say? "I did not smi..." But he went right on.

"I lost my phone number... can I borrow yours?" he read. You didn't understand anything anymore. "But you have my number, Cas. " "I thought happiness starts with an 'H'. Why does mine start with 'U'." Confused, the angel finally took his eyes off the phone. "Wait, I don't get that one, Dean. That's just a letter. It doesn't make sense." Sam snorted in amusement as Dean smacked his forehead. "Hopeless. Just hopeless." grumbled the blond man, then finally stopped at your destination.

"Well, you know the plan. We know what we're up against. We need to find the remains of its human body. Salt 'n' burn it, baby!" Then you stepped inside the house. Right away, you all felt a presence. The spirit slams doors in your face to let you know that you are not wanted. You felt this close behind you and he gave you a smile. "Y/N and Cas? You take care of the House Purification Ritual - It is possible to use this to destroy a poltergeist, if it is placed, in all the floors, of the north, south, east and west corners of the building it's haunting, alright? This will help us, but it won't like that ritual. So hurry as long as Sammy and I can keep him busy. Here you go." You nodded once you got your instructions and the hex bags from Dean.

Immediately you hurried up to the first floor and heard the heavy footsteps of Cas behind you on the stairs. "C'mon, Cas." You said and dragged the angel on the sleeve of his trench coat with you.You didn't know what was going on with him, but he was already absorbed in his mobile phone again and almost got his shoe caught on the landing. The first two bags weren't hard to place and you almost thought this was going to be an easy job, then a clink and yelling of Dean came up to your ears. "Shit." You muttered and hurried up, but the poltergeist slammed the door on the west corner of the house.

"Damn." you cursed as you heard how glass broke downstairs, tables moved and something that sounded like knives stuck in walls. The two brothers were in trouble downstairs in the living room. "Do your feet actually hurt? You've been going through my mind for hours!" Cas suddenly said and you turned around to the angel in a huff. "I really don't know what's wrong with you today, Cas, but -" From below, a deafening crash and a moaning sound echoed. "But it'd be great if you'd help me now, for Christ's sake." you hissed out between clenched teeth. Together with Cas, you threw yourself against the door again, and it crashed open. Immediately you ran to the western corner and placed the bag.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and looked at the last hex bag in your hand. You had to bring it to the northern corner. You took a deep breath. Cas rubbed some dirt off his coat and then looked back at his phone. "You okay, Cas?" you asked and he nodded. "All right, let's finish this one!"

You dashed against pieces of furniture to the northernmost corner of the house. You could still hear the muffled sounds of your friends from below. Hurriedly, you turned around in the room. Which was the northernmost corner? Cas stood next to you, then he looked at you seriously. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to report you for stealing." You looked up, completely flabbergasted. "What the hell?!" Unfortunately, you were so surprised that you didn't notice the presence of the poltergeist behind Cas. Even before you could put down the last hex bag, the huge closet doors made of old oak wood opened and a gust of wind blew you into the closet before the doors closed again. Suddenly there was a rumbling sound, followed by a crooked scale. You threw yourself against the door, but it didn't move an inch. "Damn, looks like it trapped us with a fucking piano." The hex ball fell out of your hand and rolled away. You slid down the wall of the closet and your shoe tips hit Cas'. You tore your hair desperately hoping that Sam and Dean were okay.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Cas?" you asked into the darkness. You loved that damned angel more than anything, but today he made it really hard for you with his inexplicable behaviour. "...because you have stolen my heart." he muttered and finished his previous sentence. You sucked in the air sharply. Did you hear him right? "I- I - Cas?" you stammered in confusion. You felt him sit down too, and so you sat shoulder to shoulder locked in a narrow cupboard. Through the crack of the door a little light came in and you saw him take his cell phone out of his pocket again. Only the battery was now dead.

"Damn..." He muttered. "I'm running out of pickup lines." You gulped. "C-Cas? Why are you using pickup lines on me?" you asked quietly. Even though you couldn't see the angel, you were pretty sure he was blushing. "I - I-" He broke off unsteadily. " Dean told me that I should google how to get a girl to like me. Well, Google said that pickup lines are a common way to get a girl's attention." he muttered so softly that you almost missed it. "And why do you use them on m-me?" you stuttered. "Because I love you," he said casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Your heart almost stopped and you choked in surprise.

Suddenly his hand brushed across yours in the darkness and you flinched as his warm fingers gently closed around yours. "It's true." he said with that deep voice you loved about him. And somehow your lips found each other in the darkness. First, your noses collided, making you giggle, whereupon Cas gave you an Inuit kiss and rubbed your noses together. Finally, his lips lay softly on yours and locked them together. You sighed into the kiss and buried your hands in his short brown streaks as his tongue gently ran over your lips and you let him in. His thumb stroked your cheek.

His voice was rough when he spoke again. "Your eyes are the most beautiful ones the Lord has ever made" he whispered against your lips and brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. You laughed softly. "That was your best line yet." you laughed softly. "Not very realistically, though, because you can't see my eyes in the dark." "Oh baby, you don't know how many nights those eyes have haunted me," he said. The pet name made your treacherous heart beat faster.

None of you had noticed that the hex bag had rolled into the northernmost corner when you spoke your next words. "Do me a favor, Cas. Never ever listen to Dean again! He's an idiot." Suddenly, there was a crunch at the door and the closet door was ripped open. Two brothers grinned at you as their gaze fell on your crossed hands and swollen lips.

“Oi, I’ve heard that!”

