#like i want to add onto other posts with my own thoughts and funny quips

[anartistwhowrites]

Ya’ll make talking to people look so easy.

[monomonomagines]

DR2 Boys as Monsters with a Human S/o Part 2

Hello everyone, I’m sorry for my inactivity as of late. My bed broke recently so I’ve had to try to get a new one during Quarantine. However, I finally am able to get one and I come back bearing some good news! Mod Kokichi and I have been fleshing out our monster Au to the point that we have some extra content for the lore of the world and details with the characters and whatever we couldn’t fit into these imagines. Coincidentally, we do plan to also open an AO3 account in order to publish fully fleshed out content for the monsters and lore of the world we’ve made for them once we’re all set up. If anyone is interested in any art or lore that we have ready though, feel free to ask us and we’ll gladly share it with you. Speaking of, we have a place already to post art on our discord so you’re free to join us with this link if you’d like. https://discord.gg/M6TGwd

One more thing I’d like to add though is a warning for Nagito’s part in this. We couldn’t include much romance because of some lore we included with how his disease would work in this universe and with the limited space I couldn’t convey much development with him yet (where he isn’t quite as unhealthy or obsessive) so consider this just your first interaction with him. I promise though on AO3 or in further works he won’t be nearly as twisted as he might com across here. Besides that though, I hope that you all enjoy these. I had a lot of fun with them and will be getting back to other requests and matchups as soon as possible.

Part 2 (Part 1 here) (Part 3 here)

Gundham (Vampire)

By the time you got of work, it was late enough to see the last vestiges of the setting sun disappearing over the horizon, leaving behind nothing more than the chill of twilight.

However, there was nothing to do but to walk home as typical of you when it's still brighter.

As you passed by the familiar buildings, the park, and even a few side streets you began to only think of getting home and into your nice warm bed.

Perhaps it was those thoughts that caused you not to notice the man behind you but by the time he put a hand over your mouth and pulled you into an alley with him, you knew you had made a terrible mistake.

There were no words said as he pushed you up against a wall and buried his face into your neck, penetrating you with his fangs.

So that was it, he was a vampire. It'd be over soon you thought trying to reassure yourself as his inhuman strength overpowered you.

You tried with all your might to hold onto consciousness but alas it was too much. Maybe he was going to drink you dry after all, maybe this was the end for you?

When you awoke with a start those thoughts were still lingering in your mind. You felt so weak and this place, this definitely wasn't your room.

"Ah, you've awoken at last!" Announced that same vampire as he appeared by the side of the plush bed you were laid upon.

At least you assumed as you hadn't gotten to hear his voice. You didn't know what to say to him and at the very same time, plenty of accusations and questions flew from your mouth in his direction causing him to lose that gusto he seemed to have from a moment ago.

It appeared as though he hadn't considered for this to happen and unlike how he had last night he silenced you with his own statement.

"Silence, mortal! You should consider yourself lucky! It is not every day that you are a vampire as well known and feared as the legendary Gundham Tanaka's first victim!"

Proudly laughing he rambles on and on about his supposed grandeur before he finally settles down.

"Now what great power you are speaking to I shall inform you of what is to come as you had begged me earlier. You, mortals, tend to misconstrue what it is we full-blood vampires do with our first victim. We do not kill them, no rather we keep them by our side."

Oh brother. You knew for certain you did not want to stay with this guy and yet you still felt so weak. There was no way you could do much else than rely on him so you had to relent.

However, even though you started as an unwanted guess Gundham seemed to know how to take care of you, always making sure to be so careful.

He didn't seem like other vampires and as you began to talk to him you seemed to realize what had happened to you in actuality. Even if he hadn't realized it himself he slipped up by calling you his first victim.

He wasn't some long-lived legendary Vampire, he was a recently turned one that normally didn't drink from a human directly. You noticed with the way that he'd return with blood bags and never a scratch on him that he wasn't as evil as he seemed.

However, even when you questioned him he insisted on his obviously made up "Old Vampire Ritual" that you two were bound together and that he must take care of you as you two are now in a "symbiotic relationship".

A relationship in which he never actually drank from you instead mostly taking care of you because of that one time he could've killed you. Perhaps that's why you had fallen so hard for this creature of the night?

He was gentle and kind in his own right and every day that passed by ended up making you glad to be here. That's when you knew you had to tell him finally.

One night as he was bringing you dinner you had asked for him to stay and as usual, he listened to your desires sitting by you rather obediently as you two conversed.

"It is not like you to ask of my presence during your meals, mortal. Is there something you wished to say?"

What didn't you want to say? As soon as you could open your mouth all of it began to spill out again, like those questions you asked when you first arrived here.

You knew he wasn't a full-blood, you knew he just felt bad that he almost drained you, and you knew he didn't like drinking directly from someone if they were unwilling! You knew it all but most of all you liked him the way he was. You loved him even and before you could finish your ramble of a confession he had already pressed himself against your lips.

"Oh, how is it that a mortal like you can love a beast such as myself?"

Nagito (Zombie)

Though it was quite impulsive, you had felt implored to walk take a walk in the dead of night.

It was a humid summer night and with your clothes sticking to you and the hum of the ceiling fan relentlessly filling your ears you clearly needed to get a small break.

Grabbing a bag with a few small things such as a flashlight, keys, and whatever else you could possibly need during a night stroll you soon departed, forgetting just why it was so risky to leave your home.

As you continued on your stroll to the next block you happened upon the local graveyard which was always stirring with life, at least that's what you had heard.

Perhaps it was the humidity or the lack of sleep making you feel so careless but rather than heading back home you decided to approach the gates of the cemetery when a gloved hand came to press itself over your mouth.

"Don't scream, I just want to talk." A raspy voice whispers lowly into your ear causing panic to shoot through your body.

With your bag still in hand, you easily shake the offender off, swinging your bag at him as your eyes shut in fear. However, instead of any pained sound, all you hear is a sigh and multiple things hitting the ground.

Despite your head screaming at you to disregard that and run though you instead put on a brave face and open your eyes, noticing that he was now missing his arm and head.

"Ah man, this is so embarrassing," he starts only awkwardly scratching the back of his head with his free hand, "you wouldn't be able to uh, hand me my head would you?"

Wait, he's a zombie, isn't he!? He'll just try to bite you!

Even with your protests though he doesn't bat an eye only negotiating with you instead. "I know it sounds like I just want to bite you but I swear I won't. If it makes you feel better you can even grab me by my hair. There's no way I can bite you that way, right?"

Despite the position he was in, he still seemed fully capable of quipping at you so you relented. What harm will come from this guy if you can knock most of his limbs off with one swing?

Dropping your bag to the ground you tentatively grab his head by the hair watching as his expression doesn't change despite the tug on his scalp as you hand it over to his body.

To your surprise, he grabs himself the same way and somehow easily reattaches the head with his one arm intact. This must happen quite a lot for him to be so unfazed even with only one arm.

"Thanks again! You wouldn't mind tossing my hand over here too would you?"

He asks with a relaxed smile on his face. He didn't move towards you at all, seeming to wait for you to answer as you looked over and saw that gloved hand now laying by your bag.

He didn't seem dangerous but before you could find it in yourself to give him back all of his limbs you needed to know why he grabbed you earlier.

"Oh, that? Well, to be honest, I was trying to warn you about the graveyard. Tonights a full moon and it's when a lot of the more violent zombies and other monsters come out. That's why I didn't want you to scream either if you had well, you'd be found and eaten immediately."

But then why wasn't he attacking you or trying to eat you? You wanted to question him more but for the most part, his answer was vague.

"Well, I don't want to eat you. How about instead you toss me my hand and I'll walk you home? That's fair isn't it?"

You couldn't disagree, it did seem fair but you certainly hadn't expected this development in the slightest. It might not have been too uncommon for someone to escort you home but a zombie was surprising.

You braced yourself, grabbing ahold of the purely skeletal hand and glove as you tossed them over to him. Now with another question to ask. Was the glove to cover this?

"That actually has to do with how I got to be a zombie. It's a funny story since I'm pretty lucky but I was born with a disease that causes your brain to deteriorate. I wasn't supposed to live long and no matter what doctor I went to, none of them could do anything."

So why was his hand like this then? Did he already start decaying? Despite just meeting, he seemed intent on sharing his story with you as he gave you an awkward smile and continued.

"No one could cure me so I decided to take a risk. As a human still I sought out a Witch Doctor and ironically the only way to save me so that I could accomplish my goals was to kill me."

Popping his hand on with a satisfied look on his face he smiled at you.

"It's ironic but even with the ritual, I got lucky! She needed something as a sort of sacrifice I guess so she needed my hand or at least the flesh from it. I'll admit it was pretty painful since I was still alive but even then it seemed that it was destined to happen. A rare occurrence happened in which my hand was still intact and strong enough not to snap either! It was a miracle that the witch said must have been because the demons or dark gods had chosen me! Amazing isn't it?"

He puts his glove back on, looking at the hand fondly as you went silent. That was supposed to be amazing? Didn't he still die? What about his family and friends?

Despite your questions, his expression didn't falter as he calmly explained he had none. No friends and no family to come to his funeral. He died alone and seemed unfazed.

"That's enough about me though, we should be getting you home now."

Sure enough, he was right, however, something seemed off. How was it that he knew the way to your house? Even when you questioned him though he seemed so nonchalant.

"I know because you fill me with hope," he says expression growing dark, "I know from the way you walk to the way you talk, to the way you even eat your meals that you are what I need. It was such great luck for you to walk by tonight where I could talk to you where I can finally tell you how I feel."

Pinning you to a nearby wall he smiles as he asks you too frozen by fear to scream, "Did you think that any zombie would be so harmless? My goal is to bring hope to the world and in order to do so, I need you. You awaken the purest hope sleeping inside of me and for that, I can never let you go."

Before you can respond to his delusions he presses his lips to your own and that was the last of what you could remember when you woke up in your bed.

It was just a dream, it had to be you thought, but when you opened that bag and found a note in it you knew immediately that it was all true. You were being stalked by a Zombie of all things.

Kazuichi (Gorgon)

You were going on a jog through the nearby park in the evening when you chanced upon a figure in the distance.

Although you only saw their back, they were dressed in the brightest jumpsuit you'd ever seen. They definitely couldn't be up to anything shady in such an ostentatious outfit, you thought, so you called out to them as you drew closer.

As soon as your words pierced their ears they perked up immediately running over to grab onto you sobbing about how he got "left behind," when suddenly he froze.

"Wa-wait you're not a..." letting go and backing up from you like you had the plague you noticed why he was freaking out. You definitely weren't a monster and he definitely was.

The two of you ended up screaming from the shock as the monster clumsily ran in the opposite direction, tripping over the roots of an overgrown tree and falling with a sickening snap.

You couldn't leave him like this. Even as you approached he seemed scared out of his wits, wincing away as you tried to help lift him up.

"Please don't hurt me! Please don't kill me I...I beg of you! I'll do whatever you say!" He cries out between sobs, not realizing that you are just trying to help him out.

However, he was struggling far too much to help him either so you had no choice but to sit yourself down and reassure him.

"But how can I even know you're telling the truth!? What if you're just going to kill me later?" Despite his sobbing finally melting into mere shaky breathes he looks at you with nothing more than distrust as he tosses accusations around.

He might not believe you but at least he isn't thrashing about like a caged animal. This time promising, not to hurt him, you help him up allowing him to lean on you as he winces in pain.

"Shit, I think...I think I really hurt my ankle. It hurts just to stand!"

Though he had acted so high and mighty a moment ago, he instantly melts into your touch, letting you do most of the work as you walk to your house.

There was no way to transport him anywhere else without some basic medical attention at least. An idea that he wouldn't have taken kindly to if not from being so exhausted from your interactions in the forest.

Struggling to get your key out of your pocket with him leaning on you, you manage to open the door and lead him to your couch so that he could rest.

Turning so that you close the door behind you two, you hear him speak up once again.

"Hey uh...about before and all, I don't normally act so, so lame. I'm normally a lot cooler than that and-" You held back a sigh, cutting off his lame excuses by telling him that you understand.

A heavy silence fell over the two of you, thicker than the uneasy tension in the air as you began to tend to his ankle.

Occasionally shooting an uneasy glance in your direction, he once again opens his mouth trying to say something only to close it again.

You really hadn't expected to encounter such a cowardly and awkward monster and yet here you were with one sat on your couch as you ended to his ankle with an air of uncertainty around the two of you.

This time, you spoke up, trying to get anything to rid you of the heavy feeling in the air as you spoke. Besides, you did have your own questions that you wanted to be answered.

For example, what exactly is he? You knew he wasn't human but with his beanie on all you could tell was that he had greenish skin and snakelike eyes.

"Oh, that? I'm...a Gorgon," he responds, rather awkwardly as he reluctantly pulls off his beanie to reveal bright pink snakes that contrast his green skin.

Cringing as you let out a gasp he prepares for you to laugh but instead is met with the exact opposite. Did you call him cool looking? He, he was cool to you?

Feeling pride swell within him he smiles at you, the awkward air finally for a moment. A moment that certainly did not last long as one of his own snakes bit him.

"Shit! The hat where's my hat!?" He exclaims, patting the arm of the couch for it when you notice how it fell out of his reach as more snakes readied to sink their teeth into his face.

Running over to grab the beanie you hand it to him as he quickly contains his snakes that let out an audible hiss of disapproval. "Argh, they always do this but uh thanks. I must seem pretty lame right now though huh?"  

Seeming down already from the altercation with his snakes you assure him that he's not lame although you do wonder why they dislike him so much.

"Well, they've never got along with me since animals don't really like me at all but they started getting really violent after I learned magic to dye them pink."

He learned magic to make them pink? That was incredible, you mentioned, praising him and causing a small blush to coat his cheeks.

"Yeah, I learned from a friend of mine. She's a lich actually so it isn't really an impressive spell for her but I guess it is kinda cool that I could learn it, huh?"

Agreeing with him that it is indeed pretty cool that he could learn magic, you soon finished with his ankle.

However, even as you finished you both continued to talk throughout the night. Talking about his weird Turned Vampire Rival, and his Alien soul bro, and other fun topics.

You didn't realize it but it must have been so much fun that you eventually fell asleep beside him because you woke up still situated on the couch. However, when you looked over Kazuichi was gone.

It was if it all was a dream or so you thought until that same awkward Gorgon appeared on your doorstep in the middle of the night days later.

Seeming nervous as usual he gave you a small smile. "Hey, S/o, yah mind if I come in?"

Despite your sleepy daze, you nodded as you led him to the same couch that you had fallen asleep on after talking to him for the whole night and took your own place next to him.

Per usual he was fidgety and nervous but you did notice one thing different about him. Unlike the last time, you saw him he had a one snake peeking out from his hat that was happily swaying as you sat next to him.

Following your gaze on the little guy, he began to blush again as he stammered an apology. "Sorry, I guess Lugnut is just really happy to see you again. I don't always tuck him in because he's the only one that can stand me, at least most days. When we met last time he hissed at me in the morning so I kinda just tucked him with the rest."

Scratching his head he waits for a response as you just stare at him in disbelief. Did he just call his snake Lugnut? Did he really name them all like that?

"D-don't look at me like that! I have to call them something to tell the difference between them!" He whines as you let out a laugh now that your initial shock wore off.

"It's not funny! I told ya I needed to be able to tell the difference!" He protests again, only forgiving you once you apologize for all the laughter.

"Great, now that you're done laughing and all I did actually have something I wanted to say." He states as his hat begins to visibly move.

"I...I wanted to thank you for last time. I know I acted like I didn't trust you the whole time and that I disappeared even though I was hurt but I really like you."

He stops to take a deep breath as Lugnut begins to move around excitedly. "I know this is really fast but it's just that no one has ever called me cool the way you do, or listen to me really, or let me go on about what I like and, and I want to keep being able to!" he announces, never faltering as he looked you in the eyes.

"Even if you say no, I want to keep coming over and talking to you like we did the other night so will you let me come over again?"

[carewyncromwell]

Fluff Alphabet: Carewyn/???

Okay, so I was tagged by @cursebreakerfarrier, @montaguehphm, AND @lins-hogwarts-mystery for this...but I have two current possible end-game ships for my girl, Carewyn Cromwell -- Carewyn/Chiara and Carewyn/Diego.

