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the-witty-pen-name · 4 years ago

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The Nanny Pt. 3

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: alcohol/drinking, food, corrupt cop, mentions of prostitution/smut, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, mentions of serial killers/murder, mutual pining,

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: I got inspired re-watching one of my favorite shows and I want to know if anyone else gets the reference I’m using! If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know! This is also unedited!

Taglist Form is in my bio!

Series Masterlist

Your shoulders tensed listening to the radio in the morning. Sitting on your ottoman, you were painting your nails, using the coffee table as your nail station. It was a really bright morning, and you had the curtains pulled open to draw in light. Julie frantically rushed between her room and the bathroom getting ready for her shift at the diner. The newest single from The Beach Boys was playing through the little counter top radio, but at the top of the hour, the melodies playing through the speaker changed to the news. The top story of the morning was chilling.

“Jules,” you said, calling her over hesitantly, putting the cap back on the bottle of polish. “Come listen to this.”

She scurried out of her room while working to tie her apron in the back, and then she stood next to where you sat to listen to the story on the news. The color drained from her face as you both listened to the reporter describe the horrific scene that was under investigation early this morning.

Roy Laferty was an evangelical preacher whose body washed up by the lake very early that same morning. The news report talked about the police investigation, and also disclosed his wife Helen, is also reported missing. They are looking into the disappearance of Helen, as well as opening a full investigation on Laferty’s murder. They also urge individuals with any information regarding the two to call the Sheriff’s department and to provide a statement.

“That’s horrifying,” you mumble, shocked as you try to process the news. Julie nods in agreement but strangely doesn’t seem nearly as affected by the news as you.

“It’s happening again,” she mutters, obviously concerned but her lack of surprise worries you.

“What do you mean again?” you ask.

“There was a string of unexplained murders, all men, like this newest one,” Julie explained, “This was all over the news like two years ago- can’t believe you hadn’t heard about it.” All you could do was shrug; this was all new to you. “Obviously, there was nothing linking their deaths, but there were these five killings a couple of years ago that are still unsolved. There’s no evidence, but the town rumors it was like a serial killer or something. Nothing is confirmed, of course, just a story.”

“What makes people think it was all the same person?” you ask, hesitantly.

“All the people were always the same type,” she shrugs, “Men all in their 20s and 30s. Again, there’s nothing linking them all together. It’s just talk.”

You clicked off the radio, and didn’t know what to do with yourself. Julie patted your shoulder, comfortingly but she had to go on with her day. So did you, and you almost her ability to move about the apartment almost unfazed by the news. You suppose it makes sense, her growing up here she’s probably used to it. You didn’t have the experience or the thick skin she had.

You had decided to go to the library, still preoccupied by the news segment as well as the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff. You spent the better half of the morning looking at the library’s archives of old newspapers. You wanted to read more about the unsolved cases Julie had told you about, so there you sat for several hours looking through the microfilm reader. You even stumbled upon articles that featured the Sheriff.

There he was plain as day on the front page when it was announced he had won the election the first time he ran several years back. You couldn’t help but notice the changes in his appearance and demeanor compared to the man you keep running into. He was a little slimmer, and he looked a lot happier, a little fuller of life, you decided was a good way to explain it. His smile was wider, and you could see the difference in his eyes as well. It was seeing how he was before the stress of the job began to take its heavy toll. He had on the same leather jacket as well, you were fairly certain, even though the one in the photograph hung a little looser.

You continued to skim through articles, piecing your way through the history of Knockemstiff. Little articles in black and white that persevered the history of this dark little town. You were beginning to realize this backwater town was a lot more tangled and complex than you originally believed. It was a tangled history, riddled with crime and unclosed cases, that people seem to have either forgotten or choose to ignore for their own sake. Your mind wandered back to the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff and him being corrupt. You wonder how much of what you read about linked back to him. Though you imagine if he has any sort of political connection, which a man like him must have, the things he was involved in probably didn’t even make it into the paper. The thought made you physically shiver.

You put the large leather portfolios of archives you took and put them back into their proper place on the self chronologically. You grabbed your sweater from the back of your chair, and pushed the chair back into place. Looking up at the clock on the wall, it was only just one in the afternoon. You decided to head down to the diner and grab a bite, and also visit Julie during her second shift. It was a short walk from the library to the diner. Everywhere felt like a short walk here, probably because everything in downtown was not much bigger than a few blocks. The majority of people lived far from the center of town, on their own land and farms.

The little bell on the door rang when you stepped in and Julie waved at you from behind the counter and pointed for you to grab an empty table in her section. You put your bag on the table and took a seat. It was a fairly busy time, most people who worked at the surrounding businesses coming in for their lunch break. Julie brought you over a coffee and then said she’d be back to chat when she got to take her five.

Lee hadn’t been able to go home since the phone call. The symptoms of his hangover were worsening and he was growing more irritable. His five o’clock shadow was still evident on his tired face and his head was pounding. He tried his best to just power through it but the sound of anyone trying to talk to him just made his ears ring.

After leaving the scene, he had to stop by his office and then he was on the phone for the better part of an hour fielding calls from frantic citizens not only of Knockemstiff but also Meade, where Laferty was from. Despite how horribly he felt, he tried his best to keep his temper level and just reassure people he had things under control. He was losing his patience.

He opened up his desk drawer and grabbed his bottle of asprin. Empty. He threw it into the small waste bin and got up abruptly grabbing his jacket off the hook and storming out. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving and he didn’t care. It was a short walk to the drugstore from the station and he wouldn’t be five minutes. He just needed to do something to stop his head from hurting.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” the pharmacist greeted when he walked in. He nodded his head upwards briefly to reply without having to talk. He just needed to get in and out. She went back to whatever she was working on when he came in, and he browsed the aisles for what he needed. After paying and walking out, he glanced in the direction of the diner when he was crossing the street. There you were, again. Sitting alone and chatting with the waitress that was refilling your coffee.

He let out a heavy sigh, and then continued walking. He didn’t want you to see him like this, hungover, unshaved, wrinkled uniform and heavy undereye bags from his lack of sleep. You looked- well, Lee thought you were the prettiest thing he’s seen in a while, maybe ever. There was something about you he couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was just because you weren’t from here. You were a fresh face, and not ruined by this town. There was a sweetness and an innocence in how you talked to him, because you didn’t know him like the rest of people here did. He liked that.

Even when he left the station for the day, he couldn’t even go home yet. He had a meeting at the bar with one of Brown’s lackeys. He was just supposed to collect his cut so he couldn’t imagine it would take long, but he was still annoyed. Stepping into the bar he looked around as he took off his hat. It was a little more crowded tonight then when he was here last. The red curtain was closed and his eyes lingered there for a moment before directing his attention to the man he recognized who was waving him over.

“Sheriff,” the man greets and Lee slides into the booth across from him.

“Hayward,” he replies. Without even needing to order, the bartender comes over bringing them a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“You ever go back there?” Hayward asks, watching as a girl came out and brought a man behind the curtain who had been waiting at the bar.

“No,” Lee scoffs.

“They are amazing,” Hayward says, almost giddy. Lee feels sympathy towards the poor woman who had to take care of him. Lee doesn’t acknowledge the statement and just empties his glass and begins to pour himself a second.

“So, my cut?” Lee asks. Hayward frowns and goes into the breast pocket of his sports coat and pulls out an envelope of cash.

“You aren’t getting full,” the man says when Lee cocks a brow at the thinness of the envelope.

“Still?” Lee asks, pissed. Hayward nods. Lee’s jaw clenches.

“You didn’t keep things tidy on your end,” Hayward reminds him, “You got one job. Keep the cops out of our territory. We had two cruisers drive through last week. The only reason you’re getting anything at all is cause you managed to keep your people off us when we did the exchange with Deckard’s crew.”

The man finishes his drink, and then slaps the empty glass on the table. He pulls out his own envelope, which is much thicker than Lee’s and drops down more than enough for the drinks. He chuckles condescendingly and tells the Sheriff to get a dance. Fuck that. Lee takes the extra money and plans to just put it right in his pocket and go home. He finishes his third scotch and suddenly his headache was back. He felt worse than he did earlier today.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” a feminine voice asks, making him break his line of thought. He looks to his side and he recognizes her as one of the girls he sees bringing men to the back room, behind the velvet curtain. He shakes his head, and instead of leaving him alone, she slides into the booth next to him. Her hand grazes over his thigh. “You seem awful tense, Sheriff,” she says and then bites her lip.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He knows she doesn’t actually want him, and it’s just an attempt to get him to spend money in the backroom. If he doesn’t focus his already hazing vision, maybe she could vaguely remind him of you. He can’t do it, but he wants to. Her hand moves up his leg and he pulls away. He adjusts his pants and she shrugs.

“Maybe next time then,” she winks before walking away. He rests his head back on the vinyl seat and sighs. He grabs his hat and jacket, leaving before he changes his mind. “Ask for Cherry when you come in, yeah?” she calls when he walks out.

You are just everywhere. You’re in his head and he doesn’t even know you. He needs to sleep, desperately, and part of him in the back of his mind hopes you’ll be there. When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember.

“Have you heard about the Church fundraiser coming up?” Julie asks. You shake your head. “It’s a pretty big deal here. Everyone participates.”

“What is it?” you ask, kicking off your slippers so you can sit crisscross on the couch.

“Bid-On-A-Basket,” she says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing.

“Never heard of it,” you reply, “It sounds fun. What is it?”

“All us single gals put together a picnic basket with everything for a lunch,” she explains, “and then all the eligible bachelors bid on the basket and a date with the girl who made it. Last year, the dreamiest guy, Bill Whittier, bought mine- it’s so fun. Me and Bill didn’t work out but it was a good time.”

“I don’t know anyone here,” you say hesitantly.

“Perfect way to get a date then,” she teases. You bite your lip. You aren’t sure about this.

“And what if some creep is the highest bidder?” you counter.

“You get a bad date story for your next date?” she poses. “Please,” she begs, “It’s for a good cause, all the money this year is going to help the Sunday school.”

“What if no one bids on it?” You rebut.

“Look at yourself,” she scoffs, “you’ll get bids. Trust me.” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally. She smirks, completely planning to wear you down.

“Remember it’s for the kids,” she reasons, “It wouldn’t hurt to go and participate.”

“I said I’ll think about it,” you laugh.

Time passes and soon enough you get another call from Sandy, and you are suddenly back to taking care of Valerie. You had missed her, a lot actually. You definitely have gotten attached to her, and you think you’ve grown on her too. Sandy was vague this time for how long they’d be gone, but since the previous time went so smoothly, you didn’t worry about it.

About a week after Sandy and Carl left this time, there was another disturbing news report. You were sitting on the floor, changing Valerie and you had the television playing softly in the background. The news told the story of another body, this time found in the woods off of the highway. You finish changing the baby and hold her close, her little chin resting on your shoulder as you watch the news story. It was just like Julie had talked about. Another man, thirty years old. He was shot and his body abandoned. You jump at the knock at the front door.

You peep through the curtains, and you see the Sheriff waiting on the front porch. You wonder if he knows you’re there. Part of you almost wishes he knows it you here and he wanted to see you. It’s incredibly stupid on your part and you know better, but nonetheless, part of you hoped he came here for you. Very stupid. With Valerie on your hip, you open the door.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says walking into the house. He stops in front of you and presses a kiss to Valerie’s forehead and she squeals happily seeing Lee. You close the door with your foot. “May I?” he asks, and opens his arms. You agree, based on Valerie’s reactions to him whenever she sees him. He takes her in his arms, and she starts playing with his tie. He loosens it so she can play with it and not choke him.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” you ask. He reacts in a way in a way you can’t really read, but you don’t press.

His mind just goes back to the woman a couple weeks back in the brothel who asked him the same thing, and that his mind immediately had gone to you. He just clears his throat and snaps himself out of that thought process.

“Um, I just came by to see Sandy,” he says, “But I can fathom a guess that she’s not here?”

“Excellent deduction,” you joke, and he smirks. Valerie has his tie in her mouth and is covering it in drool. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nod. “You looked a little scared when you answered.”

“Just watching the news before you showed up is all,” you explain, “They were talking about how there was another man found dead.”

“Ain’t got nothing to worry about,” he says, “We’re on top of it. I’m on my way over there now.”

“Can I ask you something?” you ask hesitantly.

“Of course, darling.”

“My friend, you probably know her- Julie Grady.”

“Yeah, nice kid,” he says, listening but gently pulling his tie from Valerie’s grasp. She starts playing with the flap of the pocket of his jacket.

Kid. You almost grimace. That’s right. Of course, Lee would view someone your age that way. You weren’t. You chastise yourself for even caring, but you decide to continue. You shouldn’t care how he sees you.

“Yeah- well, she told me there have been others,” you continue, “I also read up about it, just the newspapers at the library- but she said people thought it was some kind of serial killer… I just, I want to know what you think.”

“I don’t think know,” he answers honestly, a little taken aback, not expecting you to approach him with something this serious. “I doubt it,” he explains, “Serial killers stay close to home. Now those cases you read about, and these two we are looking at- they sound close together but logistically, they aren’t really. Two of those unsolved were in completely different states- just like this new one.”

“So, no traveling serial killer?” you chuckle, trying to sound lighthearted. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Most people like that stay in one area,” Lee explains, “They work jobs, they have a home, you know? They tend to stay near where they live.”

“That makes me feel much better,” you answer honestly.

“You got nothing to worry about, and that’s a promise,” he grins, although he supposes coming from him that probably doesn’t mean much. Regardless, it makes you smile.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” you offer again. He bites his lip, taking a moment to think.

“Sandy keeps a bag of candy in her cabinet,” he says, walking into the kitchen with you following close behind. He passes Valerie off to you and he chuckles under his breath at the state of his tie. He reaches up in the cabinet and pulls down a brown paper bag, filled with taffies and chocolates.

Something about this man who has a whole time scared of him playing with his niece and then stealing sweets from the cupboard is something you find so strangely endearing. He unwraps one of the brightly colored taffies and then puts the bag in his pocket.

“I gotta go,” he announces, “let me know if you hear from Sandy, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reply.

“Gonna head out to that scene, and do my report,” he discloses, not really sure why he’s telling you. “Then I have a meeting at the rectory about that fundraiser thing. Figure out security.”

“They need security at Bid-On-A-Basket?” you ask, with an eyebrow raised. He smiles.

“You going?” he asks, flirtatiously.

“Just seems weird to have police at a Church thing.”

“There’s been stupid fights,” he shrugs, “some guy will get outbid and cause a fuss. Nothing serious. Probably just gonna be me and a deputy in case. You going?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say sheepishly. “Why?”

He walks towards the front door, and you follow seeing him out.

“Cause I gotta know if I’ll be bidding on a basket,” he winks.

“You gonna start a fight if you don’t win it?” you joke.

“If it’s yours? Absolutely, darling.”

Taglist:

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro @pyronack @greeneyedblondie44 @acciosiriusblack @weenersoldierr @teenagemutant @witchybarb @iraot @my-love-darling @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @swiftieandthewintersoldier @letsfly-andbe-free @rebekahdawkins @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @hersilencedscreams @unsaltedalmonds @dangerdolns @vintagepigeon @bluebouquetcupcake29 @goslytherin @captainofallfandoms @buckistan @aynanasstuff @everything-is-all-clear @rosalynshields @tinynshykitten

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #the devil all the time #sebastian stan characters #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x f!reader #lee bodecker smut #slow burn #mystery #lee bodecker oneshot

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jenroses · 4 years ago

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So as you may have noticed I've been doing my nails for a while. It's not a gendery thing for me, it's more of an art thing, a "my body generates 20 tiny canvases and I can make them colors without pain" thing.

I don't grow them very long, maybe a millimeter past the tips of my fingers is as far as is comfortable, if that. Otherwise typing and shit get uncomfy. Things I've learned over the past bit, for me: 1. Getting manicures at a shop is overwhelming and unpleasant for me from a sensory perspective. Lots of people enjoy this, I didn't. 2. Doing my own nails is 100% a learned skill that I've gotten better at in the 3-4 years I've been consistent about this. 3. The right polish combination and cuticle oil can keep my med-fragile EDS weird nails from splintering and breaking. 4. There is no polish that I can do at home that will stay for longer than a few days. Not falsies, not gel, not lacquer. Nevertheless, my nails do better with lacquer on them. 5. Watching tutorials on Youtube has improved my technique. Simply Nailogical and Kelli Marissa both do a lot of amazing tutorials and funny stuff and have a wealth of information that doesn't feel as gendery as a lot of nail stuff does. 6. Little things: E.L.F. concealer brushes allow fast and easy touchup dipped in a bit of 100% acetone. Everyone gets nail polish on their cuticules at least part of the time. Cleaning it off the cuticle makes the polish stay longer. Target has these for $2, and the 100% acetone. "nail polish remover" that isn't 100% acetone usually smells worse and gives me a headache. YMMV. 7. Sally Beauty has wedge foundation sponges (ultra, bag of 80) that can be cut up and used to make gradients. If you have a touch up brush, or use a very narrow sponge, you don't even have to clean it up much. Gradients make for pretty rainbows. Sally Beauty also carries nail polish thinner, which you add when the polish thickens up or stops b···::eing smooth. 8. Gel builder, gel polish and glue-on nails really damaged my nail base. 9. On the other hand, since I've started using HoloTaco, my nails stay pretty strong. 10. Base coats have different purposes but the hardeners make nails break. I use a ridge filler. Other people like peely or bonding base coats. 11. Good quality polish makes the manicure easier to do, especially on the dominant hand. 12. Everyone has a harder time painting nails with their off hand. But it's a learned skill. If you can type with your non-dominant hand or drive a car, you can probably learn to apply nail polish. Remember the clean up brush. It's okay to have shorter nails on one hand than the other, many people do. There are, ahem, many reasons to have a finger or two with shorter nails. 13. A good quality rapid dry top coat is a life-changer. I'll use one in the middle of a manicure sometimes to set things faster. 14. Better to leave a little gap between the cuticle and the polish than run up against it, as when it grows out there will be a sharp ridge that wants to lift. 15. Use a glass file--my nails break less with the glass file as it leaves a smoother edge.

Tiny canvasses, and the pale rainbow gradients were from today, on a manicure that's been on since last Sunday, because at least on my non-dominant hand, enough good technqiue does seem to help longevity. Nothing's going to save my right hand thumb and pointer polish from early death, but this week I made it to Thursday before significant wear showed up.

I think all of these are holo taco, a lot of both rainbow collections (regular and pastel), as well as some unicorn skin toppers and holographic toppers. The black is One-coat black.

Sometimes the cleanup goes better than others.

#nail art #holo taco #queer nails #all the rainbows

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firemama · 2 years ago

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Coworker on the overnight shift: is it true that autistic people like to collect stuff?

Me, focused on sorting and stocking thread: yah. Or, often, anyway. Not everyone. Obviously.

Her: Huh. What do you collect?

Me, sweating, trying to thing of a normal answer that is also true: oh... you know. Things. Uhm... i collect uhhhh. Rocks? Like, crystals?

Her: oh cool, i like big colored rocks! Like the cut ones. The slabs.

Me, trying not to immedeatly infodump about how fucked up quartz classification is: yeah thats agate probably. Nice.

Her, so very unaware: do you collect anything else?

Me, thinking this is probably fine so far: uh. Uh. Nope.

So anyway heres the list of "collection habits i *have*":

Rocks (as stated), mainly trypes of crystal or gem

Round clear orbs NOT marbles with the little swirl inside ONLY clear ones with nothing inside.......

Miniature pieces. Like tiny things. Yes like tiny bread or tiny pots n pans. Yah those.

Pins. Like even bad ones that arent funny.

Scarves. I live in florida. I dont wear scarves. But i collect them. Its a mystery. I like them.

Littlest Pet Shop figures up until very very recently where i tooth and nail forced myself to give them up to give to my younger cousins who are actually young enough to, you know... play with them. Rather than just. Horde them.

Ink and colored inks. Crave more but expensive.

Acrylic Paints. Also expensive so i made myself stop buying it ezpecially since i dont actually paint all that often, but i continue to crave having enough paint to look like a fucking craft store in terms of paint hue options.

Plants. Specifically plants that produce edible product but pollinators are also welcome in my home. This has been a difficult thing to collect because every time we move they die and also it is very hard to keep plants in fucking florida sometimes.

Puzzles. The idle day dream the one day i will collect and put together every puzzle is not only impossible but yet still something i crave doing.

Game achivements. I soent two years tooth and nail trying to get a terrible awful achievement for minigolf perfect game in the fucking Dream Daddy game.

Notebooks. My favorite kind is grid paper notebooks. Spiral, bound, hard cover, sketch, lined....mm...delcious.

Qoutes. I have a notebook of favorite quotes.

My own art work. I have painted exactly 2 (two) ink canvases that i have willingly given away after painting them exclusively to be gifts. And i still fucking regret it.

Sharpies. I steal them if they are near me. I dont ever buy any. I only end up Taking. But i have MANY.

Old Toontown Cards. Im jot like a pricy collector but sometimes i find one at a yard sale and do not Hesitate to get it.

Board games. Want all.

Nail polish. I dont paint my nails: collect anyway.

Wrappers from werthers orginals caramel candies. I had to thrownmine away during the last move........ but i had like 3 boxes at some point.

G2 pilot pens (.7 mm)

(Edit: Dice. Lots of dice. Let the fact that i had to edit and add this prove that there are probably other things i collect that i also forgot to add lmao)

Things i WOULD collect if given free income and space for storage? Things i desperately want to collect?

A fucking craft stores worth of glitter.

Thread and yarn and string. All the colors. Just like acrylic paint. Just like glitter, too. I just want... ALL.

Books. Like the puzzle thing, it is absolutely impossible to collect them *all*. But my brain still wants to.

Food. Its an impulse thing. If one of every food existed in my possession i would be Happy.

Trees. Would need SO much space and land but t r e e s.

Thisbisba weird one, but... house styles? Want to slowly collect accents and designs from different types of archetecture into one house. Build and expand it over time.

Fragrance oil. All of them. Yaaaaa.

Broken glass. I do not collect this because i have common sense.... but i want to.

Ornate eastern hand fans. I do not know why, but it is a passive craving i have had since i was young.

Beads. Duct tape and decorative tape. Paper. Stickers. Whole collections if manga. Whole collections if novel series. Movies and dvds. Every single hard copy disk expansion for the sims 1, 2 and 3. Every single pet in wizard101 and every singly piece of clothing in loveNikki. YOU DONT UNDERSTAND. IF I HAD UNLIMITED MONEY I WOULD JUST DEDICATE WHOLE ROOMS TO EACH COLLECTION OF THINGS. I would have all the things, ALL OF THEM.

#shrieks #i likw to have the things and all the varieties #munchatter #just fun autistic things

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lilyharvord · 4 years ago

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The Chain (Part 11)

Hello Darlings, it’s been a long time coming, but here is the next part of The Chain. (: Please know that there is a little bit of forcing in this chapter to make things work, but its called a plot hole, not a plot no (((: Also, she is nice and long for you guys since it has been sometime since she got some TLC.

I’ve got two words for you all: Time Travel.

Main concept: Two love struck idiots get sent back to a pretty UGH time period in their lives (that required me to reread all the books again) and have to hide the fact that they know everything. Stupidity ensues.

Enjoy

Find the rest of the fic here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

tag list: @delilahlbard, @king-maven-calore, @thatoddgirl777, @elliekratzzz, @evangelineartemiasamos, @evangeline-of-montfort, @scxrletguardsdawn, @freaky-freiday, @petergrantkavinsky, @kuwei, @whatsup-gorls, @katiemoore, @redqueenetwork, @tranquil-dusk (I’m trying to add you but for some reason it wont @... the same problem happens with @thatoddgirl777 and I have no idea how to fix it)

(/Mare/)

The barge glides through the murky water of the river and beyond the polished silver railing I rest my hand on, the shore of the Stilts rolls by like a faded oil painting. Ahead of me, hanging over the water, is an old tree Bree once dared me to crawl out on. The branches skim the water like skeletal fingers. I curl my own fingers around the railing in response to the memory of Bree’s laugh. I hope I get to hear it again, echoing in my parent’s town home.

The footsteps behind me are too light to be Cal. Even with all the work he has done to learn subterfuge, he is still a large human being. He’ll never be very good at sneaking up on anyone. I force an inhale when warm air washes over my side though.

Maven rests his forearms on the railing to watch the Stilts with me, his jaw tight and his eyes dark. I didn’t see him earlier today before we cast off, and I made sure he had no reason to speak with me now. I left nothing in those cells when I rescued Farley, not even a dusting of blood for Elara to use against me. Whatever he has come to discuss, it will define every point from now until the end.

“Have you heard of the chess move known as the King’s Snare?” His voice is softer than I thought it would be, given how hard the planes of his face are.

I glance at him warily, chewing on a response. I don’t want to talk to him about chess. I know he’s a master of it, that in all the years they played, Cal never beat him. Cal, the future general and war strategist who could throw together a plan in minutes with nothing but a handful of Reds, Ardents, and Silvers, never beat the boy before me. I don’t know why I think I have a hope of beat him or Elara.

“No. I don’t play chess.” I murmur letting the wind shift the loose hairs hanging by my cheeks. It plays in his curls too, tussling them like a loving hand.

The corner of his lips quirk up in a ghost of a smile before he turns to face me. He doesn’t flinch from my gaze, but that smile does fall. Pressing off the railing to stand at his full height, he tilts his head to the side as if in thought. “It’s a complex maneuver, and requires turns upon turns of preparation. It is the only strategy you can play once you initiate it. In each step, you make it appear as if you are losing. You let your opponent think they have won, and in the final step of preparation, you let your queen be taken and your king be cornered in a check mate.”

He shrugs before looking back onto the bank. His eyes sweep along the shacks on their tottering stilts. “Then, you take the opposing king with the only piece you have left. A pawn.”

I raise a brow at it before saying, “sounds complicated. I don’t have the patience for playing the long game, and I especially don’t like playing with people’s lives like they are pieces in my game.”

A fire lights in his eyes as he drags them over me, his expression hardening again. “I’m not so sure that’s the truth.”

His words are a warning in and of themselves. Squaring my shoulders to him and stabbing my nails into my palms, I purse my lips in a line to swallow my retort. We stand in a stalemate for a moment before he reaches a finger out to let a strand of my hair curl around it. His expression crumbles for just a moment before that mask slides up and hides the wounded boy underneath.

“Let’s not play this game Mare.” He bows his head and his lips almost ghost over my brow. I turn my head to the side to avoid the touch.

“I just told you I’m not playing games.”

His chuckle is humorless. With a quick step he closes the space between us completely and I have to crane my neck to meet his eye.

“You’re still useful to me and mother, but Cal has overstayed his welcome by a few years. His whole life actually, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

No more dancing around it then, we are going full in with the truth. I twist my lips to the side, letting my sneer finally grace my features. “If you think for one second I’m going to let you two get away with what you did a second time, you’re wrong.”

“Even if it means you lose everything you have coming?” He asks me that as if he actually cares. It makes me reel back while he smiles like a wolf. “We know Mare, and while it’s adorable watching you attempt to play against us, you played your final card last night.”

My lightning dances on my fingertips. What I wouldn’t give for Tyton’s brain lightning, so that I could turn Maven’s insides into jelly and leave him on this deck before going after Elara. I should have ended all of this weeks ago. I could have, I know that for a fact.

“I haven’t played any of my cards yet.” I warm Maven with a raised chin. I let the mask of Mareena disappear and I let him see Mare Barrow, the girl who bested two kings, the woman who has seen more than enough front lines, and who was born in a storm on top of a mountain. She has been broken and put back together so many times that she knows every piece of herself better than she ever did before. She thrives in storms and turns them to her will like this boy turns words to his.