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Castiel tags: @zizzlekwum @ashthefirefox @rintheemolion @shypickleghostsuitcase @intoomuchfandoms @angeltardisbow @ayamenimthiriel @still-a-demon-very-ineffable-de @mimzy1994 @starkainthebluebox @assbuttyourlife @vicmc624 @everyobsession9023 @katresticc @tokiohearts483 @butterscotchseventeen @fortheentries

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thedreadvampy · 4 years

Text

so I understand you like Historical Mechs Fandom stuff

anyone wanna read this unfinished fanfic I wrote in 2013 about Bertie from the Gunpowder Tim backstory???? it is my Bertie Lives AU that was my baby for like six months and then I gave up because once I tried to write non-joky Mechanisms dialogue I was Incapable.

it’s pretty much just 10 pages of Bertie bumbling around having PTSD and then 5 pages of Bertie having a FULL ON NIGHTMARE BAD TRIP ON THE AURORA

[oops I put this up during my lunch break and I forgot to put content warnings - cw for alcohol abuse, suicidal thoughts and self-harm (plus all the usual Mechanisms stuff)]

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The night before the battle, Tim had a strange dream. At least, he decided on reflection, it must have been a dream, because it was far too odd to have actually happened, and the alternative was that he was going mad.

In the dream, he opened his eyes in darkness, and it took him a moment to work out why. Outside, someone was whistling a jaunty tune. It drifted down from above into his consciousness, and it occurred to him that he half-knew it. Humming along under his breath, almost inaudible, glory glory hallelujah, Tim crept out of his bunk and picked his way surefooted to the ladder out of the dugout, pausing only to pick up a shuttered lantern.

Up above, the dim light picked out the vague silhouette of the whistler. His back was to Tim; the young soldier could just about make out that the stranger was wearing neither Lunar or British uniform, but a long non-military trenchcoat. His long dark hair billowed in the stale cycling of the tunnel air, but he was otherwise motionless, whistling his tune repetitively out to the darkness.

Dragged by the strange compulsion of mystery, Tim drew closer, holding his breath. He was mere feet away from the stranger now, and the other man showed no sign of recognising his existence, just stared ahead and whistled. His soul goes marching on...

Caution gave him pause for a moment, the nightmare fear of the unknown, but the tension of the moment pulled Tim forward. Slowly, with eyes wide, Tim raised a hand to touch the long-haired man on the shoulder, but a fragment of a second before he could touch him, the whistling abruptly stopped. In that awful frozen moment, Tim's heart stopped in terror, and the other man turned, looked him in the eye.

With a strangled noise, Tim dropped his lantern in the mud. It flared as it fell, flashing reflections off metal and strange, unknowable materials embedded in the other man's skin.

He had such eyes, and that wasn't the worst of it. Paralysed with horror, Tim gaped, and his own ruined face stared unblinking back at him, pale and marred by those inhuman, mechanical eyes.

And in the darkness, the Other-Tim whispered to him, told him his future. Told him what he had to do.

-------

They land in the north of Scotland a few hours before dawn, a ragged, wounded band of half-men more pain than thought, and sunrise finds Bertie on the train south, a weary soldier on his way home at last. He clutches Tim’s dogtags like a rosary and rocks freely with the motion of the train. Not for the likes of them the heady luxury of the airships, nor even the smooth skytrain built not so long before the war that stretches around the coast. The common soldiery are crammed unceremoniously into commandeered civilian trains, and there’s little complaint because while it may be slow and loud and shaky and cramped, while they may be granted little more thought than freight, the trains are taking them home. The war is over, the years of hell behind them, and they are going home.

Still, tight-packed, the carriage is airless and steaming, and encrustations of dirt and blood and worse on the demobbed soldiers’ uniforms fill the train with the stench of war. Sitting next to Bertie is a boy who looks half his age, and the war so fills Bertie’s past that he wonders that it’s possible for someone so young to even have been alive when he and Tim enlisted lifetimes ago. He’s missing an arm, and the half of his face on Bertie’s side is a shattered, bandaged mess, collapsed jaw, empty eyesocket visible through the dressings. Bertie feels sick, miserable, and the pitching of the train does nothing to ease his nausea. The claustrophobic airless heat, the smell of men and misery, all of it’s too close to the tunnels for him to bear. Tim’s tags bite into his palm. He’ll have to tell Tim’s parents about what happened, when he finally makes it back. He wonders if they’ll be surprised. He wonders if they’ll remember him.

He presses his face to the mud-speckled glass and feels the vibrations running through his skull, tries to ward off the panicking part of his mind that tells him that what he’s feeling is the rumble of approaching Lunar vehicles. He shuts out the train, the sweaty warmth, the shattered bodies, and watches the familiar half-forgotten landscapes rush past. He longs to be out of here, out there. He wants to just fall down in the gorse and the heather below the enormous openness of the dawn sky, he almost convinces himself that he can smell the fresh sweetness of bruised leaves and rain-moistened earth, feel the rain on his face. Rain! It’s been so long he reels from the strangeness of it all, from the heaviness of normal g that sets his weakened body to buckling, from the greens and yellows and blues after the colourless landscape of the moon, from the improbable lack of echoing and the solid ground beneath his feet after years of tunnels and sinkholes and muck.

When he gets off the train, though, holding himself steady on his crutches in the crush of men, once the paperwork’s done and the stamps stamped and he leaves the station, his kitbag on his back, his legs wobbly and weak, once he’s off the train and out in the open, it’s all too much. The sky is too wide, a great, sucking emptiness above him, the air fills his lungs in strange ways, there’s nobody to tell him what to do or where to go, and he gropes for Tim’s hand but of course Tim isn’t there, won’t be there, and he finds himself losing the fight to stay standing. There’s too much air, he gasps it in and out and it can’t get through, and he’s crying in a shower of spit and tears as he drops his kitbag and crutches, curled on all fours, grabbing and gasping for breath that won’t come and he can’t do it, he’s left the tunnels but he’s still stuck there in his mind, and the more he tries to calm himself the worse it gets, until gentle hands lead him back into the station and push a tumbler of brandy into his hands and make soothing noises, and over the roaring of blood in his ears he can hear ‘poor old bastard’ and ‘shellshock’ and he thinks bugger that, it’s not the shells that shocked me, it’s getting away from them that did the damage. The brandy burns, makes him cough, but the effort of drinking it slows him, calms him, and the world comes back into focus.