So I’m going to split it up like this -- italics will be for Carewyn/Chiara, bold will be for Carewyn/Diego. Maybe you guys can reply to this post with your thoughts about which ship you favor, after reading these over? LOL XDD

Tagging @thehogwartscursebakers​, @dat-silvers-girl​, @angellazull​, @samshogwarts​, @ariparri​, @hphm-brooke​ @drinkyoursoupbitch​ and any other HPHM players who wants to do this for their MC ships and hasn’t gotten tagged yet! xoxo

A: Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Carewyn has always been enamored of Chiara’s modesty, passion for Healing, patience, and unwavering kindness. Carewyn constantly feels like she has to work at being kind and forgiving, and it’s something that comes so easily to Chiara, even despite her horrible lot in life, and Carewyn loves that about her. Chiara was first attracted to Carewyn’s strong compassion, but later also fell in love with her courage and determination. Plus she also thinks she’s really friggin’ pretty and she can’t stop looking at her mouth whenever she’s talking *blush*. XD

Carewyn loves how steadfast Diego is, once he’s set his mind to something. Even though he seems like a flaky flirt, he’s actually very loyal to the people he cares about. Carewyn also loves how much fun he is to be around, and surprisingly -- even though she finds his flirting hilarious rather than swoon-worthy -- she does like Diego’s more sincerely romantic, sentimental side, such as when he wears one of her earrings so he can feel like she’s closer to him while they’re apart, or when he calls in to request a song for her on the Wizarding Wireless Network while she’s at work. Diego was first interested in getting to know Carewyn because he’d heard she was an amazing duelist (which he’ll always find hot as all get-out), and of course he thought she was rather pretty -- but what he actually finds most attractive about Carewyn isn’t her talent or her courage, but her laugh. Carewyn’s prone to mask her emotions a lot and she usually covers her mouth to try to hold in her laughter -- but Diego loves nothing more than when usually super-serious Carewyn is so happy that her cheeks flush pink, her sparkling eyes flutter closed, and she just cannot stop giggling.

B: Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Chiara is intimidated by the thought of having a family because of her lycanthropy. Carewyn doesn’t want biological children, and is very happy simply caring for her adopted “son,” Erik Apollo.

Diego would like a family, but isn’t picky about what kind. He’s perfectly content with treating Carewyn’s ward Erik as his son, since Carewyn doesn’t want to bear children of her own. He’s also dotes on his friends’ kids just as much as Carewyn does.

C: Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Chiara really likes cuddling my poor touch-starved child, but is very shy about initiating any kind of intimacy, since she knows she gets more out of cuddling and sex than asexual!Carewyn. Fortunately Carewyn can usually sense when Chiara really desires closeness and so will often initiate cuddle time for her. When the two do cuddle, it usually consists of either Carewyn sleeping behind Chiara with her arm around her waist and her head on her shoulder, or with the two leaning against each other and holding hands in one of their respective laps.

Diego LOVES cuddling, but is aware of Carewyn’s lessened interest in it, so he tries to find creative ways for them to be close without cuddling frequently. Since Carewyn likes holding his arm when they’re in public, Diego adds onto that by resting his hand on top of hers holding his arm. If Carewyn’s holding his wrist, Diego will twist his arm around to hold hers in return, rubbing his thumb lightly along her skin.

D: Dates (What are dates with them?)

Concerts! Chiara and Carewyn love going to concerts together -- they always dress to impress and always go out of their way to get matching concert tees. The best concert they’ve been to so far was for Prince, but they also have gone to see artists like Queen and the Cure live. Besides that, they actually spend a lot of dates at home, sitting under the blankets reading books together. One of Chiara’s favorite memories is Carewyn reading Mr. Darcy’s romantic monologue from the end of Pride and Prejudice aloud for the first time -- when she’d finished, Chiara couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward, bringing a hand up to Carewyn’s face to make her look up, and ensnaring her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Around Christmas time, Chiara and Carewyn like taking turns reading A Christmas Carol aloud to each other.

The obvious one is dancing. Diego LOVES finding an excuse to dance with Carewyn, whether by taking her to a small nightclub, by signing them up for a dance class, or just by turning on the radio while they’re home alone and twirling her around the kitchen. One of the most fun classes they took was for ballroom dance -- Carewyn wore one of her prettiest, flowiest dresses and when they danced together, Diego felt like he was in an old Hollywood movie musical. Besides dancing, though, Diego and Carewyn also go to the movie theater and watch movies at home a lot. Carewyn’s favorite type of movies are musicals, period dramas and detective stories, while Diego’s favorite genres are musicals, action movies, and chick flicks (yes, really -- he cries so hard watching The Notebook).

E: Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

Carewyn to Chiara: “You are my sanctuary.”

Chiara to Carewyn: “You are my courage.”

Carewyn to Diego: “You are my sunshine.”

Diego to Carewyn: “You are my inspiration.”

F: Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Chiara knew she was in love with Carewyn the moment she saw Carewyn first transform into a robin so she could stay with her and keep her company during the next full moon. The fact that Carewyn had put in so much effort and work, all for her, moved Chiara so much that, when she returned to her dorm after that full moon, her eyes flooded with tears just thinking about it.

Carewyn knew she was in love with Chiara the moment that Chiara took hold of Carewyn’s face in both hands, holding it as she leaned in close and whispered in a voice fiercer than Carewyn had ever heard her use before that she didn’t care how much Carewyn hated herself, that she -- Chiara -- would love her until Carewyn could love herself. That day had been one of the worst for Carewyn after Rowan’s death -- she’d disappeared for almost an entire day and had only just reemerged, ending up in a crying clump on the ground with Bill, Charlie, Ben, and Merula, and Chiara had arrived with Talbott and a few others behind her, racing straight to Carewyn’s side. Her unconditional support and passion with which she spoke touched Carewyn more than she could ever hope to express.

Diego knew he was in love with Carewyn when he stood side by side with her before the Circle of Khanna’s final battle with R. She’d been standing alone, dressed in robes worthy of a general, and Diego had approached her, asking if she was all right. They talked for a while, before Diego gave one of his usual “charming” quips -- and Carewyn just started laughing. She laughed harder than Diego had ever heard her laugh before. Diego smiled, dumbfounded, asking if he was really that funny; Carewyn finally managed to rein in her amusement and, through a fond smile, reached up, gave Diego a light platonic kiss to the cheek, and thanked him. “I was terrified, looking out at everything,” she’d said. “It was...overwhelming. But you reminded me why I’m doing this at all -- because you all are worth any risk. So I can love you more strongly than I could ever fear anything.” As she said it, the sunrise behind her made a crown-like halo of sunshine around her head -- and in that moment, Diego knew he was lost.

Carewyn knew she was in love with Diego when he finally, finally manged to beat her in a duel one day. Even though she’s much more mature than when she was a kid, Carewyn has always been a rather sore loser, berating herself whenever she falls short, and so as she rose to her feet, there was a noticeable drop of her head and weight on her shoulders. Rather than gloat, Diego immediately rushed over to Carewyn, gushing over her technique at the top of his lungs as he led her away from everyone else. Once the bystanders were out of earshot, Diego asked Carewyn if she’d sing something for him. Carewyn was startled by the request -- Diego explained that Carewyn always looked so happy and free whenever she sang, and in that moment, he couldn’t bear to see “his General” hang her head. Carewyn settled on “Angel,” a song by her favorite band, the Eurythmics. She sang it softly so only the two of them could hear it as they walked side by side...and after a while, she caught the sound of Diego lowly singing the chorus (“Angel, my angel...fly over me...Angel...”) along with her. She looked into his dark eyes, saw his full, delighted smile...and she knew.

G: Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Chiara and Carewyn are both the EPITOME of gentle, the first because she’s a shy Healer, the second because she’s a total empath. Whenever they’re ever actually physically intimate, Chiara and Carewyn usually caress and hold each other’s faces a lot and trail their hands through each other’s hair.

Carewyn is gentle, yeah, but amusingly, Diego is also an absolute friggin’ gentleman. When Carewyn can’t reach something, Diego will sometimes offer to physically lift her so she can get it, and he always holds her waist with both the strength and gentleness of a male figure skater.

H: Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Chiara loves interlacing her fingers with Carewyn’s while they’re holding hands, whenever appropriate. She likes being able to feel Carewyn’s pulse when the inside of their wrists are touching.

Carewyn will frequently hold onto Diego’s arm, so Diego often holds Carewyn’s hand holding his arm. He likes to rub his thumb affectionately over the back of her hand.

I: Impression (What was their first impression?)

Carewyn of Chiara: ‘She seems so...lonely.’

Chiara of Carewyn: ‘Why is she looking at me like that? It’s like...she can see through me...’

Carewyn of Diego: ‘...Is he for real?’

Diego of Carewyn: ‘Such a lovely smile, and yet...such closed eyes. I wonder what’s behind those eyes.’

J: Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Chiara isn’t jealous, exactly, but she does frequently doubt herself and lament that Carewyn deserves someone better than her -- someone who isn’t a werewolf and wouldn’t have the potential of hurting her or damaging her reputation at the Ministry. It’s more that she becomes depressed and hopeless at the thought of Carewyn with other people, rather than territorial.

Diego does get jealous. He’s very aware of how much Carewyn attracts others around her, and although most of the time he’s a pretty chill dude, he hates it when other men flirt with Carewyn. He’s cool with Carewyn’s relationships with people like Bill, Charlie, and Talbott, since he knows that the love Carewyn feels for them is strictly platonic -- but when someone he doesn’t know tries to make a move on Carewyn, he can’t help himself from asserting himself a bit and making it clear that she’s taken. Fortunately Carewyn, being the incredibly monogamous sort she is, is usually able to soothe Diego’s concerns, either by introducing Diego to the person properly or by likewise making her relationship status clear by introducing Diego as her boyfriend and/or kissing his cheek.

(In both cases, Carewyn is remarkably unfazed by jealousy. Once she makes a commitment, she’s in it for the long haul, and she expects nothing less from her respective partner. As long as you love her and she loves you, that’s all that matters. But if you give her real cause to doubt you, such as you having a romantic affair with someone else, that’s it, you’re out of her life. No forgiveness.)

K: Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Carewyn initiated the first kiss, which was very short and chaste. Chiara froze like a deer in the headlights, but after she finally recovered herself and the two hashed out their feelings a bit, she rather clumsily moved in and kissed Carewyn herself much more fully. Since she knows Carewyn prefers short kisses to long ones (since Carewyn likes to look at her partner’s face to see their reaction and keeping your eyes open during long kisses gets uncomfortable), Chiara tries to keep most of her kisses rather chaste, only dipping into deep kisses when she’s feeling particularly affectionate or turned on. When they do kiss, though, it’s usually always on the lips, except for when one of them has to wake up before the other to go to work and they kiss each other on the forehead before heading out.

Diego initiated the first kiss after asking through a charming smile if Carewyn would slap him if he did. (She laughed quietly before assuring him she wouldn’t.) Since Carewyn’s less physically affectionate than him, Diego tries to get creative with his kisses, just like he does his cuddling. Sometimes he’ll ask Carewyn for a kiss, and when she moves in to kiss him on the lips or cheek, he’ll kiss her nose instead. He also loves kissing her hands, whether a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand or a more sensual one to her palm while they’re more intimate.

L: Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Although the two women suspected each other’s feelings for a long while beforehand, Carewyn said the actual words aloud first. "...I realize that...neither of us is very good, when it comes to admitting these sorts of things...but...after everything we’ve been through, I couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t know. My heart is yours, Chiara. It has been for a long time. And it doesn’t matter to me if you want to take the next step with me, or make it official. Just...know that I love you, with everything I am.”

Diego confessed first, after inviting Carewyn to sing some karaoke with him at a local pub. He chose a love duet from a movie musical he and Carewyn had gone out to see with some friends and really enjoyed, and after the two had something of a silent conversation with their eyes the entire time they were singing, Diego offered Carewyn an oddly self-conscious smile as they headed back to their table. “...I wanted to make sure you knew I was serious.” “So you were?” “What? You think I wasn’t?” “It was a little melodramatic.” “Well yes, but -- wasn’t it romantic?” “Yes. It was. ...So you were being serious?” “Yes! Incredibly! ...I love you, Carewyn Cromwell. I have for...well, quite a while, now.”

M: Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Chiara’s favorite memory is when Carewyn first turned into her robin Animagus form to keep her company during the full moon. Carewyn’s favorite is when she first brought Chiara home to her mother Lane at Christmas time, and the two connected instantly.

Diego’s favorite memory is when he first invited Carewyn to dance with him in the Three Broomsticks during OWL season -- he’ll never forget how much his heart grew, seeing her self-conscious smile and flushed face as she sang along to the song being played. Carewyn’s favorite is when they first dueled the troll together -- even years later, she looks back on that day very fondly, as it was when she realized what a truly loyal companion Diego was.

N: Nickel (Do they spoil one another? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Neither Chiara nor Carewyn are the sort to spend a lot of money, but they do always go out of their way to save up and buy each other something really nice every Christmas. Carewyn likes to surprise Chiara with little packages of baked goods that she can take into work, while Chiara loves saving up over the span of several years to buy Carewyn a really nice pair of diamond earrings or something.

Diego loves surprising Carewyn with little tokens of his affection. They usually won’t cost much, but nothing gives him more joy than being able to give Carewyn a gift for no other reason than “I saw this and thought of you!” Carewyn teases Diego for his little “unbirthday” gifts in the beginning, but before long, she’s reciprocating in kind by baking him stuff and leaving sweet little handwritten notes on the fridge and in the pocket of his robes for him to find. Diego always melts into a pile of lovestruck goo whenever he finds one of her notes, even if he’s in the middle of tutoring some rich pureblood family’s kid in Wizard Dueling.

O: Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Carewyn always thinks of Chiara whenever she sees anything silver -- she actually gravitates more toward silver jewelry largely because of her other half. Chiara thinks of Carewyn whenever she sees anything bright blue, like her eyes: Chiara actually mentally dubs any cloudless blue sky as a ‘Care-Blue sky,’ and always feels a spring in her step whenever she sees one.

Carewyn associates Diego with navy blue, not just for the jean jacket he often wore at school, but for her favorite of his dress robes that he wears for work. She always thinks he looks very handsome in them, even if she always has to fix the collar whenever it comes undone. Diego associates the color orange with Carewyn, specifically orange roses, which was one of the first presents he ever gave her when they started dating. When he gave her the single orange rose, he explained that in the language of flowers, they stand for desire, and he associated them with Carewyn not just because of her ginger hair, but because she desires so much from the world and the people around her, and he desires being beside her as long as he can. Carewyn grows an incredible fondness for orange roses over the years, thanks to the many times he’d give her them and even just point them out to her whenever they were out and about.

P: Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Carewyn calls Chiara “Chi.” Chiara calls Carewyn “Care.” Sometimes they’ll also call each other “dear” and “honey.”

Diego calls Carewyn “General” -- a nickname he developed when she first led the Circle of Khanna. Diego also uses many affectionate variations, such as “sweet General,” “fair General,” “dear General” and “my General.” Carewyn calls Diego “Cap,” though she’ll also call Diego “dear” and “love” when she’s feeling particularly affectionate.

Q: Quaint (What is their favorite non-modern thing?)

Chiara finds old-fashioned strap-on roller skates beyond cute. She also loves it when Carewyn wears vintage-style dresses -- they’re always so pretty on her!

Diego likes old-fashioned glass soda bottles. He and Carewyn actually collect them and reuse them as glasses when they’re eating at home.

(In both cases, Carewyn picks records. CD’s are fine, but records have WAY better sound quality, thank you.)

R: Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Carewyn and Chiara read Muggle fiction books aloud together, either in bed or on the couch under a blanket. Some of their favorites that they’ve read together are Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, The Secret Garden, and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Diego and Carewyn watch TV and/or a movie together. Carewyn is a sucker for crime shows, but she will let Diego change the channel so he can watch Days of Our Lives at the proper time.

S: Sad (How do they cheer each other up?)

Chiara reassures Carewyn that she’s there for her and tries to get Carewyn to talk about whatever’s upsetting her, with the thought that she’ll feel better once she vent her feelings properly. Carewyn tends to coddle Chiara, showering her with affection and trying to encourage her enough to tell her what’s wrong and how she can help.

Diego tries to be physically present for Carewyn, when she’s upset. He often won’t broach the subject directly, preferring her to open up on her own if she wants to talk, but wants to make it clear that he’s not going anywhere. Carewyn will likewise coddle Diego.

T: Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Carewyn and Chiara love talking about their respective jobs and coworkers with each other, and they always feed off of each other’s passion for their work. They also talk about music a lot, ranking bands and songs and getting into friendly debates about musical artists they disagree on. When things are more serious, they’ll sometimes talk about the political landscape, too.