“You haven’t seen anything Maven. Don’t for one second think you have cornered me.” My lips curl into a small smile as I look him over with a critical eye. “Besides, while you’re playing chess, I am playing another game entirely.”

A muscle in his jaw flutters when I speak, and his eyes darken further.

Pressing to my toes, I let my next words caress his lips like a kiss. “And if you two do know everything, I’m surprised you haven’t removed any and all letter openers from my reach while we’ve been together.”

His face pales in a flush, and the air around us climbs in temperature so quickly beads of sweat begin to prickle on my brow. Ignoring the monster I’ve obviously poked awake, I set my hand on his chest right above his pounding heart and drop my eyes to his lips before looking back up to meet those icy blue eyes.

“And as for your mother, I think I killed her too quickly the first time.”

His tongue darts across his teeth for a second before disappearing as his lips pull back in a sneer. There is a flash of something akin to uncertainty in his eyes though. A thrill rushes through me. She didn’t tell him that part, and she might have even kept his own death from him. Interesting.

Sliding back away from him and dropping my hand, I take in his flittering emotions he desperately tries to keep under control. I can’t image what is passing through his mind. If Elara didn’t tell him about their deaths, what else has she kept from him? It might be worth it to poke a little more and find out.

Even as the thought of prying him open and exposing his hollow insides thrills me, I can’t help thinking of how he spent hours near my bedside after Samson had turned me inside out and left me a bleeding corpse. Nor can I ignore that once upon a time, a part of him had loved me.

“Oh Maven,” I breathe, my chest aching once more as I look him over. “You could have been something wonderful if you had been anyone else’s.”

His inhale is sharp, and the heat around us vanishes as he sucks it in to fuel the furnace of his emotions. The next words that leave me are as much a truth as they are a weapon that I use against him.

“I might have loved you too, you know. I might have been happy with you.”

His entire body goes taut like a rubber band pulled too tight. I can’t imagine what those words have done to him, I know what they do to me. They relive the ache and chase away the cold bite from the autumn breeze that cuts through my loose shirt. I have known for years that he would never truly leave me, that I will always love him in a strange way. But seeing all of this, and discovering that even when I might have had a chance to save him, there was no chance so long as Elara loved him too.

“The game is beginning. Line up your pieces if you want to play chess.” I murmur to him before stepping around him and heading for the viewing deck. I pause long enough to glance at him over my shoulder though and say, “but just know, it’s hard to beat an opponent that knows every move you will make.”

(/Cal/)

Mare finds me between meetings. Her dark hair is swept up in an elaborate hairstyle she picks at nervously, drawing strands out to frame her face. Glancing over my shoulder at the remainder of the council as they pass, I pause before her long enough to say colorlessly, “Is something wrong Lady Titanos?”

The few sets of eyes that watch us look away with shrugs. Their ears are probably still tuned in, but as far as they are concerned, she is probably looking for Maven and happened to find me first.

“Farley made contact. The Hexaprin Theater just like before.”

She’s been gone most of the day with Maven, making appearances and smiling like the dutiful princess she is. I’m not sure how Farley could have possibly made contact with her during all of that, but it’s a relief she didn’t contact Maven first. Meanwhile, I’ve been locked up in Whitefire. My father has hardly let me out of his sight, which I suppose should be understandable. The attempt on my life shook him to his core. Even though I push back, insisting they wouldn’t try again, he refuses to let me leave the castle walls. I don’t know how I will get out to join Mare in this endeavor like she wants with the Sentinels that trail me almost everywhere I go. I guess it now truly understand how Mare felt during her time with us. I don’t blame her for constantly being irritable now.

Still, my brow rises as the name of the theater. I know it well. When I was younger Julian used to take me to plays and tried to pique my interest in the art form. I had squirmed in my seat the whole time, eager to get out of the dark space and run outside. He gave up once I turned ten, realizing I didn’t have much love for the arts. I knew it saddened him, that he had hoped I shared the same soft spot for them that my mother did.

My chest tightens at the thought of my uncle. I got him out of Archeon earlier than before, helping him and Sara smuggle away in the dead of night after he got Farley and Kilorn out of the cells. I sent him to Montfort with instructions to speak with Dane Davidson as soon as possible. To try and get him in contact with Guard. There’s no telling if they made it. I can only hope they managed to cross the border.

“It’ll be tough for me to get out.”

“This will only work if you come with me.” Mare insists, her eyes darting past my elbow to the doors of the council chamber. I know who she’s looking for, but she won’t find him.

“He’s seeing to something with his mother.” I instruct, even as I glance around just to be certain. Only a servant passes in a flutter of skirts. She curtsies to me and Mare before hurrying along, obviously loath to be around us any longer than necessary.

“The bloodbase.” Mare’s voice drops to a worried waver as she sets her hand on her pocket. I know she has the book hidden in the pocket of her jacket, the one Julian gifted her with the name of every Ardent he found within Norta’s borders. She sleeps with it under her pillow, her fingers curled around the faded cover as if Maven will creep into her room at night and steal it away.

Shaking my head, I grab her elbow and pull her into an alcove when I hear the sound of more steps approaching. I squeeze into the space between the pillars with her until our bodies almost have to become one to fit. Her hands rest on my chest as she evens out her breathing, recognizing a hiding place when she sees it.

A group of nobles pass us, Osanos and Iral judging by the colors of their clothes. I purse my lips and wait until they leave the hall to look back down at her and whisper. “I took care of it. I printed out all their names and wiped them from the database. They’re safe.”

“Unless Maven is already going after them.” Mare mutters bitterly.

“He hasn’t. I checked last known whereabouts too. Everyone is accounted for.”

“People lie on those stupid records Cal.”

“Not when you’re the first person in years to click on the page.” I let my lips curl into a knowing smile. She can think I’m stupid and hardheaded all she wants, but I do know my way around my own world. “There is a clicker at the bottom of each record to indicate the last time it was opened. I am the first one to look at them in years. You can’t lie to that program.”

She expels a breath, before look up at me through her lashes. “You’re too stubborn for your own good. We’re meddling too much now.”

“At this point, does it really matter?” I ask, repeating words I spoke to Julian in the dead of night when he questioned my decision to send him to Ascendent.

Her lips draw into a tight line that pales her already painted lips. “No.” She agrees before sliding out of the alcove so I can follow her.

When we step into the light, I watch the shifting sunbeams as they cut across her face. She crosses her arms before looking down the hallway and saying, “We need to get into the afternoon showing. Can you do that?”

I grimace thinking about my father and the hawk like eyes he has kept on me recently. “It’ll be difficult, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Do you want to rehearse with me?” She teases, eyes lighting with laughter when she notices how I chew on my lower lip.

“I think I’ll tell my father that I’ve decided Evangeline can take a long walk off a short pier and that I much prefer you and I plan to make heirs with you as soon as we enter than theater box.”

Her eye widen and a blush paints her cheeks. It’s so ferocious the makeup almost can’t hide it. It makes me chuckle before reaching a hand out to cup her jaw and stroke a thumb along that warm puddle of red staining her skin. “Kidding love. Although I think that he’ll be so surprised and horrified that he lets me go just to see if I’m serious.”

“Mess up my nice skirts Tiberias and I will take your hands for it.” She snorts before pulling away and throwing a smirk over her shoulder. “Get us tickets to the show and be there with me. Also, it might be a good idea to assign Walsh to a... different part of Whitefire.”

I grimace, remembering the last time I saw her foaming at the mouth while I tried to close her throat to keep the poison from spreading. I sent her for Mare, trusted her with the secret that I met a Red girl in the Stilts and cared. Regardless of what Mare might have thought of me before when that moment passed, I did care. A part of me had been horrified to watch the light leave Walsh’s eyes.

“I’ll make sure of it.” I whisper.

(/Mare/)

The theater darkens, and I sink back into my chair, keeping an eye on the Sentinels standing in the doorway. They are here to protect Cal. Allowances had to be made so that he could leave Whitefire, but its an allowance that may cost us our meeting with Farley. There are more of them than before, but they’re simply a hinderance, one that will have to be dealt with at some point very soon.

Honestly, Maven and Elara trying to kill him has simply become an annoyance now. If they hadn’t, it would be so much easier to sneak around with Cal.

“They have to go.” I murmur, letting my eyes flint to them as I edge a little closer to the railing of the box and glance over it into the crowd below.

With a quick nod, Cal leans back in his seat. Before Maven gave the secretary that came with us a mischievous smile and quick order to get rid of our tail. Cal can do no such thing without raising suspicion. It’s already gotten out that I am the one that shouted his name and stopped the bleeding during the Sun Shooting long enough for Sara Skonos to get to him and save him. But Cal spread a faster rumor behind it, his words burning like wildfire through the High Houses, erasing the rumor I know Elara started about us. My shout hadn’t been in fear according to his account, it had sounded like nerves. Maybe I’d lost Maven in the crowd and gotten overwhelmed by the proceedings, and when I had seen Cal I called to him for help. Because of that, I had been close enough to stop the bleeding when the gun went off.

I had been shocked at the lie he told with an abandon to his father and the court, and how well he crafted it on a moment’s notice. Perhaps he needed to stop spending so much time around Dane. I had noticed that crafty man spending a suspicious amount of time trying to craft Cal into a better Statesman in the recent years.

“Sentinel Osanos, if you could take the others into the antechamber.” He nods over his shoulder to the small sitting room attached to the box. “I doubt you and the others have any interest in this show and your presence is unfortunately ruining Lady Mareena’s first impressions of it too.”

“I have my orders, sir.” The Sentinel warns, his eyes darting between the two of us.

“I can handle anything that comes.” Cal lets his lips quirk into an arrogant smile. I haven’t seen it in a long time, but it’s one of the few soldiers masks in his arsenal. It still makes my stomach flutter. “Besides, Lady Mareena has proven herself quite capable of saving my life if need be.”

Osanos debates it for a very long second as the murmurs below us quiet and the curtain rustles with the start of the performance. During that second, my heart pounds. I don’t dare look up at the grating above out heads where I know Will Whistle will appear.

“Of course, Your Highness.” The Sentinel bows his head and then nods to bring the others with him into the room. The door clicks shut, and the lock engages. I grab Cal’s hand and squeeze it in silent praise, before glancing at him side on.

“Impressive.”

His smile falls as he looks away from the door and forward again. “We’ll have to be silent. We’re lucky my father didn’t send an Eagrie with us.”

Unfolding from his position in the chair to relax further, he turns his hand over to lace his fingers with mine. The touch sends waves of reassurance through me. Now we just have to keep him hidden long enough that Will doesn’t recognize him and gets us to Farley. After that, I’m not quite sure what we will do.

“Farley won’t let you on the Undertrain without a fight.” I murmur, glancing at our joined hands. He sweeps his thumb along my skin in a soothing motion even as his eyes stay forward on the stage as it comes to life.

Gentle touches in the dark, so very like how our relationship started. It almost makes me snicker. I suppose things never really did change between us.

He doesn’t reply to my comment, but I know he’s thinking about it all the same. His palm heats with his frustration, but he doesn’t show it on his face.

I let my eyes wander to the stage where I finally get a look at the play I never watched before. Brightly colored costumes dance across the stage and I tilt my head to look at them, trying to understand the story. “We never went to any of the plays in Ascendent.” I murmur to him.

There were plenty of playhouses, and I know for a fact Julian got us tickets to one he loved. We never got the chance to go, but now I wish we had.

“I’ve never been a fan of theater.” He chuckles and finally turns to look at me. He traded his finer regalia for a more toned down jacket and black shirt today. With the aid of the darkness, I can almost imagine we are in Ascendent, that it’s just another weekend and we decided to do something we’ve never done.

“Then when you annoy me, I am going to drag you to shows when we get back and tie you to a chair so you can’t leave.” I say with a smirk.

The ceiling panel above our heads slides away, and his eyes dart up at the same time as mine. We’re both accustomed to how the Guard functions. The sudden disappearance of the tile doesn’t surprise him like it did Maven.

“Show time.” I whisper to him before dropping his hand and stepping on the seat of my chair. Grasping the edge of the hole I haul myself up into the darkness. When I glance down to help him though, he is already half-way into the crawl space with me. The panel slides into place as soon as Cal vanishes in the shadows. I wait half a second for Will to sound an alarm to notice that I don’t have the right prince with me.

He does no such thing, simply speaks into the darkness the same words he did before. “Be quick and quiet. I’ll take you from here.”

I reach for Cal’s wrist in the dark and grip it tightly with a reassuring squeeze. Will turns and begins to climb through the space, not waiting for us to follow.

“Watch your head,” I instruct as I skirt the edge of the ceiling panel. “It gets low in a few places.”

Cal grunts in understanding but follows at a pace that surprises me. It was a tight squeeze for Maven, so I don’t really know how Cal manages but he does. I’m sure he has Farley’s work with him to thank for that. He crawled through enough sewer tunnels and drains with us while we were at the Notch after all. I’m sure while I was locked away with Maven he was doing the same thing too.

The sounds of the play overhead mask our movements as we drop down ladders and steps and through little trapdoors. Cal only smacks his head once, and I flip around to grab his head to check for blood when he curses soundly in the dark. I grimace when I feel the nasty knot already taking shape on his forehead near his hairline. That will have to be explained away when we get back, but we really truly don’t have time to assess it too much. Will sets grueling pace, and Cal practically shoves me forward when the Whistle almost disappears around a turn.

It takes only minutes for us to drop into the access tunnels that connect to the Undertrain platform. The damp chill of the space presses through my thin jacket and pants, reminding me of the march we did into Archeon to save Cal and everyone from the Lakelander invasion. Cal drops lightly down behind me though, and instantly the space warms and the memory fades. It’s still too dark to see his features clearly which is only to our advantage. I can’t have Will trying to stop us now.

That cover does not last long though. The platform is haunted by a lone torch, and when Will turns around with a sharp smile, ready to bask in our surprise, his eyes widen as he takes in Cal behind me. I set my hand on Cal’s chest in response, trying to push him back into the shadows while I light my hand with lightning.

Will never gets a chance to act though, the furious screech of the Undertrain as it rushes into the station shakes the walls and announces Farley’s arrival. As it coasts to a stop in front of us, Will spins to the doors and waves his arms while trying to shout over the screeching of the brakes to give a signal to not stop. The train grinds to a halt though, and the doors still open to spill more light onto the platform.

Farley unfolds from the chair like a spring let loose. Her hand flies to the gun at her hip, and I spin to face her with my lightning at the same time. Even with my ears ringing from the sound of the brakes engaging, I can hear the click of her turning the safety off as she draws the gun.

“Farley—” I try to shout, but Cal beats me to speaking, his voice a dangerous warning echoing in the tunnel as he glares Farley down.

“Diana, stop.”

He would have gotten the same reaction if he burned her alive. Farley’s eyes widen at the usage of her birthname, and her fingers wavers on the trigger long enough for me to speak.

“He’s with us.” I urge as I drop my hand, but I don’t dismiss the lightning bouncing between my fingers like webbing. It’s my own warning to her. She knows what I can do, and like her, I don’t miss anymore.

Her laugh is unexpected, and I almost jump at the sharp bite of it. She keeps the gun raised, but her fingers slides from the trigger to rest alongside the barrel. It’s the only sign she is still listening to us. “The little prince was right. He’s whispered his way into your head.”

“The only ones whispering into anyone’s heads is Maven and Elara .” Cal speaks quietly, his eyes scanning the track and the platform for any more Scarlet Guard operatives. There are none to be seen though.

Farley tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing to diamond colored slits. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t pull the trigger or even move her finger in the direction of it.

I expel a slow sigh of relief and take a step forward. I can feel the burn of electricity in the train, screaming like an upset toddler to be released. Gritting my teeth against the heachache forming because of it, I murmur, “you trusted me to get you out of that cell, trust me in this Farley. Hear us out.”

Her eyes moves past my shoulder to Cal who staggers his stance to move in either direction if he has to avoid her bullet. Her jaw ticks, and the electricity reaches an all time high pitch that stands my hairs on end. I haven’t felt anything like it weeks, not since the shield during Queenstrial exploded around me and tried to contain me.

“Make your decision, the Undertrain won’t wait.” I grimace as I reach up to press my fingers to my temple where the ache is strongest. If she notices my use of the train’s name, she doesn’t say anything.

Cal takes a step forward, stealing ground, only for Farley train that gun on him again and rest her finger on the trigger.

“Not another step, Your Highness.” She squeezes gently, putting enough pressure on that trigger that even the slightest movment on her part will fire the gun. I side step to put myself in front of Cal should she overestimate her abilities, but Cal simply pushes me to the side again.

With quick movements he unclasps the bracelets around his wrists and holds them up to the light for Farley to see. “Incentive,” he murmurs before tossing them in her direction. She lowers the gun to catch them one handed, almost dropping them due to their weight. I inch forward, my hand extended for them in surprise. I trust Cal to make a tactical decision, but he just threw his own tactical advantage five feet away from him.

The metal bands glint dully in the odd florescent lights of the Undertrain, but Farley glances down at them, unimpressed. With a quirked brow she raises the gun again, although its much more hesitant this time.

“I’m nothing without them.” Cal instructs while he sweeps his arms out from his sides as if to accentuate his point. “Keep them until we finish talking if it pleases you. But we do have to talk.”

“I know.” Farley reasons, her eyes narrowing before darting between the two of us. Even if I didn’t know her as well as I do, I could see the distrust and unease in her eyes. I can’t imagine what Maven has told her, but I know that he hasn’t spoken to her since before the Sun Shooting. It is our only advantage right now, that and the fact that Julian and I were the ones to get her and Kilorn out of the cells below the palace. It doesn’t hurt either that by the time we got down to the cells, the king was more concerned with his son almost dying than the rebels trapped in the cell before him. There had been no time for the interrogation that I know almost cost Farley her arm. She got off easy, too easy, because of us.

Whatever battle she is fighting with herself ends, and she steps to the side to let us pass.

(////)

Narcery is more disheveled than I remember. Perhaps it’s because I’ve already seen most of it repaired and turned into a decent city again years from now. Or maybe it’s because I’ve truly forgotten how downtrodden the world was before we began to right it. Either way, it’s hard not to grimace as we slink through the streets toward the café Farley stomps toward.

The Reds in the doorwards gasp and whisper as Cal passes, and I reach down to grip his hand. None of them are New Blood that I know of, but if someone gets it in their head to finish was Farley started, they won’t make it more than two steps.

He gives me a reassuring squeeze as we pass through the crumbling doorway of the café and into the dimly lit space. In his little booth, Kilorn practically almost leaps to his feet, his eyes wide while his hand flies to the gun on his belt.

“Stand down.” Farley orders smoothly, earning a frown from my friend. He doesn’t immediately listen, but his fingers eventually relax and drop back to his side. I release the tension in my shoulders in response. The air in the room shifts with the change in heat and static that Cal and I bring, but the ice in Kilorn’s gaze might as well be tangible too.

“And why haven’t we shot him?” He asks Farley as she drops into the booth.

With a wave of her hand, she dismisses him and glares in our direction. Cal’s bracelets clink against the dusty table as she sets them out in the open. With a tilt of her head, her expression relaxes and the nasty scar cutting through her lip softens. It never ceases to amaze me how young she really was when this all started. We were all still just children, playing games we never should have.

“They want to speak,” she says, her eyes dropping to our entwined hands. “And I have to admit I am curious what excuse Mare will give to explain blowing our entire operation to pieces.”

“We hardly blew it to pieces, you were almost completely successful.” Cal huffs behind me, and I dig my elbow into his side in response. No use pissing off Farley, or enticing her to pull that gun out again. We both know she will too.

Glaring at Cal for his comment, I address the other two sitting in the booth. “Maven gave you Cal’s name, but he was not the original target.”

“No,” Farley agrees, “he wasn’t.”

“It was Ptolemus Samos.” I turn my eyes back to her, and am rewards with a quirked brow, the only sign she is surprised by my knowledge. Kilorn is not as good at hiding his emotions. His brows dart up towards his hair line as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“You missed that meeting, the one where he gave us the original names! He told us that he never told you them... you can’t possibly have known—”

“I know because I’ve already been through that shooting before. You don’t get Ptolemus that time either.” I step forward and leave Cal behind me, safely in the line of my body. If Farley wants to shoot him at any point in time, she’ll have to shoot me first. “The Sun Shooting was a disaster that time, and it was a disaster this time.”

Kilorn blinks at me, confusion sweeping over his face now. Farley is simply more skeptical, and rightfully so. I didn’t exactly explain anything, just created more questions and puzzling conclusions for her.

“What are you getting at Barrow?” She murmurs as her eyes dart to the broken window behind me. I don’t dare look at who might be there. If its Shade, I will never be able to leave these ruins.

“You have to promise to listen to us, to let us explain as quickly as possible.” Cal speaks for me and the heat that rolls off of him washes over me as he steps closer, soothing tense muscles I bunch in preparation to run. His hand presses into my lower back only a second later. “We don’t have much time.”

Farley’s eyes narrow even further as she takes in how we stand next to each other, and how we remain close enough to protect the other at all times. Even if Maven told her that I was slowly teetering toward Cal, our body language suggests a deeper relationship and understanding of each other than could ever be established in a few weeks. Not to mention Cal knew her name, her real name. There’s no way in hell he could have found that out on his own.

“Who are you?” She asks quietly after a moment, earning a worried glance from Kilorn.

My lips curl into a slow smile as I take in her uncertainty. I can’t remember the last time Farley was on the backfoot. She has always been so headstrong and driven, but she reels back now, like a horse seeing a snake under its hooves. “We’ve all met before, and known each other for years.”

“Bullshit.” She says, pushing to her feet and advancing on me. Cal’s fingers curl around my arm to pull me behind him. I stand my ground though and raise my chin as she stand over me.

“How’s your dad? The Colonel? Has that eye healed up yet?” I ask with a quirked brow. Her breathing fluctuates at the mention of him while she stops dead in her tracks. Her eyes dart to Cal as if to assess how much he reacts to my words. He does nothing but glance down at me and drop my arm, catching on to what I’m doing. Farley won’t be bought over with a cute story like what we told Julian and Sara. She will need cold hard evidence, painful evidence if need be.

“It’s kind of cute that you decided your code name would be lamb, since his is ram.” I tilt my head to the side, earning an strangled inhale as she backpaddles. “Even more so given how infuriating he can be for you.”

Her whole face goes red, and tips of her ears tinge pink immediately. Kilorn opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and closes it again. I don’t blame him, the fury in Farley’s eyes is enough to burn me to the ground.

With her lips pressed into a firm line, she presses her shoulders back to stand to her full height. “Are you Command?” She asks stiffly, her eyes roaming over me and settling on Cal when he barks out a dry laugh.

I elbow him again and shoot a glare, but he laughs at my expression. Turning his amusement on Farley, he says, “no. I’m not even on the list of people they would open a position for.”

“We know those in Command though.” I shoot a single spark into Cal’s arm to shut him up, making him snap back and rub the spot.

“I don’t believe you. Its not possible.” Farley growls setting her hand on her gun.

“I would appreciate you not drawing that gun Diana.” Cal warns his amusement dying as fast as my comfort with the situation.

“Who told you my name.”

“I know it from previous experience.”

“Don’t see how that’s possible.” Kilorn grumbles before rising from the booth as well. His eyes dart between the two of us, and as he starts to form his own opinon the curiosity in his eyes bleeds away into brittle resentment.

“Like I said, we’ve known each other for years.” I push past my locked jaw. This is starting to look next to impossible but if we have any hope of saving ourselves from the disaster to come, then we have to get them to listen to us.

“To be more clear, we will know each other for years someday.” I correct my previous statement quietly, letting the words hang in the too heavy air for a few seconds. Farley quirks a brow, realization crossing her features as she starts to put things together. She’s always been quick as a whip, and that works to our advantage.

Right when I think she’s about to say something though, she laughs. Kilorn blinks at her, taking a hesitant step away. I doubt he’s ever heard the sound, but I know it well. It still cracks on the edges the same way it does in the future. Honestly, it always sounds like she never laughs, even though I know for a fact she does that more than anything someday.

“Barrow, I have seen what you can do. And while it turned everything I knew about the world upside down… you cannot expect me to also factor some form of time travel into this whole mess.” She shakes her head, and dismisses me with a wave. Still laughing to herself she sinks down into the booth, and takes to fiddling with Cal’s bracelets. There is a hint of uncertainty behind her eyes though, and I know exactly who and what she is thinking about.

“There are hundreds—thousands like me Farley. You haven’t met all of them yet, but there are abilities far stranger than mine. My brother’s for instance.”

Her expression pulls tight for a heartbeat before she smoothers the emotion. I pull on that line though, and step forward, pointedly ignoring Kilorn who is still gapping like a fish and trying to come to the same conclusion as Farley. “I know he’s alive, and that he’s here with you. He jumps, appearing in different places in seconds. I make lightning. There will be a New Town girl who becomes our friend that can kill you with a thought and silence Silvers in the same way. There are three other Reds just like me in Montfort. There is a girl who can bathe everyone in a bubble of silence so no one outside of it can hear you. Another woman can remember every single thing she reads or that is said to her. Another older woman can change her face to be whoever you need her to be.” My heart squeezes at the memory of all the Ardents I rescued and then sent to their deaths. I promised them safety, security, and then pulled all of that away from them. All because one man told me I had to do it. “Is it so hard to believe then that there is someone years from now who can send people back in time?”

Those diamond eyes snap to me and look me over before Farley’s lips twist into a half sneer. “Your brother is dead Barrow, he was executed for—”

“Farley, please.” I whisper, coming to stand over her. Even sitting she is almost as tall as me, but I channel every ounce of military prowess she tried to teach me as I glare down at her. “If I walk out of this room, I will find him in less than an hour, and you will feel incredibly stupid when I do.”

Her lips pale as she pushes them together, tighter than ever before. Her eyes dance to Cal beyond me again, who has thankfully kept his mouth shut this whole time and has decided to simply sit on the edge of a table to watch us.

“He came with me.” I soften my tone and slowly sink down into the seat opposite her. Her eyes follow me like a rabbit would a wolf. Her fingers are cold when I take them, even with how warm it is in the room. She doesn’t pull away though, and I wonder if somewhere, her future self recognizes my touch. “I need you to trust us. I know how hard that is with everything that has happened, but Farley you have to.”

“Do we win?” She asks the question so quietly, I almost miss it while I’m speaking. Every muscle in body tenses against the truth that wants to escape though. I glance at Cal, wondering if he heard the same thing as me. He simply looks down at his boots, unable to offer any aid.

Swallowing past the rock in my throat, I look down at the table top. It’s dusty and cracked in some places. But it has no answers either. We have already done so much to destroy the path we were supposed to be on, what was one more change? “Yes,” I whisper and her eyes flash bright and wide.

“But we pay may terrible prices for it.” The last part almost doesn’t make it out. Shade’s death tries to claw that statement to ribbons, Archeon burning, and all the people we lost in the Harbor Bay siege and the final Archeon siege weigh heavy against my chest. The silence stretches to the breaking point around us as those memories consume me. I wish I could take back those words, swallow them and refrain from admitting to what I’m sure she suspects. She must read the memories as they pass across my face because her expression softens a hint.

“Its war Barrow,” the Farley I know so well comes to the surface when she switches her grip to grab my hands instead. “I never expected to win for free.”

She narrows her eyes at Cal then, who simply gives her a tight nod she doesn’t return. “I still don’t like you.” She announces a second later. “And I hope I never do.”

“You give me a hard time for years, I promise you that much.” He teases, some of the light returning to his eyes. I crack a weak smile at their banter, even though I ache at the reminder of the future relationship they share. Farley never does let him off the hook, and every chance she has to remind him of his past, she does. I don’t blame her though, she never lets herself get too congenial with anyone.