He has to admit to himself he can’t get back to Roseburn Street by himself. He calls home from the station. His mother’s in hospital (he didn’t know, nobody told him), so his sister Sophie comes to pick him up, and he almost doesn’t recognise her. She’s grown, become a sensible, careworn woman since he left, though she’s barely twenty, and he almost comments on how much she’s changed from the laughing child he left behind until he catches sight of himself in a darkened window and sees himself through her eyes, his cavernous scars, his weakened frame, his aged face, his haunted eyes, his awkwardly dragging leg, his round cheeks turned hollow. There are lines gouged in his brow and around his mouth, lines of pain and misery and anger, and he struggles to align that Bertie with the person he knows he is. That Bertie looks middle-aged, looks worn, a veteran of a nightmare war, but he doesn’t understand because he knows he’s not yet twenty-five and the man in the window looks more like fifty.

He holds Sophie’s hand like a child on the tram back to the flat. He doesn’t speak. Neither does she. They are worlds apart. She isn’t fourteen any more and he doesn’t know who she is. One hand is in his pocket, turning over Tim’s tags, twining the chain endlessly around his fingers as if it could bring him closer. Outside the window, the city’s shifted to alien strangeness. Rails and tracks have been ripped up in the name of the war effort. New buildings have sprung up, old familiar facades fallen into disrepair. He doesn’t belong here. He is conscious that the other passengers are staring before he becomes aware that he’s weeping openly. Sophie’s hand tightens around his. He can feel blood oozing from his cracked palm, running over the warm metal dogtags in his pockets. He wants to disappear.

The tenement building of his childhood is at once too big and too small. The stairs take him an age to navigate, pausing at each landing to catch his breath, Sophie hovering concerned at his elbow. His shoulders scream with the effort, his lungs burn. The flat is on the fourth floor. Every pitted step of the stairwell is an aching return to childhood that his ruined leg drags over and scuffs to nothingness.

The flat seems to have shrunk since he left for Oxford an eternity ago. The walls close in around him. Exhausted by the journey, he fights to smile as his siblings and old family friends welcome him home with fanfare and homemade cake and childishly painted banners and balloons, but there are tears streaming unstemmed down his face. A balloon pops like a grenade and he finds himself crumpled on the floor. Someone screamed deafeningly in his ear; he decides it was probably him. He feels weak and selfish and fragile. His body weighs several tonnes. His aunt and his sister carry him to his room. He can’t stop apologising and he’s still apologising when they leave, Sophie’s mouth twisting as she holds back tears.

His room is starched and washed and cosily clean, little changed in all these years. He struggles into the pyjamas laid out on the bed, crisp and smelling of laundry, and hurls his hateful uniform across the room with what little strength is left in him. It lies there, watching him balefully. He throws a crutch at it. The little heap is miserable, muddy, alien in the childish comfort of his room. The wet fabric leaves a little puddle where it lies. He is seized with a sudden urge to be rid of it all, and despite his exhaustion, he struggles up on one crutch and hauls the filthy bundle to the bathroom across the hall, to shove it wilfully to the bottom of the laundry basket. Sudden realisation strikes him, and he digs back down to rescue Tim’s tags. Now his beautiful clean pyjama sleeve is wet and muddy, and there’s a brownish grey patch damp down his white-and-blue-striped side where he held the uniform to him. Angry and hurt and shaking with exertion, he tears that off as well, and shoves it too into the laundry. Then he sits on the toilet lid until the shaking subsides.

He doesn’t get up, because he can’t, but he reaches over to the cracked sink and drops the dogtags next to the tap. Then he scrubs his hands under the hot tap until they start to bleed again, until the water runs clear past his hands, trickling and dripping down his bare arms onto his chest. If there’s pain, it doesn’t reach him, but his hands are lobster-red when they emerge. He still doesn’t feel clean, but the room is spinning and the walls are closing in and he needs to sleep before he passes out. He brushes his teeth slowly and haltingly with a new toothbrush left by the sink, and realises he’s not been clean in years.

Before he goes to bed, he puts Tim’s stained and bloody tags around his neck, to hang there with his own. He wraps himself, like a small scared child, around a threadbare teddy bear his mother gave him when he was young. He has a vague feeling it ought to smell like childhood, but it doesn’t, it smells of age and dust and cleaning products.

He blacks out almost immediately, curled on top of the neatly made up, crisp sheets. He does not dream, and he awakes confused and lost, crying out and reaching for Tim in soft tangled strangeness that takes minutes to make sense to him.

It ought to be better, being out of the tunnels, being home. It is better, he tells himself, but he’s not convinced. At least on the front, he knew he had a use, he had orders, friends, Tim. Now he lies here, a pallid, broken thing, watched by faces pale and concerned, afraid of his own shadow. Bertie never learnt how to do nothing; for as long as he can remember he has been a comforter, a worker, a student, a soldier, a protector. Now the days stretch endless before him and crush him with their weight, closing in like tunnel walls.