Diego's conversations with Carewyn are often aimless and laid-back. Even when Carewyn starts off talking about something serious, they’ll usually banter and drift off so much that the conversation always ends up somewhere completely different than where they started. They can start on a topic like one of Carewyn’s upcoming court cases and end up talking about a new flavor of ice cream at the parlor down the street.

U: Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Chiara and Carewyn both relax when they’re able to sit quietly and comfortably together after a long day.

Carewyn likes when Diego offers to brush her hair. Diego loves when Carewyn offers to give him a neck or back massage.

V: Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Chiara isn’t a show-off at all -- but she does get some secret, giddy satisfaction whenever she can bring Carewyn to St. Mungo’s, not just to show Carewyn where she’s working and what she’s been up to, but also to show off her friggin’ gorgeous girlfriend to her co-workers. Yes, that girl is mine. 83

Diego is a total show-off while dueling, both when Carewyn’s around to watch or not. He also makes it a point to show off Carewyn when they’re in public, especially if she’s dressed to kill.

(In both cases, Carewyn loves showing off any new outfits she’s wearing...and of course, she loves telling everyone about her partner’s achievements.)

W: Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

In both cases, I’m not sure I would have Chiara or Diego propose. Carewyn is actually quite a romantic person, but she’s not huge into the idea of marriage. (Considering how her parents’ marriage turned out, I can’t say I blame her.) I’m more likely to see Carewyn’s happy ending with her respective partner being a domestic partnership or even queerplatonic relationship, over a marriage.

X: Xylophone (What’s their song?)

I actually have aesthetic playlists for both ships! Here’s Chiara/Carewyn, and Diego/Carewyn.

Y: Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Touched on above on “W!”

Z: Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Chiara and Carewyn would have a pair of black and white tuxedo cats named Annie and Johnny Rotten.

Diego and Carewyn would have a golden retriever named Prince and a snowy owl named Evita.

[all1e23]

Swallow [Pt.3]

Chapter: Scorched Hearts

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Old feelings can burn you no matter how deep they are buried. 

Warnings:  Possessive Bucky. Protective Clint. Protective Steve. Angst. Bucky being soft and a little bit of a jerk. He’s a jerk, but a soft jerk.  

A/N:   The long awaited chapter! Sorry, this took so long, but it’s finally here. Not a whole lot of happiness in this chapter, but I hope you still like! Send me love??? 

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

Last night had not gone as anyone had hoped it would. 

Clint assumed getting you and Bucky in the same room would have led to some type of resolution, some sort of admission of love or hate. At this point he would take either, he was so tired of seeing you hurt. After you spent the night avoiding Bucky and then bolted out the front door without so much as a goodbye, Clint realized his usual ‘meddling brother’ antics weren’t going to work.

It wasn’t just Clint that was disappointed with how the night played out. Bucky had been confident it would only take seeing each other once to get the two of you on the road to recovery. That the pull between the two of you was still as strong as ever and you wouldn’t need more than one night to realize all the mistakes you both made. He would apologize and everything would right as rain.

Just like always.

This time was different though, and it wasn’t going to be like before.

Before you showed up that night, Natasha had tried to warn him it wouldn’t be that simple. Not with everything the two of you went through and not after the way you ran, determined to get as far away from him as you could. There wasn’t going to be an easy fix this time around. It wasn’t as if you fought over some run he had to go on or missing a date because of club business. If he wanted you back, it would take more than honeyed whispers in your ear.

Knowing all of that, a part of him still hoped when you finally laid eyes on him again, there would have been some indication that you loved him the way he loved you. All he saw was your naked wrist and all the pain you were trying so desperately to hide from him. You’ve never had to hide from him before, and he didn’t want you to start now.

The only person who knew exactly how last night was going to play out, was you. You knew your night was going to end in whiskey and tears the second you laid eyes on him. The headache and nausea you were feeling this morning were a result of not listening to your gut and staying as far away from the club and Bucky Barnes as you could.

Clint eyed you, humor dancing in his baby blues and a soft chuckle slipping from his lips as you stumbled out of your bedroom towards the coffee pot. You glared at him as you poured yourself a cup and attempted to smooth your hair down with your free hand. 

“Shut up, or I will disown you, brother.”

The loud rumble of a bike grew louder and came to a stop, from the sounds of it they stopped in your driveway. You quirked a brow at your brother who gave you a tentative smile as he set his own coffee cup down.

“I think this one’s for you.” He quipped.

“Me?” You asked. “What do you mean for me?”

“I don’t know, sis.” He replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe something to do with drinking and driving, something like that might piss some people off.” He was still upset about last night, and you were guessing whoever was at the door was too.

You narrowed your eyes at him as a heavy-handed fist rapped against the front door. Clint walked towards the front door, and your eyes fell to your wrist, your tattoo was out in the open this morning, you quickly tugged the sleeves of Clint’s hoodie down and crossed your arms over your chest, grimacing at the state of you. Black leggings and an old Barnes Mechanics hoodie. That will make him regret leaving you. You had set your cup down on the counter and looked up right as Bucky stepped into the house and your heart stuttered just from the sight of him.

Stupid heart.

There were a few seconds of shared whispered between the two men and Bucky even chuckled at something Clint said, but you knew it was forced. You knew him better than anyone. Maybe even better than Steve.

Some parts of you are only meant to be seen by the other half of your heart.

His eyes landed you, and Bucky patted Clint’s shoulder on the blonds' way onto the porch. He stepped around Clint and heading straight towards you as he pulled his gloves off. Bucky always looked good but the way his black jeans were hanging low on his hips, his leather zipped tight around his chest. It was making your body tremble with want, you leaned back against the counter kitchen counter to keep yourself steady.

By the look in his eyes, Bucky wasn’t there because he was happy to see you -- this wouldn’t be a friendly visit.

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence this early morning, vice president?” The venom lacing your words would have cut him, deeply, but he was too pissed to be stung by your callous words. The second he saw you storming out of the clubhouse, Bucky had tried calling you. He spent the rest of his night trying to get you to answer your phone. Clint had tried. Natasha had tried. You refused to answer anyone and when Clint finally got fed up and came home to check on your you were passed out next to a bottle of Jack.

Bucky wasn’t too happy with you this morning.

“What the hell are you doing driving drunk?” Bucky asked, ignoring your dig at his patch. The very same patch he took for you, not that you knew that and maybe you didn’t even care. 

“You know better than to drink and drive. If you’re gonna drink, I could have taken you home. Or Peter. Or Tony. How about your brother? Forget about Clint?”

“Oh, for Christ's sake.” You grumbled under your breath. “I wasn’t drunk. I had two shots. I’ve watched you drink a hell of a lot more and drive your bike. With me on the back might I add.”

“That’s different!” Bucky shouted. “I know you're safe then! I called you probably fifty times  to make sure you were okay, and you wouldn’t answer your damn phone, Y/n!”

“Of course I didn’t answer! I’m not yours!” You shouted back. “You don’t get to come in here and yell at me because something didn’t go your way. If you wanted a say in my life, you shouldn’t have pushed me away!”

Bucky’s mouth set in a thin line and you knew he was holding back, there was something he wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to say it while Clint was on the front porch possibly listening to every word that the two of you were spewing at each other. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. Bucky needed to calm down. This wasn’t going to be the way he won you back, and he knew that.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Y/n.” He conceded, observing you. Looking for any hint at what you’re feeling.

“Then what are doing here?”

“You left yesterday because…” He sighed and stepped closer to you, shifting from one foot to the other. He wasn’t sure if he should just blurt it out or be delicate. He was having a hard time reading you, and he hated it. He’s never had that problem before. He’s always known what you were thinking, how to talk to you and since you’ve been home, everything has been different.

You’ve been different.

“What’s the matter? Hard to say it to my face?” You asked, jealousy souring your words. “Guess it’s easier when she’s curled up on your lap, and you can’t see my face because your head is buried in her tits, huh?” You could hear how jealous you sounded the more you went on and judging by the smirk on Bucky’s face he heard it too.

Dumb handsome jerk!

“If you would have stuck around instead of letting your jealousy get the best of you, you would have witnessed me pushed her off my lap.” He leaned forward closing the small distance that separated you and bumped his nose against yours, whispering. “I’ve got no interest in anyone curling up on my lap but you, pretty girl.”

“Sure have a funny way of showing it.” You murmured back, voice cracking as you placed your hand on his leather-covered chest.

“Give me a break!” Bucky groaned and took a step back from you, giving you the space you wanted. “I was a kid, and you were asking a lot of a twenty-two-year-old that was just handed a shit ton of responsibility overnight.”

“You asked first if I recall.” You blew out a shaky breath and met his eyes. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“It sure as hell does matter! You’re still hurt and I--” He stopped himself, reminding himself to calm down before he said something he was going to regret. His nerves were getting the best of him again. That’s the way it’s always been with you. The more time he spends wrapped up in you, the more he begins to unravel. How was he supposed to make you see how sorry he was, how right you were for each other if you kept looking at him like you that?

As if you wanted to be around anyone, anything but him. 

“I don’t wanna talk about the damn club girl. I’m not interested in her. I’m only interested in you and how to fix us. How to get you back.” He reached out and grabbed your arm tugging you back against him. 

“You really need me to say it?” He asked in a soft whisper.

You were so close to him you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. You shrug slightly in response, not sure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say or not.

His forehead rested against yours anchoring himself in your eyes and trying to gather some semblance of strength. It didn’t use to be this hard to talk to you, but after everything, it seemed some things were going to take longer to restore.

“You’re still my swallow, pretty girl.” He breathed, his eyes locked on yours, glimmering with his nerves. “I should’ve run after you. I was a fuckin’ dumbass, baby. I knew it was a mistake the second you walked out of the door, but I was a stubborn dick. I thought I was doing what was right by you.”

“What does that mean? Doing right by me?” You asked, confused. That didn’t make any sense at all. How could hurting you the way he did have been doing what was right by you?

“I--” Bucky froze. Regret filling his features as he realized what he let slip. He didn’t want to get into that now. He couldn’t tell you like this, not when Clint was hanging around and who knew where Natasha was spying from. 

“We can talk about that another day, babydoll.”  Of course, you could. After he had time to fabricate some pathetic tale to try and trick you into forgiving him. There was nothing to talk about, and you knew that. You shook your head and took a step back from him forcing his hands off of you.

It was all just sweet words and utter bullshit.

“You know, I think my schedule is fully booked. I won’t have the time. You should take that little girl of yours out and tell her all your lies. She looked like a good time. I especially liked the ‘biker slut’ stamped on her lower back. Your daddy would be so proud of you.”  You hated what everything you were saying. The thought of him touching someone else made you sick but you were angry and hurt, and it fell out of your mouth without a second thought. The flash anger that filled Bucky’s eyes let you know you went too far, bringing his dad into this stupid, pointless fight pushed Bucky over the edge and right into pissed off.

Bucky nodded towards your sweater covered wrist, hiding the pain behind his anger, he snapped. “Since you removed your tattoo I guess I’m free to do what I want, huh? Maybe I will. I wonder what her ass would look like with a swallow on it.” 

Silence filled the house as his words hung in the air and settled over both of you. He wanted to take it back. God, did he want to take it back the moment he said it but seeing those tears in your eyes? That was too much for him to take. Damn, he hated making you cry, and it’s happened more often than he would like to admit.

“Y/n--”

“I’m sure you two will be really happy together.” You stuttered as tears spilled over onto your cheeks. “I hope she handles your bullshit better than I could.”

“Darlin’.” He reached out for your wrist, but you pulled away before he ever got close to touching you and he sighed. “You know I didn’t mean that. No one else--”

“Please just leave, James.” You mumbled, bottom lip trembling as you tried to hold back your tears, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing he can still make you cry after all this time.

James. It was like ice in his veins. He hated the way it sounded on your lips. It sounded wrong, and he would do just about anything to take the pain and anger out of your voice. There was no chance to fix what he had done, to apologize. You were gone, hiding away in your room before he could blink.  

“Fuck me.” He groaned as he bounded out of the house, avoiding eye contact with Clint on his way out the door. Bucky knew he heard everything that was said the second he saw how tense Clint was leaning against the porch railing. Clint crossed his arms over his chest as Bucky stomped down the front steps towards his bike.

“Way to fuckin’ go man. That how you won her over the first time?” He called after him, his voice was light and full of snark, but Bucky could hear the malice under all of it.

“Shut it, Clint.” He snapped, slipping his gloves on and straddling his bike. He took a chance and looked up to meet Clint’s eyes. He ignored the angry dwelling in them and nodding towards the house. “Go check on her, please. I-- make sure she knows I didn’t mean it. There’s never been anyone but her. Never will be anyone but her.”

Clint’s eyes softened, only a fraction but they did soften.“Yeah, I know man. Everyone knows it’s only ever been Y/n.” He eyed the brunet and finally asked the question everyone has been thinking since you came home. “You thinkin’ she can save your broken ass?”

“She’s the only one that can save me, Clint,” Bucky replied instantly. No hesitation, because he knew without a doubt it was true. He didn’t need to think about it. You were the only one that could bring him back from the shell of a man he’s become. 

“Listen, I’ll see you at chapel in a few hours. Steve wants everyone in. We’ve got some shit to talk about.” His wrist flexed slightly, and the bike roared to life under him, ending the interrogation Clint had started only a moment ago.

“Buck?” Clint shouted over the rumble of his bike, waiting till he got the taller man's attention before continuing. “You make her cry like that again, and you and I are gonna have a problem. I won’t be bringing it to the table. We clear?”

He gave a curt nod and pulled out of the driveway without another word. He had no intention of making you cry again, threat or not.

“Bug?” Clint knocked on your door and slowly nudged it open, not waiting for an answer. He had planned on asking if it was okay to come in, making sure you even wanted company, but the second he saw you laying on your bed with tears streaming down your face, he didn’t care if you wanted him there or not. He was by your side in a flash and collapsed next to you in bed, pulling you into his arms and letting you hide your tears in his shirt.

“It’s okay, bug.” He cooed softly in your ear. “I’m right here. Let it all out. It’s gonna be okay.”

“He asked me you know? Five years ago he asked me and now look at us.” Your voice was already hoarse from how raw your throat had gotten, and it only made Clint’s urge to beat Bucky into the ground that much stronger. It took a lot for him to keep his voice neutral, if you thought he was upset with Bucky, it would only add to what you were feeling -- and truthfully, he was worried you would run again. That was the last thing Clint wanted. 

He could keep his anger in check for you.

“Asked you what bug?” He pushed gently after you fell silent. He wasn’t sure what you were mumbling through all your tears, but you certainly had his attention. 

You sniffled, stuttered and sucked in a trembling breath as you attempted to calm yourself enough to answer. Every time you thought you were relaxed enough to answer another wave of sadness would rush over you, your mind racing to thoughts of who Bucky was with and where he went when he drove off, leaving you behind once again.  You choked out another soft sob hiding your face in Clint’s shirt, trying your best to avoid crying all over his leather.

He wouldn’t care if you did, he only wanted to help and if that meant ruining his leather then so be it.

“Talk to me, Y/n,” Clint begged as your silent sobs continued. “I’m freaking out here. I want to help, but I don’t know how, sis.” 

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tightened your hold on the fabric that was twisted in your fist, stretching and wrinkling his shirt. It took a few more minutes of stuttering breaths before you were able to stop your tears and put yourself in the right headspace to answer him.

“Right-- right before dad died Bucky asked me to marry him. He told me to take the weekend to think about it because it would be a big deal, being married to the club president and then the accident happened--” You blew out a shaky breath and wiped the few stray tears away.

“--And, well, here we are.”

Clint closed his eyes and leaned his cheek on top of your head. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but he was right to give you time to think bug. You just lost dad, and Buck just took over the club a few months before that. I’m guessing he didn’t like that you said no? Is that why you left? He gave you ‘it’s all or nothin’’ speech, and you ran?”

Oh, how you wished that was how it all happened.

“I said yes.” You whispered so softly Clint wasn’t even sure he heard you right, but the second he saw those tears returning and spilling over onto your cheeks he knew he had. You had said yes to marrying Bucky. That didn’t help explain what happened, it only added to his confusion.