“We trust him… just like that?” Kilorn tries to burn a hole between Cal’s eyes with his glare. He doesn’t succeed, especially when Cal smirks at him and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He’s the picture of ease, and I know that drives Kilorn insane.

“Relax Kilorn,” I tease, and then beckon Cal over to me. “He knows that if he steps out of line I won’t hesitate to put him back in his place.”

Farley glances between the two of us before saying, “So the second prince wasn’t lying. You two are…”

“In this together.” Cal finishes for her. His eyes narrow at what Maven might have inferred even as he looks down at me for confirmation.

“We don’t have time to get into details,” I add, making room for him in the booth as I lean forward to start drawing a map of Archeon in the dust on the table. “Maven and his mother know what we know. Which means they have been pulling the strings and trying to sabotage any advantage we have. They will not hesitate to wipe the Scarlet Guard off the map this time around.”

“I don’t understand.” Kilorn grumbles and crosses his arms tightly across his chest. “I thought we trusted that prince?”

“Maven is the one we have to worry about.” I finish drawing the bridge and narrow my eyes at the crude drawing. “He was always going to betray us.”

“How?” Farley sneers, obviously not happy with me inferring that she made a mistake in judgement. Maven was her recruit after all. “He’s given us names, information.”

“All fed to him by his mother, who is counting on us tomorrow night staging a coup and failing so that she can murder the king and remove you and any true Scarlet Guard opposition.” I murmur and watch as Farley’s fury melts into horrible understanding. My stomach drops but Cal speaks before I can.

“He’s already spoken with you and made the plan.” His voice is cold, even while the space around us starts to burn with the heat he releases. My own lightning wants to be unleashed as well. It takes more effort than I like to reign it in. I was wrong. He did speak with her, about more than just me and Cal.

“He said Barrow would try to come to me and change my mind, that I had to know she was in collusion with you and planned to stand by your side when the time came. That she would ultimately betray me.” Farley breathes, her eyes widening. “He said that the coup was the only way we would win, remove you two in one swoop.”

“He and Elara were counting you believing him wholly and me not bringing Cal.” I growl, and swipe my hand through the map on the table to erase it. The plan is useless at this point. Maven already took it and molded it to his needs. I should have never spoken to him on the barge, maybe I should have just continued to pretend I was some stupid girl that didn’t know how to play the game. I may have destroyed any hope we had of beating him and Elara now.

“They also aren’t counting on us having any other plan. Or my support.” Cal murmurs before drawing his own map in the dirt. The angle is far different from what I drew. “They don’t know that I know the future or that I am with you all. They think Mare is the only one.” His finger moves through the dust and Kilorn finally edges closer to see what he draws.

“So we play into their hands.” He murmurs as he glances at me for my support.

“What?” I wheeze as I watch him draw the same offensive we instigated last time. “Cal, if we do that—”

“Then it all goes the way it did before, with the added benefit that when you get captured this time, we can stop Elara. We know what’s coming and we can plan for it.” Cal finishes drawing his map before drawing a second more detailed map of the Whitefire next to it. “This time, we won’t be alone in that room.”

I struggle to keep up with his thought process, trying to determine exactly how he plans to make this work. The only way Farley and the other Scarlet Guard members will make it into that room is in shackles like me. Elara will slaughter us all like pigs then.

“The tunnels run under Whitefire right?” He asks Farley who hesitates for a second before nodding tersely. He etches a few makeshifts ones into the picture and then sits back to say, “when I take Mare captive for treason, you and a small unit will move through the tunnels and get to the throne room. From there, you wait for a signal Mare and I will give. When that happens, we take Elara and Maven.”

“Bold.” Farley murmurs as she glances over the plan. “And suicidal. We’ll never make it in.”

“You will if I don’t station anyone at a specific entrance. Name it, and I will keep the regiments away from it.” Cal waves his hand over the picture and glances forlornly in my direction. “If it fails, we still go to the Bowl of Bones, but this time we’ll know what to expect.”

My heart pounds in my chest as the memory of the too thin sand shifting beneath my feet almost overtakes me. Even though it is years behind me and days ahead of me, the heat of Cal’s fire trying to catch on the sand still burns my cheeks and my stomach twists at the echoing sound of the bar punching through Arven’s chest.

“In the meantime, you need to evacuate Tuck.” I whisper forcing the bile down as I look up at Farley. She blanches at the command, but I narrow my eyes to silence her. “Elara has seen in my mind. She knows about Tuck, she knows about a number of other Scarlet Guard strongholds like Narcery too. Did you not find it strange that Maven was not afraid to travel to a supposed heavily radiated place?”

She opens her mouth to argue with me, only to shut it like a trap and narrow her eyes. The thought never occurred to her, and I understand why. He probably got on the Undertrain and immediately started spilling honey and poison in her ear until she couldn’t even hear herself think. I can’t blame her for anything, he did the same to me, and I lapped at it like a starving child.

“Where will we go?” Kilorn whispers anxiously, his eyes darting to the street outside, as if a regiment might come marching down it right now. I don’t blame him. My friend is brave, always has been and always will be, but a Silver regiment is no laughing matter to him yet.

Cal stiffens next to me and says, “Irabella is the only safe haven. Mare was never there, but I was.”

“Why—”

“I doesn’t matter.” I interrupt Kilorn, and lean forward to speak again. “You just have to trust us. Tell the Colonel you have reason to believe Tuck and a number of other bases have been compromised. That an informate you have high up in the palace you trust explicitly told you that. The Notch is not safe either.”

Farley’s eyes widen, and it is then I realize that the mention of that safe haven is what finally secures her trust. The Notch was her hiding hole. Not one her father came up with. Command might not have even known about it. If what Cal and I said was true, and we were her allies in the future, she may have taken us there at some point. I wish I would have been smart enough to start with the mention of it. We could have saved time.

“And you need to start finding the others like me.” I whisper, as I pull the book out of my jacket pocket and set it on the table. The cover gleams against the dusty surface of the table, and I almost can’t pull my fingers off of it. The fates of so many reside inside of it. Cameron’s furious expression flashes through my mind as I ordered her taken onto the Blackrun. I will not force her into anything this time though. I only hope I don’t have to rescue her from a prison though.

I slide the book to Farley and trail my fingers off the cover as I whisper, “Maven and Elara might already be on the hunt for the Ardents in here, but I circled the names of the people that we rescued together. He will target them first if he is going after them, so you have to beat him to it.”

She picks up the book gingerly before looking between us and saying, “you mentioned the Bowl of Bones.”

Cal smiles wearily but leans back with the poise of a general to say, “we won’t have to worry about it. We’re going to avoid that point all together.”

Farley’s fears are not soothed by Cal’s confidence, and I can almost see the spikes she wants to drive through his eyes. At least she nods though, agreeing with him for the time being. I can’t even begin to express the relief that courses through me as she puts the book in her own pocket and nods once more.

“Then we will go with your signal.”

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littleoddwriter · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I have three things to tell you: 1) You're the best and I'm happy to know you! 2) I wonder when did you start writing on Tumblr 3) I would like to request you a story with Zsaszmask and their son Andrew when they are not very happy to discover that their "little boy" hangs out with Harley. Humor and fluff would be nice! Thnks in advance and have a nice day!

Sacrifices | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask | KidFic

1) Thank you so much, I’m happy to know you as well! <3 2) Actually, I only started last year in early November! After having taken a break from writing altogether for 4 years, I got back into it with ZsaszMask fics and then thought to write Reader ones as well and post them here, and here we are now. :D

3) This is probably not very humorous, but I hope you like it anyway! Thanks so much for the request, it was quite the delight. :) <3

summary; see above.

notes; TW // Mention of/Implied Past Child Abuse; Misogyny (this is written in Roman’s POV, so- you know) and Ableist Language. Domestic Fluff; Kid Fic; Painting Nails; Group Hug; a tiny bit of angst, I guess? Also, this plays before BoP, so Harley is still with the Joker and Andy is 15 here instead of 17 like in the last fic!

Roman and Victor had been out attending business most of their late afternoon. It hasn’t taken as long as they had anticipated, though, as Sionis has reached a compromise and secured a deal with his business partner relatively soon.

Apparently, Andrew – their fifteen-year-old son – hadn’t expected them to be home so early, either.

When the two men had entered the loft, they could already hear this really obnoxious voice and accent. Harley fucking Quinn.

What the fuck was the Joker’s little princess doing here?

Roman glared at his partner, who just shrugged, frowning as well.

“Fix me a Martini. I’ll go take a look at what the fuck is going on here. ‘Kay?” Sionis said and headed towards his son’s room, not waiting for an answer from Zsasz.

Stopping at Andrew’s room’s doorway, Roman took in the atrocious scene that was happening right in front of him.

Harley was painting Andrew’s nails.

Harley motherfucking Quinn was painting his son’s fucking fingernails.

Clearing his throat, Roman drew their attention to him. It should have been on him the moment he’s stopped to stand there, but they were too caught up talking and laughing with each other. It disgusted him. This was his son! He wasn’t supposed to tattle with the woman he hated most (right after his own mother anyway).

When Andrew noticed him, he jumped a little, probably surprised to see him.

How long have these two been friends without Roman even knowing it?

“Dad- Hey, uh-,” Andrew started, chuckling nervously.

“Oh! Hiya, Romy! You’re home already? Or did we lose track of time, Andy Baby?” Harley chirped so fucking sickeningly, that stupid bitch.

“We came home early. That’s not important, though. What’s important is what the fuck you are doing here?” Roman asked, fuming already, and took some steps towards the other two.

“Painting our nails, silly! What else does it look like? And here, Andy’s nails are so pretty now!” The crazy bitch said, shoving his son’s hands into Roman’s face, making him look.

Begrudgingly, Sionis had to admit that the glittery baby-blue nail polish fit his son really well, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud. Not when she was listening, too.

“That’s not what I meant, Ms. Quinn,” Roman sneered, “I want to know what you are doing here, in my apartment, with my son. How long has this been going on, hm?”

“A couple of months,” Andrew finally piped up, “I like Harley! She is fun to hang out with, dad.”

“Awww, Andy Baby, you’re fun to spend time with, too! See, Romy, it’s all fine! What’s the buzz about, anyway?”

Clenching his jaw, Roman forced himself to take a deep breath, trying so hard not to explode then and there. He wasn’t scared of Harley, but her stupid “Clown Prince” – boyfriend – wasn’t someone he necessarily wanted to be on the bad side of.

“It’s nothing. Still, I’d prefer it if you could leave, now, Ms. Quinn. I’d like to spend some private family time with my son and partner, ‘kay?” Roman hoped she’d catch on and leave without any big theatrics; he really wasn’t going to able to hold onto the last shred of his patience for much longer.

Harley made a sad little sound, playing it up big time, but then she nodded, grinning so stupidly. “Fine, I’ll leave! I’ll see you soon then, Andy?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Bye, Harley. And thanks for the nails,” Andrew said, hugging the crazy bitch, before she got up, patted Roman on the cheek and left, skipping to the door.

Roman was glad that he was going to wash his face anyway. Now he had all the more reason to scrub it thoroughly, though.

Cautiously, Andrew got up from his bed, which he’s sat on with Harley the entire time. “Dad?” he asked quietly.

Before Roman could reply, Victor finally came back with his Martini. He downed it in one go, desperate for the liquor to numb some of the pain he felt.

“So, what exactly was that Harley-Bitch doing here?” Zsasz asked, ever so gracefully.

Roman looked at Andrew expectantly, “Why don’t you tell your father why she was here, hm?”

He knew he was being an asshole; he should give it a rest and just pretend as though none of this happened, but he just couldn’t. He felt betrayed by his own son, and he was just so fucking pissed because of Harley’s mere presence anyway.

“Uh, well, we’re friends. And she came over to paint my nails while you were gone. I didn’t expect you back so early. I’m sorry,” Andy explained, fidgeting with his hands nervously.

At the sight of his son being so nervous – scared, Roman’s heart clenched painfully. He knew what that was like. Worse even. He didn’t want to be like his own father. He should do better. He wanted to do better.

“Well, you know how much we don’t like having her here, Andrew. You shouldn’t have let her come to the apartment in the first place,” Victor responded calmly.

Roman was a bit in awe of his partner and how well he was handling this – so much better than he was.

“I know, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I guess. Can I stay friends with her, though? Please?”

Sionis sighed, setting his Martini glass down on his son’s bedside table. “Come here,” he murmured, stretching his arms out in invitation, all anger gone and exchanged for a strange kind of sadness he’s not felt since Andy was still just a boy.

Andrew took some cautious steps towards him and when he was right in front of him, Roman wrapped his arms around his boy, who reciprocated the embrace immediately, resting his head sideways on his father’s chest.

“You too, Victor,” Roman then said and Zsasz immediately joined in, embracing them both tightly.

“So you’re not mad at me anymore?” Andy asked, his voice a little muffled by the hug.

“No, baby. I’m-,” Roman sighed heavily, the next words not coming out of him very easily, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. My differences with Harley shouldn’t extend to you. If you want to be friends with her, so be it. But don’t meet with her here in the future, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, alright, that’s fair. Thanks, dad.” Momentarily, Andrew’s arms tightened around his waist, eliciting a genuine smile from Roman.

“Show your dad and me your nails, will you? I want to see them properly, now.”

They all let go of each other and Andrew lifted his hands, spread his fingers and let his dads inspect them.

“Looks good,” Victor commented, smiling crookedly.

“Agreed. As much as I hate her, she did a good job painting your nails. Not only that, but the colour looks incredible on you, my boy.”

Giggling, Andrew’s cheeks turned a light pink colour. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Roman replied softly, gently stroking his boy’s cheek with his knuckles.

While Roman would never be able to like Harley, he guessed that perhaps he should at least try to tolerate her some more. For Andrew. He wanted to do him right and that meant making some sacrifices, as he’s had to learn from the very beginning of adopting him. It would be okay, though, as long as Andrew never ended up hating his guts the way Roman did with his own father.

#roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #victor zsasz #victor zsasz fanfiction #zsaszmask #zsaszmask au #zsaszmask fanfic #harley quinn #kid fic #fluff #domestic #birds of prey #harley quinn birds of prey #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn

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ask-jokeboi · 5 years ago

Photo

The Party

Hope everyone's having a great holiday season so far! This time of year isn't always easy but thankfully friends and a good distraction can make things easier.

I drew these pic’s to pair with a moderately long fic I wrote to follow up the aforementioned party from earlier, it’s below the the cut! Read it if you want! Either way, Happy Holidays! 💜💚💛

Words: 4,142 Relationships: Harlivy /Harley & Joker friendship / Batjokes (mentioned) Universe: Mine / Lego Batman

A/N: sorry for any typos or weird grammatical stuff, I'm good at art, not writing

Summary: Joker’s felt a little down since Batman’s been out of town, will his best friend Harley be able to cheer him up?

Warnings: Alcohol use, implied depression

_____________________

"C'mon Jay it'll be be fun!" Cheered Harley, mustering all the enthusiasm she could in an attempt to persuade Gotham's former clown prince of crime to pull himself together

"I don't care!…. Go bother your girlfriend or something. Leave me alone…" He was currently piled under several layers of blankets, sunk deep into the ball pit he called a bed

"Nuh uh, I'm not haulin' my butt outta this room 'till you haul yours. You can stay in that pit and cry all ya like, but it won't fix nothin', you gott-"

"I don't GOTTA do anything!" Jay snapped. Throwing his blanket aside and revealing his less than kempt appearance, his face twisted into a frustrated glare

Harley, already familiar with Jay's usual harmless outbursts only sighed as she looked her long time friend up and down, taking in his surroundings with a curious eye

It'd been a month or two since Batman left the scene and his absence was definitely beginning to take a toll on the poor clown.

She could tell it'd been a while since he'd done anything to care for himself…. His hair, which was usually swept back into a flawless green pomp, lazily draped his face. The dull forest black of his roots beginning to seep back into the rest of it. Same could be said for the state his room which, due to his erratic nature, was always a bit untidy but had recently fallen into a state of near disrepair. Bags of half eaten junk food and empty bottles of all sorts of things lay strewn across the floor, particularly around his half deflated bed.

Despite the mess, he still seemed a little...thin… more so than usual to be honest… his ribs visible beneath the loose shirt he wore, arms comparable to sticks despite the muscle.

most of all though, he just seemed... tired. Jay always looked tired out of makeup. It was one of the first things she'd managed to take note of when he'd first entered her office years ago…. But right now the purple rings beneath his eyes that never seemed to go away were deepened to a point that made it clear he wasn't getting much sleep or doing much for himself in general...

Seeing her best friend in a state like this was hard to witness… and although her partner, Ivy, didn't have much but mild disdain for Jay, Harley couldn't find it in herself to leave him like this… which is why she thought a party might lift his spirits a little

"C'mooon! You love parties!! It'll just be a small one anyway!" It was actually much bigger than she was implying but Jay liked big and she didn't wanna scare him off too soon…

"Yeah, like that'll make things any better… who did you even invite?? A good half of the rogues don't even like me…"

"Sure they do!"

Jay only looked at her, bereft and unimpressed.

"I mean ok you and Riddler don't always get along and it took a lot a beggin' ta get ya un-banned from the iceberg lounge but still!!"

"Uhg whatever! It doesn't matter! I don't need those bozos seein' me like this anyway..."

"Like what?"

"I don't know! I'm just…... I'm not in the right… mood for something like that right now.... You know how this works… they'd see right through me. "

Back when Jay was still her patient they'd end up talking a lot about masks…Batman's would come up more often than not but every now and then he'd end up discussing his own…. Or more specifically, the metaphorical one he'd put on every time he picked up a brush and painted himself a new face…..

"Jay, sweetie… you don't have to pretend to be okay… they won't think you're weak or nothin', you know that right?..."

Jay gave her an incredibly tired look before turning away.

"What happened to the Jay that wasn't afraid to let people know how he's feelin' huh? The one that turned every emotion into a show….?"

He kept his head down, shoulders stiff, before speaking...

"....Cause I'm not just sad this time…. " As he looked up slowly an emotion that was rarely seen on the mans face showed itself, flooding his eyes.

"W- when I'd talked to Robin and Batgirl that last time and asked about Batman they gave each other this look and…. Something's wrong… he's in trouble or something I… I can feel it….. W-what if he doesn't come back and he leaves me here all alone an-"

Harley put a polished nail up to Jay's lips and smiled warmly.

"Shhhh…. You're worryin' too much puds… ur big dumb brain is just an overdramatic liar… don't listen to it okay?"

Jay sniffled, giving her an understanding nod.

"You still got me an' your crew an' Bud and all the other little silly things that make ya days good doncha?"

He smiles halfheartedly. "Y-yeah…. But still… he was..."

"I know… he's special….but do you seriously think anything out there could actually kill Batman? THE Batman? C'mon now…. He's luckier than any bastard out there and you know it…"

"Yeah…. Yeah I guess ur right"

"Of COURSE I'm right!… now come on…" she offers her hand and helps her friend stand up. "Let's get that hair done and those nails shined up so you're brain can take a break from making all those nasty thoughts"

Jay smiled a little wider this time, forever grateful he had a friend as great as Harley around… he really didn't know what he'd do without her sometimes...

"Right…. Also… uh…. Harley?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for….uh…. Bein'... around… I guess…" Jay practically mumbled...

Harley smiled knowingly, amused with his poor attempt of gratitude

"No problem, Pud's….." she gave him a peck on the forehead leaving a black smudge behind

"now enough mush...Let's clean this mess and get ya fabbed up"

________________

A few hours later, Jay stood outside the titular iceberg lounge in his best winter fit, a long boa around his shoulders and a pair of unnecessary sunglasses obscuring the mascara he'd only half ruined on the way there….

He truly, honestly, did not feel like socializing with anyone at the moment, but who was he to refuse a doctor's orders?....

Taking a deep breath of the cold winter air, Jay stiffened up, smoothed the wrinkles from his vintage memphis style sweater and entered the lounge, heels high and head high as he could manage

____________

When the doors swung open with a swirl of winter snow, Jay was greeted by a surprisingly full and stunningly silent room. Christmas music cut through the tension like a knife as everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to Joker's fashionably late arrival.

He didn't know if it was because of his natural ability to demand attention or the fact that he hadn't been seen in nearly 3 weeks, but for some reason the room seemed slightly on edge. worried he'd come with another Joker brand surprise perhaps. Thankfully, Harley, who'd left his place a little earlier to get everything ready, noticed who'd finally arrived.

"JJ!! YOU MADE IT!!" she leaped off her stool and came running to grab him, The rest of the room taking it as a cue to un-tense and to go back to their festivities, the lounge lighting up with warm greetings and laughter.

" Hey…" said Jay as Harley put an arm around his shoulder and escorted him to the booth she was sitting at….

"So… is all of this for me or…?"

"No, did she tell you that?" Ivy who was sitting at the booth with his other less than fond acquaintance, Catwoman and someone else he didn't seem to recognize, gave a snide smile, Jay suddenly felt he should probably sit someplace else

"IVY!! SHHH" Harley shushed

"What? He was gonna find out out eventually…. It was supposed to be Penguin's annual winter ball"

"Uh,It still is tho…?" said Kat, mouth full of shrimp

"Well, yah…. Difference is we had to 'finesse' Penguin into letting HIM in" Ivy explained, disdain in her voice

"And you... helped with that?..." asked Jay, surprised. Ivy sighed

"for Harley's sake, yes. not yours"

Jay smiled, amused. "well how charitable of you, here's to hoping you won't regret it"

Ivy rolled her eyes. "As if I don't already" she said, taking a short sip from her drink, Harley sitting down next to her give her thank u peck on the cheek.

"Hey, why'd you get banned from this dump anyway?" Asked Kat, eyes squinting curiously

"I have no idea…." Jay shrugged

"He put a coke and mento bomb in the fountain!" Harley interrupted

"Oh yeah…." He'd totally forgot

"Ha! Awesome…"

"Right uh, anyway, who the hell are you?" Jays attention suddenly turned to the woman sitting opposite of kat. She had light blue skin, bright white eyes and hair that made her look like a human lighting rod.

"Name's Livewire." She said, voice sharp as her appearance

"She's from Metropolis" explained Ivy. Jay rose a brow.

"Metropolis huh?? How'dya like dealin' with boy scout full time over there?" He quizzed

"Sweet!…" she exclaimed enthusiastically "Big blue aint got a thing on me! 'sides, dweeb's been outta town for months now! metropolis might as well be my personal playground"

The mentioning of Superman's absence made something in Jay's chest twist. He'd known their neighbor hero had been MIA for even longer than Batman, Supergirl taking over the workload just like Batgirl had in Gotham. but still… the reminder was enough to worry him. I mean… if superman was taking so much time up there, what chance did Batman have against whatever it was they were so busy with??

Trying his best to shake off the uneasiness building in his stomach Jay took a breath and snapped back to reality, offering Livewire his hand

"Well, uh... Livewire, i'm this city's head honcho while the bat's gone so welcome to Gotham and try not to wear it out"

Harley and Ivy exchanged looks as Jay smiled slyly and took Livewires hand…

...Only for his usual gesture of hospitality to be met with an equally shocking grip that sent blue sparks flying in every direction.

"DAMN, what the- !! " Jay yanked his hand back and held it in pain, hot needles running up his arm.The new addition to Harley's crew laughed crudely and smiled

"why do you think they call me 'LIVEWIRE' genius?"

Jay stayed silent with defeat as the table went up in hysterics "Yeah fine, okay, I shoulda saw that one coming" he sighed and smoothed out his hair which had sprung up to stand on end, his face ever so slightly red "anyway, you ladies have a nice time… i'll set up shop somewhere else and let you guys… idk… flirt with each other or whatever..." without much fanfare he slunk off to sit someplace else.

After the table had settled down completely though, Harley noticed Jay making his way to the bar looking somewhat dejected.

"Aw Jay…."

The rest curiously turned their attention to the direction of Harley's gaze.

"You're not going after him are you?" Asked Ivy after a beat.

"Well… yeah…?" Harley shrugged.

"Uhm, why?" Asked kat, dipping more shrimp into her cocktail "like if he's not in the mood for a joke that's kinda his problem…?"

"Yeah, but still…. I've never seen 'im like this for so long…. He's usually so funny and animated, it's like somethin' drained all the life out of 'im…." The concern on Harley's face was very apparent. Ivy brushed back a few strands of her hair and tried her best to reassure her.

"Look i'm sure he'll get his second wind when Batman comes back at some point… but ‘til then it's not your job to take care of him…"

Harley sighed silently. "I know but… he's still my best friend… and if I hadn't met him, I wouldn'ta met you!" She squished close to her spouse with a smile, Ivy suddenly unable to hold back a small one herself.

"He helped me outta my slump all those years ago, least I can do is help 'im outta his..."

Ivy gave her a soft look before reluctantly caving "Kindness has always been your best and worst trait, silly bee…" she said with a smirk "fine, go ahead and do your thing, I've got plenty of company over here in the meantime…"

Harley smiled happily and gave her one last kiss before running off to join Jay at the bar.

____________

Jay sat alone at the bar in silence until he was suddenly startled by Harley's arrival.

"What's shakin' grumpy gills?" She asked pulling up a stool.

Jay didn't answer as the bartender slid over a funfetti martini topped with the works, Jay lazily catching it and drinking deeply.

"Those guys didn't get ta ya did they? I know they seem mean bu- "

"Ah… I don't care about them…" said Jay dismissively "we're all villains here right? I'm sure they got their reasons… sides, Livewire's pretty fun even if she did fry my Joy buzzer" He said regretfully…

"So what's up then…?" Asked Harley, head tilted

Jay looked down at the table with a frown, fingers anxiously scraping the side of the glass in his hand….

"What she'd said about metropolis…. And… superman…."

"Oh…" Harley nodded "well…. I'm sure they're together wherever they are…. Right? Him and Batman? And I mean, with Superman around, he's bound to be okay….."

Jay had a hard time matching her enthusiasm but that logic did comfort him some. "Yeah… yeah I guess so"

"C'mon Jay, you gotta get that stuff off your mind for a minute! Go mingle! Go dance!… look at everyone who came this time! Turn-out's never been so big!"

As Jay's looked around the room, Harley did have a point, usually these get-togethers only managed to scrounge up about half the gang, but it looked like almost all the rogues in town had come this time. Even D-listers like Polkadot man, Killer Moth, Crazy Quilt ect. Had managed to show up, plus people he didn't seem to recognize…

For example at the bar sat Scarecrow and a… Oddly scruffy looking man he looked to be sharing a drink with. He'd heard from Riddler over the phone some time ago that crow had found himself a friend and that the two were "in cahoots". whatever that was supposed to mean. He supposed that must've been the "friend" in question…

A few tables down sat another unfamiliar in a polkadot shirt and a pair of cracked thick lensed glasses. He had a peculiar looking puppet sitting on his lap which made J raise a brow, but he didn't judge. Looking at his woefully nervous face he guessed it must it must've been a security thing anyway…

Despite the big crowd though, Jay did notice one person missing of whom he hadn't seen in quite a while...

"Yeah I guess everyone is here... except uh, Lex I guess…?" Jay considered himself friends with metropolises king of corruption, even if the feeling wasn't always mutual. Seeing so many crooks he knew in one place made him realize how rare it was to see the mal hearted mogul at these things.

Unfortunately, Harley could only shrug with defeat. "Ah I tried to get Lex but you know how he is… nobody's seen that shut in for ages".

Jay's eyes narrowed at that "How long is ages…. ?" He pressed

"I dunno… a few months guess??? Livewire said he's been quiet lately, probably off in one of his labs making some over convoluted instrument of destruction I guess"

The growing list of missing big shots was beginning to piece something together in Jay's head… what on earth was Lex up to? Where was superman?? Why did the league need Batman's help? How did it all connect?? After a moment Harley noticed Jay slipping into his thoughts again and shook his shoulder lightly to pull him out of it.