For weeks, he barely leaves his room. His siblings bring him food and clothes and sit with him, try to talk across a gap of half a decade to the stranger wearing their brother’s name and an old man’s face. He lies in bed and reads and fingers Tim’s battered tags and tries not to think. Slamming doors and backfiring cars make him jump out of his skin. He cries without knowing why. There is a dent in the wall where he punches it in his sleep. He feels useless, empty. He’s forgotten how to be normal, and the world’s moved on without him.

He tries to take his kitbag and his uniform down to the yard to burn them, but Sophie stops him with a desperate hug and a comforting hand to guide him upstairs. The uniform is taken out of his unresisting hands and he is glad, but like a bad dream it returns in the end, freshly cleaned and folded, lurking like a predator in his wardrobe. He doesn’t complain, but he feels its baleful presence. There are stains in the fabric that will never come out, even if the uniform is washed to bleach-paleness. He hates it with a fervent passion.

A fortnight after he gets back, Bertie summons up all his courage and peels himself out of the comforting shell of the flat, struggles down the stairs to see Tim’s parents. They sit, awkward, three people all broken in their own ways by his death, and Bertie sips tea, unsteady hands slopping it into the saucer, as they stoically don’t talk about what hurts. In their conversation, Tim is still a brilliant child, and he and Bertie play in the sunshine, and nothing bad can ever happen, and though Bertie remembers that there were bullies and beatings and the sunshine was never as bright as it seemed, he imagines himself into that world. He doesn’t have anything to say that won’t hurt. He just wants to keep his mouth shut and lose himself in the rosy past they paint, but they ask about the war and though his teacup clatters in his hands and he can feel himself twitching, he calms himself as best he can. He tells them that Tim fought very bravely. He tells them how Tim’s experiments helped win the war, he talks about nights spent in camaraderie around their meagre heatstrip in the dugout, how Tim’s battered guitar had kept their spirits up night after night. He tries to gloss over the worst of it, but watching their faces he realises how far the boundaries of normal moved for him in the last few years, how the smallest things that had been everyday life in the tunnels were unthinkable to civilians.

He tells them that Tim died saving him. His face stays unmoving. He tells it as a stranger’s story, detaches himself. He wonders absently, as he tells them how Tim’s death allowed him to escape what should have been his death and crawl to safety, whether they hate him as much as he hates himself for stealing their son’s life for his own. He tells them the way Tim had lied to him to save his life, the way he’d forced him to leave him behind, the way he’d understood the situation better than any of them, willingly and actively given his life for Bertie. He wonders if they believe him. It’s too hard to explain. Even he doesn’t believe it, and he knows it’s true.

When he goes, he leaves the little bundle of Tim’s personal effects with them. His regimental mug, his notebooks, his favourite fountain pen, the two books he read and reread during the years in the tunnels. He doesn’t give them the dogtags, or the creased and bloodstained picture of himself and Tim that he recovered from the body. They are his and they are all he has.

Time eddies around him and he stands outside it, or so it feels. But he is healing. It’s slow and it’s painful and it’s almost unnoticeable but now he walks without cringing, he cries less often (though always at night, and the nightmares haven’t stopped). And now, after four months, August is shading into September and he remembers that he had a life once. He remembers why he enlisted. He tells his mother he ought to go back to Oxford and finish his degree, because he is sick of shadowing around the house like a ghost, because the hole Tim left in his life is more sucking than ever when he’s a cripple stranded with nothing to do.

The train takes him south-east, moorlands and industry fading into flat green farmland under the golden sunlight and the still-strange wide blue sky. He is almost enjoying the journey, until they begin to pass through tunnels and the hot darkness envelops him, panics him. He closes his eyes, tries to pretend that the darkness is an illusion, but the change in the air defies him; once again it is tight, sweaty, closed. His breath comes harsh and fast. By the time the train explodes back out into bright sunlight, Bertie is huddled against the seat, barely holding back the urge to scream and cry.

The journey is soured. Children complain about the intermittent darkness. Bitterly, Bertie wishes they understood just how bad it can be to be truly afraid of the dark. At the same time, he is glad they don’t. By the time the train pulls into London for his connection, he’s a nervous wreck. The way to Oxford is spent gnawing his nails to the bone, and he worries. It’s so unpredictable, what can set him off, and Oxford is full of memories and ghosts.

Unlike home, Oxford hasn’t changed a bit. It never does. Hell, there are buildings here going on for four thousand years old and still standing (heavily scaffolded and supported, naturally, but still). The streets are still strangely tranquil yet swarming; buses and airrails rattle past as he walks the old familiar ways back to Wadham, after half a decade away. Even after all this time away from the blasted Moon, the normality of it all still strikes him as disingenuous.

But things are wrong. Subtly, slightly wrong. There’s a strange feeling in the air. The students who pass him all seem ridiculously young. A memorial to Wadham students lost to the tunnels has risen up inside the quad, and once again Bertie sees Tim’s name and smells cordite and death and chokes back nausea. He sits outside his tutor’s office, resting on his crutches with his useless leg stretched across the corridor, and looks over at the girl next to him who has to be at least six years younger than him, and he feels old and weary and lost on familiar ground.

Of course, there is little to no trouble with him coming back to university. After all, he’s far from alone; all across the country since the end of the war, people pulled away by the draft have been coming back to pick up the pieces of their old lives. And now, with his savings and his soldier’s pension and his disability allowance, he can afford his tuition, and a small ground-floor flat not too far away to boot. All according to plan. Except that his flat is so empty after a lifetime of sharing rooms and housing, and at least at first he’s disorientated by not living in the place he and Tim had been occupying in their first year.