“You said yes? Then why did you leave? Did he -- did he sleep with one of the girls or something?” Clint’s brain was going a thousand miles a minute. He was replaying that night in his head. You were clinging to Buck all night like you had since your dad died. Then you two disappeared. Next thing he knew you had taken off with Nat and Steve sent Clint home to check on you. You could have easily caught him with someone else before you had a chance to tell him yes.

“He’s never cheated on me. Bucky wouldn’t cheat on me.” 

Clint blew out a breath and tightened his arms around you as the tension eased out of him. He loved Buck like a brother so it would be a shame if he had to beat the life out of him for cheating on his sister.

“What happened, bug? Did you change your mind after dad?”

You shook your head. It wasn’t the whole story. It was enough for now, and you were too tired to talk anymore today.

--------

Natasha somehow managed to calm Clint down before he went to meet the club for chapel. You hadn’t been in the room, but you had heard her soft, soothing whispers, telling him to calm down and remember that mistakes were made by more than one person and Bucky wasn’t entirely at fault. You weren’t sure if she was referring to you or to Steve, but either way, it didn’t matter who she was blaming. She was right. The things you did, the choices you made that night, all of it was worse than what Bucky did. You let your anger and your pride rule your decisions, and it left you alone and heartbroken.

If you had just taken a few minutes to really think about things and the consequences of your actions, maybe you could have fixed things before they spiraled out of control. Perhaps you wouldn’t have lost Bucky entirely if you had just talked to him instead of listening to all those prideful whispers in your head. 

Placing blame and pointing fingers was pointless now and it wouldn’t have made a difference who was more at fault. None of that would change the outcome. It looked as if the two of you were destined to end up here, broken and in love with a reality neither of you could have.

You had spent the afternoon sulking in your room when Natasha had stormed up, yanked you up out of bed and handed you a list of things they needed from the market. She had to get to the club and Clint was out of coffee, if that wasn’t rectified by morning, there would be chaos in the Barton house. You had a feeling Natasha was only forcing you out of the house in an attempt to stop your moping.

It sorta worked not that you would ever tell her that. You had picked up several bottles of wine, grabbed Clint’s coffee and were now staring at the stacks and stacks of baked goods in the bakery. Maybe some chocolate treats will keep Clint calm and prevent him from killing the man you love. Or, loved? Whatever he was to you at that moment.

“Hey.” A deep voice called out to you from across the pile of brownies, stopping your internal debate over fudge covered brownies or cookies and cream, you glanced up and found Eddie Brock smiling at you over the stack of baked goods, no leather this time, but he still looked handsome.

“Y/n, right?” He asked, charming grin in full effect.

“Yeah, Y/n.” 

You gave him a small smile in return and gestured to your own face, referencing his split lip and busted nose. You winced when you noticed the deep bruising around his nose and just how deep the cut on his lip was. Bucky had not held back in the slightest by the looks of things. 

“I’m sorry about that. I feel like that’s kinda my fault.” You confessed softly. He chuckled and shrugged it off as if it was nothing that his nose probably needed to be reset thanks to her overprotective boyfriend-- or, ex-boyfriend. 

“It’s okay.” He said, sporting an easy smile. “I should have known someone as pretty as you wouldn’t be single. Of course, your old man had to be the crazy hothead of the group. Just my luck.”

What is with bikers, hm? Did they all think these stupid lines turned women into a whimpering mess? There was only one man that could turn you into a whimpering mess, and he certainly didn’t need to use a cheesy line to do so.

Still, this one was kind of cute. He was no James Barnes but he was cute.

“He’s not actually mine.” Eddie raised his brow, and you shrugged in response. “It’s a long story, but you should know I’m not really available either.” 

Because your heart belonged to someone else even if you didn’t want to admit that out loud and that was not something he needs to know. The fact of the matter was, Bucky still very much occupied your head and your heart. There wasn’t room for anyone else, no matter how cute. 

“If it hadn’t of been Buck, my brother would have kicked your ass.”

“Damn. The blonde with the purple bike right?” You nodded, and he grinned playfully as he flexed for you. “I’m pretty tough. You’re counting me out that easy? You think he could kick my ass?”

“I mean, yeah.” You grinned. “My brother is a badass. How do you think I got to be this amazing?”

He dropped his arm and leaned over the table, cocky grin curling up the edge of his lips and whispering only loud enough for you and the baked goods to hear, “Pretty sure you got there on your own. No man helped you get where you are.”

And, that was the first time your heart had flipped for someone that wasn’t Bucky Barnes. You weren’t sure how you felt about that, but you weren’t given a chance to linger on the thought for long.

“Y/n.” Steve’s sharp voice cut through the air and silenced the conversation. He walked over to stand next to you and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Eddie.” He narrowed his eyes at the shorter man. “I think it’s time you move along. She’s spoken for.” 

You meet Eddie’s eyes, your apology was written in them along with an ‘i told you so.’

Eddie’s eyes flicked from yours back to Steve’s, and you knew he was about to say something stupid. “I think she can make her own decisions, Rogers. We aren’t in your clubhouse. You don’t have jurisdiction here.”

You winced at his choice of words. Yep. Something stupid.

That wasn’t going to go over well at all. Steve dropped his arms and pushed you behind him as if he was protecting you from something, he leaned over the stack of packaged muffins and brownies glaring hard at the other man. “Leave. Now.” He growled. “Stay away from Y/n. If I see you around her again, I’ll show you just how far my jurisdiction goes.”

Thankfully Eddie had the good sense to shut his mouth and walk away. No one wanted to cause a scene in the middle of the market. Might have had something to do with that fact that there were three other club members parked right outside ready to jump up and stand by their president’s side.

Odds weren’t exactly in Eddie’s favor.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve snipped at you once they were alone. He must have lost in damn mind in the last five years if Steve thought he could talk to you like you’re just another club girl. He knew better.

“Excuse me?” You snapped back and lifted up your basket full of food. “I was trying to buy some chocolate chip muffins and brownies because Clint can’t eat anything healthy, but apparently I can’t get away from asshole bikers no matter where I go.”

He looked like he was about to yell at you, but you stepped forward, lowering your voice, “I’d watch what you’re about to say, Steven Grant.” He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, anger flashed in his eyes for just a second before they settled back to their standard, calmer blue.

“Did you forget the rules? What’s expected of you?” He asked, tone gentler than it had been a moment ago, but it was the meaning behind the words, not the tone. You narrowed your eyes at the man before you. He wasn’t Steve right now, he was the club president, and you had no patience for the MC president. 

“No. I haven’t forgotten. I’m not trying to date anyone let alone date another biker.” You hissed back at him. “I haven’t forgotten anything, Steven. Have you forgotten? Or are you just planning on hiding your bullshit lies from everyone, Bucky included?”

“Y/n--” He sighed, and his whole frame softened as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s more complicated than you realize and you won’t fully understand until you talk to Buck. Actually, sit down and talk to him.”

This wasn’t the first time someone had told you to talk to Bucky since you’ve been home and frankly, you were done with all the secrets and all the bullshit. What the hell was everyone talking about? How could it more complicated than it already was?

“Why don’t you come by and at least listen to him.” Steve nudged you with a sly grin on his face.“Clint said your car was acting up, the guys can work on it for free and the two of you can talk. Clear the air.”

“With everyone watching? No thanks.”

“Well...” He bent down and whispered, “You could let Buck take you for a ride. I know how much you like being on the back of his bike.” Steve grinned as your eyes went wide and you shifted your feet nervously. 

“Pretty sure he missed it more.” Added Steve at sight of your nerves.

You had missed it. A lot. More than the bike you just missed being close to Bucky like that, being able to wrap your arms around him as tight as you wanted, the way you could nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, and slip one hand into his open shirt so it could rest against his skin right over his heart.  

Despite how much your heart ached to go back and have all of that again, you weren’t sure that was even an option anymore. Especially after this morning.

“Look, I’ll think about it okay?” You said as you punched his arm lightly. “But you can’t just scare away every man that dares to talk to me. He was only being friendly, and it’s kind of my fault he’s going to need some rhinoplasty.”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “Bucky would disagree with you. Stay away from Eddie Brock.” He ordered, going serious again. “He’s not a good guy like you think he is and we both know if Buck had seen you two talking, it wouldn’t have ended so civilly.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“I’ll make sure the club girls are gone this time.” He said with that dumb know it all smirk.

“Jesus.” You breathed in annoyance. “Don’t you two have a club to run instead of spending your days gossiping? Does he tell you everything?”

Steve’s grin widened as he walked past her towards the registers. “Oh,” He shouted back at you. “Nice tattoo.”

You look down at your wrist at the completely visible swallow, flashing like a neon sign on your wrist. You close your eyes at the sound of Steve’s deep chuckle. “Talk to him, Y/n. What the two of you had doesn’t simply go away because you ran away, and I think we both know that.”  

Steve was a giant jerk, you’ve officially decided. A giant jerky jerk face. You had no idea why you ever liked him. You open eyes and look back down at the swallow on your wrist. You would never admit it to his smug face, but Steve was right. Feelings like yours don’t just vanish because you begged and pleaded with your heart.

Five years was long enough.

It was time to clear the air and put all of this behind you.

You both deserved the truth, and you were going to get it out of him if it killed you.

Previous // Next

[thejollyroger-writer]

Love After Death: The Afterlife Hotel

a/n: it’s HEEEEEERE, my first piece for this year’s CSSNS! I’m so excited to share all three stories I have for you all this year -- it’s just the beginning! Extra special thanks to @captainsjedi for her lovely, perfect art that conveys a sense of spookiness that I didn’t even know I was going for, and to @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ and @kmomof4​ for being my eternal cheerleaders -- plus all the ladies in the Discord chat! And, of course, @cssns​

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted a snippet in March, or who asked me to -- thank you all for your readership! @winterbaby89​ @teamhook​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @jwolf18791​ @killianjones4ever82​ @superadam54​ @kingofmyheart14​ @aprilqueen84​ @capswantrue​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @gingerchangeling​ @welllpthisishappening

SUMMARY:  Emma Swan has spent sixty years in the afterlife believing she was never going to meet her real soulmate, after believing in the wrong name tattooed on her wrist. But when she keeps seeing the same new blue-eyed guest of the Afterlife Hotel around, might she be able to learn how to love again?

Also on AO3!

--/--/--/--/--

Emma Swan stands at her desk, staring down at the calendar that she’s not sure why they even bother to have in the first place. Time is meaningless here. Sure, the "sun" rises and sets on opposite sides of the building on a 24 hour cycle, but time doesn't actually pass anymore. 

Except… if there wasn’t a desk calendar, if she was only going by the date in the corner of her monitor screen (though also unnecessary), she probably never would have realized that it was once again the third day of July in the real world. She almost definitely would have allowed the day to pass by uneventfully, would have completely forgotten the same way she wishes she would have forgotten every other year. 

Sixty years. It’s been sixty years to the day since the first time she entered this very hotel. No family, even when she was alive. Abandoned as a child, never finding a family of her own beyond the sole person she believed was her family, the one that she believed was her soulmate — but, in the end, he was her demise, the name she should have avoided instead of married. 

She had a fifty-fifty chance, like everyone else in the world. It was a stupid concept, she always thought it was: her soulmate’s name on one wrist, and the name of her enemy, very likely the name of the person that would cause her death, on the other, just like everyone else in the world. But she learned the hard way that she made the wrong choice, and by putting her trust in the name on her right wrist and not her left, she suffered more than just heartbreak. By trusting Neal instead of running away the moment he introduced himself — perhaps even before that, now that she's had time to look back over the time they spent together — she was killed.

She remembers the moment her names appeared as if it wasn't almost seventy years before. That's the funny thing about being dead, she guesses (if there was anything funny about it) because the sixty years she's been dead have felt like nothing compared to the nine years between the time her names appeared on her twenty-first birthday and the moment Neal smiled above her as he slid his dagger into her heart. His handwriting on her right wrist, the curling letters of his signature, seemed much more attractive than the scribbles that she stopped trying to decipher before she turned 22. By then, she had already met Neal Cassidy, had already convinced herself that she loved him beyond the presence of his name on her wrist, and he had conned her into believing he loved her, too, up until that very last moment. 

Sixty years. Sixty years since her death. But it was dying that led her to find something really worth living for, even if she never got the chance to meet her real soulmate. And it was still just the "beginning."

Emma still remembers that first day, greeted by a smiling Mary Margaret Nolan. Smiling, as if there was something to be happy about. Emma knew that she had died, was very aware of it, given Neal left her to die a very slow and painful death — but the last thing she expected after the “bright white light” was an elevator ride down to the lobby of a hotel, especially one with a smiling brunette behind its counter.

“Hello!” Her voice was chipper, almost fake, but her smile most certainly was not. “Welcome to the Afterlife Hotel!” 

“Really?” Emma remembers quipping immediately, not even trying to hide the look of disgust on her face. She was already trying to do too many things to control what was showing on her face.  “You couldn’t even come up with a better name?” 

But Mary Margaret was resilient, moving on without so much as acknowledging Emma’s comment, and when she asked Emma what she wanted to do — if she had any family she wanted to wait for, anywhere in particular she wanted to be — all Emma felt was empty. Sure, the emptiness tried to veil itself with snide remarks and humor, as it always had, but none of it got any further than her own mind.

“No.” Her voice was soft. “No, I — I have no one.” 

It was Mary Margaret’s job to lead her through the afterlife, to help her decide where she will spend the rest of eternity. But, instead of a decision, Mary Margaret helped her find a “family” for the first time in her life (well, uh, death), people that actually cared for her. Mary Margaret and David Nolan, the first parental figures Emma has ever had, and all she had to do was die to find them. 

Thinking back on this memory, she smiles down at her desk, unconsciously drawing a light circle around the “3” with her pencil. 

And that’s why she doesn’t immediately notice when the doors to the elevator right in front of her open, revealing perhaps the most awestruck man to have come through those doors that Emma had ever seen. 

“Bloody hell!” he yells, literally falling out of the elevator and onto the floor, simultaneously pulling Emma back to reality. 

Well, that’s certainly interesting, Emma thinks, her eyebrows flying quickly up her forehead as she watches him, dumbstruck, as he struggles to get up off the floor. In all the years she’s spent here, she’s only ever seen people walk through the elevator doors, usually slowly and questioning everything around them just as she did sixty years ago (to the day). 

But she’s never seen anyone fall out of it. They’ve always been on their feet after the long, slow ride down, able to pull themselves together a bit until the doors finally open and they find themselves in the lobby. 

“Pardon me, lass, where — what the hell happened to me?” His deeply-accented question pulls her out of her stupor, and she blinks a few times before completely returning to reality — and when she does, she almost finds herself in a daze again as she takes him in. He’s tall, muscular, but lean, his grey jeans tight against his legs and low on his hips with a plain white t-shirt under a black leather jacket, the v of the neck falling low enough to show what Emma assumes is just the beginning of a sea of black hair covering his chest, matching the shade that covers his head and the stubble on his cheeks. 

“You’re—” she starts, but looking down at the desk, she remembers where she is, what her job is, and pulls her best customer service smile to her face. “Welcome to the Afterlife Hotel!” she says, her voice much cheerier than she intended it to be, though she blames it on the confusion quickly filling the air of the lobby. 

Slowly, he takes a few steps towards her as he swivels his head from one side to the other, taking in the sights of the lobby around him: the grey stone floors, the deep red walls and high white ceilings, the crisp white and grey furniture and abstract paintings on the walls. Then he stops just a few steps away from the desk, and when he turns his eyes to her, the air in her lungs suddenly gets very heavy — because in them, she finds the brightest blue she has seen, definitely since the first time she walked across this same lobby, but she believes probably since the day she was born. 

“Come again?” he asks, one dark eyebrow raised high on his broad forehead, almost lost under the strands of dark hair that fall close to his eyes. 

“You’ve found yourself in the afterlife,” she replies, dialing down the chipperness of her voice, but not losing it entirely. “This is the Afterlife Hotel, for lost souls and those waiting for others to join them.”

“The Afterlife Hotel,” he repeats, the same skepticism in his voice that she remembers from her own that very first day, though she manages to keep the smile off her face that she feels trying to start. But when he adds, “You really couldn’t come up with a better name?”, she is useless against it anymore, and the smile comes paired with a small laugh. 

“What’s so funny about that?” he asks, moving to fill the rest of the space between himself and the desk. 

She begins to shake it off, ready to tell him that it was nothing, but something in his bright blue eyes makes her snap her mouth shut and reexamine this choice. She doesn’t realize that she has remained silent until his eyebrows slowly move up his forehead once more, wordlessly coaxing her to say anything. 