"Hey, don't worry about that egghead. he'd only kill the mood if he were here anyway"

Jay couldn't disagree, the billionaire was kind of notorious for being a giant stick in the mud.

"If you're really worried about what's goin' on with those guys, you can come up with a plan Tomorrow…. right now we got a' open dance floor, unlimited drinks and a Karaoke competition that's about ta kick off in ten"

The word 'Karaoke' was enough to snap Jay back to reality. "Did you say Karaoke?"

"Yes, I did."

"Do they hav-"

"Yes, they have Queen"

Jay nearly looked as if someone had told him the best news of his life. "Oh thank god" maybe Harley was right. Worrying would have to wait.

_____________

The rest of the night went on with few hang ups. Drinks poured, music played and poorly screeched lyrics kept the mood upbeat.

The Karaoke stage hosted performance after performance, some more enthusiastic than others. Some painful, others surprisingly pleasant. Jay's teetered off the edge of both categories, but when "somebody to love" burst through those speakers, he'd sung it with his whole chest. The best performance by a long shot though had to be Ivy's who's affinity for 50's ballads lent to her beautifully rich voice and her's was closely followed by the Dent's who'd decided to attempt a duet with no chorus which everyone found somewhat impressive.

Emotions did flare up once or twice though, as they tend to do when it comes to villain gatherings. Ed and Jay got into a fight about something stupid and unimportant, both obviously enjoying themselves, Bane and Croc engaged in an arm wrestle that woefully ended in a tie, and Jay inevitably got worked up about Batman again, this time with a crowd of eager listeners somewhat entertained by his rambling, giving questionable advice here and there.

At the get-together's height, the dance floor had filled to the point where Penguin was just about ready to call the whole event off until Riddler dragged him on to the floor himself.

After another hour or so the party wound down some more and the night devolved into quiet discussions between friends, everyone either ready to leave or half asleep. Eventually Jay and Two-face of all people were left alone. Once Ed, Crow, Hatter and the rest had gone home.

Jay always liked Harv, for someone known for his temper he seemed to have a lot of patience and Jay found both of his selves uniquely interesting in their own ways. Harvey the "handsome" one was always very nice, easily flustered, and had a sadness in his eyes that was hard to ignore. "Dent", the one famous for all those 2 themed crimes, was a bold individual and one of the most brutally honest people he knew. That night though, even he seemed a little sad. He admitted later that it was because it'd been a while since he'd gotten to talk to his old pal Bruce, someone Jay was mildly familiar with of course, and they spent the rest of the night discussing Batman and wayne and how they seemed so similar until it really was time to head home.

sometime after midnight, long after everyone had either left or found someplace to pass out, Harley broke up with her girl gang again to come get Jay who'd fallen asleep in an empty booth.

"Wake up clown" she said loudly, nudging him a bit. Jay giggled quietly in response, turning over after a moment and opening his eyes.

"Oohh what's up??"

"Time to go."

"Aw…" Jay huffed disappointedly, then did his best to sit up straight, his head slowly spinning as he did so "ah jeeze…"

"Don't worry I called one of your guys, he's waiting outside." She explained "I dragged you here, might as well drag you home"

"You did that for me?" Jay smiled "That's so nice…."

"Mhm" carefully, she took his hand got him to his feet, doing her best to keep him up straight. As they headed out they met up with Ivy at the door

"Taking pennywise home?" She asked

"It'll only take a minute" Harley assured

"Alright… don't take too long…" she turned to leave but before she could, Jay suddenly spoke up.

"H-hey, Wait!"

Ivy turned around, brow raised "You have something to say to me?"

"Uh… yeah? I mean… sort of? I just, uh… wanted to say i'm sorry for… messing up your garden all those times…."

Ivy blinked "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I just thought you shud kno…. And that um…. Maybe you'd hate me…. A little less... if I said sorry for once..." the frown on Jays face was absolutely pitiful, Ivy could only roll her eyes.

"I don't hate you… Joker"

"Oh?"

"I just think you're annoying…."

"Oh…." Jay couldn't really tell if that was any better but at the moment he was too drunk to care. "Okay…"

With that ivy turned around to join Kat and Livewire

"Thanks for the apology though I suppose…Take care of yourself…. And, Harley don't take too long… it's only 1:00am we still have plans."

"Don't worry Ive's i'll catch up."

after one last look, Ivy went back on her way and Harley continued walking J to his car.

As they went Jay hummed to himself, swaying slightly, until a certain thought made him go quiet again.

"....Harley….?" He asked suddenly.

"Yeah, J?"

"Am I a bad friend?" The question just as out of the blue as his apology to Ivy….

Harley looked at him, concerned "Why do ya ask?"

"I just…. Please?" He pleaded. Harley hesitated for a long moment but decided being honest was probably best.

" not exactly but… maybe sometimes"

"Hm…" Jay decided he'd have to work on that

"But I also know ya don't really wanna hurt anybody…. That you try your best everyday ta make people happy and that you've been through just as much any of us…. A few mean comments an' dumb pranks ain't gonna make anybody think you're the devil or somethin'….not me or any of the other guys... "

Jay had to smile at that, Harley always had something smart or nice to say no matter what. still, her answer only made him feel worse about how he'd been earlier when she was just trying to help… he really, honestly, didn't deserve her…. But the least he could do was let her know he was glad to have her...

"Harley…?"

"Yeah, J…"

"Thanks for being really, really great all the time… and… y'know… around… " Harley smiled as she secured his arm around her shoulders.

"Thanks J..."

"also sorry for sucking sometimes..."

She sighed. "It's fine Jay…."

carefully, she hauled his ragdolling body a few more feet and shoved him into the back seat of his car. J grunting as his head hit the leather seat.

"Now go home an' try not to get lost on your way to the door" She said sternly. Jay gave her a lazy wink and a pair of wobbly finger guns.

"Gotcha."

with that,Harley slammed the door shut and the J-Mobile's engine roared to life. One his lackeys sitting in the driver's seat.

"Where to boss? HQ?"

"Yup… ah, sorry t' call ya out so late…"

"S'alright boss…. Don't worry about it"

As the car lurched forward, street lights shining in through the windows as snow fell ever so lightly over Gotham like a dusting of fresh powdered sugar, Jay did inevitably start thinking about Batman again, wondering when he'd come back, desperately wishing he knew anything about where he was right now….

The thoughts were hard to ignore and when he got home he knew he'd be surrounded by the same walls he'd spent the last month trapped with them in…. even so, the world felt a little less washed out than it had before he left, and it wasn't just because of the alcohol swirling in his blood.

He may not have had Batman... But today reminded him he wasn't alone.

He had friends… real friends… In a way he'd always considered them such… but deep down there was always doubt. I mean sure he got along better with some than others, but after knowing people so long he shouldn't have been so dumb to think they hated him as much as he thought they did.

When you're a villain in Gotham sometimes all you have are other weirdos in the same boat as you to help keep you and everyone else afloat. People need people in more ways than one… and as Jay drifted off to sleep in the back of his gaudy getaway vehicle, laying in a position that was just barely comfortable, he pushed his worries aside and made sure that was something he'd never let himself forget.

~ End ~

#batman #dc comics #the joker #harley Quinn #lego batman #christmas #blogged

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hongism · 4 years ago

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An essay on why i love kim hongjoong and why he’s my ult bias and one of my biggest inspirations in life; by me, you know who it is, the biggest hongjoong simp on the planet, and your local hongjoong lover

This isn’t really gonna be an essay pls it’s been way too long since i last wrote a formal and serious essay but instead it’s just gonna be a messy hodgepodge of me doing what i do best in life: rambling (about hongjoong). If you know me you know that i GUSH over the things and people i love, i could sit here for years just rambling about that so yeah this is about to be long as HELL and also embARRASSING as hell so PLS look away act like you don’t see anything no one talk about it hongjoong if ur here pls don’t look good god this is about to be so embarrassing bc here’s a list of things i don’t have: chill. Yall about to see me crumble for a Man of all things i can’t believe this is happening but yeah see im already rambling and i haven’t even started talking about hongjoong yet wow okay anyways look away i will cry and did cry okay thanks yeah BYE

im not gonna sit here and be like ‘bc he’s cool and handsome and yeah’ because those aren’t really reasons why you love Someone, those are kinda reasons why you might admire someone or enjoy looking at them but not why you like them necessarily, but it is a given that hongjoong is a beautiful person inside and out so i can’t go on without mentioning how beautiful and handsome he is ;;-; he has such pretty and delicate features, his nose his side profile his eyes his lips yes everything about him is beautiful and lovely and wonderful he’s just so objectively attractive. His smile is so bright and warm and full of love and joy, really he has one of those smiles where you see it and feel like your heart is full. Show me a picture of hongjoong smiling and my mood will spike and i’ll be happy bc he is a person who has infectious happiness and joy.

Hongjoong has so many neat and cool aspects to his personality, he’s really brilliant, he’s got an iq of 148, he’s an infp, he’s a scorpio, i’m gonna start rambling strap in — he raps, he sings, he dances, he composes/produces, he plays the drums, he plays the piano, he writes lyrics, he reforms clothes, supports the polished man campaign and paints his nails like!!! Listens to all sorts of music, enjoys rock music, loves to experiment with his style and hair, loves trying new things, just look back at inception era where he asked to wear a skirt for performances bc he thought it looked pretty moving while he danced just! Hongjoong has a very beautiful personality that i love to see because he is unapologetically him. And in an industry where it’s hard to be an individual and where it’s hard to let your own colors shine through whether it be because of pressures from companies/group image/so on so forth. I’ve always stood by the fact that KQ does really well with letting the boys do individual things and be individuals as well as have a say in what the plans are for their image, but it really shines through in hongjoong.

He’s a person who has his own color and his own sort of image that i feel lucky to look at bc it’s so special and unique and wonderful to see!! I feel that way constantly when i look at ateez and i think that’s why i love ateez so much and why they’re my ult alongside shinee bc there is so much individual color and personality and i adore getting to see that because people in general fascinate me that way.

There’s always a lot of jokes about hongjoong’s scorpio tendencies shining through but even beyond those jokes, he really lets us see parts of himself that are both intriguing and beautiful to see. I mentioned this the other night to a friend but while he was live, you could physically see the way he brightened when talking about music and when sharing his music, sharing the things he worked on, songs he enjoys, and when he talks about music, you can see that passion and love in his face. Same with when he talked about his tattoo, you could see in his face how much it means to him and how much thought he put into it, and how special it was for him to talk about it even with language barriers. Personalities are something that don’t need a language to see and perceive, and i’m always very careful to talk about idols’ personalities because you never know which parts are real and which parts are what they want us to see but seeing how clear hongjoong’s passion and adoration for music is is something so blatant to me. Like it’s just something i see every time he talks about music and every time he’s live and it’s so beautiful and special to see.

I’m a person who gets motivated when i see other people motivated and that’s primarily why i see hongjoong as such a huge source of inspiration and motivation because listening to people talk about the things they love makes me feel happy and encouraged. I love seeing the joy in people’s bodies and faces when they get happy, i love seeing people full of life and joy, i adore seeing them talk about their dreams and aspirations because you can see how determined and how meaningful something is to a person that way, and that’s something i see in hongjoong so much.

Hongjoong is someone who values art and all forms, and he’s someone who finds beauty and inspiration in all sorts of things. That’s something i try to do in my life but it’s hard and i struggle and sometimes i get it right and sometimes i don’t, and yaknow maybe we’re not supposed to get it right all the time, but i love getting to see hongjoong’s creative process and just listen to him talk about the things he finds inspiration in. Really honestly and truly getting to see people do what they love brings me more joy than i can put into words. There is something so special about it, and i feel it when i watch hongjoong perform because you can see how much every part of the stage and performance means to him even if it’s just 3 minutes and even if it’s something where he’s not front and center. Hongjoong doesn’t have to be the forefront of something to give his all and i think that speaks volumes to how much he wants to be on stage and how much it means to him

Then anOTHER thing i love about hongjoong because i could just talk for hours at this rate. Bc im emo and im in my feels so much i think about how sometimes it really seems like hongjoong was made to lead ateez. You could put 100000 people in a room and give me a list of qualifications and reasons why these 100000 people would be better leaders and i would still pick hongjoong because there is something so inherent in him about being the leader of ateez that shines through so much. The way he talks about ateez, the members, the things he does for them, the work he puts in because he wants them to succeed together. He talks about looking at their faces before going to sleep, not wanting to release a mixtape because he wants to share his music through ateez, he calls them kids, he wouldn’t post selfies so that we would focus on the other members’ teaser photos, he pushes them and encourages them to try new things and do new things, there is so so much he does for them and there are so many ways in which hongjoong loves ateez, just so many ways he cares for them and adores them even when he has that tsundere image, you can clearly see how much they mean to him and how much value he puts in those relationships with them

But yeah so anyways i’m gonna cut myself short good god this is oafiejrogbjieon so long already BYE this is embarrassing im so tired tho im gonna go sleep and probably forget i a) wrote this and b) posted this HTRWEFSFKHDLKFH yall know how it is pls dont ROAST ME for GUSHING just yeah if i could say one thing to hongjoong and only one thing like only one chance to say something i would genuinely thank him for being a person who inspires me and for sharing his passions with us i think that sharing your passions the way he does is so special and touching and yeah god im about to ramble again pls caly stop

#GOODNIGHT #jk i need to message joong on universe first #theN GOODNIGHT

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

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What a Wicked Game {12/15}

Killian met her in a pub on a rainy night in March. Going inside was only supposed to be a way for him to avoid the rain and fight off the demons in his head. It was a place for him to pass through, not stay. But then he was charmed by a blonde woman with a quick wit who had absolutely no interest in him or who he was.

That was a first. It was also the beginning of Emma Nolan helping to bring him back to life. It was the beginning of everything.

Five years later, with their worlds crumbling around them, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the end of the peace they have known now that his family knows about his relationship. It wouldn’t be a problem if his father wasn’t the King of England.

rating: mature

a/n: thank you to the mods at @captainswanbigbang for running this event and helping to encourage writers to finish their wonderful stories, to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading all these words, and to @captainsjedi for making the beautiful artwork ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |

-/-

October 19th, 2018

October dawns bright and warm, but as it settles in, the warmth disappears into a chill and the brightness of the sky turns to the gray for which London is often known. Leaves are still in the midst of changing colors, from a dull green to vibrant oranges and reds that contrast the sky, and Emma finds herself staring out the large window in Killian’s bedroom to look at the leaves falling from a tree and drifting through the air until they eventually land on the edge of the roof. It’s been seven weeks since she slept in her own bed and had her parents just down the hall from her, and as weird as it’s been, she’s thankful for this.

She’s thankful that every day she is actively making the choice to be with Killian and to work at adjusting to all of the complications that come with this life.

It’s more than a lot, but as she looks down at her arm and sees it without the ugly white plaster and stretches her arms above her head without any pain, Emma reminds herself that time and a little extra care can heal things. The immediate reaction and pain doesn’t stay. It changes and lessens. Her body is healing, her heart too, and the darkness that surrounded her for all of August seems to have almost been extinguished.

Nothing about this has been easy, but Emma doesn’t want to retreat back and walk away again. She still believes that her reasons were sound, that she had to do it in order to take care of herself and protect her heart, and in a weird way, coming out on the other side has made her thankful for it.

Getting into a car crash and possibly almost dying because photographers wanted a picture of her sitting in a car after they found out about she and Killian’s breakup wasn’t great. She could have done without that. She still could. And she definitely won’t be getting in a car on a rainy night anytime soon.

Her physical scars may be lessening, most of them non-existent now, but she’s not ready for that. She’s not ready for a lot of things, but when has she ever been?

“Darling,” Killian calls out, and she gets a little smile on her face at how much his accent thickens on that word, “do you know where my solid navy tie is? It should be with all of the others, but I can’t find it.”

“Where did you last see it?”

“If I bloody well knew that, I wouldn’t be asking where it is.”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom before walking outside and finishing the buttons on his dress shirt. He looks handsome today in his navy pants and light blue dress shirt, and she really doesn’t see why he needs to wear a tie when he looks fine without it. Royal dress code or something. She doesn’t know. Over the past few weeks as she’s isolated herself in Killian’s apartment at Kensington or wandered over to Liam and Elsa’s to spend time with Elsa, she’s found herself going through guidebooks that Elsa had made when she got engaged to Liam. There are all these rules and regulations from how to cross your legs to what nail polish she’s supposed to wear, and while Emma thinks a lot of it is bullshit, it’s the territory that comes with being in this relationship.

Emma will paint her nails ballet slipper pink and cross her legs at the ankle every damn day if that’s what it takes. What she won’t do is be suffocated by the press and by Brennan.

What she won’t do is make Killian leave his family and break his mom’s heart simply because she couldn’t handle the pressure.

If he wants to leave, if it is truly his decision outside of her, she’s more than happy for them to live their lives in a simpler way where Killian doesn’t have to worry about where his solid navy tie is. Leaving may be in their future, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

But if they’re staying and doing this, she wants to make the best out of the situation. She wants to work with charities that help empower women and children. She wants to do that for men too, to educate them on the intricacies over an ever-changing world. She wants to do good and be good. This family is insane, the money and the traditions and the vault full of actual tiaras like something out of a movie, but they can use their privilege to do good.

Emma knows what it’s like to not have this kind of privilege, and now she may be in a position to help.

“Cool down, Casanova. No need to get all snippy over your tie. Where are you even going today?”

“The opening of a hospital wing and then I’m meeting with a slew of new security guards to interview.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Killian arches a brow. “Haven’t you spent enough time in hospitals lately?”

“I meant to the interviews, dumbass. Isn’t this for my security, too?”

Killian fidgets with the neck of his shirt, buttoning and then unbuttoning it so that black tufts of chest hair show. “Aye, but I figured I’d go through the candidates first, and then you could meet the top few to see which ones you’re most comfortable with.”

“I can come with you. It’s really not a big deal. I don’t have any plans for the day.”

“Swan, it’s fine. I promise.” Killian walks over to her and sits down on the edge of the bed next to her before taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth. “This is a dreadfully boring process, and my father is unfortunately going to be there for some of it, though I’ll likely leave the room when he does his own interviews. I don’t - after August, he’s convinced that I can’t pick out my own security team.”

“August was...I mean, he was selling information about us because his dad is sick and can’t afford the surgeries and medication back in America. He was willing to risk prison to save his dad. That’s not something you could have predicted.”

A part of Emma understands the words she’s telling Killian, but the other part of her wants to punch August’s fucking teeth out for making her life hell and inadvertently causing her crash.

“You’ve met Brennan. You know how he can be. I could do everything perfectly, but one screw up that’s outside of my control, and I’m incompetent.”

“Your dad sucks.”

Killian leans his head back with his laugh before leaning forward and pressing his lips to her knuckles once more. “In three words, you’ve managed to sum up quite a bit of my life.”

“I’m magical like that.”

“That you are, my love. That you are.” Killian sighs and blinks at her a few times. She thinks he’s going to say something to her, but then there’s a slight shake of his head and she knows the moment has passed. “Give me a little more time, and I swear I’ll talk to him. Seriously. He and I may never get along, but that’s okay. I simply need him to publicly accept you and to sign off on all of these protection measures for you.”

“Killian, you know you don’t have to do - ”

“No, I do. I will do everything I can to protect you, and if that means I have to have an actual conversation with my father where I don’t leave the room until I get what I want, I will. We’ve missed so much time not talking and not taking action. I don’t want to miss any more.”

Emma leans forward and presses her mouth to Killian’s cheek. “I love you. You should wear the white and navy striped tie instead of the solid one.”

He raises his hand to his forehead as he stands from the bed. “Aye, that’s a good idea.”

“And babe?”

“Yeah, love?”

“If Graham Humbert doesn’t make it to the final interview stage for security, Ruby and I will both be pissed at you. He’s who I want protecting me.”

“That doesn’t terrify me as much as it should.”

“Ruby will be vicious.”

“Eh.”

“I can withhold sex, and you just got that back.”

Killian mock gasps, placing his hand over his heart. “You’re a liar, Emma Nolan. I know you find me too attractive to ever do that.”

He catches the pillow she throws with annoying ease, and she hates him for it.

(Not really.)

After Killian leaves, Emma falls back into bed and thinks that she’ll spend her day watching Netflix or doing something else as equally lazy. What better way is there to spend her last day of being twenty-five?

None.

But that lasts approximately two episodes of a show before guilt nags at her, and she’s moving the covers off of her legs and standing from the bed with a frown etched on her lips and the idea that she needs to clean something. Cleaning is not at all her thing unless she’s working at the pub, but she’s been pretty much on vacation (if vacation included recovering from a car crash and having a million talks with your boyfriend over all of the problems in your relationship) for two months, and she’s probably genetically unable to not work for such long periods of time.

She’s in a literal palace, even if it’s nothing like any of the movies or shows, and instead of relaxing, she wants to clean up the spots Killian has let go over the past few weeks from not having a maid to aid him in his ridiculously specific cleaning rituals.

What even is her life?

She starts in the kitchen, going through Killian’s fridge and throwing out everything that’s expired or has gone bad, and she quickly moves on from that to vacuuming every rug and sweeping or dusting the places that get missed. It’s a lot, and if it wasn’t for the music that is playing over the system, she’d have quit hours ago. She’s about to quit now when she remembers just how messy Killian’s closet is because of her absolute inability to hang up her own clothes.

They’ve probably had more fights about that than, oh, you know, whether or not the actual King of England wants to behead her or not.

(Currently, they’re leaning more toward him wanting to lock her away in a dungeon so she can’t cause any more unintentional media frenzies. It’s apparently less dramatic than a beheading because at least she gets to live...this is a weird train of thought.)

Emma’s phone starts ringing, and she pulls it out of her pocket to answer as she walks up the stairs.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” David greets. “How are you feeling today? Old? Young? Like your life is over because you’re getting closer to late-twenties than early-twenties?”

“You are the most encouraging person alive.”

“I try.”

Emma chuckles and turns down the hallway to go into the bedroom, picking up her bra from where Killian must have tossed it last night and placing it in the hamper. “I’m fine. Killian’s at work opening a new hospital wing, apparently. I’m cleaning. How are you? What are you guys up to today?”

“I’m sorry. Did you say you were cleaning? Are we sure that you don’t have a concussion?”

“Your dad jokes are not good.”

“Every joke I’ve told since the day you were born has been a dad joke, and they’ve all been fabulous.”

She groans and walks into the closet before placing her phone on the table in the center of the room and putting it on speaker so she can do a little work before she loses momentum.

“I’m taking your dad joke privileges away, and to answer your question, I really am fine. I’m just messy, and Killian hasn’t had any of his usual staff in the apartment while I’ve been here. I think the whole August thing freaked him out so that he doesn’t trust anyone around me.”

“Someone close to him was selling information about you that harmed you. I’d be freaked out too. Hell, I am freaked out. If I wouldn’t get arrested for assault, I’d confront the guy.”

Everyone she loves wants to punch everyone who has hurt her, but they all stop themselves because of the fear of getting arrested for assault…she’s not sure if that’s flattering or concerning.

“What are you and Mom up to today?” she questions again, wanting to change the subject. She doesn’t want to talk about all of the shitty stuff that’s been happening to her lately. All she wants is to pick up all of her sweaters from the ground and figure out which ones need to be washed. Focusing on the bad is not how she’s going to move forward.

(And maybe not having to see August Booth’s face.)

“Your mom is downstairs with Will going over some possible menu changes, and I’ve been told I’m not allowed in the pub until I fix whatever is up with this toilet.”

“Ah, so you called me to procrastinate on doing that?”

“You know me so well.”

Emma fills in her dad on everything that’s been going on over the past few days. She tells him that her arm almost doesn’t feel weird anymore and that Ruby came over for dinner two nights again and brought Graham along with her. David is nearly as shocked by that as she was. This might be the longest relationship Ruby has ever had, and it’s good to see her so happy. It’s good that Emma likes Graham in that he’s dating her best friend and also might be protecting Emma’s life from now on if his next round of interviews goes well. In return, her dad gives her far too much information on the date he and her mom went on last night, and then he spends at least ten minutes talking about the difference in two brands of tomatoes.

All the while Emma has almost the entire closet (seriously, her dad talked for way too long and gave too much information about the date like he was talking to a friend and not his daughter) cleaned up. When she moves a pair of jeans that are on Killian’s side of the closet, she finds his solid blue navy tie he was searching for earlier.

“Ha,” she mumbles before reaching down to grab the tie.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says to her dad before tugging on the tie and pulling it up only for a small black box to roll out of it and tumble down onto the ground. “Holy shit.”

“Emma, are you okay?” David asks, but Emma barely hears him over the pounding of her heart. There might as well be an entire drumline in the room.

“Emma?”

“Y-yeah,” she lies even as her fingers tug so tightly on the tie that it might tear. “Hey, Dad? Has Killian talked to you about any...future type things?”

“What do you mean?”

Emma huffs and goes to pick up the box. They could be earrings, right? Or a necklace? Or another ring? She’s got a sapphire one she wears on her right hand. Killian has given her a ring before that wasn’t an engagement ring. That doesn’t mean what’s in this box is one. He buys her jewelry, and it’s not a big deal.

Except…

When the hell did he have time to get this?

How long has he had it? What made him decide to get it? When does he plan on using it? Does he still plan on using it after their breakup?

“You know what I mean. Has he - you know what,” Emma decides, placing the box on the table, “never mind. Don’t tell me anything. I think I’m going to have to call you back later.”

“Whatever you want,” David sighs, confused. “I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

And then the phone line disconnects and she’s left with nothing except for the sound of that damn drumline and the jewelry box that she doesn’t know what to do with. She’s not going to look. She can’t look. There’s no good that would come out of it.

She really wants to look.

Like, really.

“No,” Emma tells herself, grabbing the box off the table and moving to put it back where it must have been before it got tangled in her jeans and in the tie. She puts the tie back for good measure as well, and she’s absolutely going to bite her tongue on bragging about finding the tie when Killian gets home.

He wants to marry her.

She wants to marry him.

Maybe cleaning was worth something.

-/-

Killian comes home that night with grilled cheese sandwiches, which he hates, and onion rings from Ruby’s grandmother’s restaurant, and she doesn’t think she’s ever loved him more.

He tells her that Graham has moved onto the final selections even with Brennan’s hounding and worry over Graham not being trained in the same way as their usual security.

Emma knows that she wants him to be the one who’s hired. She’s not going to trust anyone else, not after everything that’s happened.

-/-

He doesn’t give her any kind of jewelry for her birthday the next day, and she knows what was in the box.

There’s no definite proof, but Emma knows.

Right now, where they are, she’s not ready to get married, but she will be someday. Probably soon. So if Killian were to ask her, she’d say yes over and over again, but the actual getting married part would have to be put on hold until her emotions, Killian’s too, were a little less chaotic.

Love is a really funny thing.

-/-

November 10th, 2018

The cool of the marble pebbles Emma’s skin as Killian helps guide her on top of the counter. His fingers inch over the back of her thighs and up behind her knees where she’s sensitive, and she giggles into his neck while trying to keep herself from bursting into hysterical laughter. Killian keeps the apartment so warm that she didn’t bother to put on anything more than her sleep shorts and a t-shirt last night before going to bed, and she’s regretting that now with every shift over her body over the countertop. But Killian is warm, especially when he steps in between her thighs and she hooks her ankles around his back right over his ass, and every touch of his fingers, gentle and teasing, brings a little more fire to her body.

Especially if he’d stop trying to tickle her while hotly running his tongue down the side of her throat and leaving open-mouthed kisses there.