It all falls together. Which isn’t to say, of course, that it’s easy. He finds that distances he used to run in minutes exhaust him, and so to start with he turns up late to lectures almost every day. His fellow students are younger, fresher than him. They understand what he, scientific mind atrophied by years away from the concepts, struggle to grasp. He has few friends, and his frequent panic attacks alienate him more; the others view him with mingled admiration and pity, always from afar. He cannot go out on nights out with them; crowded pubs make him panic, long nights wear him out. Worst of all, in his absence the field has changed almost unrecognisably; the war forced such advances on technology and engineering understanding that suddenly, unexpectedly, he finds himself left years behind, a relic of a bygone age. He cannot work hard enough to regain his place at the head of his class, nor is he sure whether he has grown stupider or this new generation of engineers are unreasonably intelligent. It isn’t fair, he curses again and again, to be obsolete and old at the age of twenty-four. He can feel his chance of earning a scholarship once more slipping between his fingers.

But worst is the loneliness. Though slowly he gets better and better, begins to gain once more a handle on this new and alien form of engineering, walks with more strength, answers with more conviction, still he wakes screaming to an echoingly empty flat and Tim’s photograph eyes laughing behind the glass, trapped in time. He had hoped that regaining his university life might help him recover, but he has fallen far enough behind to never pick himself all the way up again, and lost friends’ names watch him whenever he walks around college, and the ghost of Tim haunts their favourite spots. And he is still so lost. His savings trickle away on cheap food and cheap rent and enough whisky to knock out an elephant, and sometimes he goes through hours of work without noticing that he’s crying into his glass. He barely sleeps, because his sleep is haunted. He awakes in the night and sees phantom soldiers in the shadows of the empty rooms and shivers under the covers, he hears noises in the hallway and drowning in paranoia, lies awake contemplating going outside to reassure himself that there’s nothing there, unable to build up the nerve to reach for his crutches in case there is.

He stays in the library until the morning, works late in the lab, does everything he can to avoid going home to the flat and his nightmares. He develops a habit of sleeping flopped on desks or leaning on walls in cafes, trains himself to operate on half-hour snatches of naps for weeks on end and to sleep during the day and work at night, forestalling the moment he has to lie in the darkness which makes every shadow and every creak into a horror story. He finds himself in this strange life where he needs people around him, their presence comforts him, but his eccentricities and his nervousness, not to mention the antisocial hours he keeps, leave him practically friendless. It’s strange to him. His whole life, he was always the one who everyone liked, who was easy to get along with and easy to spend time with. Now he finds himself taking a new role on the outside of everything, and it’s strange and uncomfortable.

But then, sleepless and uncomfortable, though he is learning to cope with work and to manage cramped places, the madness begins to leak into daylight. He wakes from naps in coffee shops with an uneasy feeling of being watched. He sees shadows following him for streets on end as he walks the city in the evening, but turns to see nothing. People pass him in the streets, people who he glimpses with a strange sense of familiarity but whose faces are never in view, people he knows he knows but can’t place. One day he gets home to find things in his room have been ever so slightly moved. Logically he knows it’s ridiculous, paranoid, that he’s misremembering, but he can’t shake the feeling that someone’s been in his home. People give him strange looks in the street. He is, he realises, definitely going mad. Not a-bit-of-shell-shock mad, gibbering in the corner, paranoid delusions mad.

He thinks about seeing someone about it, but what if they take him off the course again? What if they lock him up? He can cope. He grits his teeth and tries to ignore the feeling of being followed.

Exams come and go, not as good as he hoped or as bad as he feared. He goes home for a couple of weeks, and while he’s in his family’s flat he feels less watched, although there are still moments when he ventures off Roseburn Street where he hears someone walking behind him for turn after turn, always gone when he looks around. When he gets back to Oxford, he advertises for a flatmate. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea, with his night terrors and the odd hours he keeps, with his nervousness around people, but he hopes that it might make the nights less terrifying and the flat feel more secure. Still, he’s oddly relieved when he gets no responses; the life he’s living might be tense and operating on the slow and steady road to total insanity, but it’s become familiar and the idea of a change to his hard-won routine, even a positive one, is terrifying. Around the start of Trinity, the visitations abruptly stop. He can walk the streets without feeling followed, the feeling of being watched gives way to the usual loneliness. Life goes on.

He’s surviving. That’s the best he can say. Struggling day by day to keep his head above water, focusing on lasting the day. He isn’t doing badly. If you watched him, you’d barely know how hard it is. He does his work competently if not with his former brilliance, he responds with ghostly smiles when people speak to him, he has friends, both on his course and in the society he found by accident, the little drinking community of Lunar vets. But his colleagues don’t see the exhaustion in his eyes or the drag in his step; when he takes days in a row off sick they just take it as a given. And perhaps the other veterans can see it, but they’re all fighting the same war in their heads. Like in the tunnels, this is just what normality is for them all now.

He wonders what he’s living for. Under his clothes, where nobody can see, his upper arm bears a bloody tally of the times he’s come close to wasting Tim’s gift. The skin is rough and livid with criss-crossing scars.

He wants to die. He can’t die. Around the city, bridges and trains, high windows and passing cars, remind him how easy it would be to stop fighting. But then who would remember Tim? Then, what would Tim have died for? It’s useless. Ridiculous. If he’d been shot, if he’d been killed in the war, all would have been well, it would have been nobody’s fault. All these years he’d thought that the war was hell, but at least he’d known what he was doing. Now he drifts through a grey haze of lonely days, and it is with a palpable shock that he realises it’s a matter of days until the anniversary of Tim’s death.