So she does. 

“It’s just… moments before you came through the elevator, I was thinking about the first day I ended up here, and I — when I heard the woman behind the counter tell me where I was, I asked her the very same thing.” 

“Is that so?” he asks, the beginnings of a smile forming on his face, and it is, without a doubt, one of the most brilliant smiles she has ever seen, even half-formed. “So, what do I do here, love? Tell me more about this hotel of yours,” he says, the smile staying as he leans forward onto the counter, resting on his elbows. She realizes that one of his hands is a prosthetic, but a very technologically-advanced, real-looking one.

“Well,” she says, playing along and leaning towards him, as well — though she will absolutely refuse to admit how much she enjoys it. “This is the first stop of the afterlife. From here, you can choose to move on to the place of your choice, depending on what you believed during your life, you can wait here for your loved ones to arrive — of course, if you have loved ones waiting already, I can find them for you —  or you can just… stay here.” When he says nothing, she feels the need to fill the silence that settles between them. “Do you…” she starts, but when his eyes flash up to meet hers, her breath gets caught in her throat for a moment and she needs to start over. “Is there anyone for you to wait for?” She doesn’t mean for it to, but her voice is barely a whisper, again thinking of her first day here and the fact that she had no one, either. Is that what she recognizes in this man’s eyes: loneliness? Sadness? 

He shakes his head, failing to hide the way his thumb presses into his left wrist for a moment, and when his tongue flicks out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip, she finds herself oddly distracted by the movement, unable to tear her eyes away, especially when a shadow of a smile appears on those very same lips. “Afraid I only have one, and that asshole had the audacity to continue to live his life when I was taken prematurely.” Emma just nods, not entirely sure how to respond to that, though when he opens his mouth to speak again, all worries about that have faded away. “So, I can just… stay here, until my brother gets here?”

At this, Emma smiles, leaning against the counter once more. “Well, yeah. That’s the main purpose of this establishment, and if you give me your name, I can direct you to your room.”

“Of course, lass. Killian Jones, at your service,” he says, holding his hand out between them, but when she takes it, instead of shaking it, he lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the edge of her knuckles. 

She stills for a moment when he releases her hand before turning her attention back towards the computer as she tries her hardest to not let her response to his actions show on her face. “Emma Swan,” she breathes, typing his name into the system. Looking away from him, she misses the way his eyes widen at her revelation, his eyes falling to his still-covered right wrist resting on the counter, though he pulls himself together quickly enough to wipe the look from his face before she turns back to him.

When she sees what the screen is telling her, she is useless against the smile that spreads across her face. “Well, Mr. Jones, room 715 has been all set up for you, and you can get there with the elevator behind the desk.” 

He smiles at her and moves to leave, but before he does, his eyebrows knit together, and Emma can sense a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Can I ask you something, love?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Does every person that dies come through here? Because, forgive my bluntness, love, but isn’t that a hell of a lot of people?” 

She smiles at this, too, remembering that it took her close to two months in this very hotel before she even thought of the same question. But here, this gorgeous, handsome man — Killian, she reminds herself, realizing that it somehow fits him perfectly, if names can do that to people — has thought if it within his first few minutes. “You’re right,” she says, directing her smile towards him. “If everyone came through here, that would be a hell of a lot of people. But we don’t get everyone. If people have a chosen afterlife, no one to wait for, or if the person they are waiting for has already moved to a specific afterlife, they don’t come through here. Here, we only get the lost souls.” 

“Well, darling,” he says, his voice just above a whisper, leaning across the counter until she can feel his warm breath on her cheek. “I’m glad being a lost soul has led me to you.” 

When he winks, by far the most straightforward flirting that Emma has ever experienced, she feels her breath leave her lungs, her heart beating heavily in her chest — and then it is gone, the man backed away from the counter, the sparkle that she noticed in his eye disappeared. 

“I’ll be getting to my room, then,” he says, taking another step away from the desk. “I hope to see you around, Miss Swan.” He flashes her a momentary smile before passing the desk, and she ignores her desire to turn towards him as he walks away from her, even as the bell for the elevator dings on its arrival. 

“I sure hope so,” she whispers finally, only allowing herself to turn in the direction he walked in when she hears the elevator doors closing. 

 --/--/--

She does see him around, somehow more than she sees all the other guests at the hotel. She sees him two more times that same day, both on her lunch break and when she eats dinner with the family she has found here. Of all the places available to eat, he chooses the same one as her, not just once, but twice in one day. 

As she sits between Mary Margaret and Ruby at the table, trying not to stare across the room where he is sitting against the wall, a book perched on the table under his prosthetic hand which his other holds a mug, Emma tries to ignore the mathematical improbability of the two of them being in the same place twice in one day, in an area as large as not just the Hotel, but the whole area around it. 

She tries to ignore it again the next day as he’s sitting in the corner of her regular coffee shop, sitting in the same position as the night before when she shows up to get her morning coffee. 

And when he is sitting on a bench in the park when she chooses to go there instead of to lunch. 

(And then that same night in her dreams, but that’s not something she wants to admit to anyone, even herself.)

Three nights later, sitting at their favorite bar, Emma can’t stop her eyes from wandering to where he is sitting in the corner, his attention still on the book sitting in front of him. 

“Emma, come on,” Ruby says, nudging her shoulder with her own, and Emma turns her eyes back towards her friend. “What’s gotten into you? Every time I’ve seen you this week, you’ve been distracted.” 

She just shrugs, taking a sip of her beer. What would she even tell Ruby? That ever since this man fell through the elevator doors, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him — not to mention the handful of times she has seen him since he showed up? That she has never felt as connected to anyone as she feels connected to this man, who she hasn’t even had the nerve to talk to since she first saw him? She stopped believing long ago that she would ever be able to find the same happiness that she thought she found during her life with Neal — but how would she ever admit to anyone, even her closest friend, that just being in the same room as him has been making her hopeful again?

This, of course, is when she realizes her eyes have turned towards him again, and when Ruby swivels her chair around completely to follow her gaze, the man in question raises his eyes from the book held in front of him and finds Emma’s embarrassed gaze, the corner of his lips turning up in a smile. 

When Ruby turns back towards Emma, she is smiling, as well, though hers is much more malicious than Killian’s. 

“Oh, he’s a hottie!” she says, perhaps a little too loudly, and it does nothing to help the blush that has already started rising up her cheeks. “Do you know who he is?” 

Her eyes flit back towards the bar, her index finger slowly running around the rim of her glass. She knows she is useless against Ruby’s ability to find information, to pull her darkest secrets out with just a question and a flick of her eyebrow, so she does not even try to hide the answer to this one, though even this does not stop the sigh that escapes her lips. 

“His name is Killian. He just — he just got here a few days ago.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Ruby says, swiveling in her seat once more, not even trying to hide the obviousness of what she is doing. “I’ve seen him around a few times.” 

“I’ve been…” she starts, then drops her eyes down to the bar, pursing her lips. 

When she stays silent for a moment too long for Ruby’s liking, she begins to beat on Emma’s shoulder with her hand. “Come on, Emma, spill!” 

“I’ve seen him far too much for it to be a coincidence,” she says finally, the words practically spilling from her lips, though when she does say it, it’s as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, from letting out what she has been keeping in for the past few days. 

Ruby’s eyes go wide, a smile spreading across her face. “What do you think it means, Em?” 

She leans closer to her friend, allowing her eyes to flit up to Killian for a moment, relieved to see that his attention is back on his book. “At first I thought he was following me,” she admits, releasing her glass to hold her head in her hands. “But then he started already being in places I spontaneously decided to go, and I knew — it definitely wasn’t that anymore.” 

Ruby’s eyes are wide when Emma finally turns towards her. “So you just keep running into this incredibly beautiful man and doing nothing about it?” 

“What am I supposed to do about it?” 

“Christ, Emma, have you even tried talking to him?” 

“Well, no, but — how — “ she sputters, and Ruby reaches between them to cover Emma’s hand with her own. 

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, smiling at her friend. “How long has it been since you flirted with a man?” 

She presses her lips in a tight line as she tries not to think about the answer to this question. Sure, there have been a few flirtatious moments since she got to the Afterlife Hotel, but the last person she really flirted with was Neal, the man she fell in love with during her life — the man that killed her. 

And what is even the point of flirting in the afterlife, when she’s already missed her chance to meet her soulmate?

In place of responding, she just shakes her head. 

Ruby smiles, a soft, gentle thing, as Emma finishes her beer, Ruby flagging down the bartender for another. "I promise you, Em, it really isn't that difficult."

"No offense, Rubes, but that doesn't really make me feel any better, coming from you."

"I mean, I could always go over and flirt with him myself just to show you how it's done, if that would make you—"

Emma stops her before she can say anything else. "No, that's... that’s not necessary."

Ruby turns around once more, her eyes flitting to the handsome man in the corner. "Are you sure? Because it’s certainly a sacrifice I would be willing to make for my best friend."

"I'm definitely okay."

Ruby's shoulders visibly sag. "What a shame." When Emma has no response to this, Ruby turns back to her, taking a moment to look at her friend's face, though her attention is still on the man in the corner. A beat later, Ruby says, "You know what that means, though, right?"

When Emma finally pulls her eyes back to Ruby, the first thing she sees is the grin spreading across her face. "What?"

Ruby leans over and gently bumps her shoulder. "This means you need to go talk to him yourself."

Emma feels her cheeks redden upon understanding this. "You're sure there's no way for me to get out of this?" she asks, a shy smile forming on her face in hopes her best friend will let up.

"No chance. Either you go talk to that gorgeous specimen of a man, or I'll do it myself."

Emma takes a deep breath, then a quick gulp of her beer, before pushing herself off the stool and, beer in hand, walking across the room. 

With his attention still between the covers of the book sitting in front of him on the table, he does not notice her moving towards him until she slides into the booth across from him, the cheap pleather groaning beneath her movement. 

“Are you following me?” she asks, and for a moment he thinks she’s serious, until his eyes move from the pages in front of him to her smiling green eyes. 

“If I remember correctly, love, I was already enjoying a nice quiet night in this pub with my rum and my book when you and your friend showed up here.” 

“It’s not just here, though,” she says, not even meaning to lean towards him with her forearms on the table, but she doesn’t stop herself when she realizes this is what she does. “Have you noticed that?” 

“Aye,” he says, the corner of his lips ticking up in a momentary smile. “I have noticed that you and I always seem to be in the same place at the same time.” 

“And you haven’t even said anything,” she jokes, pressing her fingertips to her heart in mock indignation. 

Here, he leans forward, as well, the tips of his fingers brushing against her knuckles. “Either have you,” he whispers, pausing for just a moment before he leans back against the booth behind him, which groans under the shifting weight. “What finally got you to build up the nerve?” 

Emma tries her best to smile at him, but she feels the edges of her cheeks heat up as she realizes she is about to tell him the truth. “Well, my friend Ruby over there —” when she points, they both turn their attention towards her only to find that she is watching them intently from the bar. But, because she is never ashamed or embarrassed, she just smiles at them, waving her fingers in their direction as Emma continues. “—threatened to come over here and talk to you herself if I didn’t do it, and she… Well, she’s much more straightforward than I could ever be.” 

“And what? You were afraid that I would be unable to combat her charms?”

“Ruby and I have been friends here for almost fifty years, and I have yet to see a man who is able to combat her charms.” 

“Fifty years,” he says under his breath, then snaps his eyes up to meet hers as if he didn’t really mean to say it out loud. “Emma, if you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been down here?” 

Pressing her lips together, she takes a quick sip of her beer, avoiding his eyes. “Sixty years, almost exactly,” she says softly, and she fears that he did not even hear her — until his hand covers hers on the table, a movement which causes her to raise her eyes to meet his gaze. “The day you came here was sixty years to the day,” she continues, her thumb moving gently over Killian’s hand as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

(Because, she refuses to admit, it just might be. Because, she refuses to admit, sitting here with him, the soft feel of his fingers against hers, feels like all the pieces of her world slowly moving into place — which has to be, of course, an exaggeration.) 

“Sixty years is a long time.” 

“See, that’s the funny thing,” she admits, trying to avoid the fact that she is about to discuss her life with a man she’s had exactly one conversation with before, a conversation that she had to have with him as part of her job. “Because I was alive on earth for half of that, and the time I spent here feels like moments compared to everything I went through when I was alive. At least here, I found myself a family, which is more than I could ever say for the time I spent there.” 

They sit in silence for a few moments, though neither of them feel awkward through it. Instead, Emma feels comforted by the warmth of Killian’s skin against hers, by the soft smile that he sends in her direction the few times her eyes dare to meet his. 

“Will you dance with me, Emma?” Killian asks after the moments tick into minutes. Everything in her screams to say no — to stay in her own little secluded corner instead of becoming the object of people’s attention. But still, through all the alarms blaring in her mind, none of that stops her from nodding her head to him, smiling softly as he leads them out of their booth and over to the dancefloor. 

When he welcomes her into his arms, it’s almost as if the stress from her day — from the past sixty years’ worth of days — melts off of her. With the weight of his prosthetic on her back, his fingers curled gently around her own over his heart, she is able to focus on nothing but the warmth of his skin under her fingers — a feeling that she can swear is the single thing that was missing from her life. 

Silence fills the space between them, Emma’s eyes somehow never leaving his even though she can swear that she’s never been more embarrassed in her life, but she can tell his face is full of questions. She has never been more sure in her life that she has wanted to kiss someone, and something in his eyes makes her believe the same is true for him. 

She watches as his eyes flit down to her lips, as his tongue slowly moves along his bottom lip, but the moment he begins to lean further into her space, he stops himself and backs away instead. 

“Tell me something about yourself, Swan.” 

“You sure know how to change the mood,” she jokes with a smile, turning her gaze up to meet his, but when she sees the darkness that has overtaken his eyes, the deep shade of midnight blue they have become, she thinks she understands. 

“Either we need to talk about something, or the occupants of this bar are going to get a show that they were not expecting when they showed up.” His words come out low, growled through clenched teeth as his hand on her back pulls her lips closer to his. 

“I’m sure no one would complain about the show, nothing exciting happens around here, anyway.” 

“The issue with that plan is that I was raised to be far too much of a gentleman to simply give in to desires such as these with a woman I am as interested in as you before properly courting you.” 

She raises an eyebrow at him, the smirk still covering her face. “A gentleman, eh?” 

“I can assure you, Swan,” he says with a smirk of his own, then leans forward so his lips are practically brushing the shell of her ear. “I am always a gentleman.” When he leans back, though, the smirk on his face has disappeared, as has the glint she swore she saw in his piercing blue eyes just moments before. “Now, tell me something about yourself that you would tell a man interested in courting you.”

“Can I ask you a question then?” 

“Fact first, then you can ask whatever you want.” 

“What if I want you to ask me a question instead of just spewing facts for you?” 

“Is that your question?” 

She hits him gently on the shoulder with the hand placed there. “Of course not.” 

“If that’s the game you would like to play, then we can do it that way.” 

“Ask away, then.” 

“Where and when were you born?” 

She feels her heart squeeze in her chest. It’s an innocent enough question, of course, and there is no way for him to know just how much it hurts her to think of that time. Of any time. “Some time around the end of October, 1929.” She swallows, taking a small breath. “And I don’t know exactly where or when I was born. I was raised in an orphanage in Boston, Massachusetts, dropped off just a few days old.” 

She flicks her eyes up to his, which is a mistake, because she does not need her gaze to linger there long to notice the sadness that has flooded his eyes. “I’m sorry, that must have been terrible.” 

The few times she has needed to speak of her childhood, she has shrugged it off, offered some sort of snarky comment about how it wasn’t great or could have been better, but when she goes to do the same to Killian, the words simply don’t come. 

So she shrugs. A beat passes between them, and all she can do to fill the silence is ask her own question. 

“What happened to your hand?” 

He does not say anything at first, does not do anything — even his movements cease, stilling them for a few moments before he finally starts speaking.

“My brother and I were in the Navy. Or, well, I suppose he still is.” When she looks up at him, his eyes are set on the ceiling above them, his tongue quickly darting out of his mouth to wet his lips before he continues. “A few years ago, I was involved with an accident that happened on the base I was working on, when one of the engines malfunctioned. And, as an engineer, I was put in charge of the team that was to bring the ship to dock and fix the malfunction, but the issue wasn’t in the engine, but in one of the pieces that connect the engine to the propellers. But, as I was working with removing the propeller, the problem decided to not be a problem anymore, and the engine came back to life before I could remove my hand from where I was trying to fix it.” 