He’s particularly good at those, and she could spend day after day close to him as he covers her body with affectionate words and delicate brushes of lips that turn into more.

Really, that’s been the last two months, even with her having to wear that atrocious cast for most of it, but they found simple ways to fix that. Being apart and not having those beautiful blue eyes to look into or that laugh to hear after a funny joke was absolutely torture, and having him back in her life, having him back as her person, is something Emma doesn’t ever want to take for granted again.

She will inevitably. It’s human nature. But she doesn’t want to.

Being with Killian is the easy thing. Fighting off the demons is what makes it difficult, but fighting off the demons and conquering them has made her realize that good things often come after struggles that seem impossible.

She’s a sentimental fool now, and she doesn’t care.

(Finding the engagement ring two weeks ago has made her even more sentimental.)

She especially doesn’t care as Killian’s tongue dips into her collarbone and his hands snake up underneath her shirt, warm palms against cool skin in a combination of which she’ll never tire. Emma knows that Killian is a sentimental fool now too. He was before, definitely more than her, but she can see all of the little ways he’s being more affectionate than he was before.

That’s saying something.

But his affection has been obvious lately. In the mornings, she always wakes to him curled around her, hand resting between her breasts and chin nuzzled into the back of her neck. That’s not how they sleep, not usually, so she knows that he does that when he wakes up in the morning while she’s still sleeping. He’s always touching her - hands intertwined, arm around her waist, ankles hooked together - like he’s looking for constant reassurance that she’s real.

That they’re real.

Killian has gone to war for her on multiple occasions, and she has seen the intensity and the fighting spirit that he possesses. She watched him break down over her accident and watched him absolutely vilify every single press association that was involved in that incident or any of the ones that have attacked her in the past or stolen private information from her. She’s watched him deal with the Neal interviews that seem to keep coming despite their falsities, and she’s watched him do absolutely everything that he can to protect her.

Emma never wanted protection or help. She thought that it made her weak to not be able to handle things on her own, but that was wrong.

All of it.

People are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You have to punch back and say “no, this is who I am.” If you want people to look at you differently, make them. If you want to change things, you’re going to have to go out there and change them yourself. Because there are no fairy godmothers in this world.

But there are supportive partners who punch back with you or stand to the side and cheer you on when you need it the most.

“I hate these bloody shorts,” Killian mumbles into her skin as the deep timbre of his voice vibrates down her spine. “I seem to both want you in them and out of them all at once.”

“That’s quite the conundrum you have going on, Jones.”

Killian chuckles before nipping at her jaw and pulling back so that she sees his eyes are blown black. “You are the conundrum, Nolan,” he softly says as his thumbs ghost over both of her nipples, slowly but surely bringing them to peaks. “It’s a funny thing. I seem to always want you. I want you in the mornings, at night, in the middle of the damn day…”

Emma hums while pleasure continues to curl between her thighs, and she wraps her arms loosely around his neck, playing with his hair and running the gemstone of her ring down the back of his neck. “Tell me more about this wanting me in the morning thing.”

The look on his face is positively dirty, and it’s exactly what she wants. So when his hands leave her breasts and move to take her shirt off, she stretches her arms in the air and allows him to undress her until the warm air of the heater is touching her skin. Killian shifts against her so that she can feel his length brushing against where she wants him, a perfect fit in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable, and she melts at his touch as the roughness of his unshaven scruff scratches against her neck and down her sternum to be between her breasts.

“You’re a damn temptress,” he mutters, voice deep and raspy with sleep still lingering. “I wake up and see the smoothness of your skin laid out before me, and my mind is only filled with thoughts of you. I’ve never wanted someone like this.”

“Funny thing, I feel the same way.”

“Do you now?” His fingers tug into her shorts and her underwear, and she lifts her hips as he pulls them down and off of her ankles so that she’s left bare before him, the marble chilling her skin has goosebumps pop up and spread over her.

“I do. Most definitely. You’re quite the catch.”

Killian laughs as he captures her lips, so soft and pliant and warm, with her own. There’s something to be said for kissing just for the sake of kissing, the feeling it sends through her body, and when Emma gently runs her tongue across his bottom lip, asking for entrance, he gladly grants it, tangling their tongues together in one of his favorite dances. She’s definitely picked a partner who knows what he’s doing.

Emma runs her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her hand anchored there while the other runs up his spine, soft little taps of her fingertips against the bone underneath his shirt. They stay that way for awhile, lips moving together, until Emma’s hand leaves his hair to move underneath his shirt as well, pulling up at the material until he pulls back and tugs it over his head.

“I feel like we’re on a little bit more equal footing now. You were wearing too many clothes.”

“Was I? I hadn’t noticed. I was a little bit distracted by how unsanitary it’s going to be for us to fuck in the kitchen.”

“That’s literally never stopped you before.”

He huffs and leans forward to kiss her, slow and so impossibly thorough that she feels it all the way down to her toes. “I know,” he grins. “Are you okay up there, or do you want to move upstairs?”

“As long as you don’t hit my head into a cabinet, I’m fine.”

“You’re so beautiful, my love,” he whispers against her skin, kissing the tops of her breasts as her eyelids flutter closed and she recovers from the whiplash in the change of his tone. “I remember the first time I saw you, Emma,” he speaks into her skin as his nose drags along her stomach and arousal tugs at her belly. “You were – are so bloody gorgeous, the curls of your ponytail framing your face and the dark of your eyelashes looking down at me as you told me to get my soggy ass out of the booth.”

“I didn’t say that,” she protests, running her hand through the hair and tugging him down closer to where she’s desperately aching for her.

There’s something about the night that they met that Killian always thinks about. It’s a frequent remembrance, this conversation one they’ve had before, and Emma knows that in moments where Killian is nostalgic, where he’s thinking about how much she means to him, his mind goes back to that night and piecing together all of the circumstances for their meeting.

She doesn’t care how it happened. Just that it did.

No one was ever supposed to love her or treasure her like this. This wasn’t supposed to be how it is for her. She wasn’t supposed to get the good guy. It wasn’t in the cards.

Life has apparently decided to deal her a new hand altogether.

“But you were thinking it,” he whispers against skin, lips pressing against her small tattoo and lingering there. She thought getting that might be a mistake, that the desperation was too much, but over the past few weeks, Killian has held onto it like a glimmer of hope. She did the same. “You looked so frustrated with me, like how dare I walk into your pub in order to get out of the rain.”

“Shameful, really,” she teases, and when she opens her mouth to say something else, she can’t, her throat suddenly too tight to speak while the entirety of the English language escapes from her brain.

Killian’s hands hook around the back of her knees, and this time there’s no playful teasing. Instead, he spreads her legs further apart and bends down to his own knees. She’s about to make a joke about him not hurting himself, a tease over his twenty-ninth birthday last month and how dramatic he was over being nearly thirty, but then he’s kissing her exactly where she wants him, where she needs him.

His tongue drags roughly against her like a perfected routine, and Emma’s eyes tighten. She can’t bear to open them, but then she does and sees the dark mess of hair between the paleness of her thighs. Even more than that, she sees the blue of his eyes under the hood of his eyelid, and she wonders if today is going to be the day that this is all too much for her.

Never.

Killian shifts underneath her, his right hand leaving the curve of her knee to join with his tongue as he kisses her and kisses her and kisses her. Moans filter between them, hers and his, and the tension could be cut with one of the knives that’s in the drawer beneath her ass. It’s all too much - too much pleasure and want and love - and when he slips two fingers into her and curls them, she gasps out his name as a chant that never seems to stop.

“Magnificent,” he mumbles, the sound of his voice like liquid fire in her veins. “Bloody magnificent. Your noises, my darling. Fuck.”

There’s something about knowing that Killian is as affected by things like this as she is, even if he’s the one giving all of the pleasure, and that with the combination of his mouth moving over her bundle of nerves and his fingers moving within her as her falling apart little by little, like the waves cresting onto the shore.

Damn.

Killian presses a kiss to where she’s still fluttering before moving to her thigh, light touches that are nothing more than a blink, a whisper. When he rises from the ground, he grunts, probably from having his knees pressed into hardwood for so long, but she doesn’t think about that for too long when she can feel him hard against her and pressing into her thigh. “Mmm,” Emma hums, pulling herself up and tugging Killian closer to her so that she buries her face in his neck, kissing the straining cord. “You are wonderful.” “Ah, well, that tends to be your reaction after we do something like that.” “Are you fishing for compliments?” “Never.” She chuckles while he does the same, and even without looking, she knows that his eyes are crinkled, joy written across his face.

“Do you want to move upstairs or…”

“Upstairs. Definitely upstairs.”

They move quickly, neither of them in the mood to wait, and while it would have been faster to move to the couch in the living room, this is better. Killian falls back to the bed with laughter on his lips, and Emma immediately hooks her thumbs into his sweats and pulls them down as much as she can before he lifts his hips off the bed to help her out, kicking them off his ankles and onto the floor while she is busy kissing up his thigh, her hand running up his length, feeling the warm hardness in her palms.

“Emma,” Killian moans, voice gruntled. She smirks into his thigh and keeps her hand on his length.

“I am romancing you, Killian,” she promises against his lightning bolt scar before crawling up his body, peppering open mouthed kisses against the trail of his chest hair until she’s leaning over his mouth, her folds teasing him at their hips. “Like you do to me.”

“Darling - ”

“Your eyes, even blown black with desire like they are right now,” she whispers, circling her hips above him to lightly grind down, “are the most gorgeous blue I’ve ever seen.”

She touches his face then, running her fingers over his jaw. “I love your stubble, how it’s black with a little bit of red peppered in, and I love when you don’t shave for a few days and it’s full and just the right mix of soft and prickly. I love the way it feels when you rub it against my cheek in the mornings when you’re waking me up or how it feels against the inside of my thighs.”

She kisses his jaw, running her tongue behind her lips, and the grunt Killian makes curls as little bursts of fire down her spine.

“I love,” she says, running her hands down his biceps as she sits on his lap, right below where she knows he wants her, “the strength of your arms when you hold me, no matter what the occasion. And I love,” she moves her hands through the hair at his chest as Killian twitches beneath her touch, “this hair and how it pokes through the top of all of your shirts. I love the ways that your eyes crinkle when you’re truly smiling.”

I love that you love me enough to want to marry me, she thinks to herself before saying. “I love that you fight for me every day no matter the circumstances.”

She rises on her legs and scoots forward, guiding him to her entrance before slowly, slowly, slowly sinking down onto him. It’s a perfect fit. Maybe not physically, but emotionally, and Killian’s hands grapple for her hips, nails digging into skin. She doesn’t think he’s ever been this quiet for such a long period of time during sex.

“And mostly, at least for our purposes right now, what I love is the feeling of you inside me, thick and full and perfect.”

At that, she starts to move, rolling her hips against him, and it feels so goddamn good that her brief stint as the verbose one in the relationship has ended and Killian is the one to start muttering words of encouragement and curses that would have anyone blushing. She sets a slow, unhurried pace that she knows will draw out pleasure, but Killian doesn’t let her do that for long before he takes control of their movements, speeding up the pace as he thrusts up into her. She lets out a whimper as he hits the exact right spot, and Killian captures the next one with his mouth, kissing her like a man starved of affection and like it’s not ten in the morning.

Suddenly, Killian grabs her hips and rolls them over to change their position, his body encasing hers. He mutters a “bloody fuck” when she clenches her thighs to try to keep him from slipping out, and Emma throws her head back with laughter even if she shouldn’t.

Killian nips at her neck, but she can feel his smile too.

He must be able to tell that she’s getting close, rising higher and higher to her peak, because he releases her hips to grab her wrists, sliding his hands until their fingers are interlaced above her head. He tilts his hips so that his thrusts catch her clit. Her breath hitches and her legs wrap around his backside, and Emma might actually melt. She thinks that she has. Her limbs are all jelly, and Killian isn’t much better above her.

This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

There are a million things they should probably do today, but they never seem to move away from bed besides getting food from the kitchen. That’s what she’d been trying to do this morning when Killian distracted her, but she’s not going to complain. This is good and nice and Emma could wrap herself in these blankets and in Killian for the rest of time.

When she wakes later, it’s to the slap of a hand to her skin, and Emma immediately flinches and jolts up, blinking into the darkness.

“Ow, shit, Killian. What was that for?”

“I was just making sure you’re here,” he mumbles, voice groggy.

“By slapping me?”

“Killian,” a voice says, and Emma realizes that Killian is on the phone. He might not even realize he’s on the phone. “Killian are you there? “Killian, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

Liam. He’s talking to Liam.

Holy shit. Why is Liam calling him in the middle of the night?

“I’ll be honest, no. I’m still mostly asleep.”

“Asleep my ass,” Emma mumbles before reaching over to put the call on speaker phone so she doesn’t have to keep straining her ears to hear him. Killian grumbles something, but she ignores him as she settles herself underneath his arm. “Liam, what’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”

“Elsa is in labor, and we sent all of our nannies home for the night. Can the two of you watch Alex for us?”

“Of course,” Emma sighs. “Bring him over when you guys leave, okay?”

“I will, lass. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Killian promises, finally waking up. “Congratulations, brother.” At that, the line goes dead, and Emma immediately moves to get out of bed only for Killian tugs her back into him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Emma raises a brow and motions down to the distinct lack of clothes on both of their bodies. “I know Alex is about to have a sibling, which is definite proof of his parents having sex, but I don’t want to be the one to have to explain why his uncle was having a naked sleepover with me.”

“Really? You don’t want to explain sex to a toddler? Shocker.”

She huffs and leans forward to brush her lips over his forehead. “Congratulations on being an uncle again, babe.”

Emma hears his swallow as his head nods up and down in affirmation. “Thanks, love. Let’s go put on some clothes so we don’t scar the lad.”

-/-

The next chapter is technically the last official chapter. How is that even possible? Thank you all for coming along for this ride ❤️

tag list: @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @shardminds @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @itsfabianadocarmo @owlways-and-forever @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @397bartonstreet @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @scarletslippers @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @captainswanbigbang

#what a wicked game #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #captain swan

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 5 years ago

Text

Blood Sister | Feeding Habits Update #5

Hey People of Earth!

Are we back for another Feeding Habits update? Today let’s chat chapter six!

Blood Sister is the first chapter in Harrison’s POV and also the longest chapter in the book (a little over 8k words). It took me about a month to write!

Scene A:

Harrison gets back to the NYC apartment he shares with his mother after running errands to ward off either the spirit that haunts their walls or to rescue whatever is stuck in them. His mother preps for a dinner as Harrison has invited his old pal Reeve over.

Scene B:

Harrison removes a litter of kittens from behind the drywall. One of the kittens is dead. Strangely, a German Shepherd puppy is also in the litter.

Scene C:

Reeve appears in a glamorous blur and makes an interesting first impression on Suz who seems slightly stunned and endeared by her.

Scene D:

At dinner Reeve confronts Harrison about his “straight-edge” lifestyle since moving to NYC and he realizes her judgements about his life being monotonous are very true--he lacks purpose.

Scene E:

Harrison and his mother clear the dishes and Suzanna confronts him on the fact that he hasn’t told her that Reeve is in fact Lonan’s sister. Suz knows the boys’ relationship is complicated, and plays Devil’s advocate by outright asking Reeve how her brother is. Reeve, who hasn’t seen Lonan longer than Harrison, has assumed Lonan lives with them or is close by, and feels semi-betrayed that Harrison has kept his whereabouts a secret.

Scene F:

Reeve and Harrison drive to a garden and he’s reminded of the event that lead to him and his mother’s return to the east coast.

Harrison meets Winona outside a convenience store, the same woman Lonan meets in ch.6 of Moth Work. She takes him to her mansion where she’s hosting a party and introduces him to her husband. Harrison makes multiple bad decisions which you can probably figure out for yourself!

Scene G:

Harrison wakes up in Winona’s house and is confused to see her and her husband standing over his leather jacket. If we remember what happened in ch. 6 of Moth Work, Lonan gets beat up by Winona’s husband and has Harrison’s jacket & angel chain stolen. We can assume from this scene that Winona has a) recognized the jacket and b) chosen him to come back to her house for the purpose of also beating him up (which happens).

Scene H:

Reeve and Harrison jump a fence into a garden to give the dead kitten an unorthodox “water burial” in the garden’s fountain. Reeve confronts him on why no one has seemed to care about her whereabouts for the last year, and also suggests the only reason he wanted to see her now is because he misses Lonan. Harrison miserably drinks too much wine.

Scene I:

Harrison wakes up in the cold, very drunk, and Reeve is gone. A security guard looms over him. Harrison asks the confused man if he thinks he was separated at birth. Harrison isn’t referring to feeling like he’s been removed from a sibling bond, like the kittens, but a deeper, “indissoluble bond” formed between two people (like the kittens and the puppy). This connects to the title “Blood Sister” as Reeve suggests she and Suzanna may be connected in this way, to the kittens, and to Lonan and Harrison.

This idea of “indissoluble bonds” was reinforced when I listened to Stephanie Harlowe’s coverage on the Parker-Hulme case, and this was the title of her video! This idea of an immutable connection between two people who are forever separated, like the dead kitten despite its death, still being connected to its siblings, was very relevant to how Harrison feels about Lonan.

Excerpts:

Here’s the entire first scene <3

Something has died in the drywall. Suz insists there must also be a ghost—she hears cries when she sleeps—so when Harrison returns to their apartment with both a handsaw and a bottle of holy water, she’s more than pleased.

Today, it snows in New York City, and no amount of brushing off his hair and jacket rids him of the snowflakes he tracks in. His face stings with the bitter early March air, and he’s resettled easily into the east coast grit; he likes the taste of instant coffee and the smell of gasoline.

Harrison shoulders off his jacket, the leather rigid with frost, and undoes the loop of his scarf one-handed. The apartment smells overwhelmingly of cloves and apple peel, and he is unsurprised when his mother rushes over to him, flushed from the kitchen heat, her #1 Dad apron bunching at her hips, and pushes a highball glass into his palm in exchange for his findings.

“It’s a secret recipe,” she says, twiddling through his errands. Suzanna lifts the bottle of holy water to eye level, unscrews its cap, and daps two soaked fingers to her lips just as he dips his fingers into the glass, around its rim, and then into his mouth. The hot mull of liquid bursts against his taste buds, citrusy. “Wish I believed in this shit as much as I believe nutmeg is my new holy saviour.”

Harrison downs the rest of the glass’s contents, the cider’s spice grafting down his throat. Its heat clings to the roof of his mouth, a subtle burn that numbs his tongue, but he likes it, its sweetened acid like a rucking back to life.

“Is that the secret?” He runs his pinky along the base of the glass so the last drops of liquid climb up his fingernail.

“The Lord?”

Harrison laughs and accepts the holy water she hands him, rescrews its cap in place. “Nutmeg.”

Suzanna takes his empty glass and whisks toward the kitchen. On the stove burbles two saucepans and one Dutch oven, the fan whirring like the pleats of an accordion.

“Maybe it’s both,” she says.

You asked for the entire second scene? Here Harrison finds the litter of kittens:

The first thing Harrison removes when he saws through the drywall lining the two-prong outlet is a dead kitten. Its body shifts onto his hand with damp weight, like an overripe pear, its silver hair glass-like under the beam of his flashlight. Though it sits comfortably in the pit of his palm, though he knows he cannot kill or revive it, his first instinct is to lay it on the beach towel Suzanna laid out because he fears he’ll crush it with just one pulse of his thumb.

Its eyes are the size of his pinkie nail, gently shuttered like it’s drifted to a lawless sleep. The animal will remain in this state—only death, but as he looks at it, braying its hairs back with his forefinger, he considers alternative options. Harrison knows little of necromancy, but considers anointing it with the holy water, lighting a red-cased candle in front of it, chanting a verse from Revelations.

With the flashlight secured between his molars, Harrison pulls out four more kittens, all that mew as they cling to his fingers, their noses twitching against his skin like it’s feed. They burrow into the beach towel, trampling over one another with blind fervency, all shimmery silver. In comparison to their deceased sibling, they wriggle, pink-nosed, and don’t settle against the grain of the towel, always wagging, like earthworms.

Harrison believes he’s done—removed the dead animal and rescued four more. Good work which he’ll take to a farm just outside the city—Suzanna has a friend. He’s nearly clicked off the flashlight when he sees it, just a subtle glint of something else—an animal that isn’t silver, but a dry brown.

At first, he thinks it’s a rat that’s raked through the walls to where it is now, but the longer he shines the flashlight, the more he sees it is not a rat, or even a kitten. What sits, jittering behind the outlet, is a pup.

Like the kittens, its nose twitches back and forth, its eyes small enough to be the ovular black beads on Suzanna’s rosary which hangs, decorative, above the front entrance. “It’s a cleanse for the spirit,” Suz said when he questioned her reasoning for bringing religious memorabilia into a house of two atheists. “Dianne from church told me.” Dianne is a beer-bellied schoolteacher, proud pothead and mother of four who frequently volunteers at the church’s weekend functions with his mother. “She’s into that kind of thing. Seances. Jesus Christ. I think she mentioned they had something spicy going on in college.”

“Something spicy?”

“Spicy. Like hot wings. Habaneros. One-night stands. I don’t know Harry, it sounded illicit.”

They both grinned.

Harrison does not know when him and Suz began getting along. There was no one date or time, no anniversary to look forward to for their official reunion. One moment he struggled not comparing her face to the one he knew in his early teens, and the next, they crouched over a salad bowl of burnt popcorn, taking turns painting each other’s fingernails with the same shade of red nail polish—Crazy for Carmine

The dog can’t yet focus its eyes on anything, but Harrison swears it stares at him. It fidgets from its position crouched on the outlet, so when he extends his hand, an offering, he’s surprised when it crouches onto the tip of his finger, shimmying into his palm. It’s even smaller when he holds it, plum-sized, and velveteen. Its eyelids flicker like the apartment’s bad TV signal, and when it opens its mouth to cry, its teeth, no larger than the tip of a toothpick, prick up.

“You’re not a tabby,” he says, drags his fingers through the suede-like gloss of its fur. The pup curls against his knuckles, murmurs languidly until Harrison pets its head again.

“Did you say something, Harry?”

Harrison stands from his crouch when his mother materializes from her bedroom, the animal still pared delicately in his palm. When he glances at her, he’s surprised to see she’s changed out of her usual loungewear, a tank top and bell-bottoms, and into a patterned shirtdress that sways to her knees. The Matisse-like design, organic shapes, all the colour of a celery stalk, drapes to her knees, flounces when she twirls for him.

“I thought we agreed on business casual,” he says, but smiles wider the longer he looks at her. Tulle gathers in a funnel down her waist, pluming her so she looks less like his mother and more like a fairy.

“I’m taking the business side, and you’ll take the casual.”

“She’s just a friend, Mom. She’s not expecting anything.”

“She’s got an English last name,” Suz says. Her eyelids glitter with gold pigment, her lips tacky with rouge. “Of course she’s classy.”

Harrison thumbs the back of the pup’s head and shifts closer to Suzanna when she cocks her head toward it.

“I think Reeve is more than classy,” he says. “Maybe stylish. Exclusive. Superior. Glamorous.”

Suzanna shifts the pup from Harrison’s hands to her own, neatly patting its head with her pinkie until its murmurs soften. When she holds the animal, it’s like he no longer stands behind her. It’s just her in her Matisse dress and the dog, comfortably blinking in her hand. “You found a puppy in a litter of kittens?” she says, less of a question, and more of a declaration of wonderment. She lifts the animal to eye level. Its nose wrinkles, like the skin of a fig. “Looks like mama picked up a stray. A beautiful stray. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Reeve making only iconic appearances:

Reeve appears in their doorway wearing cat-eye sunglasses, a bottle of pinot noir slatted between her arm and chest. Though it’s been storming since early morning and there has been no sun in the city since the week previous, her appearance is so believable—cheekbones subtly tanned like she’s mastered the timing for a perfect sunlike glow, the sunglasses teetering neatly on the tip of her nose and staying there, like they’re a dog she’s taught to sit and stay—that Harrison’s almost convinced she commissions the sun to come out twice daily for a private show, just for her.

“We booked an appointment,” she says, letting herself into the apartment in a faux-fur blur.

Harrison swivels as she unzips, tooth by tooth, the red skin-slick vinyl of her gogo boots. Her hair falls in an untamed fringe around her forehead, the front sections pinned back by an array of rainbow-coloured butterfly clips. It mimics the fray of her jacket, fluffed around the hood’s perimeter.

Reeve dusts snow off her corduroy culottes, readjusts the collar of her black turtleneck. “When I moved to the city, I forgot how gruelling the winters can become.” She taps the heels of her boots onto the welcome mat so slush flakes onto the rubber before slipping her feet out elegantly, like Cinderella. “I almost believed New York City existed in a fictional bubble where everything remained dry and hot, like in Egypt, or the Mojave. When I asked for a hellish climate, I was hoping for sun and the occasional forest fire. Not ice and more ice.”

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” Suz speaks where Harrison’s words shrivel. She steps from the kitchen to the entrance, her dress flouncing when she extends a hand toward Reeve. “William Shakespeare.”

Reeve looks up. The cold has pinched her cheeks pink, drooled water to her eyes so when she blinks, tears sprout to her jawline. “Suzanna,” Reeve says, and embraces his mother with willful ease, like they’ve been girlfriends for a decade, like they purchase pavlova from the same patisserie at the same time on Thursdays, like they help each other whip perfectly fatty meringues at the same baking class so they can master the same pavlova and never buy it again. “I’ve heard nothing about you and yet I feel we’ve known each other for years. What do they call that? Blood sisters.”

So here’s the whole third scene lol:

At dinner, Reeve pops the cork of a bottle of pinot noir with her teeth before Suz tells her she and Harrison don’t drink. She’s in the middle of saying she’s a prophet, the bringer of wine, her lips parted around the cork, traces of her lip gloss gumming around its circumference.

“No alcohol?” Reeve says, spitting the cork into her palm so a glob of red transfers onto her skin.

Suz stirs a serving dish of clams with an olive wood spoon, their shells phosphorescent in the artificial light. “Harry and I have taken a break from spirits. Except for the holiest one of course.” She points to the roof as if signaling to the man upstairs and dishes a spoonful of clams onto Reeve’s plates, the shells chiming against the ceramic.

“That’s so reverent.” Reeve pricks the edge of a clam with a toothpick and swallows its frill into her mouth. “So virginal.”

Harrison accepts a spoonful of clams from his mother and adjusts a sprig of rosemary so it lies perpendicular to the plate’s edge. Olive oil gums under his fingernails and soaks into the fibres of a slice of bread he rips at the crust.

“I always assumed you’d be a partier if you ever moved back to the city,” Reeve says, and it takes Harrison a moment to realize she’s speaking to him. “Disco. Karaoke. Cocktails. Men who buy you cocktails.”

“Has that been your life in New York, Reeve?” Harrison sucks a lobe of clam between his lips. Its brine coats his tongue in a burst of salt and cilantro.

Reeve tips the bottle of wine to her mouth, its red gift bow shifting, silverish with light. “You could say that. I just expected more. Not that your life now is boring. But I assumed there would be more glamour.”

Harrison sops up a dribble of oil onto a shear of bread, and says something like, “I thought so too,” before swallowing.

“We have glamour,” Suz says as Harrison absently eats more clams. She points to the chandelier the two found at the bottom of a New Jersey dumpster, yet to be installed, sitting in its crystal glory on the floor. She explains the story of how it came to be as Harrison eats and listens for the mewing of the kittens, thinks about their one dead sibling that now lies curled inside a shoebox, separated in eternal rest.