Accordingly, when the day rolls around (April 3rd, ten days before his birthday), Bertie skips class, skips his usual library session, and devotes the day to getting as utterly and completely hammered as humanly possible. He attempts to drink until he’s incapable of feeling feelings any more; it doesn’t entirely work out as planned. He does, however, drink until he’s incapable of feeling his fingers, and then very nearly breaks his fist trying to get in a fight that nobody else wants to have. Ultimately, he wakes up with a splitting headache, missing a crutch, on a park bench halfway across the city.

He lies very still, trying not to vomit, and then it occurs to him that the paranoia must have come back, because he feels eyes on him despite the fact the sun’s barely risen and the park is empty. A few more brain cells juggle into place and he realises he isn’t making it up. There’s a shadow falling across him. Someone is standing behind the bench, watching him.

With a shout, he erupts upwards, trying to catch the watcher off-guard. The figure is gone, but looking around frantically, he sees the tail of a long coat disappearing around the gate. His nausea and headache pushed aside for the moment, Bertie gives chase as best he can on one crutch, desperation lending him a surprising turn of speed. He runs lopsidedly through familiar streets and alleyways, always just close enough behind to catch a glimpse of his quarry, never fast enough to catch up, breath tearing raggedly, lungs and limbs burning.

Chasing the glimpses of flapping brown coat over Magdalen Bridge, eyes fixed on his quarry, Bertie doesn’t see the man stepping out in front of him until it’s too late. Knocked off balance, his head hits the paving stones hard enough to start stars dancing dizzily in front of his eyes. His crutch skitters noisily into the road. He chokes back vomit, shaking with exertion and rage, and hauls himself halfway up to give a piece of his mind to whoever ruined his chase, but the words dry in his throat when he sees who he ran into.

He gasps, shudders, stifles a scream as he tries to crawl away and encounters the solid parapet, because he’s definitely snapped. Impossible ghosts have come back to haunt him.

“Bertie!” A grin grows across the other man’s face, making the rivers of ink on his face shift and bend. At least, it’s probably a grin, although the number of teeth exposed make Bertie feel rather like a small animal trapped in the gaze of some vast predator. “Bertie, Bertie, Bertie. This is a fucking treat. Haven’t seen you since, hell, when was it?”

Bertie, gaping, chokes out, “Sea of Tranquillity. A year and a half ago. You died, D’Ville.”

“Did I?” Jonny D’Ville sticks a cigarette between his teeth and lights up, looking singularly unconcerned by that information. “Huh. Learn something new every day. Oh well, these things happen, huh? That’s life. Or not, as the case may be.”

“How are you here?” Bertie manages, struggling to his feet (well, foot) with the aid of the parapet. A thought strikes him. “Oh God, am I dead too? Is this what it’s like?”

Jonny snorts. “Dead? Fuck no, you’re just hungover. Trust me, there’s a difference. Hungover is a lot less fun.”

Bertie has had more than enough of this cryptic shit. Just about managing to keep himself supported on the parapet, he lunges forward to grab Jonny by the collar, and is almost taken aback when his hand doesn’t go straight through. Oh hell, what must this look like to people passing them by? Is Jonny really there, or has it finally happened, has he joined the ranks of the crazies who stand in the street shouting at nothingness? “Would you just tell me what the FUCK is going on?!”

Unconcerned, Jonny steps back a few steps, dragging Bertie away from his support so he loses his balance again and falls at his feet. “Where’s the fun in that? I dunno, some people just want to take all the mystery out of life. You’re alive and mostly unmaimed, isn’t that good enough for you?”

“No, it’s fucking not!” Scrabbling around for a moment, Bertie manages to reach his crutch and starts the painful process of getting back up. His face is burning with humiliation and rage, he wants to break everything, beat Jonny’s smirking face into a bloody pulp.

“Well, that’s fucking gratitude for you, isn’t it? After all the trouble Tim went to to get you out of there in one piece. How’d that work out, anyway?”

The red mist descends. Bertie lashes out upwards with the metal bar of his crutch, catching Jonny under the jaw with a satisfying crunch, and then they’re both rolling on the pavement among horrified passersby, and Bertie is straddling Jonny’s chest and punching him repeatedly in the face, and he’s not so much lashing out at Jonny’s smug comments as he is at his own insanity, at the feeling of being watched, at the country that let him down and at Tim’s ghost for being cruel enough to die for him. Jonny laughs through broken teeth, a bloodstreaked devil’s smile, and it fuels Bertie’s rage more, until his fists are bruised and torn from punching.

Something cracks Bertie in the back of the head for the third time this morning. Jonny’s laughing, ruined face swirls and swims before his eyes, and then nothingness embraces him.

-----

Blinking awake, eyes gummy, head killing him, it takes Bertie a moment to realise what’s wrong, but when he does he swings into full consciousness in an airless rush of panic. He’s lying on something hard and uncushioned, and the gravity’s all out of whack, he feels strangely weightless and buoyant, his fearful breathing echoes off tight metal walls. For a moment of impossible certainty, he’s sure he’s somehow back on the Moon, trapped again in the tunnels, but no, that can’t be, since the end of the war there have been blockades around the lunar remains, nobody gets in or out. But that doesn’t stop the bile rising in his throat, claustrophobic panic seizing him. His mind knows that this isn’t the Moon, but his hindbrain disagrees with absolute surety, and rises in revolt, and if this isn’t the Moon then where the hell is he?

He tries to sit up, and sets the room spinning as white-hot pain lances through the base of his skull. Nausea sweeps through him again, and he retches, but some time must have passed because his stomach is empty and he only succeeds in dribbling stomach acid onto the floor. His head is excruciating, and it takes him several minutes to remember why. Gingerly, he touches the sore part, trying not to move his head, and hisses between his teeth as his fingers brush scabbed swelling and bruises under curls matted with clotted blood. It isn’t too badly cut up, he decides once he can think again over the pain. There’s a lot of blood, yes, but you get that with head wounds, and the wound isn’t deep, really just a scratch. The pain and the nausea comes from the fact that someone hit him hard enough to lay him out with one blow, and bugger everything if this isn’t just about the worst day for headaches he’s ever had. Assuming it is the same day, of which there is precisely no guarantee.