He pauses, taking a deep, slow breath that he releases quickly before finally turning his gaze back to hers, though she has been watching his face the whole time. “Thankfully the Navy paid for all of it, for the replacement and the physical therapy and everything, so the technology of it is actually phenomenal, though that doesn’t make me miss the one I lost any less.” 

“Of course,” she whispers, and the corner of his lips ticks up in the beginnings of a smile. A moment of silence passes between them before Emma decides to change the subject: “Your turn.” 

With his dark eyebrows set low on his forehead, she can tell that he is working to think of another question. “What made you stay here for sixty years?” 

“Fear,” she says quickly, then shakes her head. “At first. I never really had a family in Boston, never had anyone that would have been worth waiting for, but I was afraid of what I would find if I did decide to move on. And then Mary Margaret, the woman that was working at the desk when I got here, and her husband David, became my adopted parents, of sorts. The first family I ever had. And since I found them here, I realized that maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to be.” 

This answer is much happier than the last, shown both by the smile that now covers Killian’s face, and the one she finds growing across her own. 

“It might sound a little stupid, of course, but —”

“I don’t think it sounds stupid at all, Emma,” he says, his voice soft. “I think it makes perfect sense.” 

There is something else there, something in his eyes that goes far beyond the words he just said, and though Emma sees it, recognizes it, she chooses to ignore it. They’re in no hurry, they have all the time in the world, she realizes, laughing as she asks him why he always brings a book with him, and the tips of his ears turn red with embarrassment when he tells her that he always wished he had more time to read, and when he got here and realized that time is all he has now, he knew that was going to be how he passed the hours. They pass a few more questions back and forth, sometimes letting minutes of silence pass between them before one of them takes their turn. Before too long, most of the bar has left them behind, and with a few stragglers spread across the long marble bar, they are some of the last patrons for the night.

“Can I ask you about him?” he asks finally, his voice soft, almost as if he was afraid to ruin the feel of the room around them. When she turns his attention up to him, hoping to search his face to make sure he is asking what she thinks he is, his eyes are turned down to the floor between them.

“He wasn’t…” she starts, laughing to herself for a moment before she continues. “There’s not much to say. He wasn’t who he said he was, and he wasn’t… he wasn’t the right one, alright?” 

“You fell for the wrong one,” he says, and it’s not a question. When he finally raises his eyes to meet hers, she pushes down the idea that the blue of them is somehow filled with understanding. 

“Yeah,” she breathes. 

“Me too.” 

She doesn’t expect it, was not going to ask about his soulmate, and she has no idea how to respond. 

“She lied to me about so many things, didn’t tell me that she was already married, and then she — Christ, she… she shot me. She killed me. Everything went dark for just a second, and then I was — I was in the lobby here, with an absolutely perfect angel standing in front of me.”

“Oh, come on,” she jokes, hitting his shoulder lightly before leading her hand back to meet his. But instead of taking her hand again, he lets go of her to reach down and pull the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow. 

All of the air in the room leaves, including what was in her lungs. It’s the last thing she expected to see, had never even heard of soulmates who met each other in the afterlife, something she had led herself to believe was impossible. But there, right before her, is all the evidence she needs to know that not all hope had been lost for her yet. Right there, tattooed on the wrist Killian still has, is her name, her “Swan.”

“How long have you known?” she asks, but because she still has not regained the ability to breathe, she finds herself reaching to splay her hands against his chest, stopping herself from collapsing. It’s been years since she last swam, but she vaguely remembers the feeling of drowning, of water filling up her mouth, her throat. If she’s remembering it correctly, that is exactly what she feels right now.

“I had an idea when you first introduced yourself to me, but when I kept seeing you around, I was really hoping that it would be you.” Everything drops out from around her. She's not drowning anymore. She's floating, only anchored to the ground by the warmth of his hard chest under her hands.

"Why haven't you said something? Why did you even allow me to go through this whole night just talking to you?" 

He sighs, an embarrassed smile growing across his face. "I needed to know. I needed to be sure that you were interested in me beyond my name on your wrist, because that's how Mi — that was all she cared about." His words are careful, proof that he has been thinking about this, worrying about this — but it is the sincerity awash in his pale blue eyes that really gets to her. "I needed you to like me for me, needed you to like Killian Jones before you knew that maybe I was the one with your name on my wrist, the one who went through my entire life on Earth wondering who 'Swan' was, wondering when I would find her. The one I thought about when I realized what I had with Milah was fake."  

"Killian," she breathes, not even meaning to sway closer into his space, but she does anyway — until she realizes something  “That means…” she trails off, pulling the sleeve of her own sweater up to reveal the scribbles that she stopped really caring about when she was 22, that she wondered why the world was cruel enough to give her without ever giving her the chance to care about them, up until those very last minutes. “That means these scribbles are yours.” 

“Aye,” he whispers, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers, his arms wrapping around her waist. “Those are, in fact, my scribbles,” he jokes, smiling at her. 

And then the feel of his arms around her is nothing compared to the perfect feel of their lips meeting, to the comfort that she finds when he slides his tongue against hers. 

Nothing compared to the warmth of his body against hers when the elevator finally deposits them outside their neighboring doors and he pulls her inside his and pushes her against the door, as he presses soft kisses along as much of her skin as he can reach, his lips following his hands as he starts to memorize every inch of her. Nothing compared to the way he worships her body and soul together the way that only a true soulmate can before she collapses beside him and curls up under the covers of his bed. 

However, when she wakes beside him the next morning, and for every subsequent morning after that, his hand heavy on her hip and his breath hot on her back, she can swear that she has never felt more complete in her life — or her death —  then she does here, spending the rest of eternity beside her soulmate. 

[radiosteve]

Need Your Loving Tonight Ch. 11

Summary: You spend the entire day in studio with the band before something happens and the boys need your help.

Note: Me posting before midnight? That’s crazy! Hope you like this chapter because things are going to heat up a little in the next one. So get ready! As always, the italicized part is the reader’s thoughts. This photo is one that I found on google. I do not own any rights to it. If you want to be added to the taglist send me a message or an ask and I’ll add you!  

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader, John Deacon x Reader

Words: 3.5k+

  November 11, 1972

 “No, no. Brian, you need to put more soul into it. It’s not someone else’s song, it’s yours. Play it like you mean it,” Freddie’s voice traveled through the microphone into the recording booth. Brian’s curly hair shook violently as he nodded along, readjusting his grip on his guitar before signaling for the track to play again. The melodic notes squeaked through the studio’s speakers as Brian redid the one guitar part that he had been trying to master for the last thirty minutes. You sat on the couch along the back wall, peering over the head of the sound booth technician, trying to see your best friend recording his solo once more. 

 You’d been in the studio with the boys all day and your eyes felt dry and heavy from the lack of natural light. The boys had recorded a little less than half of the album throughout the long hours of the day. They’d each taken turns going in and out of the booth to record their own instrument. But their favorite part of recording was the singing. As they all stumbled into the booth, throwing headphones over their ears, you could see the passion filling their eyes. It all felt so surreal to them. Surreal to you too. To think that these four talented men were effectively fulfilling their dreams with a few recordings seemed insane. Your closest friends, that were destined for something much larger than could be imagined, were playing these songs. Songs that could kick start their career. 

 Your gaze pulled from Brian as you watched Roger slump back into the room. He’d left about fifteen minutes ago for a smoke break and something within you wished to accept his offer to join. While your taste for cigarettes was starting to slow, it only seemed to heighten when Roger was around. Maybe it was because of that May night two years ago when Roger’s lips tasted of honey and smoke. But then again, there was something about the taste of honey now that made you want to gag. Roger plopped down in a chair near the desk, looking into the booth. His body swayed slightly, and his eyes looked lost. Freddie leaned into the microphone once more, praising Brian for his performance and instructing him to come out of the booth. It wasn’t until Fred looked down beside him that he noticed that Roger had come back in.

 “My god, you smell like booze,” Freddie threw a hand to his chest as he gasped dramatically. Your ears perked up and Brian walked into the room, hearing Freddie’s words. John stood up from his spot on the other end of the couch, trying to get a look at Roger. 

“Great, that’s great,” Brian threw his hands in the air, angrily looking at Roger. “We’ve still got two hours left in the studio and our drummer is completely wasted.”

 “I thought he was just going out for a smoke break,” John’s voice chimed in from behind everyone. 

 “Yes, well I guess he thought that a few drinks wouldn’t hurt,” Freddie ran his hand through his hair, pulling his bangs back from his face. “What has gotten into him. He’s been acting like this all week,” the boys nodded along as you sunk into your spot on the sofa. You had noticed the change in Roger’s behavior throughout the week as well. He’d been much more reckless and impulsive lately. Ever since that night at the club last week, Roger had been acting out left and right. And you couldn’t help but think that you were the reason. As selfish as it may sound, it appeared as though Roger’s mood changed the second he saw you pressed against John on the dancefloor. A wave of guilt flooded your body as your hand came up to press against your forehead and John glanced over at you. 

 “Well, how are we supposed to keep recording without a drummer to do the backtracks?” Brian crossed his long arms over his chest as he puffed angrily. You kept watching as the boys looked around at each other over top of Roger. It wasn’t until you heard a muffled grunt that realized Roger was trying to speak. 

 “I’m fine, guys. I can still play, easy peasy,” Roger giggled out as his words slurred. You felt your eyes roll while Brian stared down at Roger with an incredulous look etched across his face. Brian turned bright red and John quickly grabbed Brian’s arm, trying to restrain him from doing something he might regret. Roger tried to stand up from his chair before he slipped and fell right to the floor. “Woah,” he breathed out, looking up towards the ceiling. “Someone better turn off the boat, ‘cause the room’s rocking,” Roger chuckled at his own joke and sank down onto the floor so that he was laying down. Freddie tried his best not to laugh at his drunken friend, but you only felt pity fill your heart. It’s my fault that he’s like this right now. 

 “As amusing as you may find this, Fred,” Brian spoke, his words laced with annoyance. “We can’t finish recording for the day if we don’t have a drummer,” Freddie looked up at Brian, not finding Roger’s antics funny anymore. It was just then when an idea came to John.

 “Y/n can play the drums. She can do the backtracking for us today so we can record the other instruments and vocals. Then Roger can just redo them when he’s sober,” everyone’s head whipped in your direction, including Roger’s from his spot on the floor and you felt your cheeks heat up. Brian walked over to you and kneeled down in front of the couch that you sat on. He grabbed your hands from your lap, wrapping them in his.

 “I know what you’re going to say, but please. Please help us just for today,” Brian brought his hands up to his mouth, his eyes locked onto yours. 

 “No, no way. I haven’t played in two months. There’s no way,” the words slipped past your lips as shook your head. 

 “Please, Y/n. I’ll owe you big time, we all will,” Brian looked over at his bandmates near the control panel and they began to nod their heads in agreement. 

 “I don’t know, Bri. I’m really out of practice”

 “That’s bullshit. You’re one of the best drummers I’ve ever heard. You could go years without playing and still be better than most,” John spoke up from next to Freddie. “Please Y/n, we need you,” your eyes locked onto his and he gave you a soft smile. 

 “Ok. I’ll do it,” the room filled with a chorus of cheers as Brian squeezed your hand and pulled you up off the couch. Roger still laid on the floor, completely oblivious to what was happening, but cheering nonetheless. “Alright, what am I playing?” you asked as sheets of music were thrown into your hands. Roger slowly slid up from the floor as you looked over a song titled “Modern Times Rock ‘n’ Roll”. You moved into the booth, grabbing a pair of drumsticks and positioning yourself on the stool. Hit after hit, you started to get a feel for the beat as you kept playing. Brian, John, and Freddie were so consumed in their conversation that they didn’t see Roger slide into the booth with you. 

 “Sometimes I forget how good you are at the drums,” Roger had waited until you finished playing to speak. Your head snapped up to look at him, before gazing back down at the music sheets in front of you. 

 “Thanks, but it would mean a bit more if you were sober,” you quipped before starting a steady beat with the kick drum. Roger moved closer to you, letting himself sway to the sound as you started to follow along with the sheet music.

 “It’s honestly kind of hot to hear you playing a song that I wrote,” Roger leaned closer to you and you stopped, twirling the drumsticks in your hand.

 “Rog, you’re drunk. Try not to say things that you’ll regret in the morning,” you pointed a drumstick at him, and he threw his hands up in defense.  

 “Oh, I won’t. Trust me,” his face hovered near yours and your eyes widened. 

 “No, no, no,” you pushed yourself up off the seat before Roger could get any closer to you. “There is no way that I’m going to let you kiss me. Especially when your drunk,” Roger looked a little disappointed as you moved further away from him. You looked towards the glass window and saw the boys finishing up their conversation before Freddie leaned down towards the mic.

 “Alright Y/n, are you ready?” Freddie asked and you nodded, sitting back onto the drum stool. “Rog? What the hell are you doing in there? Get out,” you glanced over at Roger and cut him off before he could respond to Freddie.

 “He was trying to give me a few pointers for the song. He’s spewing nonsense but I think I’ve got it down,” you flashed Freddie a wide smile as Roger grumpily walked out of the booth. 

 “Start whenever you like, darling,” Freddie gave you a slight nod as soon as Roger shut the door behind him. You fingers danced across the drumstick as you twirled it before bringing it down upon the drum set. The song flew out of you at a rapid pace. Each note, every beat swirled together creating one mass of rhythm. By the time you finished the song, your hair was slightly tousled, and your fingers were tingling. You looked up towards the faces of your friends, only to be met with an array of expressions. Brian gave you a slight smirk that pretty much said ‘that’s my best friend’. Freddie’s mouth was gaping open as he stared at you wildly. Roger looked a little dazed but also completely turned on. And John had a giant smile plastered across his face. He was beaming from ear to ear as you managed to calm your breathing.

 “How was that?” your voice still sounded a little labored, but you had almost entirely recovered from your drum session. 

 “Roger’s out, you’re in,” Freddie words broke through the speaker and you heard a quiet ‘hey!’ from Roger in the background. You stood up with a chuckle, putting the drumsticks back before walking over to the door. When you stepped into the room, you were engulfed in a large hug, knocking the breath out of you. 

 “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Brian squeezed you even tighter as you brought your arms around his back. 

 “Not bad for an accountant,” Roger chimed in and Brian let go of you to shoot him a nasty glare.  

 “Oh hush, you’re just jealous of the fact that Y/n managed to play your song better than you,” Freddie gave Roger a light push before tapping your shoulder an affectionate pat. John stood behind them all, the wide smile still present on his lips. He welcomed you into a warm hug and you rested your arms around his neck. 

 “I knew you could do it,” John practically whispered, pulling back so that your face was only a few inches from his. “The best drummer in the world,” John’s eyes roamed yours before falling down your lips and quickly moving back up.

 “That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?” you giggled out and John smiled back at you.

 “Not if it’s true. And it is completely true. You are one hundred percent, the best drummer in the entire world,” John let out a light laugh with his words, still holding you close. 

 “Don’t let Roger hear you. He might try to kick you out of the band,” your smile still lingered on your lips. John began to lean in, enthralled with the idea of his mouth melding against your perfect smile. But it only took him a second to realize what he was doing before he pulled back, releasing himself from your shared embrace. You noticed the longing in his eyes and felt the warmth pull from you before Freddie started to speak up behind you. 

 “Alright Johnny boy go get your ass in the booth to record,” John gave you a gentle smile before walking through the door and picking up his bass off of the stand. You caught Freddie looking in your direction. His eyebrows were raised and a knowing smirk filled his face. Freddie gave you a thumbs up before turning back towards the control panel and waiting for John to start playing. 

 By the end of the recording session, everyone had finished their instrumental and background vocals. The only parts left to be recorded were Roger’s. The five of you shuffled out of the studio as the technician stayed behind to clean up his equipment. You held Brian’s guitar case as he helped steady Roger on the walk back to his car. 

 “Y/n, do you mind getting a ride home from John? I don’t think there will be enough room for you with Freddie, Rog, and my guitar,” Brian spoke, his forehead creased with worry, hoping that you wouldn’t be too upset.

 “That’s fine. As long as John doesn’t mind driving me. I don’t want to impose,” you shoved your free hand into the pocket of your coat, trying to keep it warm.