Reeve is not wrong. Life in New York City has been far from glamorous. He shares this apartment with his mother who pays for all of the rent—it’s been months since Harrison could hold down a steady job. He tries with odds and ends—repairing a neighbour’s bathroom sink, tacking sconces up outside the apartment for a hundred bucks. His room is a décor-less box that smells like wallpaper even though it’s sanded smooth and painted with two coats of an eggshell-finished oatmeal white. There is no dancing, no music, no colour, no partying, no alcohol or men with alcohol. Not anymore, at least. Her statement should not sting—this is the utter truth. The apartment is repetitive shades of indistinctive creams, furniture he and his mother pick up off the curbs of wealthy homeowners, incomplete, yet his home, nonetheless. No matter the story Suz tries to spin—look at the exposed brick, look at the counter space, look at the custom-moulded baseboards the previous renters installed—he knows what Reeve has said is true. Life in the city is comfortable but monotonous—an unrelenting kind of normal.

“We found kittens,” Harrison says, promptly interrupting the women’s conversation that has quickly moved away from the apartment to their favourite places to eat gelato. Suz’s clam drifts off her toothpick; Reeve almost chokes on a gulp of wine. Harrison swipes a chunk of bread through olive oil and chews. “That’s glamorous.”

Reeve sets the wine bottle back onto the dinner table and folds her hands over the other. Her manicure is chipped, just the remnants of a tortoiseshell marble. “What kind? Calico?”

“They’re just kittens. And a dog.”

“You found a dog in a litter of kittens?”

Harrison eats one last clam and finishes his portion of bread. “Glamorous,” he says, his mouth half-full.

The beginning of scene 4:

While Suz and Reeve discuss room décor and clear the plates, Harrison checks on the kittens. Dishes clank rhythmically as they’re soaped, rinsed, dried, the ceramic whimpering in time with the kittens. He hasn’t named any but understands their differences. Though the quadruplets share the same silver coat, one has a slightly larger nose than the rest, one has a fleck of gold in its blue eye, one has pinstripes scrolled across its forehead like a branch of lightning—small details like this differentiate them.

In his palm, the one with the golden eye crawls, its underbelly sateen. Tomorrow, he’ll make the drive just outside Brooklyn where he’ll drop the kittens off at an old farmhouse. Suz’s friend from rehab is selling it, some Theodore Harvey, but his wife fosters animals, and was delighted to have the new additions. Though he hasn’t spoken to his mother about this arrangement, he also knows tomorrow he will keep the dog. Juniper, he’s named her—June with the eyes like a solstice.

When his mother pokes him, he jumps, and the kitten shimmies off his palm.

The sounds of dishes clinking morphs into the filmy mutter of a talkshow Reeve watches, sipping absently at her gifted bottle of red wine.

She nudges a pastry into his hand, where the kitten once sat, the skin of the pasteis de nata oiling his hand. He crunches into it as she watches patiently, as if waiting for a review, and its caramel flavour ruminates on his tongue.

“This is good,” he says around a mouthful of pastry.

“$4.99.” Suz smiles and takes a nibble herself. “For six.”

Together they stand over the kittens, passing the tart back and forth until Harrison gives the final piece to his mother. The apartment whirs with the calculated singe of automated laughter and the purr of the kittens. He knows one sits dead in a shoebox on his bedroom dresser. The ground too hard to dig, a burial still necessary.

Suz licks a crumb from her thumb and wipes her palms along the skirt of her dress. Their focus shifts to Reeve who lies sprawled against the two-seater, yelling something at a contestant on the show who’s gotten an answer wrong—tulip, not two lips. That’s fabulous. You are fabulously a failure.

“You didn’t tell me she was Lonan’s sister.”

Harrison pokes at a flake of pastry and wipes his hands on the front of his jeans. Reeve’s bangles clatter in a cyan jangle as she applauds at the same contestant she previously ridiculed. There are so many things he could say to his mother—he knew Reeve first, Reeve isn’t just Lonan’s sister to him, more like his own, but when he adjusts himself, swallowing and tidying the hem of his shirt, all that comes out is, “I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“I would’ve like to,” Suz says. “Does she know? That you don’t know where he is?”

Harrison’s fingernail catches on a loose thread, and he yanks it out so even Reeve glances back at its upholstered plink. “I know where he is, Suzanna.”

Reeve and Suz being icons (direct continuation from the above):

Harrison turns back to the kittens who plow over one another like ants. Heat flushes his throat, prickles his cheeks and ears and suctions like a vacuum. Though Suzanna eventually leaves, joining Reeve on the couch, propping her feet on the same coffee table so their polished feet touch, toes pink like raw cherry tomatoes, though he knows they’re both right in knowing and not knowing where Lonan is, though he knows it should no longer matter to him, he finds himself leaning against the table where the kittens encase each other in a plastic shoe bin, ticking his fingers at his side.

He does not know what the reality television show is about. From the blots he hears from the TV’s can-like speaker, he concludes it’s something about botany, love, vengeance, fertilizer. No one theme—it does not even know what it is itself. Suz has materialized with another tart, and she and Reeve nibble at it with fervency, so close, their tongues almost touch as they dart across the custard. The sight is almost viper-like, their teeth notched forward, and it should be venomous, or at its worst—friendly, but all Harrison sees is girlish, maternal intimacy.

Suz and Reeve laugh at a contestant who wears a tartan printed jumpsuit and mismatching earrings—one the shape of a pineapple, the other an urn-like bead she claims holds the ashes of her great aunt. They outline her figure with their pinkies. They clutch each other’s hands. They flush like beets and wipe crumbs from each other’s mouths.

Reeve’s momentary lapse into delicacy:

Harrison turns his back and pretends to tend to the kittens. They all know he does nothing but thumb the backs of their heads, let them suckle against his fingertips—they all know, and yet, he continues doing it. Silence cuts through the apartment like hot glass.

If Reeve and Suzanna still touch toes, it’s because neither want to loosen the other’s pride. The only sound in the room belongs to the television which has moved away from dishwashing to a watering hose—four for four, as if this is a discount, as if anyone will truly need that many watering hoses.

“I haven’t seen your brother since late August,” Harrison says once the commercials simmer back to the gaudy laughter of the reality television show. At first, he doesn’t look at Reeve. He knows what he’ll see—some form of betrayal. She didn’t come here looking for Lonan. She hasn’t even asked for him, but he knows what he’ll see when he looks at her. Best friends do not keep secrets.

When he concedes, he is right. Reeve looks at him from under a thick smear of kohl, her eyes focused, like slate beads. Her lips are pink from wine and she unhinges a fleck of opal nail polish from her thumb. Her mouth does not move, a straight line that cranks with her jaw.

“Where is he?” she asks, fluttering her lashes when Suz pats her arm. If Harrison is right, Reeve hasn’t see her brother since she peered in on him when the two shared the tent, pearled a few smoke rings from Harrison’s cigar, and left for the east coast. Before he left, Foster filled him in on the details of her eventual cross-country desertion, though there weren’t many. How he’d last seen her at the motel, a margarita wobbling in her palm, what she’d said to him, to stay special, that there weren’t many people like him left, and how she had vanished like vapour by the time they realized to check. While Reeve hiked across the country by herself, he and Lonan swam through nighttide and badly waltzed in a four-by-four bathroom. She made an anonymous life in New York City, hailing cabs with just her eyes, and learning the easiest ways to shoplift. Alone. Her last memory of Lonan one where he pretended to sleep so he didn’t have to say goodbye to her.

“Las Vegas the last time I saw him,” Harrison says. He feels the urge to apologize for something, to hug her, or cry. Though her expression unbends from severe back to her perfected mould of glitzy conviction, her momentary lapse into delicacy startles him. He looks back to the kittens who seem more interested in themselves than him.

Reeve tightens her grip around the neck of the wine bottle and tactfully sips, her pinkie erect, her lips pursed just the right amount. “What happened?” she asks and sets the bottle onto the coffee table. She lets a dribble of wine fall from her mouth so she can dab at it like a wounded animal.

Harrison and Reeve in the car:

Harrison brings the box with the dead kitten and Reeve brings the bottle of pinot noir. Together, they settle in her red Beetle convertible, a car she insists she pawned for a quarter its listing price, though he figures from the way she settles in it, carefully placing the wine bottle in the cup holder, wiping her hands on her thighs as if checking for grease, that it must belong to a roommate or boyfriend, if she has either. The car smells faintly of pineapple and vanilla, a scent not unfamiliar to him, the waft strengthening as the tree-shaped air-freshener swings closer to him with every turn.

Reeve asks vaguely of his time in the city, how life has been for him and his mother since they moved from Vegas in mid October. Her mouth flutters with speech, each word like the hull of a hard candy she specially tastes before sharing. Has it been marvellous, just as you thought? Don’t you ever wonder how a city could become so brilliant? Isn’t the weather maddening? Don’t you adore it? She asks about Foster, what living with him was like, what saying goodbye to him the week previous was like—was it tragic—and he could tell her his move in with him and his mother wasn’t much of a plan—not a last resort either, but a salvaging. A necessary resuscitation. Reeve’s lips as dubious as shadow puppets.

Here’s some of the flashback with Winona at the convenience store:

The woman stood under the hex of the convenience store’s light, spooling her in a feverish blue. The sun had been down for hours, but its residual heat clung to Harrison’s arms in tacky gusts that wound up his fingers. Like the woman, he reached for his cigarettes. Vehicles spun across the highway just beyond the gas station, and when he raised his head after lighting the cigarette, the woman was staring at him.

“Aren’t you too young to be out without a parent or guardian?” she asked. Her hair was the colour of his mother’s candlesticks, a waxy boxed red. Her rings waggled in the false light.

“Maybe,” he said, a curl of smoke looping out of his mouth. “Can’t remember which life I’m on. There are so many. I could be ninety-seven. Tomorrow might be my birthday.”

It was September in Las Vegas. White licks of car exhaust laced the black sky, and though it wasn’t cold, Harrison pulled his jacket tighter around his chest.

Winona tries to figure out whether or not Harrison is a local by getting to know his eyes/face lol:

Harrison dropped the butt of his cigarette and stomped out its embers. When it was fully out, he fit his hands into his jacket pocket and approached the woman. Up close, her trench coat was pebbled with lint, a bead from her charm bracelet missing. She crushed her cigarette too, and when her hands were free, she stepped toward him with both palms out, and pressed them to his cheeks so he felt both the heat of her skin and the watery bite of her jewelry. She examined each plane of his face as if they were sides of a prism. Her perfume, a vinegary sort of citrus, stung his eyes the closer she got, the fur of her jacket’s trim brushing his chin when she pressed to her toes for a better look.

“You could be so many things,” she said, tilting his jaw at the same moment her pinkie slid from the jab of his nose bridge to his top lip. She pushed her face closer to his and inhaled, her plastic nail marking his skin with a pixel of glitter. “You’ve got the face of an angel. Which means you’re good. You’re sacred. You’re discreet.” When her finger poked into his mouth, her knuckle snagged on his canines. “Could also mean you’re a fraud. A criminal. You know, Lucifer wasn’t always the fallen angel.”

A bit of the party:

Winona’s front lawn was manicured, cropped neat at its soil scalp. Clusters of people huddled in different places—four gargling in the stone fountain just before the iron gate, two drinking from three martini glasses at once, a group of on their backs, arms wound like a wicker basket, shot glasses teetering between their teeth like human serving tables.

Winona parked opposite the house that pulsed with light. Harrison got out when she did, and with ease, she punched into the gate, leading him past her perfect lawn, her party guests, as if they were simply garden statues.

Inside, more people concentrated, all stopping Winona for a moment to say hello as she passed. She moved in a way only the owner of a house would, her strides easy, like she knew exactly where to take him and when.

“I know it’s busy,” Winona said, adjusting her volume for the holler of party guests. “I promise it’s always like that. Who is it that says we need partners for life? God or my therapist? This is that but every week. You meet so many people.”

Harrison listened to her haphazardly. Though he’d been in Las Vegas for a month, he hadn’t been out except for a few errands at the grocery store or for cigarettes, despite his mother’s insistence he quit. The party was overwhelming. Bass from the stereo caught him by the throat and held him there as he and Winona threaded through her house that seemed closer to a mansion. The interior smelled like cleaning bleach and fruit cocktails, and he could hardly walk without someone rearing into him. He should’ve left, known better, done better, but it thrilled him, every moment of the party’s chokehold.

When Winona pushed through her French doors and out to the back pool, Harrison tailed her closely, unsure he’d be able to keep pace if he lost sight of her, even for a moment. The backyard smelled artificially floral, like orchids, tuberose, the grassy melt of citronella candles.

Some of my fave Harrison dialogue:

“You should’ve told me you were into vintage. Cheap but chic. I like it, angel.” Her ring finger smushed into his jaw, and then against his hairline.

“What’s vintage about me?”

Winona laughed, though her eyes remained glass-like. “Your jacket, of course. You’re thrifty. Into second-hand.”

~~theme makes an appearance:

It was only later, when he stumbled, bloody knuckled, through their front door, stepping over partygoers and martini glasses, that he understood. He hadn’t come to the party thinking about Lonan but managed to attract the same people. He hadn’t drunk the magenta liquid thinking about him but managed to exit the house stumbling, as he did, his knees knotted like a newborn lamb. There was something inconceivably indissoluble about them—their bond mirror-like, one making one decision, and the other mimicking it with vigour, unknowingly inseparable.

God tier denial:

“What do you miss about him?”

Harrison blinks. He hasn’t expected her to speak to him again, in fact he’s pictured the night whittling into gauzy silence, them setting the box afloat in the fountain, and then leaving once more, wordless. Reeve drinks another sip of wine. Its scent stings, like earthy cranberries.

“I don’t,” he says, which is a lie, and they both know it. Harrison has never been a good liar, but especially a bad liar around Reeve who’s always managed to snuff out the truth. She looks at him in absolutes, like she sees his every answer scraped into his cheek and doesn’t need to check his work. Her eyes are feline and rimmed with kohl and aquamarine mica—she doesn’t need anyone to tell her the truth because she holds it in her fist. “He has a girlfriend. He’s happy.” Harrison rations more wine down his tongue, three times as much as he’s intended to drink.

“But what do you miss about him?”

Harrison misses nothing. He sleeps little and smokes too much because he misses nothing. He walks by himself, eats by himself, talks to himself because he misses nothing. He jumps from job to job, person to person, place to place because he misses nothing. He wakes up in dazes the colour of blackberries because he misses nothing. He blinks dreams from his eyelashes like they’re bad spells because he misses nothing. He holds himself, he drinks himself, he leaves no company for anyone because he misses nothing about Lonan. He misses absolutely nothing.

Harrison sits up and lifts the dead kitten’s box. He feels Reeve’s gaze when he lowers it into the fountain, the box giving into the slosh of water, and feels her gaze once more when he sits back and drinks more wine. The moon makes him miserable, its silver gloat like a reminder, of how easy it would be to look at it and see Lonan’s face appear in its dime. He doesn’t register how much he drinks, just that it feels better than not drinking. He doesn’t register that Reeve never takes the bottle, that it’s just him and its open gape of wine. As the kitten swirls around the fountain, he tries not to think of its siblings back at the apartment, all mottled over each other like burrs. An unbreakable bond, and what that means, even as one of them sits alone, gurgling along the current of a fountain.

If you didn’t ask for angst before, you sure did now:

He does not remember falling asleep, and so waking up feels illusory, shimmery, like a mirage. He focuses on dart of yellow light and a man wearing a security uniform telling him he can’t be here, here being the garden, past the fence, under the fountain. Snowflakes have clumped against his eyelashes and he blinks twice to dislodge them. The man must ask him if he’s intoxicated, never noticing the shoebox floating in the fountain, because Harrison says, “Who’s to say? I miss so many things,” and isn’t talking about the bottle of wine or Reeve that both seem to have vanished, as if they were never there. Harrison blinks again, searching for Reeve’s outline somewhere in the crisp bushel of dead foliage, but she never reappears—has he imagined the entire thing, or is she magical, effervescent, invisible? What was the last thing she said? Drink it all. It’s good for you. It’s like your own personal healing tonic.

“Do you think it’s possible I was separated at birth?” Harrison asks the security guard, who leads him by the elbow out past the iron gate and into the parking lot where he stumbles over a patch of glazy slush and onto his knees.

“Are you a twin?”

Harrison draws his index finger through the slush, doodling nonsense—letters of his name, an eyeball, a singular, faceless nose. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Your twin?”

Harrison shakes his head.

Snow and slush dredge his jeans and the hem of his jacket; a streetlamp filters him and the security guard in foamy yellow. His skin has numbed from sitting out in the cold too long, and in some places, prickles with heat, like the fritz of pine needles. Reeve has dissolved in the fresh spatter of snow that settles on the pavement, his fingers. The fur fringe of her hood gone, the slick of her boots. She will not be here tomorrow. He may never see her again, and yet this is not what makes him ache in the way he does.

His hands move for him. Dividing the snow in slopes, curves, lines—letters. When he’s finished, he rests his chin on his own shoulder and dries the slop of slush from his nail. The security guard leans over, bends down to get a better look, but Harrison doesn’t have to look to know what he’s written. Chiselled so the flurries fill its gaps, like cement. His name will be erased by dawn. Lonan.

So that’s it for this very, very long update! See you for chapter seven!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #mothwork #feedinghabits

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1192

Have you ever tried a colorful macaroon? Maybe you mean macarons? I’ve never seen a macaroon with food coloring before.

Do you say macaroon or macaron? It depends on what I’m referring to because they’re two different kinds of food.

Do you know what a macaroon is? Yes, they taste terrible.

Would you rather go to Paris or London? Both sound a bit too boring of a trip for me tbh, I’d rather go to other European cities.

Which national flag do you like the best? I’m not that into flags to have a favorite...I like how Nepal’s has a unique shape, though.

Name 3 celebrities people say you look like. Lucy Hale, Anna Akana, and a local celebrity you wouldn’t know about.

^Do you agree? I never saw myself looking like Anna but that’s actually the most common one I get, so I just might not know my face all that well. The only one that’s agreeable enough with me is the last celebrity I mentioned.

Do you know anyone who looks like Taylor Swift? No, especially not on this side of the planet.

Have you ever been betrayed by a best friend? Yes but that was like back in the fifth grade. I’ve been very selective of my friends ever since.

What color is the sweatshirt that you wear the most? Black.

Do you have a mirror in your room? No. I don’t really feel as if I need it.

What was the last thing you painted? I last painted on a paint-by-numbers kit, but it’s been a while since I took up the hobby. I want to get back around to it someday, but proably not any time soon as I find it a tad bit time-consuming.

Do you correct grammatical errors online? Not other people’s, but yeah I edit my posts whenever I catch a typo or grammar error. I also edit survey questions if they aren’t in proper grammar, just so other people who’d want to take the same survey won’t have to deal with it and point it out anymore.

What’s the last thing you made out of clay? I’ve only done pottery once, and that time I was taught how to make a vase. I wasn’t able to see the end result though since they still had to bake it and everything, and I was only staying in that town for a few days.

Do you go for days without washing your hair? No, I absolutely hate that feeling. My hair starts getting itchy after a day or so of not washing it and it feels irritating, so I feel the need to shower everyday.

When is the last time you had scrambled eggs and bacon? Maybe around a week ago? It’s something my parents make regularly for breakfast, alongside other local breakfast dishes.

Do you like bacon bits on your salad? I don’t really eat salad but sure, I’ll take some bacon in mine.

What is your favorite salad dressing? See above.

What is your favorite kind of soup? Not a big soup person either. I suppose I’m most enthusiastic about miso soup, if anything.

Do you eat a lot of soup? Not at all. I don’t think I ever purposely ordered it at a restaurant either; I only consume soup if it already comes as a freebie with my order.

Do you collect Mason jars to use for crafts? Nope, was never a hobby of mine. This reminds me that I have a mason jar filled with date receipts and love notes on tiny Post-Its from my last relationship, though...I literally can’t remember if I’ve since thrown it out, but I also haven’t seen it in a while...hm. I guess I’ll try looking for it later today and throw it away if I do find it still lying around in my room.

What’s a trend that you never caught on to? Remember when I said streetwear like, literally a month ago? Lmaoooooo I’m into it now. That’s why I’ll just skip over this question HAHAHAHA I always end up being obsessed with the things I swear off in the beginning :((((

What’s a trend that you haven’t caught on to yet, but you want to? Vlogging? It’d be nice to make a video or two of my own.

Do you type fast? Very. My co-workers recently started sharing this typing speed website that we’re all free to try out and so far I’m the official reigning champion haha. No one has beaten my WPM record yet.

Did you learn to type through a computer program for kids? Yes. I never adopted the ‘standard’ finger practice though; I type only with my index and middle fingers.

How many years were you homeschooled? I was never homeschooled.

If applicable, what’s a youtuber you would love to collab with? Louise Pentland.

Do you think you’re successful in life? Not quite there yet, but I’m comfortable with the way I’m working towards it for now. It’s nice to be doing things that I know will lead to something in the future.

What color is the tree outside your window? If you mean the leaves, then green.

What color is your rug, if you have one? (not carpet, rug) I don’t have one in my room but the main one we have in the living room is brown.

What do you take for pain? I take a Biogesic pill for headaches. If I get muscle sores/strains, I rub Katinko on the spots that hurt.

Which pharmacy do you use? I never need to go to those but I can always take a drive to the nearby Mercury Drug.

Do you reapply nail polish when it starts to chip? I don’t wear nail polish at all.

What is this month’s calendar picture? I don’t use a calendar.

What was the last thing you ate? Sushiiiiiiiii. I made a very impulsive and rash decision to buy THREE ORDERS of sushi yesterday. I hadn’t eaten all day and I also had a crappy at work, and my clouded judgment thought buying 24 pieces of maki was the way to go. I’m still in the stage of trying to convince myself I deserved it anyway.

What are your favorite things to put in tea? I don’t drink tea tea, but when I buy milk tea I always go for chocolate flavors. I also don’t like pearls in my milk tea.

Do you wish the Unicorn Frappuccino was a regular drink at Starbucks? I never go for customized drinks, so I don’t care at all about this.

Is there a coffee shop in your town that’s better than Starbucks? Possibly, but I may not have checked it out yet. For now, I like buying from Starbucks.

Do you frequent any coffee shops? Back in college I used to alternate between Starbucks and Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf; I’d go several times a week to either because coffee shops were the best place to study at.

What’s your favorite Lisa Frank character? I was never aware that there were characters lol. I thought it was only her.

Which Disney character looks the most like you? Raya for sure, but before her, I felt a big connection with Moana.

Did you go to Disney World or Disneyland as a kid? No, I haven’t gotten to go yet. It would be nice if my first time could also already be a trip with my own kid in the future :)

Do you live with a demon? Talk about creepy question lol. No.

Who has the best personality on youtube? Who cares? < I mean, same. I’m sure they all put up a show to some extent - I don’ think anyone would ever know the answer to this...but personally, those whose personalities I find really endearing would beeeeee Grace Helbig, Kelsey Impicciche, Kelsey Darragh, and Andrew Ilnyckyj.

What are some of your goals for this year? Stay employed, be better at my job, collect more BTS albums.

Does it feel like spring yet? We don’t have spring, so I don’t know what that would feel like.

What do you do to celebrate Earth Day? I don’t wait until April 22 to do something for the planet.

How do you celebrate Easter? I don’t.

Have you ridden your bike yet this year? I can’t ride bikes, haaaaa.

What does your bike look like? The family bike has some blue and grey on it. Not that I ever practice riding it.

What is your favorite place that you’ve lived? I like the house that we live in now. I like that we have a rooftop and that we don’t live with extended family.

Do you shop at Aeropostale? No, and I’m not sure we have Aeropostale shops here. The only reason we ever got Aeropostale items of clothing in the past was because relatives living in the States would occasionally bring home a box of pasalubong for us here in the Philippines.

What’s the last thing you wore from Aeropostale? Idk, probably a shirt. Have you ever been to a church that just wanted your money? Aren’t all churches like that? < Can agree and can confirm. My local parish has been undergoing a ridiculously extravagant renovation for years now and the thing is that the renovation is meant to be so fucking fancy they clearly can’t afford it, so they’ve been pooling money from churchgoers for years now as well. When we could still physically attend mass I used to keep myself from laughing everytime one of the church staff would come up on the podium and ask for money again.

Who is someone you are struggling to forgive, if applicable? I don’t struggle to forgive. I just don’t forgive. If someone does me wrong I just do my best to block them out of my memories, get into the mindset that they never existed, and live peacefully from there.

Have you ever had someone try to intentionally bully you to suicide? I don’t think so, at least not intentionally. My mom always did it unintentionally though, especially in my tween and teen years. She was always very harsh with her words and actions (she still is, but we don’t butt heads as often anymore). I didn’t have a very good emotional foundation mainly thanks to her and I had to claw my own way to get to be the much more stable self I am today.

What’s your favorite type of cereal? Sweet ones.

Who are your favorite kids that you’ve babysat? I never babysat kids outside of younger relatives.

Who is your favorite cousin? My eldest cousin from my mom’s side. I’ve always viewed him more as a brother than a cousin since we did live under the same roof for nearly a decade before my family moved to our own home.

Does one side of your family live in another state? My family is spread out everywhere, dude. I have relatives living in another town, another city, another province, another region, another island, another country. Idk about cultures but that’s generally how Filipino families are to begin with.

What states did your parents grow up in? I’m not saying that.

Do you want kids? If yes, how many? It would be nice. I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find someone I would want to marry and have a family with. It definitely seems bleak, but then again I’m 23 lmao. I’m not in a hurry.

What’s a craft that you’ve seen online that you don’t think will work? Most of the shit that that 5 Minute Crafts channel or whatever they’re called puts out.

What, if anything, are you severely allergic to? Grass.

Have you ever had an allergic reaction to an insect? Nopes.

How do you react to bee stings? I’ve never been stung and I hope that never happens to me.

Is there a good hospital where you live? I’m not so sure; I don’t take trips to the hospital frequently.

What’s your favorite kind of tea to drink in the spring? I never drink tea. Never been my...cup of tea? Hahahaha.

What are your favorite biblical names for girls? Elizabeth and Eden.

…for boys? Luke, Noah, Jacob, Seth.

What color nail polish do you usually wear in the spring? Again, I never put on nail polish.

What’s your favorite color that you’ve dyed your hair? I haven’t tried dyeing my hair either :( It’s something I want to explore, though.

Do you ever eat ice cream in the winter? We don’t have winter but yeah, I’m not opposed to having ice cream when the climate is on the cooler side.

How often do you wash your sheets? Every month or so.

What was the name of the biggest bully in your high school? No one got away with pulling that kind of shit in my old school.

^Did everyone hate her/him? -

^Were you his/her target? -

#survey #surveys

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ghosttotheparty · 5 years ago

Text

cotton candy skies always look better in person

3. also available on AO3 chapter 2

“I’m all yours”?

Who the fuck says that to someone they just met?

Although, Lucas didn’t seem to mind the statement, even if it was a little weird. Jens had almost made a face at himself, almost apologized, but every sense of embarrassment disappeared when Lucas’s smile widened. Fuck, that smile.

Jens has been thinking about it all week. Really he’s been thinking about Lucas all week, everything about him. It’s like Jens took a picture of him with his mind. Or several pictures. Jens remembers everything. The way his hair fell in his face, the way he pushed it back to look at Jens. The polish on his nails that shined as the sunlight hit it. The silver rings on his fingers, the Jens noticed he twisted sometimes. The striped shirt that peeked out from under the dark hoodie that he wore, a hoodie that looked a size or two too big. The necklaces that hung down from his neck (which Jens didn’t stare at when he wasn’t looking), a few chains and one with a key. The ripped jeans that clung to his legs (which Jens definitely didn’t stare at when he wasn’t looking).

Jens thinks about him almost every second of every day. It’s like his name is stuck in his head.

Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas…

His name and his eyes.

Those fucking eyes.

Jens would compare them to the sky or the sea but really no words could do them justice. Jens stared into them for so long that night that they were engraved into his mind, which Jens was fine with.

Jens finds himself smiling randomly during the day, even at school in the middle of conversations and lessons, remembering those eyes. Or something Lucas said that night. Or just remembering Lucas exists. The guys all ask what’s up, why he’s suddenly grinning to himself, and he tells them he’s thinking about something Lotte said that morning, or a meme. He considers spilling everything right there, the ballet, the bisexuality, and the boy. But he doesn’t. He’s kept dance a secret for so long. He wants to keep Lucas a secret for a little longer too.

Although, he thinks, if everything goes the way he hopes it does, he won’t be able to for much longer. If Lucas feels the same way, which as much as Jens hopes he does and suspects he does, he can’t bring himself to believe, maybe Jens will be okay with everyone knowing everything. Maybe he won’t have to hide anymore.

But that isn’t happening yet. They’ve only hung out once (for hours), and Jens doesn’t even know his last name. Or his phone number, which Jens wants more than anything.

To be honest, Jens doesn’t really know what it is about Lucas that makes him feel like this. No one’s ever made him feel like this, feel so… whatever it is. He feels like he trusts Lucas, strangely, despite meeting him only once. Lucas knows about the ballet, knows everything about the ballet, and Jens is fine with it. Fine with Lucas knowing things about him that his closest friends don’t. Fine with it, and comfortable with it, really. Talking about ballet was easy with Lucas. (Unless he made direct eye contact with him. If that happened, all bets were off and his mouth forgot how to speak.) He wasn’t shy about it. And Lucas saw him in pink tights for fuck’s sake, what was talking about dance compared to that?

Jens doesn’t wear his pink tights today. But he also doesn’t change out of his practise clothes. He keeps on his black leggings, sliding his red hoodie and oversized jacket before putting in an earring as he talks to Damien.

“Guess who has to watch their brother again?” Damien says harshly, pulling a shirt on.

“Ew, why?”

“My parents are going on a date-”

“Cute.”

“-and apparently my other brother isn’t mature enough to hold down the fort.”

“Wait, you have two brothers?”

Damien freezes, a hand on the door of his locker, and stares at Jens in disbelief.

“Where exactly have you been for the past four years?”

Jens shrugs.

“Under a rock, I guess.”He pulls the strap of his bag over his after tugging his shoes on. On the way to the door, he pauses and smooths his hair down. When it doesn’t work, he fluffs it back up again, turning his head and analyzing it in the reflection.

“Who are you trying to look good for?” Damien approaches his shoulder, clutching his bag to his chest. Jens sighs.

“Your mom.”

“Oh-kay.”

“You should ask Rosa to hang out with you while you watch your brother,” Jens says, changing the subject. He hasn’t told Damien, or Lena or Rosa, about Lucas. He opens the door, standing out of the way so Damien can get past.

“Thanks.” Damien waits for his outside as another dancer passes through the door Jens is holding open. “And no thanks, I don’t think she’ll want to.”

“I think she’d be down for anything if you’ll be there.”

They make their way down the steps and to the main door, squeezing past the jazz dancers getting ready for practice. Another ballerina is holding the door open, and they both thank her as they pass. Outside the skies are mostly clear, clouds scattered in the horizon.

“Boys!” Lena jumps on Jens’s back and he catches her legs so she doesn’t fall. “How we doing?”

“You’re in a good mood,” Damien notes as she slides down, landing on her feet and keeping an arm around Jens’s neck. Rosa rolls her eyes.

“She’s been talking nonstop since practice ended. I think she’s high.”

“I am not,” Lena says, pointing at her. “But! I have a date tonight and it’s gonna be fun.”

“Why do you go on dates on Thursday?” Damien asks as he steps out of the way so a girl can pass. “Doesn’t it make more sense to go out on Fridays? Then you can stay out later.”

“Oh, baby Damien…” She lets go of Jens (he straightens his back from bending over) and pats Damien’s cheeks, holding his face. “No one said I have to sleep.”

“Yeah, but-” Jens stops listening.

He looks to the sides, outside the convenience store, hoping to see a certain curly-haired Dutch boy, to no avail. Jens looks around, craning his neck slightly to see into the alleyway, and scans the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He doesn’t see Lucas.

He looks back at his friends, worrying. Maybe Lucas forgot. Or maybe he changed his mind. Jens’s heart sinks.

“Anyway, I’ve got to get ready for my Thursday night date,” Lena’s voice cuts into his thoughts. She emphasizes “Thursday night,” cutting an intense look to Damien. “I gotta go.” She hugs Rosa and Damien and turns to Jens, holding her hand out.

“You okay?” she asks as he grabs it, pulling her in so their shoulders bump. Her eyebrows are turned up, worried.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m tired, I didn’t eat much before practice.” He’s gotten good at lying on the spot.

“Ah.” She smacks the back of his hand before turning away. “Fill up that belly, my friend. Bye, guys!” And she’s gone.

“I have to watch my brother tonight,” Damien says, sighing as he checks the time on his watch.

“Ugh, that sucks.” Rosa looks at him sympathetically. “I’m so glad my parents don’t make me watch mine anymore, he’s a nightmare.” She looks down at her phone, responding to a text, and Jens catches Damien’s eye over her head. Fucking ask her, he mouths. Damien shakes his head. I swear to God. Jens’s eyes widen, making a threat. What exactly he’s threatening he doesn’t know, but it seems to work.

“Rosa, do you want to come over?” Damien’s face darkens as she looks up at him. “It’ll be with my brother so we’ll probably just watch a movie, but I can make pizza. Or something,” he finished awkwardly.

“Yeah, that sounds fun!” She sends the text and looks at Jens. “You’re coming?”

“No, I’ve got something,” he answers, smiling.

“Oh, okay.” She reaches up for a hug and Jens embraces her, holding his hand up in an “okay” sign behind her back for Damien to see. Damien grins.

“I’ll see you next week!” She waves as she and Damien walk away. Jens watched them go, smiling when Rosa’s shoulder bumps into Damien, and he pulls out his phone to send a text to Lena.

Rosa and Damien: ✔

He looks up as two blue check marks appear ar his message, glancing around to see if he can see Lucas anywhere. When he doesn’t, he looks back at his phone to see Lena’s messages.

WHAT ARE

YOU TALKING ABOUT He laughs, typing.

Chill, they’re just hanging out He pauses and adds another message.

Watching Damien’s brother

Before Lena sends her message, something bumps Jens’s shoulder and he looks up, startles, into those eyes.

“Hey.” Lucas sounds out of breath and his cheeks are pink.

“Hi.” Jens steps back, looking him up and down. He’s wearing an old sweater, that one could call a grandpa sweater, and black jeans. He’s got on the same necklaces as last time, but now the strap of camera bag is around his neck, too. Jens’s eyes pause for half a second at a rainbow pin on it before looking back up into his eyes, which get smaller as he smiles.

He looks the way fresh paint smells.

Fucking intoxicating.

“I was wondering where you were,” Jens says after taking a breath. He slides his phone into his pocket.

“Sorry, I got a little lost on the way here.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I just ran down the street,” he says, pointing behind himself with a thumb when Jens raises his eyebrows.

“Just for me?”

“Of course, who else?” Jens grins.

“I brought the weed today, by the way.” “Ah, hell yeah.” Lucas turns, beckoning him toward the alley. “You have to sit in the light.”

“Why?” Jens asks, confused, and Lucas turns, walking backwards, and hold up the camera case, smiling mischievously. Jens grins as he digs the joint out of the front pocket of his bag.

Silently, the two of them lift themselves onto the dumpster. Lucas slips as he gets up, and Jens is already reaching out to catch him when he catches himself. Jens’s face burns.

“How was practice?” Lucas asks as Jens lights the joint. Jens looks at him, surprised, although he doesn’t know why, and he tucks the lighter back into his bag, which he had tossed behind himself.

“Good.” Lucas raises his eyebrows and nods, gesturing with his hand for him to keep going. “I’m fucking tired.”

“You do pointe, right?”

Jens nods as he takes another drag.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I saw your shoes the first time I saw you.”

“Right.” He looks away, feeling like there’s a wildfire burning in his chest.

“Heard it’s difficult.” Lucas reaches out for the joint and Jens passes it to him. Their fingers brush.

“It is. Very.”

“Respect.” Lucas holds the joint up like he’s giving a toast before bringing to his lips, and Jens can’t help but watch his cheeks hollow as he inhales. And then he forces himself to look away.

“How’s your day going?” he asks after a few beats of silence.

“Good. Better now.” Jens’s face turns pink. There’s a pause. “My dad called earlier.” Lucas is making a face when Jens turns to look.

“Gross.”

Lucas’s laugh is something made of magic.

“What did he say?” Jens asks.

“Nothing good. Or interesting.” Lucas holds the joint out and Jens is struck with sudden boldness. He grabs Lucas’s hand, his fingers under Lucas’s, gently, and leans forward to examine his nails. They’re all shirt, a few of them painted a dark blue-green, the others natural and shiny. Pretty.

“I like your nails.” He lifts his hand and takes the joint, looking at Lucas, whose eyes are slightly wide.

“Yeah?” “Mm-hmm.”

He lifts it to his mouth, leaning back on his hand, and takes a slow drag, his heart beating fast, but feeling more at ease than he’s felt all week. And he doesn’t think it’s just the weed.

“I like this,” Lucas’s voice says.

He starts to turn but stops when he sees Lucas’s hand come close to his face, and feels his earring gently.

“You do?” he asks, feeling like he could start screaming.

“Yeah, it’s…” Lucas trails off and retracts his hand, placing it on his camera, which Jens hadn’t seen him take out of the bag.

“It’s…” Jens bobs his head at him and Lucas suppresses a smile.

“Hot.”

Complete anarchy fills his head, complete with screaming, sirens, flashing lights.

“Ah.” He grins and turns away again, taking a drag.

“Here, do something.” Lucas pulls his legs up in front of himself, crossing them, and points the camera at him.

“Like what?”

“I don’t fucking know, anything.”

Jens swings a leg up in front of himself and lets the other dangle as he takes one more drag. He drops his hands in front of his lap, opening his mouth and letting the smoke drift around his face. He hears the camera click several times.

He hears a very quiet “Yeah…” and grins behind the smoke. Lucas lowers the camera, looking at the screen, and then looks up, giving Jens thumbs up.

“Good?” Jens asks.

“Yeah.” Lucas raises the camera again, leaning back slightly. “Do something else.”

Jens lifts the leg that’s in front of him so his knee is upright, and brings the joint back up, holding it between his lips as he puts his forearm on his knee and rests his chin on his arm. He watches as Lucas’s lips curve into a smile behind the camera as it snaps again.

The camera lowers and Lucas looks at the pictures, Jens stares as his face, fully appreciating the freckles scattered across his skin like stars, the mole above his mouth, his lashes that spread like a fan. A curl falls, obstructing Jens’s view, and he has to hold back from reaching out and pushing it out of the way.

“Look.” Lucas uncrosses his legs and uses them to push himself so he’s sitting next to Jens, whose heart feels like it might beat out of his chest. Lucas’s shoulder is touching Jens’s. Jens doesn’t move away. Lucas holds the camera up, showing Jens the first photos with the smoke covering his face. Jens takes the weed out of his mouth, holding it so the side so the smoke isn’t being blown into Lucas’s face.

“If I edit it so the focus is on you, like if I blur the background, it’ll look really cool, don’t you think?” Lucas looks up at Jens, who isn’t even really looking at the photo.

“Yeah, for sure.”

Lucas smiles and turns back to the camera. Jens holds the joint up in front of him, offering, and Lucas looks at it before leaning forward and taking it between his lips. Jens’s eyes widen and he pulls his hand away, letting Lucas hold it in his mouth (Oh my God oh my God oh my God) and then Lucas tilts his head up, his eyes still looking at the camera as he analyzes the other photos, and Jens reaches up, taking it, and scoffs lightly.

“I had a history test this week,” he says, trying to ease his body temperature.

“Yeah? How’d it go?” Lucas turns so he’s facing Jens, putting distance between them, and Jens’s side suddenly feels cold.

“How do you think?”

Lucas makes a face, a comical grimace, and Jens laughs.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I’m telling you, find a way to talk to me during your tests and I’ll help you if you help me with my math.”

“Talk to you as in texting or like telepathically?”

Lucas switches the camera off and leans back against the rough behind them.

“Telepathically would be dope.”

“I’ll get on that.”

Lucas laughs before, “Speaking of texting, why don’t I have your number yet?”

“Because you haven’t asked?” Jens replies sassily, and yeah, they’re definitely flirting.

“Well.” Lucas produces a phone from the side of the camera bag. “Better get on that.” He opens it, typing in a code, and passes it to Jens when he opens a new contact.

Jens smiles as he types his name and number in before handing it back to him. Lucas sends him a text after a second, just a ?, and Jens sends one back.

“Had to make sure it’s legit,” Lucas says.

“Why would I give you a fake number?”

“I don’t know, you don’t like me or something?”

Jens furrows his brows at him.

“If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t let you take my picture.”

“Touché.”

There’s a beat of silence as Jens adds Lucas to his contacts (Lucas📷) before he asks, “What school do you go to? I haven’t seen you around except here.”

“I’m doing online.”

“Ooo.” They both put their phones in their pockets. “How’s that going for you?”

“Honestly I like it better. School is exhausting.”

“Yeah.”

“Especially people. It’s nice to have a break.”

“The people are exhausting?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Am I?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh-kay.” Jens laughs and reaches out, pushing him, and Lucas giggles, grabbing Jens’s hand and pushes it away.

“If I fall off of this, I’m going to kill you.”

Later, as the joint burns down between the two of them, Jens asks how online school worlds. Lucas tells him about the calendar he has online, how all of his assignments for the school year are already laid out in front of him.

“It’s a lot less stressful, knowing every assignment that’s coming.”

“Sounds nice. Sometimes I don’t know what assignments I have until a week after they’re due.”

Lucas’s eyes squint when he laughs.

Eventually, Jens realises the sky has darkened, and he looks up to see the stars, which automatically make him think of Lucas’s freckles. And the fact that it’s much later than he feels like it is.

“Shit.” He pulls out his phone, seeing a text from his mom, sent almost twenty minutes ago.

Where are you???

He types out a response as he swings his legs off the dumpster and jumps to the ground.

Sorry, lost track of time. On my way home now.

“Oh, yeah, you have school tomorrow, don’t you?” Lucas asks as he hand’s Jens’s bag to him.

“Ugh, yes.”

“Sucks to be you.”

Jens furrows his brow at him as he pulls the strap over his head.

“Don’t you too?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to get up until like ten.” Lucas gives him a dry grin and jumps down, clutching the camera. Jens flips him off and he laughs.

They part ways ar the sidewalk, going down opposite paths, and say goodbye by bumping their palms and fists together. Jens has to stuff his hand in his pocket after to stop it from shaking. Not even five minutes later, as he walks alone down an empty sidewalk, the sound of passing cars in the distance muffled by tall buildings, he receives a text message.

I’ll see you next week?

He smiles before answering.

Of course.

#van der stoffels #vds #vds fic #van der stoffels fic #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #lucas vdh #jens x lucas #jens and lucas #wtfoc #skam nl #cotton candy skies #cotton candy skies always look better in person

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years ago

Text

Are you between the ages of 30 & 40? Yeah.

What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon growing up? I remember getting up to watch the Saturday morning cartoon lineup on ABC, which I think was called, “One Saturday Morning”, that showed cartoons such as Recess, Pepper Ann, Disney’s Doug, The Weekenders, etc. I also remember watching Kids WB, Fox Kids, Nickelodeon, and the Disney Channel.

What was your favorite toy as a child? I was obsessed with Barbies. In High School did you wear acid washed jeans? No. That was never my style.

How much was a gallon of gasoline when you first started driving? I don’t drive.

What was your first car? Since I don’t drive, I haven’t had a car.

Who taught you how to drive? --

What was your high school mascot? I’m not sharing that.

Did you go to your Senior Prom? I did.

What did you do after graduation? I went to community college, got all the general ed stuff done and my AA, then transferred to UC to focus on my major and get my BA.

What was your first job? I haven’t had one.

What did you want to be when you grew up? When I was a kid I wanted to be a teacher.

Any posters on your bedroom walls growing up? Oh yeah. I had all the posters from the teen magazines covering my walls.

Do you remember the first time you drank a beer? Yeah, it was when I was 21.

Did you ever try cigarettes? No.

How did you spend your summers growing up? I actually used to spend a lot of time outside *gasp* Shocking, I know. I played with my neighbors or my cousins, or I just played by myself with like chalk or cruising around in my motorized toy car, haha. I also liked swimming in my little plastic or blow up pool.

If you could change anything from your teenage years, would you? Yes.

Do you remember your first time? I’m a virgin.

Ever look back and wish some things were still the same? Yeah. :(

After high school - straight to college or straight to work? Like I said, I went to community college and then to UC.

How much did you make per hour at your first job? --

Favorite home-cooked meal growing up? My mom’s lasagna and chicken tacos.

Favorite place to eat out growing up? Getting fast food was always fun haha.

Did your parents live in a different country before you were born?: Nope.

Do you have a preferred coffee brand?: Not particularly. There’s some I definitely don’t like, such as Folger’s and Yuba.

Have you ever dated someone who was terrible with money?: No.

If so, how did it affect the relationship?:

How often do you paint your nails?: It’s been like 4 years since I’ve painted my nails.

Do you know anyone who's related to a current or former world leader?: No.

Do you do your own taxes, or do you hire a professional?: I haven’t had to do taxes since I’ve never been employed.

What is something you don't have any natural talent for?: I don’t have natural talents. :X I can’t sing, I can’t dance, I have no artistic abilities... the list goes on and on.

Did you watch this year's Eurovision?: I never watch that.

Have there been any periods in your life that could be described as being chaotic?: Uh, yeah. Most definitely.

What is something you frequently forget?: Hmm. I don’t know. I have a pretty decent memory.

If I looked in your fridge right now, what would I find?: Stuff like coffee creamers, milk, eggs, cheese, Pillsbury sugar cookies, several different condiments, sandwich meat, yogurts, etc.

How do you feel about your body?: I’m very self-conscious about it and don’t like it at all.

Who is someone you would like to get to know better?: There isn’t someone at the moment.

If you had to move to a new city, where would you move?: I don’t know.

Have you ever traveled on a double-decker train?: No.

At what point do you consider a relationship to be 'long-term?': Uhh. I mean, I kind of think of it as when you both decide to be in a committed relationship and continue together going forward, then it’s a long-term relationship. Like, you’re not just casually dating or unsure of what you’re doing. Does that make sense?

What jobs did your parents have when you were growing up?: Retail jobs.

Do they still have these jobs? Or different jobs? Or have they retired?: My mom is a manager at Walgreens and my dad works at a car repair shop.

Do you own any winter sports equipment?: No. I have no use for that.

Do you have a cell contract plan, or are you on a pre-paid plan?: I’m part of a family plan thing.

Would your parents be okay with you dating someone of another race? Yes.

Do you like when friends stop by unexpectedly? No, that was never my thing. My family and I like to be notified and have something planned. I always wondered if that was a common thing to do because that’s how it always is on TV shows and movies and I’m like do people really do that?? lol.

Where are the following people and what are they doing: mom, dad, sibling(s), best friend, significant other, ex, and last person you kissed? My mom is just getting off work so she should be home soon, my dad is in the living room asleep, my brother is in his room doing whatever, my best friend is my mom, I’m single, I have no idea what my ex is doing or where he is, and the last person I kissed is my ex, so.

How strong are your feelings for the last person you kissed? I don’t have feelings for him anymore. It’s been several years now and I’ve moved on long ago. I don’t have any bad feelings towards him or anything, though. I hope he’s well.

What was the last thing someone else bought for you? My brother bought me Wingstop for dinner tonight.

If your parents looked in your purse/book bag would they find anything you don’t want them to see? What about your bedroom? Do you have anything hidden in there? Nah. I’m also 31 years old, so they wouldn’t be looking in my things anyway.

How close are you to the last person you hung out with? Can you be your complete self around them? My mom and I are very close and yes.

If you decided to call your ex right now, do you think he/she would answer? How would the conversation go? I honestly don’t know. I wouldn’t call him, though, so guess we’ll never find out.

Are you attracted to the last person you exchanged numbers with? I don’t even recall the last time I exchanged numbers with someone.

Is music a daily part of your life? No.

Yellow nail polish: yes or no? Sure.

What do you think of country music? I like some country music.

Have you ever ended a relationship but wish you could’ve kept it a little longer? Yes.

Did you go to your high school’s graduation? Yes.

If you could live the last three months over again, is there anything you’d change? I don’t know about the last 3 months... that’s not much time. I need to go much further than that.

Who was the last person to message you on Facebook? What would you do if that person told you they have feelings for you? The daughter of my mom’s best friend. Uh, no that wouldn’t happen. She’s happily married to a man.

How did you feel when you woke up today? Like a zombie, as always.

Who was the first person you talked to today? What did you talk about? My mom. She was getting back from grocery shopping when I got up and she was telling me about stuff regarding that and some other stuff.

When you apply your make-up, do you do it in a specific order? I would do eyeliner and then mascara and called it a day haha. I never wore much makeup. I dabbled with foundation, concealer, bronzer, and highlighter a few times, but it required too much work for me and it just wasn’t really my thing. In high school and in my early 20s I also sometime wore eyeshadow. I rarely wore lipstick, but sometimes a tinted lip gloss.

Did you do anything sexual last night? No.

Do you think the last person you Facebook messaged is a virgin? She’s married, so probably not but *shrug* That’s really none of my concern.

Did any of your friends lose their virginity before they were 16? If so, did you feel pressured to do the same? I don’t have friends.

Has someone of the opposite sex made you smile today? No. It’s only been today for about 40 minutes, though, and I haven’t talked to anyone so far.

Does it matter to you if your significant other smokes? It would matter if they smoked cigarettes.

Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? My mom.

Do you like where you are in life right now? Definitely not.

Do you hate it when there is a fly around you? Ugh, yes. Flies are super annoying.

Is your mom overbearing? No.

Is there snow where you live? No. :(

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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arysafics · 5 years ago

Text

Imperfectly Perfect

Summary: Bellamy knows Clarke is way out of his league, which is why he refuses to tell her how he feels about her. Unfortunately, Murphy knows, and decides to use the information against him.

Prompts filled:

1. best friend-roommates to lovers Bellarke fic involving body insecurity but with Bellamy as the insecure one (I feel like it’s usually Clarke) and Clarke as the one who uplifts him.

2. Bellamy finally gets Clarke to be with him after years of mutual pining but gets crazy jealous because he’s still insecure and thinks she’s too good for him – anon

3. his friends know Bellamy is crushing on Clarke hard but he tells them he would literally rather do anything than tell her, so they (Murphy) keep coming up with ridiculous dares for him to complete instead of telling her. like I'm imagining they start with something easy like painting his nails pink (he could totally rock that) and then it gets more and more elaborate to the point where on Tuesdays he's only allowed to eat foods that start with b or something – anon

Rated T, ~6.6k words

Of all the mistakes Bellamy has made in his life, telling Murphy about his crush on Clarke is probably the most stupid. He could have told anyone else, and he might have been teased, comforted, or pressured to do something about it. But at least with anyone else his secret would be safe. That’s not a given with Murphy.

“Have you told her yet?” Murphy asks as Bellamy lets him into his apartment. It’s Murphy’s new way of greeting Bellamy. The answer is always the same.

“No, and would you shut up?” Bellamy hisses. “She’s home.”

“You know you’re way too old to live with a roommate, right?” Murphy says. He shoves a six pack into Bellamy’s arms, then waltzes past him and into the living room.

“There’s no age limit on having a roommate,” Bellamy scoffs, pulling out a beer as he follows Murphy. He tosses the beer to his friend, now lounging on the couch, and grabs one for himself.

“I don’t know, man,” Murphy says. Bellamy flops down beside him. “By thirty-six I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to have a wife and four kids.”

“So you’ve got, what? Two years to achieve that?”

“At least I live alone.”

“I like having a roommate.” Just as he pronounces this, said roommate walks into the room, all dressed up in a low-cut top that immediately sends Bellamy’s brain into inappropriate territory.

“Me too,” Clarke grins. She walks over behind the couch, and both Bellamy and Murphy strain their necks to look around at her. “What are you guys getting up to tonight?” she asks.

“Watching basketball and drinking,” Bellamy tells her. “You want one?” he nods to the beer on the coffee table in front of them.

“Just let me have a sip of yours, I’m already late.” Bellamy passes her the bottle and she takes a long swig before handing it back. “Okay, I better go. I don’t know what time I’ll be back. I might see you tonight or maybe just in the morning.”

“Okay, have fun.”

“You too.” She heads for the door, giving the boys a last wave before she’s out of sight.

“She likes you too,” Murphy says.

Bellamy snorts. “No, she doesn’t.”

“I’m telling you she does.”

“Would you shut up?” Bellamy scowls. “You’re just making me feel worse about it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because she’s obviously way out of my league,” Bellamy says.

“You’re joking, right?” Murphy says. “Since when have you ever thought anyone was out of your league? You used to have girls begging you to take them home with you.”

“Yeah, fucking—ten years ago,” Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I’m not exactly twenty-six anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You think you’re too old for her? That it?”

Bellamy shrugs. That’s not really it, but he doesn’t feel like he can explain to Murphy what the problem really is. Murphy doesn’t seem to notice Bellamy’s non-committal response.

“She’s twenty-nine, Bellamy, it’s not like she’s nineteen for fucks sake,” Murphy says, exasperated. “Seven years is not a big age gap.”

“It’s not that,” Bellamy huffs.

“Well, what is it then? Because right now you’re just sounding like an idiotic coward.”

Bellamy resists the urge to tell Murphy how rich that is, coming from the guy who moved all of his things out of his last girlfriend’s apartment, then blocked her on all social media, rather than break up with her.

“Come on, Murphy,” Bellamy says. “She’s a fucking doctor who comes from money. She’s gorgeous, and smart, and generous, and selfless. And I’m—what? A cop who barely grew up without a cent to his name, who only became a cop because he lied to a girl once and told her he was one, and she thought it was hot and he didn’t have any better plans?”

“Clarke really isn’t all that,” Murphy says. “You think way too highly of her. The only thing she’s got going for her is that she’s hot.”

“Give it a rest, Murphy,” Bellamy says.

What he doesn’t say is that yeah, Clarke is hot. Which is at least fifty per cent of the reason why she’s out of his league. But Bellamy doesn’t know how to explain that to Murphy. He wouldn’t get it. How could he? Murphy looks exactly the same as he did when he was twenty. Better, even, maybe. But Bellamy—not so much. Ten years ago, he would have asked Clarke out in a heartbeat, with no worry that she’d turn him down. Back then, he had a ridiculous amount of self-confidence that his looks would compensate for his dickish behaviour. The self-confidence was hard won, even then, after years of racist remarks telling him he was ugly. His lean, muscular body was all he had. Now he doesn’t even have that.

He’s probably only slightly less of a dick now, and without the looks or the self-confidence to cover it up. He doesn’t exactly look like he did when he was in his twenties. He doesn’t work out so much now, mostly because he doesn’t get that much free time, and he no longer wants to spend hours at the gym every week, when he could spend that time relaxing. He still enjoys playing sport and being outdoors, but he hasn’t seen his abs since he before he turned thirty. It’s not that he thinks he’s ugly, exactly, but he doesn’t feel proud of his body anymore. Doesn’t like looking in the mirror, or at old pictures, reminding him of what he used to look like.