Exploring his pockets, he finds with some relief that whatever else might’ve happened, he hasn’t been robbed. Among small change and keys, he finds his pillbox in his jacket; his hipflask is a comforting weight in his trouser pocket, half-empty but still full enough. With trembling hands, he tips out a couple of heavy-duty painkillers , washes them down with a big enough gulp of whisky to be a really bad idea, and then sits very, very still, his head in his hands, waiting for one or both of them to kick in enough for him to move, and trying to process what possible madness could have befallen him.

Literally none of it makes any sense. The dead walking around being very not-dead, the stranger watching him constantly who turns out not to have been a figment of his imagination…who was it that hit him, back on Magdalen Bridge? Why bring him here, and where is here? And who is the man in the brown coat who seems so familiar and so alien? Why him? He hasn’t done anything interesting, never got mixed up in anything political, never did anything huge, has no power, no heft; he’s just a messed-up veteran living in a crappy student flat with the ghost of his dead lover, like half the rest of the bloody country. He isn’t special.

He makes an abortive effort to get up, some combination of booze and drugs calming slightly the pain fogging his mind, then realises that his crutches are nowhere to be seen. Slowly, dizzily, he crawls three-limbed to the nearest decent-sized object…a cannon, it looks like, but in a design he’s never seen before, and something about it is trying to stir something up in his mind, but he’s in no fit state to make links and the thought slips away before he can get a grip on it…and hauls himself upright with a grunt of effort, hop-shuffles towards the door, aided by the low gravity and his hand on the wall.

He makes his way out of what seems to be some sort of arsenal, down long, doorless corridors, slightly curving floors, rounded metal walls, festooned with exposed pipes and wiring. Memories of more makeshift corridors well up inside him; he drowns them with the remainder of his whisky and struggles on. There are voices up ahead. He recognises Jonny’s mocking laughter, and, burning with rage, follows the echoing sound.

“You knocked him out.” He hears Jonny’s voice clearly now. “With his own fucking crutch. That’s fucking cold, Nastya.”

“Yes. And?” The other voice is female, tinged with something like and yet unlike a Russian accent, and wholly uninterested. Bertie creeps closer. He can see the change in light coming from a half-open doorway up ahead; he slows his step, wincing at the echoing drag of his bad leg on the steel floor.

“And nothing.” Now, creeping to the doorframe, Bertie can catch a fractured glimpse of the inside of the room. Jonny is sitting in a raised chair, his booted feet up on the console in front of him, his back to the door. The young woman he’s talking to, Nastya, can’t be more than twenty, if that, and Bertie can’t decide if the strange silver sheen to her skin is a trick of the light, or yet another mystery. Jonny swigs a glass of whisky dramatically. “Could’ve done it five minutes earlier, is all. He smashed in my whole face, which is a, a massive pain in the arse, and b, extremely unoriginal.”

The young woman shrugs, but smiles slightly, unpleasantly. Bertie can’t quite express why her amusement is unnerving, but it is.

Jonny ignores her. “Plus, it’s set you-know-who off again. You know it’s only a matter of fucking time before he starts talking at us, and last time it took ten years in a fucking dwarf star to shut him up.”

“He didn’t shut up,” replies another voice. Whose, Bertie can’t see from his vantage point. “But he’s whining to Ivy now, so who gives a fuck?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Jonny drains his glass and thumps it down on top of the console. “Point is, we’ve got this fucker on board my ship now, so-“

“Your ship?” Nastya raises an eyebrow.

“Your creepy robo-fuckbuddy, whatever. The ship of which I am captain, how about that?”

“First mate,” says the disembodied voice, accompanied by a drifting cloud of smoke.

“Yeah, can we not fucking start this again? It gets really fucking old after a few millennia. Let’s not dwell on who’s right and who’s wrong, and who’s captain and who isn’t, especially because you all know in your heart of hearts that it’s me on both counts. Point is, we have a very mortal annoyance getting blood all over the place. Personally, I vote for seeing how long he can hold his breath in space.”

“189.3 seconds on average, not taking into account pressure differentials.” A new voice, female, with a clipped public school accent.

“But the pressure’s what makes it funny. Fuck’s sake, Ivy, learn to have a bit of fun.” He picks up his empty glass and looks at it askance. “I’m gonna get another drink before somebody, naming no beardy and annoying names, decides to stop moping and start flavouring perfectly good whiskey with nitroglycerin again.” Jonny takes his feet off the control panel and swivels in his chair. Bertie tries to peer closer, but Jonny’s face is still turned away; he can’t make out how much damage he managed to do. Standing up, he disappears out of Bertie’s blinkered line of sight, but now, Bertie can hear his footsteps coming towards the door. He freezes, paralysed like a mouse before a snake. He can’t run away quietly, not on this leg, nor is there anywhere to hide. Blood pounds in his ears, and he‘s looking around desperately for somewhere to hide, and somebody up there likes him, because there! A service hatch, big enough to crawl into fairly swiftly, and he manages it just in time, pulling the hatch closed and sealing himself into the crushing darkness a split second before he hears the door swing open and slam shut.