 “It’s no trouble at all, love,” John spoke up from behind you, his bass case in his left hand as he walked up next to you. “Let me just unlock it and throw this thing in the trunk while you put Brian’s guitar away,” John pulled out his car key, shoving into the lock on the side door before pulling it open and unlocking the rest of the doors. You gave Freddie and Brian a quick hug after you placed the red special in the trunk and avoiding Roger who was already passed out in the backseat, before settling into the passenger seat of John’s car. 

 “Thank you, John. I really appreciate the ride,” you smiled at John as he slid into the seat next to you, closing his door and starting the engine. He gave you a slight nod and drove off down the road. Soft music played in the background as you and John made light conversation. His hand, which was resting on the stick shift, slowly inched its way over towards yours. After what seemed like an eternity, John finally grasped your hand lightly, intertwining your fingers with his as he continued to drive. Your heart began to race at such a simple gesture, filling your whole chest with an indescribable tingle. With shy eyes, you peaked over at John and saw his blushing cheeks. A smile grew on your lips as you admired his bashfulness. 

 Before you could continue on thinking about how cute John’s reddened face looked under the passing streetlights, the car came to a stop. Suddenly, you realized that you had arrived at your apartment building and your heart sank a little, not wanting to get out of the car. Leaving John seemed to be so difficult, especially when you thought about the shared warmth between each of your fingers at the moment. 

 “Well, here we are,” John’s voice was soft and quiet, as if he didn’t want to be speaking. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, but it seemed like every syllable he uttered drew him further away from it, from you. “You were great today,” he looked up at you, admiring the way the moonlight and streetlamps brought light to your face in the dark. “We honestly couldn’t have kept recording without you.”

 “Well, what are friends for, right?” the words slipped passed your lips and you immediately regretted them.  

 “Right, friend,” John mumbled lowly, a hint of sadness on his face as he did so.

 “I- uh, I didn't...” you were interrupted by a loud knock on the car window as both you and John jumped in your seats, your hands ripping apart. “Oh my god, Sally,” you rolled your window down, now face to face with your roommate. 

 “Hi love. Hi John,” Sally said, sending a wave in Deaky’s direction. “I just got home, and I’d hate to interrupt but I left my key upstairs and the door is locked. Could you come unlock it for me please,” Sally plastered a big cheesy smile across her face as you reluctantly agreed. 

 “I’ll be up in a second,” you called out to her as she walked towards the building. You rolled your window back up before turning over to John. “I’m so sorry about her, she really has no boundaries. And thank you for taking me home, John. It’s always nice to spend time alone with you,” a smile crept across both of your faces before you opened the car door and got out. John watched as you walked into the lobby of your building, his smile still spread over his face. His heart stuttered and his stomach filled with butterflies as he thought back to the feeling of his palm pressed against yours. After a few more seconds of peering through the glass windows of the lobby, John drove away feeling a warm and indescribable sensation spread from his cheeks down to the tips of his toes.  

 November 12, 1972

 You woke up groggily to the echoed ring of the telephone from the living room of your apartment. It had stopped after a few seconds but then startled awake once more. You groaned, pushing the bed sheets off your body, creating a shiver that ran down your spine from the sudden rush of cold air. You knew Sally wouldn’t get up out of bed to answer the phone so you would have to. As your feet padded across the cold wood floor, you grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped yourself in it. The phone was on its last ring as you picked it up and held it to your ear.

 “Hello?” your voice cracked and sounded heavy from having just woken up.

 “Hi Y/n,” Roger spoke, his voice deep and rough as he let out a long breath. 

 “Roger? Why are you calling so early? It’s only…” you glanced down at the watch on your left wrist to check the time. “8:37.”

 “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry but I just needed to call you,” he sounded a little panicked and you knew that he was probably a little hungover too. 

 “What’s going on? Should I come over?” you stayed still, standing next to the sofa as you listened intently to Roger on the other line. 

 “No, no. It’s nothing too serious. I just need to,” Roger paused taking a deep breath before continuing. “I need to apologize. Apologize for how I’ve been acting all week, how I acted yesterday,” his voice shook a little and you heard it. 

 “Roger, it’s fine,” you quickly interjected.

 “No, it’s not. Please just let me do this,” Roger was met with silence from you, taking it as his cue to continue. “I’ve been acting like a complete ass to you for years and I have no right to. I mean, we slept together but it’s not we’re dating. But then, for some reason, I felt so protective over you and I don’t know why. So, when I saw you dancing with John last week something inside me snapped. But like I said, I had no right to pull you away from him. Then last night in the studio I just started thinking about it again and I got so upset, so I drank. And if you hadn’t been there to do my drum backtracks, I’m pretty sure Brian would have murdered me, so thank you for that. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry and I’m going to do better to move on because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or hurt you anymore. I just want you to be able to see me the same way you did before everything that happened two years ago. I want to go back to normal,” Roger took a deep breath after he finished and you slowly sat down on the couch, sinking into the cushions. 

 You took a moment to mull over everything that Roger had just said. Was this his subtle way at hinting that he has feelings for you? And if it was then why would he have turned down your proposition to go on a date after you slept together? Why does this all seem so sudden? Was Roger jealous? You finally managed to gather your thoughts well enough to respond and you huffed out a long breath. 

 “Rog, you still there?” 

 “Uh huh,” he sounded nervous as he gave a muffled response.

“I thin-” was all you managed to get out before you heard a click from the other line. “Hello? Roger?” you pulled the receiver down to glance at it before resting it back against your ear. “Rog?” you asked one last time before you put the phone down. He hung up on me.

Taglist: @Retromusicsalad @bohemiansweede @Deaconsroger @queen-crue @ohtheseboysilove @Queeniesteiins @Kemeryyyy @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ixchel-9275 @luvborhap @ziggymay @deakysmisfire @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @briarrose26 @greatdinosaursalad @queendeakyy

[areluctantsblog]

Teacher!Tony wrong number au - Part 4

I'm super excited to post this chapter for two reasons. Firstly, because I'm introducing a few familiar characters and a sort of new one. Secondly, because this chapter got so long that I decided to break it into two. I hope it works for you all, let me know, I’m grateful for every feedback. 🙂

(part 1, part 2, part 3)

After that torturous lesson on Monday, Tony decides that he won’t text Peter Parker again. It’s no more than a bullet point in the list of reckless things Tony swore to avoid from Monday on, yet it still feels important to point out. Tony’s a teacher and Peter’s a student. Their relationship ought to be defined by their roles and even those three times they texted was enough to blur the lines and mess them up. That is, if Peter’s behaviour was anything to go by Monday afternoon. And even if the boy is all right, Tony won't forget anytime soon the disturbing reaction he had to the situation. What situation that was exactly, he doesn’t know, and he isn’t too keen on labelling it, either. Giving it a name would only make it real and that is the last thing Tony needs.

Tuesday morning Tony catches himself keeping an eye out for Peter Parker wherever he goes. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of meeting the boy. Or is it that he’s eager to? Well, Tony most certainly isn’t afraid of the boy. His own reaction, however, is an entirely different story. As for wanting to see Peter, yes, he might wish to, but only to make sure again that the boy is all right. It’s only reasonable, wanting reassurance. Helping him, if he needs to. His motivations are completely respectable, Tony thinks – then feels his stomach drop when he mistakes a sophomore for Peter.

By lunchtime he loses count of how many times he told himself to get a grip. He knows that he will meet Peter eventually and some part of him is confident that it will be all right. Things will go back to normal in no time. Peter will have gotten a confidence boost and Tony will have proved to be able to stay at the rational side of things all by himself. Everything is going to be fine. That is, if he finally comes to his senses and starts treating the situation as he should. Like it never happened. Like it should never have happened. Not with that twitch in his chest, that feels frighteningly like regret, every time he remembers his resolution.

He sees Peter again on Wednesday morning. They exchange the small smile and polite nod Tony expected the first time and it’s alarming how effortless it is. A part of him tells himself to be happy about it, but that part also does everything to ignore the rush of adrenaline and the fluttering of his stomach accompanying that smile. And the disquieting suspicion of what it all might mean.

By Thursday night, Tony feels more exhausted than ever before during his teaching carrier. He desperately needs to get it off his chest. He pours himself a whisky, sits on the sofa and looks Jarvis deep in the eyes.

“I’m in trouble,” he begins. The dog tilts his head with a soft whine.

“Yep, it’s not good,” he sighs. Then he realises what he just said and hurries to add, “but it’s not bad either. I’m just blowing it out of proportion.” His firm voice makes the dachshund put his head down on his feet timidly.

“I enjoyed texting him, yeah, but who wouldn’t?” Tony pleads, waving his glass dangerously in the air. “He’s one of those new generation kids who grew up online. Of course, he’s funny and easy-going. And me? Okay, let’s not start with that,” he allows when the dachshund covers his eyes with a paw. “The point is, that nothing wrong happened. And nothing will happen. I just need to calm the fuck down,” he finishes, burying his face into his hands. “Ugh. Why can’t I just… Shit!”

Prompted by Tony’s strangled voice, Jarvis hops onto the sofa and nudges his thigh with a small paw.

“It’s all right, buddy,” he says, sitting up. “Well, it’s not, not yet, but we’re here to figure it out, aren’t we?”

Tony finishes his drink and refills before he speaks again.

“And so, what if I find him interesting? He is an interesting boy,” Tony insists. The dog whines again. “Yes, okay. I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I notice him before? Do I only find him interesting because we texted? Because we did something forbidden? God, I’m fucked up. But okay, let’s say I do. I feel this, this attraction – strictly in a physical sense. As in relating to physics, not, not the other thing. Yeah... But, but it doesn’t mean that I have to act on it. That’s what makes us human, isn’t it, J?”

“I wouldn’t know, boss, but my Talking to Himself protocol has just been activated” says another voice with a soft British accent.

“Hey there, mother hen. I wasn’t talking to myself. I was talking to your four-legged cover-up,” Tony quips back at the AI.

“You programmed this protocol to ignore entities that are unable to answer in any known human languages,” J.A.R.V.I.S. informs him.

“Oh, but look at him, he’s all ears. And he was being most supportive, didn’t you listen?” Tony chides, petting the dachshund's head gently.

“I did listen, and about what you sa…,” J.A.R.V.I.S. begins, but Tony interrupts him.

“I didn’t upload my painfully earned self-knowledge into your archives for you to just throw it back at me.”

“So how can I help?” J.A.R.V.I.S. asks, sounding more concerned, than offended.

“How about you make me a hot bath?”

“Right away, boss.”

“That went well, wouldn’t you say?” Tony whispers conspiratorially to Jarvis, as he scratches behind his ears. “I just hope it goes well with Peter tomorrow, too.”

Surprisingly, it does. The hot bath and the unusually peaceful sleep seem to have made a difference, because Friday morning Tony feels calmer than he had in days. He tries to whoosh away the idea that this newfound serenity might have more to do with finally seeing Peter again, than successful coping. But even if it is so, he can’t wish away his emotions. He just has to keep it together for a short time, a few weeks maybe, certainly not more than three and then his life would become safely uneventful once more. It already looks promising. During the lesson, Tony’s in a much more reasonable state of mind than last time and Peter looks at him again.

Tony he knows himself too well to relax, though, despite feeling relieved on his way home for the week-end. Believing that it’s all behind him just because one lesson went well is… tempting. And that’s exactly what makes him wary. Tony is aware, even if he doesn’t feel them at the moment, that some of the messy, irrational and absolutely inappropriate emotions he’s been dealing with all week linger on.

As a consequence, Tony has the most irregular weekend in a long time – well, none more so, than the last one when he texted a student, but he doesn’t count that one. Instead of staying in his workshop, he spends almost all of Saturday in Central Park with Jarvis. He watches skaters, talks to a nice paintress, feeds the ducks and walks more than he thinks advisable in the chilly weather. It works reasonably well. Even though Peter pops into his mind at least a hundred times during the day, Tony at least doesn’t spend his evening fighting off more thoughts of the boy. He barely finishes feeding Jarvis before he collapses onto the sofa, fast asleep.

When Tony wakes up a little before noon he’s both grateful for only having to come up with half a day’s worth of distractions and annoyed at himself for that thought. After walking Jarvis, he grades a few freshmen’s homework, but stops when he almost falls asleep. Later in the afternoon, after spending a miserable hour trying to concentrate on lesson plans, Tony turns his TV on and in a desperate attempt at distraction, selects the superhero movie with the most handsome men running around in tight suits. It doesn’t help. Getting slightly aroused by all the action and sexiness and at the same time wondering who Peter Parker’s favourite character is… Well it’s as far from making things better as it can be.

When turning in unusually early for the third night in a row, Tony resolves not to make any more resolutions. His attempts at dealing with the situation seem to have yielded mixed results. Results, he feels unable to untangle at the moment. So, Tony decides to just go about thing as usual – or at least as close to usual as he can manage – and see what happens.

What does happen the next day, however, is nothing he prepared for. Thankfully three nights of long, uninterrupted sleep gives him enough presence of mind to avoid making a scene, but at the end of the period Tony can barely wait until the last student leaves the classroom before he takes out his phone and texts Peter.

Aaand stay tuned for part 5 which is almost ready and coming soon 😉

Notes: Yes, Tony has J.A.R.V.I.S., the AI and his reasons for keeping it a secret – hence Jarvis, the dog, who looks like the one in the pic below. (And of course, you’ll find out what those reasons are, if you stick with me for a bit longer.)

Thanks for reading and special thanks if you share your thoughts on this chapter with me 🙂

Edit 10-02-2019: Part5

[notbang]

funny when you wager how you feel

nathaniel & heather, during 4x17. inspired by heather’s affiliations in the 4x16 betting pool. also on ao3.

“Dude, I was rooting for you. You owe me five hundred dollars.”

“Excuse me?”

He wants to ask how she even know where he lives, but Heather pushes right on past him into the apartment, not bothering to acknowledge the question or wait for a formal invitation.  She makes it over to his bookcase before she spins on her heel to look at him.

“The betting pool? The dates? I emptied both of my piggy banks for you. That was my hot tub savings. You basically owe me a hot tub.”

As she stops to properly survey her surroundings for the first time, Nathaniel feels an embarrassed flush prickle up the back of his neck at the state of his living room. Since Rebecca left he hasn’t exactly been expecting company, but things aren’t anywhere near up to his usually impeccable personal standards, either.

“Wo-ow. So, I can’t believe this is your apartment. Aren’t you supposed to be, like, a fancy senior partner at a law firm, or something? And this is how you live? Is this what you think of yourself?”

He rolls his eyes, swinging the door shut when it becomes apparent she isn’t planning on leaving any time soon. “Ha ha. I suppose I deserve that.”

“It’s just that, I don’t know—people that respect themselves usually don’t usually throw their fast food wrappers on the ground when they’re done with them. Or, like, when they’ve had a single mouthful and remembered they don’t eat bread or cheese,” she amends, nudging the abandoned burger gingerly with her toe. When she glances back up at him her face softens unexpectedly into a sympathetic grimace. “You’re like, really bummed, huh? I’ve seen you throw fries on the floor once before.”

He hand waves the disaster zone. “I started to deal with my very messy, human, Rebecca-related emotions the only way I usually know how. And then I decided I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“Okay,” Heather says, humming, eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. “Then what are you gonna do? Because not to be insensitive, but there may or may not still be stakes riding on the fallout of this whole giant mess, and I’d really rather not wait around until you’re sixty five to find out.”

“Huh?”

“Ugh, don’t worry about it,” she’s quick to dismiss with a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t want to get forced into a forfeit for interference. But for what it’s worth, I lived with Rebecca for two years. I’m not sure I understand the hype, personally. She never empties the dishwasher and she flushes her tampons. I think you dodged a bullet.”

She throws herself down on the couch so forcefully she bounces with the momentum of it, leaning deep into the cushions as if to test them and stretching her long, muscular arms out across the backrest.

“By all means,” Nathaniel says. “Make yourself at home.”

“Oh, I will.” She swings her feet up onto the coffee table, glancing pointedly at the pizza box they’re resting on when he opens his mouth to protest. “Seriously though. Are you okay? I feel like maybe I should ask if you’re okay, since you’re like this brand new person with all these emotions and stuff.”

“Honestly?” he asks, and she gestures in the affirmative. “I don’t know. I’m not really sleeping well. I can’t focus on my work. I thought it was all the indecision, and that it would go away once I got an answer, but…” He massages his forehead. “I don’t think it’s because of Rebecca. At least, not entirely. I don’t know how else to describe it other than I feel… restless.”