He barely dates anymore, and it’s only half because he’s in love with his roommate. He’d been struck by a fear of dating apps and sites when he showed up for a date two years ago and seen the look of disappointment on the girl’s face. He didn’t look like his picture. She was polite enough, and quick to cover up her surprise, but it was there, and it was crushing and humiliating. She never responded when he asked if she wanted a second date.

He’s dated maybe three different women since then, all leading nowhere, and all the while pining after Clarke. Just add pathetic to the list of reasons he isn’t good enough for her.

“Whatever,” Murphy says. “I’m getting sick of listening to you pine over her.”

“You’re the one always bringing it up.”

“Because I can see you pining over her with your stupid lovestruck eyes. It’s disgusting.”

“I don’t have lovestruck eyes.”

“You do.”

Bellamy grimaces. “You don’t think she knows, do you?”

“She’s just as fucking stupid as you are. Which is why you have to tell her.”

“I would literally rather do anything other than that.”

Murphy pauses, his beer held to his lips. He raises an eyebrow. “Anything, huh?”

“Anything.”

“Fine,” Murphy says. He takes a swig from his bottle. “How about you… paint your fingernails bright pink instead?”

Bellamy frowns. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because it’s either that or tell Clarke how you feel.”

“You can’t force me to do either of those things.”

“If you don’t tell her, I will. Or you can paint your fingernails. Your choice.”

Bellamy stares at him. “Are you—blackmailing me?”

“Well, when you put it like that—yes.”

Bellamy considers. He knows very well Murphy is likely to make good on his threats. And having bright pink nails isn’t the worst thing.

“I’ll go and see if Clarke has any pink nail polish,” he says.

By the time Clarke gets home, Murphy is gone, and Bellamy is in bed, his nails sloppily painted pink. He’d made Murphy do it for him, since it was his idea.

He’s scrolling on his phone, and his bedroom door opens. Clarke’s silhouette is outlined by the light coming from down the hall. Instantly he thinks something must be wrong, or else why would she be here? Usually she’ll tell him about her dates if he’s still up when she gets home, but she doesn’t normally come and see him if he’s already in bed.

Bellamy flicks on the lamp beside his bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Clarke says. “Are you awake?”

Bellamy relaxes. “Obviously. How was your date?”

“Turns out it wasn’t a date. She’s painfully straight.” Clarke pads over to the bed, and Bellamy’s heart pounds as she lifts the covers slightly and gets in beside him. She’s already changed out of her date clothes, in her pyjamas now. She rests her head on the pillow, facing him, and Bellamy turns onto his side so they’re face to face. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that she’s in his bed, but his throat is dry and his brain has turned to mush. This is so not something they usually do.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice coming out all husky.

“It was still fun,” Clarke shrugs. “Which I guess was the point of the date anyway.”

“But she’s not the love of your life,” Bellamy jokes. Clarke doesn’t laugh. She bites her lip.

“No,” she agrees. She glances down, reaching for his hand. His heart spasms.

She frowns in confusion. “Why are your fingernails pink?” she asks.

“Oh,” Bellamy says, blushing. He really thought she just wanted to hold his hand for a moment. Idiotic. “Murphy and I got bored. I hope you don’t mind.”

Clarke smiles, amused. “Did he do this?” she asks, holding his hand up in front of her face, studying his nails.

“Yeah.”

“He sucks, you should have let me do them.”

“Next time,” Bellamy promises.

He watches her as she caresses his hand, twice the size of hers. God, she’s so little, and he’s so big. They’d look ridiculous together as a couple. Surely Murphy can see that. Bellamy can see it, and he knows Clarke can see it too. If the thought even crossed her mind, which it probably hasn’t.

Bellamy thinks about it all the time. It’s one of the many things he tells himself, every time he starts entertaining the thought of him and Clarke together. How people would look at them and wonder why the hell someone like her is with someone like him. How embarrassed Clarke would be to be seen with him at one of her mom’s fancy parties. How she’d have to be on top if they had sex, because otherwise he’d crush her.

Suddenly he’s all too aware of how much space he takes up, how he’s shirtless under the covers, how he doesn’t want Clarke to see his flabby stomach. He thinks he can pass for bulky when he has a shirt on, especially considering the size of his arms and shoulders. Without the shirt, there’s no denying it. He’s just fat.

“You should probably get to bed,” Bellamy says hoarsely.

“Are you kicking me out?” Clarke pouts.

“Well, it’s not like there’s a lot of room in this bed,” Bellamy points out.

“There’s plenty,” Clarke says. “And besides, I’m only little, I don’t need much room.” As if to prove her point, she scoots closer to him, and he can feel her breasts press up against his bare chest. He stiffens, moving away slightly. She notices. “Sorry,” she says, blushing. “I didn’t mean to…” she trails off. To touch him? To get so close to him? Either way, why would she want to?

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says quickly. He doesn’t want her to think she’s offended him, even if it does hurt a little. She thinks his body is as gross as he does. It’s fine.

“I’ll go,” Clarke says, a small waver in her voice. She slips out of bed, looking like she can’t wait to get away from him. “Goodnight,” she says. She doesn’t even wait for him to answer before she leaves, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Bellamy wakes up for work on Monday morning with a text from Murphy.

Remember when you looked like this?

The next message is a photo of Bellamy from when he was about twenty. Bellamy grimaces at the photo, and not because he’s remembering how much fitter he used to be. See, the thing is, when Bellamy was in his early twenties, he went through this phase of thinking his hair looked really good all gelled back. He was wrong. He still cringes at the memory of it.

He sends Murphy a begrudging response.

What of it?

Either tell Clarke how you feel or wear your hair like this to work today.

I hate you

Bellamy doesn’t even own any hair gel anymore, so he has to leave for work early and grab some on the way. He sits in the car in the parking lot at work, flips down the sun visor and looks up into the mirror as he smears the gel into his hair, then combs it through. It looks revolting. At least Clarke isn’t around to see him looking like this. Like she needs another reason to find him unattractive.

Bellamy grimaces at his reflection before snapping the visor back up and getting out of the car. He walks into the station, already feeling like everyone is staring at him and there’s not even anyone else in the parking lot.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Miller asks him as soon as he walks into the precinct.

“Blame Murphy.” Bellamy heads for his desk and throws his bag down, before slumping in his chair.

“He jizz in your hair or something?”

“He’s blackmailing me.”

“He must have something really good on you to get you to make your hair look like that.”

“Yeah.”

“And he couldn’t blackmail you into doing anything better than gelling your hair?”

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

“I already have a list of ideas,” says Murphy from somewhere behind Bellamy, his voice startling him. Bellamy swivels around. “Have you told her yet?” Murphy asks.

“Oh, this is about Clarke,” Miller realises.

“You told Miller?” Bellamy scowls at Murphy.

Murphy shrugs. “You never said I couldn’t.”

“You are seriously the worst friend of all time.”

“For the record,” Miller says. “You should probably just tell her you like her. There’s a good chance she likes you too.”

“There is no fucking way.”

The gel is still holding his hair well by the time Bellamy gets home, but by then he’s kind of forgotten about it. No one had even noticed his new hairstyle other than Miller and Murphy, much to Murphy’s annoyance.

Clarke, however, does notice.

He gets home from work, kicks his shoes off by the door (a habit which Clarke is constantly hassling him about), then collapses onto the couch. Clarke gets home a few minutes later, and stops dead when she sees him. She raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Bellamy says. Then he remembers the hair. “Oh.” He runs a hand over his slicked back hair.

“Trying something new?” Clarke asks delicately. She walks over and joins him on the couch. Of course, Bellamy takes up a large portion of it, large and sprawled out as he is, but Clarke tucks herself into the corner, managing not to touch him at all. Which is fine. He doesn’t want her to touch him if she’s that repulsed by him.

Bellamy snorts. “Murphy dared me to do it. I used to wear my hair like this in my early twenties. Wish someone had punched me in the face for it.”

Clarke laughs, light and tinkly. Bellamy grins. He loves her laugh, and her smile, and that little beauty mark above her lip. He wants to press his lips against it, kiss her smile, swallow her laugh. He pushes down the desire. It’s a ridiculous fantasy.

Clarke reaches out to touch his hair, and he eyes her warily.

“It’s very hard,” she says as she pulls her hand away.

“That would be the gel.”

“I admit, it’s not a great look. I like you much better with your curls. You can’t run your fingers through gelled hair.”

Bellamy flushes, trying not to imagine Clarke running her fingers through his hair. He rubs his hand over his head again. “It’s getting too long,” he says, pretending like her last comment hadn’t affected him in the slightest. “I should get it cut.”

“I could do it,” Clarke says. She sounds almost eager. “I’ll wash your hair and cut it.”

God. Bellamy hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. Why does the thought of her washing his hair feel so intimate? Too intimate. He can’t let her do that, he’d never recover.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says.

“Come on,” Clarke says with a smirk. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Bellamy chews his lip. “No.” He swears he sees her flinch. Her smile drops. “Thanks, though,” he says.

“Okay,” Clarke shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She pulls her phone out, holds it up, and snaps a picture of him.

“Hey!”

Clarke grins. “Sorry. I never want to forget this.”

“Have you told her yet?”

“Fuck off, Murphy.”

The bartender hands Bellamy his drink, and Bellamy takes a long sip. He’s so not drunk enough to deal with Murphy right now. The bartender places a second drink on the bar; a cocktail Bellamy had ordered for Clarke, then turns to Murphy. He’s been relatively free of Murphy’s “dares” since the hair incident four days ago, and he’s starting to hope Murphy has forgotten about the whole thing.

“I’ll have a whiskey and coke,” Murphy says. “But can you also put some pineapple juice in there? And some Midori.”

“What the fuck? That sounds awful,” Bellamy grimaces. The bartender also doesn’t look impressed with the order, but he starts making it anyway.

“It’s not for me, it’s for you,” Murphy smirks. “Your new drink order for tonight. Or else, well, you know what happens.”

Ah. Bellamy should have known it was too good to be true.

“You can’t seriously expect me to drink that.”

Murphy shrugs. He takes the beer from Bellamy’s hand. “I’ll have this. If you don’t want your drink, I guess I’ll just have to tell Clarke—”

“Fine,” Bellamy cuts him off. “But just know that I hate you.”

The bartender puts Bellamy’s new drink in front of him.

“I’m not paying for it, by the way,” Murphy says, and then he stalks off to the booth where the rest of their friends are sitting. Bellamy sighs, picking up his drink and Clarke’s, and following Murphy over to the table.

Murphy has taken the spot next to Raven where Bellamy was sitting before, leaving Bellamy to slide in next to Clarke. He places her drink in front of her, and tries to leave as much room between him and Clarke that he can. Which isn’t much, otherwise he’ll be hanging off the seat. Monty and Jasper round out the table of six.

Bellamy can feel Murphy watching him, so he takes a sip of his drink. He almost chokes on it, but manages to swallow. It’s awful. Safe to say he won’t be getting drunk tonight as planned. Clarke, on the other hand sucks on her straw eagerly, downing almost half her cocktail with the first sip.

Bellamy eyes her with amusement. “Thirsty?”

Clarke shrugs. “I just feel like getting drunk and forgetting about my problems for a while.”

“Your problems?” he repeats, surprised. She hasn’t told him about any problems. Not that they tell each other everything, but she normally doesn’t mind venting to him now and again when she’s frustrated with work or her mom or whatever. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Clarke screws up her mouth. “It’s just—boy problems.”

“Oh. You can still talk to me about that. Unless you prefer to talk about it with your girlfriends or whatever.”

Clarke considers him. “You really want to know?”

Bellamy nods. “’Course.” He can totally listen to her mope over somebody else. He’s mature. He can deal with the girl he’s in love with being in love with someone who’s not him.

“It’s just—I like somebody. Like, a lot. A lot, a lot. For a long time now. And sometimes, lately, I think he might like me too. But every time I try to kind of—make a move, he shuts me down.”

“That sucks.” He’s not jealous. He’s totally not jealous.

“No kidding. Any advice?”

“Have you tried just telling him you like him?”

“No,” Clarke scoffs. “I’d literally rather die.” Bellamy relates to that.

“Sorry,” Bellamy says apologetically. “I guess I’m shitty at relationship advice.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke smiles. “I’m used to suffering in silence by now. What about you? Any romantic prospects on the horizon?”

“Hardly,” Bellamy snorts. “As if anyone would want me.”

“Yeah, right,” Clarke laughs, like she thinks he’s joking. Or maybe she just doesn’t know what to say, because she knows he’s right but doesn’t want to be mean. She downs the rest of her cocktail. “I’m getting another drink, you want something?”

Bellamy glances at his still full drink, then across the table to Murphy, who is deep in conversation with Raven. Still, he can’t take the chance that Murphy won’t notice he’s not drinking his assigned drink and decide to blurt out his feeling for Clarke.

“I’m good.” He gets up so Clarke can get out, then sits back down, allowing himself to relax, and take up as much space as he needs while she’s at the bar. He watches her though. Watches as some tall, thin, stupidly handsome guy comes up to her, and starts obviously flirting with her.

Clarke smiles. Ducks her head as she laughs at whatever this dude is saying to her. Bellamy’s fist clenches under the table, and his jaw locks. Okay, fine, he’s jealous. How could he not be? Clarke likes fit guys, obviously, like the idiot talking to her now. Like how Bellamy used to look, in his glory days. Not how he looks now, with his squishy belly, and the beard he grew to help hide his slight double chin.

The guy leaves Clarke alone, and Bellamy watches as Clarke downs two shots of what looks like vodka, then picks up her new cocktail and brings it back to the table. This guy she likes must be really be doing a number on her. Bellamy hates him.

He gets up again and Clarke slides back into the booth next to Monty. It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to hit her. She finishes her cocktail, then reaches for Bellamy’s drink. He stops listening to Raven’s bragging and turns to Clarke, meaning to stop her from drinking the horrible concoction, but before he can get a word out, she’s downing the whole thing, as if she doesn’t even notice how bad it tastes.

Bellamy eyes her warily, and Clarke grins at him. “You weren’t going to drink that, right?” she asks, as if that’s what his concern is.

“No.” He shakes his head. She gets up, and before Bellamy can move out of her way, she’s climbing over him, her body pressing against his as she squeezes through. Bellamy sucks in his stomach, barely breathing. She heads for the bar again, not bothering to offer him a drink this time. She comes back with another two cocktails.

She gets sloppy drunk after that, and she seems to have lost all sense of personal space. The gap Bellamy had tried to leave between them is gone, and Clarke is leaning on him like she can’t hold herself up. It’s nice, he can’t deny it’s nice. Something he could get used to. But it means nothing.

She babbles a lot when she’s drunk. No one else can get more than a sentence out before Clarke is interrupting to ask a question or go off on a tangent. Raven and Murphy are getting increasingly frustrated with her, but Bellamy just thinks it’s cute. He smirks at Raven’s loud huff when Clarke interrupts her again.

“Clarke, can you shut up for five seconds?” Raven snaps. “I’m in the middle of talking.”

Clarke pokes her tongue out. Mature. “Fine. I’ll just talk to Bellamy. Bellamy wants to talk to me, don’t you, Bell?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Suck up,” Murphy coughs. Bellamy ignores him. He focuses on Clarke, while Raven resumes her story, her voice fading into background noise.

“Why does my head feel so funny?” Clarke whispers.

“I think you’re a little drunk,” Bellamy tells her. She gazes up at him, her eyes trailing across his face.

“You’re so pretty,” she tells him. Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty?”

“Your eyes. And your freckles.” She reaches out and starts tracing over them. “Like little stars.”

“You really are drunk.”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“I told you,” Bellamy shrugs. “No one wants me.”

“You’re so stupid,” Clarke says.

“Thanks.”

“I want to go home.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The other four barely seem to notice as Bellamy helps Clarke to her feet, and the two of them throw out a half-hearted goodbye before heading out to Bellamy’s car. He only got to have one sip of beer and one sip of the god-awful drink, so he’s good to drive.

She’s silent on the drive home, like maybe the buzz from the alcohol is wearing off, and now she’s just tired.

“You okay?” he asks, watching her out the corner of his eye. She shrugs.

“I guess so.”

Bellamy doesn’t push it. He can tell there’s something wrong, but if she doesn’t want to tell him, he can’t make her. She seems dejected as they walk inside, and Clarke heads to her room while Bellamy goes to the bathroom. He intends to go straight to bed after that, but Clarke’s bedroom door is open and the light is on, and he stops in the doorway. She’s in bed, looking at him with her big, sad eyes.

“Everything okay?”

“My bed’s too big and empty. Will you come and hold me?” she croaks out.

Bellamy feels his heart squeeze. He wants to hold her. But he doesn’t want to be some replacement for some other guy. She’s just drunk and lonely. If he were a better friend, he’d be there for her anyway. But whatever she has in her mind won’t be the reality. It won’t make her feel better. It will just be awkward and uncomfortable, the two of them lying there, him probably half smothering her, while she tries to think of a way to tell him she changed her mind without offending him.

“You don’t want that,” Bellamy says.

“Okay,” Clarke says softly. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

Murphy comes barging into the apartment the next morning, his expression all too smug. Clarke is still in bed, probably nursing a hangover, and Bellamy has only just taken his first sip of coffee.

“Do you have a key for this place or something?” Bellamy groans as Murphy strides into the kitchen.

“Hurry up,” Murphy says. “Your appointment is in fifteen minutes.”

“Appointment?”

“Your tattoo appointment.”

“No.”

Murphy’s grin widens. “Yes.”

Bellamy groans. It’s not that he’s opposed to getting a tattoo. He already has a couple. But he just knows that whatever Murphy is going to make him get is going to be either ugly, or embarrassing, or both.

“You’re taking it too far,” Bellamy says.

“Desperate times and all that jazz.”

“I’m not getting a tattoo.”

“You don’t even know what I want you to get.”

“What do you want me to get?”

“A cowboy—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t want to know the rest.”

“Fine,” Murphy says. “Where’s Clarke?”

“She’s in bed, don’t wake her up.”

“You don’t believe I’ll really do it.”

“Not really, no.”

Murphy’s smile borders on maniacal. He turns and walks out of the kitchen. Bellamy’s heart skips a beat, and his cavalier attitude is replaced with panic.

“Murphy!” Bellamy calls after him. Fuck. He races after Murphy and tackles him to the ground, Murphy letting out a surprised yelp as he hits the ground.

“Shit, Bellamy!” Murphy gasps. “Let me go.”

“Promise you won’t tell her.”

“No. What are you going to do, hold me here forever?”

“If I have to.”

Murphy struggles, trying to get free, but he’s no match for Bellamy’s strength. Murphy goes limp again, defeated.

“Do you give in?”

“No.”

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Clarke groans, her voice hoarse. Bellamy and Murphy both look up.

“Practicing,” Bellamy blurts out.

“What the fuck are we practicing?” Murphy says.

“Shut up,” Bellamy growls.

“Clarke,” Murphy says. Bellamy has the strong urge to wrap his hands around Murphy’s throat and choke the life out of him. “Bellamy’s in love with you.”

“I’m not,” Bellamy says quickly, but his face is hot, and he can’t look at her.

“He is,” Murphy says. “He’s in love with you and he won’t tell you because he thinks he’s not good enough for you and I’ve been making him do stupid shit like gel his hair in exchange for not telling you. But I know you love him too.”

Bellamy’s eyes snap to Clarke’s. She’s beet red. She looks away as soon as Bellamy’s eyes meet hers.

“Will you let me go now?” Murphy groans. Bellamy snorts. No point holding Murphy down now that the secret it out. He releases Murphy and gets to his feet.

“Get lost, Murphy,” Bellamy says. He’s got to smooth things over with Clarke, and he can’t do it with Murphy skulking around. Murphy doesn’t say another word, just slinks out of the apartment quietly.

Bellamy looks to Clarke. He’s breathing heavy, though it hadn’t really been much of an effort to hold Murphy down.

“Sorry about him,” Bellamy says as soon as Murphy is gone.

Clarke swallows. “Is it true? What he said?”

“That I’m in love with you, you mean?” Bellamy says, a little bitterly.

“That you don’t think you’re good enough for me.”

“Of course I’m not. Why do you think I never said anything before now? I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know you could never see me like that.”

“How could you think that?” Clarke says, her voice wavering.

“Please, Clarke,” Bellamy snorts. “Look at you. And look at me. It’s obvious. Why would you want to touch me? Don’t I repulse you?” Bellamy snorts.

“Repulse me? Bellamy, I’ve been trying to get you into bed with me for months.”

Bellamy frowns. “Why?”

“Are you kidding? I’m obviously stupidly in love with you.”

Bellamy’s breath catches, and he stares at her, barely comprehending. “You—what?”

“I’m in love with you.”

Bellamy still doesn’t get it. “No, you’re not.”

Clarke huffs in frustration. “I think I know what I feel, Bellamy. Why are you so sure I don’t?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy pleads with her. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. You could have literally anyone you want.”

“But I want you. I think you’re beautiful too.”

Bellamy scoffs. “You’ve never seen me without a shirt.”

“What, you have Lord Voldemort under there or something?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what it is.”

“Seriously, Bellamy. What is it? You know you’re hot, right? Like, really, really hot.”

“I’m not. Maybe ten years ago I was hot. But now I’m just—”

“What?”

He shrugs. “Fat.”

“Fat?”

Bellamy can’t meet her eye. It’s embarrassing to admit that it matters to him. That he’s insecure about his weight, about his body, his looks. It feels unmanly.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says softly, stepping towards him. “Look at me.” He does, reluctantly. “You’re not fat just because you don’t have a six pack like you did when you were twenty-five. And god, even if you were, do you think that would make me not love you? Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“No, god no,” Bellamy says. “I don’t think you’re shallow. I just—I want you to be with someone you can be proud of. Who won’t make you look bad. If—if we were together, everyone would judge you. They’d wonder why the fuck you’re with me.”

“I am proud of you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” Clarke says, her voice even softer now. She stands toe to toe with him, looking up at him with stars in her eyes. Like she thinks he’s worthy of her or something. “And to tell you the truth,” she continues. “I kind of like that you’re not all hard and bony. Who wants to cuddle with someone like that?”

“You want to cuddle me?”

She flushes. “Have I not made that embarrassingly clear?”

“You really love me?” Bellamy whispers, his voice cracking. He’s still in denial.

“I really love you.” She reaches for him, hesitantly, watching him cautiously, like she thinks he’s going to run at any moment. He doesn’t stop her when she puts her hands on his chest. She slowly closes her eyes as she tilts her head up, and presses her lips against his. Bellamy’s eyes snap shut when she makes contact. His heart flutters.

Her lips are so soft it could almost be a dream. But then she fists his hands in his shirt and kisses him harder, and he knows it’s real. He opens his mouth, kissing her back, meeting her tongue with his. His hands grip her waist. Kissing her isn’t like kissing anyone else. It’s overwhelming, and passionate, yet it soothes him at the same time, makes him feel at peace.

She pulls away first, but she keeps her hands on his chest, and she doesn’t try to extricate herself from his arms.

“Do you believe me yet?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Bellamy whispers. “It’s just—even if you think you love me now, even if you do love me now… once you realise how out of my league you are, it will be over. And I couldn’t bear it if that happened.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Bellamy, I couldn’t stand it if I lost you. It’s why I never told you how I felt before, in case it freaked you out and it ruined our friendship. But I want you too much to let this go. You’re kind of it for me, you know?”

“I don’t know, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “I want you too, believe me I do. But—I’m scared.”

“Let me take you on a date,” she says. “Please.”

Bellamy hesitates. “Okay,” he agrees.

Clarke organises the date. Bellamy is all nerves the whole day beforehand. They’re just going out for dinner, which they’ve done before, just the two of them. But now it means something.

Clarke knocks on his bedroom door. “Bell?” she calls. “Are you ready to go?”

Bellamy swallows. He’s been ready for hours. His stomach is in knots and his palms are all sweaty. He’s really going on a date with Clarke Griffin. It doesn’t seem real.

“Yeah,” he croaks. He opens the door. Clarke smiles at him. Fuck, she looks so beautiful. He wants to tell her, but the words won’t come out.

“Let’s go,” she says. Bellamy nods, and follows Clarke out of the apartment. “It’s not far, I thought we could walk,” she says.

“Okay,” Bellamy says. He really is stimulating conversation tonight. Not.

It’s a mild night, with a light breeze, the kind of weather that always makes him feel nostalgic about something. Clarke’s hand brushes against his as they walk side by side. Once, then twice. On the third time, she slips her hand into his, without breaking conversation, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it does feel natural, and right, but it’s also kind of exhilarating, holding her hand in public. She wants to hold his hand. It’s still kind of unbelievable. But he lets himself enjoy it. He feels himself relaxing with the warm pressure of her hand in his, and her idle chatter as she tells him about her day. They’re friends, and they love each other. What’s more beautiful than that?

His contentment is short lived, however. The waiter that serves them is this movie star handsome, six-foot-something guy with a dazzling smile. Even Bellamy finds him attractive, and he considers himself mostly straight. It’s not really the guy’s looks that bothers Bellamy though, at least, that’s not the only thing. It’s the way he smiles at Clarke as he introduces himself as Gabriel, and leads them to their table. It’s how he addresses all his comments to Clarke, and completely ignores Bellamy, and how everything he says, even the way he tells them the specials, seems to be dripping with flirtation.

Clarke doesn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps she likes the attention. She’s not exactly flirting back, but she’s not discouraging it either. Bellamy clenches his jaw, trying to tell himself it’s nothing. He’s got nothing to be jealous about. Clarke is going home with him tonight.

But he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking how much better Clarke would look with Gabriel. How if she wasn’t here on a date with him, she could go home with Gabriel. Somebody actually in her league.

Bellamy’s mood grows dark, his body tense. Gabriel leaves them to peruse the menus, and Bellamy stares at it steadfastly, the words swimming in front of him. How is this date already a disaster? He’s sure his chance with Clarke is shot to hell already.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks him.

“Fine,” Bellamy says through gritted teeth.

“You’re not.”

Bellamy flicks his eyes up. “Just think Gabriel should do his job instead of flirting with patrons who are clearly on a date with someone else.”

“You think he’s flirting with me?”

“Obviously.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Sorry,” Bellamy mutters. “I just—”

“Don’t,” Clarke stops him. “We can leave if you want. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to be jealous every time you talk to someone hotter than me. I don’t want you feel like you have to placate me.”

“I know you don’t,” Clarke says. “So what do you want? You want to just forget this ever happened? Go back to being friends?”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Me either,” Bellamy says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I want—”

“Yeah?”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” he says. A smile spreads over Clarke’s face. “And I want to feel like I’m worthy of you. I want to love you like you deserve to be loved.”

“Me too,” Clarke whispers. “I want that too.”

Bellamy gives her a shaky smile. “Okay.”

“Okay. You know I love you, right? Only you. Exactly as you are.”

“I love you too. Exactly as you are.”

Clarke blushes, ducking her head. “That’s, uh, the first time you said that yourself. Out loud.”

“It is?”

Clarke nods. “You know, I don’t think I feel like being out anyway. I don’t like being across the table from you. I want you to kiss me and hold me. Let’s go home.”

Bellamy doesn’t argue this time. They walk back home, hand in hand again, and Bellamy can’t stop smiling. When they arrive home, they order in, and Clarke curls up in his arms on the couch, her head on his chest, and Bellamy doesn’t even worry that she’s thinking he’s too fat. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so content in all his life. He’s still nervous about being naked in front of her. But he knows they can take it slow, and he knows she’ll make him feel safe and wanted. And they can work through his insecurities together.

“I love you,” Bellamy whispers into her hair, before kissing the top of her head. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Ditto,” Clarke says. “I guess you should thank Murphy for helping us get our feelings out in the open.”

“I would literally rather do anything other than that.”

#bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #mine

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