The space is small, the ceiling low enough that he has to sit with his head tucked onto his bent-up knee, his bad leg twisted uncomfortably under him. His hip is screaming already. He feels around in the darkness, trying to find out how deep the space is, hoping that it might be a service shaft to take him to somewhere slightly less immediately awful, and encounters something he thinks for a horrible moment is a leg or an arm, dressed in wool fabric. But it’s got no warmth, and it’s hard to the touch, and, heart in mouth, he pushes up the cuff of the fabric sleeve and feels smooth, polished wood under his fingertips.

He breathes a sigh of relief. Must be a broom closet or something. Weird, but what isn’t today?

There’s a clink in the darkness, like glass or china, the sound incongruous.

“I say, old bean!” remarks a cheerful voice, sounding incredibly loud in the small space. “What a spiffing idea! A secret tea party! What larks! Biscuit?”

Bertie jumps out of his skin, fumbling for a match. The light flares for a moment, illuminating a familiar and incredibly unwelcome inhuman face, painted moustache and all.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He scrabbles backwards, collapses out of the hatch in a clattering racket, and stumble-runs off down the corridor as fast as he can manage.

Behind him, a chirpy voice echoes from the vent. “Are you sure? They’re jolly nice. They’re the sort with little silver balls on top.” Bertie, however, is long gone.

He’s staggering down the corridor in an increasingly hellish state of stomach-churning terror, concussion, pain and overheating when he reaches a fork in the corridor. Pausing in an agony of indecision, he hears Jonny’s voice up ahead on the left. “No. Fuck right off. He’s your fucking problem, let me know if and or when he cracks up and blows his own brains out.”

There’s an echoing clang, rather like somebody’s head being smashed at breaking-speed into a metal wall, and then Jonny starts laughing in a damp, gurgly sort of way. Bertie heads down the right-hand corridor, holding himself up on the wall, until his lungs give out and, muscles screaming, blood pumping fire through his veins, he can run no more, and collapses gasping against the wall, slides down with an audible squeal of sweat on metal to sit panting on the floor, doubled over and staving off a total meltdown with difficulty. His hipflask is devastatingly empty, his body a mass of pain, his head spinning.

A noise echoes down the corridor up ahead. Whatever it was to start with, it is magnified and replicated beyond recognition, but it’s enough to push Bertie back up into all-senses-tingling fight-or-flight mode, and he scrabbles like a mouse from a cat away from the noise. Around the curve of the corridor, a few metres away, there’s a door set into the wall, and he falls through it with relief, hoping against hope that he gets lucky this time, that there’s no bloody dead thing living in here too.

It’s very dark, and very quiet, and he crawls forwards into the blackness until he bumps into what feels like a low desk, or possibly a lab bench, the sort with three solid sides reaching down to the floor. The ground underneath is cluttered; with what, he can’t decide by touch, but metal and plastic and glass shift as he inches under the table as quietly as he can. His hand goes down on glass shards; he ignores the pain, adds it to his long list of miseries, and pulls himself into the corner, huddled in the dark with only his own shaky breathing for company.

At some point, he falls asleep, and is aware of it only when he wakes in a panic, hearing footsteps somewhere nearby. He gropes for a weapon, something to defend himself with; his scabbed and stiff hands find what feels like a length of pipe. If he can’t hit with it, it might be long enough at least to help him stand. Hand resting on its comforting coolness, he keeps feeling around, but the footsteps grow closer and then Bertie freezes as a door opens on the other side of the room, and antiseptic white light flares into being, making his eyes water and his head squeeze vice-tight. He grips the pipe as tight as he can and waits in breathless tension, offering up a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening that whoever it is will just go, go now and let him be, but the footsteps keep coming.

Over the pounding drum of his heartbeat, Bertie can hear the heavy swish of a long coat now, a subtler accompaniment to the harsh leather-on-metal thuds of footsteps. A shadow falls past the side of the desk. Bertie does his level best to shrink further into the corner whilst remaining simultaneously absolutely still, which isn’t exactly easy.

Then, a glimpse of a swinging brown canvas coat hem and battered brown leather shoes, and Bertie knows he’s discovered, because the man in the brown coat has never failed to track him down and haunt his days, is hardly likely to start now. His only chance is to take him by surprise and make a break for it.

Pulling the pipe under his weight as he rises, Bertie surges upwards, a broken flask in hand, one arc of motion sending the sharp glass slashing towards the stranger’s throat, but before it can so much as graze the skin, the man in the brown coat grabs Bertie’s wrist and twists it away, turning as he does so, eyes catching Bertie’s.

The beaker falls unheeded to the ground and explodes in a shower of shards. Bertie doesn’t even notice. All his breath is gone from him as surely as if he’d been punched in the gut. His voice is thin and reedy and disbelieving. “No.”

Gripping his wrist still, not ungently, Tim’s expression is unreadable. There’s no flicker of emotion in the ruinous eyes. Bertie gapes. Slowly, Tim releases his hand, and Bertie falls back against the unyielding support of the desk, limp and unblinking as he stares at the impossible figure before him, all he’d hoped and not dared to hope, all he’d feared from the moment he saw D’Ville on the bridge.

“No,” Bertie repeats, hysteria bubbling up in his voice. “No! Fuck you! You can’t…you fucking…you bastard! You fucking bastard! Do you know what you fucking did? Do you know what you put me through? You total fucking shit!”

He glares up at the once-dead man’s unreacting face (saw his eyes dim once, saw him crumple, saw him breathe his last) and he can’t take it any more. With a frustrated yell, he flings himself into Tim, pummelling his fists into chest and face and arms, shouting unspeakable emotions as tears sting his eyes and fall hot down his face.

Tim just stands there, unflinching, and takes every blow without a flicker of his unnatural eyes.

#the Mechanisms #gunpowder tim #tim x bertie #back in the day we made our own ships out of grit and gumption and not wanting to ship our friends' characters together #mechs fic

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