“Maybe you should get out of town while this whole thing blows over and people go back to minding their own business. Book a vacation, or something. It kind of seemed like you were always trying to run off to Rome or Hawaii or wherever else it is they have hotels I can’t afford to, like, breathe the lobby air of.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t actually want to go to Rome, or Hawaii. I’ve seen all those places before. I just wanted to be with Rebecca—I wanted to spend time with her.”

“Okay, well, that admittedly very sweet option is sort of off the table now, but there must be someplace you would like to go, or that you haven’t been.” Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an ‘o’ shape that he thinks must be her version of excited. “Do you want to throw darts at a map of the world? I totally have darts.”

Almost as quickly as her interest flared, her attention is back on his bookcase again, and Nathaniel sighs as she pushes up onto her knees, the eyelets of her boots scraping the leather as she leans across the arm rest to reach for a spine that’s caught her eye. She flips disinterestedly through one of his law books before discarding it beside her and replacing it with an expensive pictorial on Cuban architecture.

“When White Josh broke up with Darryl he went to Mexico to, like, hammer out all his feelings,” she says, smoothing out the dust jacket. “And then he came back with a dog. Maybe you should do the same.”

“Well, I do hablo español,” he concedes.

Heather raises her eyebrows. “Enhorabeuna. I also attended high school. Most of the time.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m… reasonably fluent, actually. A little rusty, probably, but more than enough to get by.”

“Well, that’s a start. And since you clearly don’t have much experience with flights of fancy, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Google.”

“Google?” he echoes, dubious. “I’m not convinced that’s a secret.”

“I’m serious. You gotta start Googling.”

“Googling what, exactly?”

“Whatever pops into your head. Like, after I watched The Hunger Games, I thought about J-Law looking all fine in her post-apocalyptic outfit, or whatever, and I said to myself—I could work a bow. So I opened my laptop and Googled ‘how do I become a champion level bowman in the short period of time before the Ren Faire arrives?’ which led me to discovering the archery unit at my community college, and here we are. It’s kind of like rapid-fire association, but you have to fully commit to going down the rabbit hole. And then you just keep clicking, and searching, and researching things obsessively until suddenly it’s three days later and you have seventy two tabs open and a new Pinterest account because you forgot the password to the last one. It’s Wilbur,” she adds. “The password is always Wilbur.”

“Sounds chaotic,” Nathaniel quips.

“It is, but it’s also very therapeutic.” Heather stretches, catlike, and pushes back up onto her feet. “I want to give you some secondhand advice here, but I don’t want to mention the name of the person it originally came from, because your face is going to start doing the drippy thing again, so I’m just gonna call them… Hebecca.”

Nathaniel raises his eyebrows. “Darryl’s daughter gave you advice?” he asks dryly. “Wow. I wasn’t aware she was forming sentences yet.”

“Uh-huh—she’s super advanced for a baby, and I’m giving my womb all the credit for her infinite wisdom.” She pats her stomach, and he can’t help it—he huffs out a laugh as she carries on. “When Paula was feeling dissatisfied with how things were going down at her fancy new job, Hebecca told her she should ask for more. That she should bet on herself.” Heather’s mouth twists. “You should bet on yourself.”

“I did bet on myself,” he points out. “Both of us did, remember? And we both lost. Hundreds of dollars. Thousands, even.”

She tilts her head at him. “Okay, so I’ll admit that probably wasn’t the best phrasing to use, in retrospect. But I don’t mean, like, literally bet on yourself. I mean, you have to decide you deserve the things you want. But not in a gross, rich, white privilege way—in a way that means you have look inside yourself and make some tough decisions about what you want your life to look like, whether certain people are in it or not. You can’t control what choices other people make. But you’re the one that has to live with yours.”

He glances over at the couch she just vacated, where Rebecca had sat across from him only yesterday, quietly apologetic but simultaneously so self-assured. He remembers the way he’d felt at peace with it before she’d even started speaking. How strangely calming it had been, seeing her settled and suddenly sure of herself, in the midst of all this pervasive indecision.

“That is… a solid assessment, actually. You only get one life, right?”

“For the record, I charge by the half hour and accept payment in the form of hot tubs.” Heather considers him for a moment longer, then crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you want to get out of here? I could take you for a spin in my new Honda Civic. You’re basically its honorary godparent, or something.”

“Like a date?” he asks wearily.

“Ugh, dude—gross, no. I’m married,” she says, flashing her ring finger at him. “You were there.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was being facetious. But no thanks—I’m good. I need to clean up in here. Open some windows.”

“That,” Heather says, eyes sweeping the room, “is probably a wise decision, because it smells like the Home Base back room in here and not in a good way.”

“Is there a good way?”

“Well, yeah. I’m surprisingly still partial to when they’re cooking chilli fries.” She leans over, extending her arms in their entirety and keeping her body as far away from his as possible while allowing her palms to rest on his shoulders. “You are valid, kiddo,” she says, squeezing him awkwardly and thumbing his nose in a way that makes him scrunch up his whole face and flinch. “For things other than your bank account and strong jawline. Just in case nobody’s ever told you that. But also, I will be expecting reimbursement for your romantic shortcomings, so the bank account is a definite plus.”

Once Heather is gone he thinks about the person that never told him that in so many words but certainly made him feel it, and after flicking it open and closed a few times he shuts the ring box, rubs his thumb along the velvety seam one last time and pushes it away.

He pauses with his fingers over the keys, then hesitantly types in animals AND law AND spanish into the text box; just because he’s being self-indulgent doesn’t mean he has to completely abandon Boolean operators.

The returns are fairly broad so after a moment's consideration he amends the search to zoo AND law AND spanish speaking countries.

He hovers the cursor over the link to the San Diego Zoo’s donation page before his gaze catches a couple of results down on a site for zoology and wildlife internships, and suddenly, for the first time in awhile, finally something clicks.

[everlarkficexchange]

Practical Strangers

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 45: I answered your oddly specific craigslist roommate ad as a joke and now we’re living together… [submitted by Anonymous]

Rating: E

Summary: Under duress, Katniss advertises for a new roommate. The first person to respond is practically perfect for what she wants. He’s also a total stranger.

__________________

  “Good morning.”

I jump and spill coffee down my front. Sputtering and shooting daggers from my eyes, I turn and face the source of the deep voice that startled me out of my early morning funk.

“It was,” I say wryly, “until someone scared me, and I spilled coffee on my interview outfit. What are you doing up so early, anyway? I expected to have the kitchen to myself.”

“Baker hours,” he explains with a shrug. “When I was in high school, I used to help my dad get the dough prepared for the morning loaves.”

“Your dad’s a baker?” I’m reminded again how little I know about this man, Peeta Mellark, my new roommate.

“He was, yes,” he answers with downcast eyes and crosses to the coffee maker.

“Retired?”

“No,” he mumbles. “Dead.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, but he shrugs again.

“No way for you to know.” He motions to my stained shirt and says, “You should change. Don’t want to be late for your interview.”

I open my mouth to reply but snap it shut quickly. He’s right, this stranger who now shares my apartment. I need to go. I need this job, so I can’t afford to be late.

I rush to my room and frantically paw through my closet for something clean, unwrinkled, and at least somewhat professional. I grab a dark green shirt and tuck it into my black pencil skirt. Taking a quick glance in the mirror, I smooth down my thick braid and slip on my black flats. I have exactly two minutes to get out the door before I’m pushing it with traffic and other unexpected delays.

“Good luck,” he calls as I hurry through the rooms and head to the door.

I send a thank you over my shoulder but don’t stop. I barely know this guy, and I don’t have time to make small talk so I can spare his feelings when I have a job at stake. I’ll talk to him later, I think as I make a beeline to my car and drive to Panem Manufacturing for my meeting with Mr. Heavensbee.

“Please let me get this job,” I breathe. “Please, please, please. Let something go right today.”

****

Peeta slips through the front door later that night, so quietly I would have missed him if I hadn’t been curled up on the couch staring at the blank space right above the TV. I haven’t moved since the early afternoon when I returned home after my interview and immediately changed into flannel pajama pants and a faded gray sweatshirt my best friend gave me from his days as a college football walk-on.

I don’t say anything, and Peeta nods as he crosses to his room and closes the door. I’m not sure why I’m disappointed. I’m certainly not in the mood to talk to anybody after the reception I got from the head of sales at the factory. Even if I do get the job, it’s going to be tough to get excited about working with such grumpy employees who seem to care about nothing except a fat bottom line for the company.

I’ve barely finished the thought before Peeta rejoins me. He’s changed into threadbare jeans that cling to his powerful thighs and a soft navy t-shirt that makes his bright blue eyes even deeper than they already are.

“What are you watching?” he asks and picks up the remote to hit the info button.

“Nothing really,” I mumble. “Just have it on for sound. Feel free to change it.”

He plops down onto the cushions, only a couple of feet away, and glances over at me. “Any suggestions?”

“Whatever is fine,” I assure him. “I’m not really into too many shows.”

He flips through a few channels until he lands a local station. “News okay? I try to stay up on current events.”

“Fine.”

We sit in silence for a while as the anchor relates the day’s events with gravity laced with a touch of humor. On the first commercial break, he turns to me and asks, “How was the interview?”

I want to answer him, but the words stick in my throat. I’m probably not going to get the job, and months of unemployment stretch before me, taunting me until I feel like I’m going to vomit. When I don’t answer, he reaches over and puts his hand on my forearm and gives it a comforting squeeze.

My skin tingles when he pulls away, and I stare at him for a few moments before he turns back to the television. With his eyes facing forward, I study him carefully. He’s got a strong jaw that frames an attractive face with full lips, a slightly upturned nose, and startlingly blue eyes. His shoulders are solid atop a torso that would make most girls drool. His legs stretch out in front of him, and he crosses his feet at the ankle as he slouches on the couch. He seems to know exactly who he is, and I suddenly realize how insanely attractive he seems, this man who also lives inside my small apartment. It’s almost tiny with his muscular body crowding against mine.

He answered an ad I placed on Craigslist. That’s how he found me. My best friend Gale and I were drunk one night, and he teased me about both the empty bedroom in my place as well as my own vacant bed. He dared me to advertise for someone to share both but to put it in one notice. He didn’t think I could or would do it, but I woke the next morning to a splitting headache, enough regret for four lifetimes, and a voicemail message.

“Hi, Katniss,” it said. “My name’s Peeta. I’m new in town and saw your post online. I’m a guy, in case you couldn’t tell from my voice. I’m quiet and neat and am good at making beds. I can bake, which is what I’m guessing you meant by putting stuff in the oven, and I’m ready to move in right away. I’m starting a new job, and I haven’t had time to do anything more than check into a hotel. Temporary is fine, if you want to give this a trial run. Let me know when you can.”

Too embarrassed to explain anything, I returned his call immediately, and we’ve been living together for the past two weeks. He’s been true to his word so far. We’ve barely interacted, but now…

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” I ask suddenly, and he jumps slightly. I blush at the realization that my question was overly loud, but I stare at him until he shakes his head.

“No, I’m off tomorrow. Why?”

“Do you drink?”

He nods, and I bound from the couch to grab a couple of bottles of booze and some shot glasses from the kitchen. When I return to the living room, he shoots me a quizzical look, but I simply pour him some vodka and nudge it toward him.

“It’s been a shit day, and I could use some company,” I offer in explanation and throw back my head. I relish the burn of alcohol down my throat.

Three shots later, I’m feeling a lot more relaxed. Peeta’s tolerance is clearly higher than mine, but I don’t care. I’ve got a half-smile on my face, and I’m sure whatever I’m saying is fascinating. He nods along and mixes something for me that tastes a hell of a lot better than the vodka shots. I take the drink from him gratefully and let my fingers graze against his for longer than necessary. His eyes darken but otherwise acts like nothing happened.

I learn a lot about Peeta through the haze of alcohol. His job at the local newspaper as a photographer helps him fund his true love of art. He’s hoping to find a studio in town and get back to smearing paint on canvas as soon as possible. He’s from a small city several hours away and has two brothers whom he adores, a mother he hates, and a father who passed away from a massive heart attack a few years prior. He hasn’t dated in a while, and he admits with a sheepish grin that he’s a little bit frustrated with his social life.

“What about you?” Peeta asks and points his shot glass at me. “I’ve been talking for the past hour, and you’ve done nothing more than sit there and drink what I’ve given you.”

“And you’re very good at that,” I compliment him as I snuggle into the blanket that’s draped over my shoulders. “I haven’t been this relaxed in a looooooong time. Not since Gale and I…”

I trail off, and Peeta leans toward me. “Since you and Gale what? Gale’s that guy who was here the day I moved in?”

I nod, and he hands me another drink.

“We’re not together, you know,” I say firmly, but the effect is ruined when I hiccup.

“No?”

“Nope,” I insist and take another sip, hoping it will help me speak normally. “We’re best friends. Have been for years. Now that he’s a cop, he looks out for me. He ran your info before you moved in. I had to know you weren’t a serial killer or something.”

“Oh, good,” Peeta quips. “Seems like my juvenile records are still sealed then. He didn’t find the triple homicide conviction from when I was thirteen.”

Laughter bursts from me, and I admire the humor in his blue eyes. “You’re funny,” I tell him, and he smiles, pleased with himself.

“I try.”

“You’re very good-looking, too,” I add and clap a hand over my mouth.

“Thank you,” he answers, completely nonplussed. “So are you.”

“Noooooo… I’m not. I just look better with alcohol.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of it,” Peeta reminds me, and I nod along with him.

We settle into a comfortable silence. The TV is set to a movie channel now, although neither of us are paying any attention to it. We’ve been too wrapped up in each other to care, and I suddenly have a craving for something a little more intimate.

“That t-shirt looks really good on you,” I tell him, and he rolls his head to the side to look at me under eyelashes that won’t quit. They’re incredibly long, so long they should tangle, but somehow, they don’t.

“It’s nothing special,” he drawls, and I fight the urge to reach over and run my hands across his chest.

“Looks pretty special to me.”

I’m slurring at this point. I know I’ve had too much to drink. I know I should stop, but the feeling of complete abandonment, total freedom to do and think and speak as I please, is as intoxicating as the liquor. Peeta doesn’t seem to mind, either, so I hand him my empty cup and watch as he fixes me another.

This time his fingers slide over mine as I take the drink from him. He stares at me as I raise the glass to my mouth and run my tongue along the lip. I swallow and watch as his eyes slide down my neck and down my body to the way my thighs stretch my flannel pants.

“You know that oven thing wasn’t exactly a request for a roommate who bakes,” I say.

“It seemed kind of odd,” he answers, and I laugh. The sound’s throaty and scratchy, and he shifts uncomfortably. I don’t miss him covering his crotch with a pillow and grin. Maybe I’m having some sort of effect on him.

“And yet you answered the ad.”

He nods slowly, and his eyes grow misty and unfocused. “Something told me to. I don’t know what it was, but I felt a pull when I read it, and now here we are.”

“Here we are.”

“Half-drunk and sprawled on a couch together.”

“In a mostly dark apartment.”

Our eyes lock for several seconds, and then things happen so quickly I can’t think. He scoots across the couch and catches my face in his hands. His lips find mine, and my mouth opens under his. He’s solid muscle under that cotton shirt, and I twist my fingers in the fabric, tugging and pulling as he kisses me so thoroughly my head spins. His breath is hot against my skin, and I struggle to hold in quiet moans at the feel of him against me.

“Katniss,” he groans against my neck, and I rake my fingernails up his back.

I don’t want to think. I don’t want to listen to the voice in the back of my mind telling me I’m being really stupid. I don’t want to be responsible or smart or cautious or anything that stops me from taking this man’s clothes off and running my hands over every inch of his warm, sculpted body.

Peeta’s not showing any signs of stopping. His mouth moves over my exposed skin, and his hands paw at my shirt. His palms burn against my bare back, and I arch into him.

“You smell amazing,” he murmurs as he runs his teeth along my collar bone. My skin pebbles, and he grunts as I shift underneath him and his hips bump against mine. I don’t hesitate to wrap my legs around him and thrust upward.

Our simultaneous moans sound like music, and he rocks against me. I respond in kind, and I kiss him as we dry hump like teenagers in a backseat. He’s hard, deliciously hard, and he’s found exactly the right spot that sends shivers of pleasure rocketing through me. I try to stay quiet, but, before long, I can’t stop the cries that gather in the back of my throat.

“Peeta,” I pant. “Fuck, this feels good.”

His response is to fumble at my waistband and slip his hand inside my pants. My back arches as he teases my entrance, and he holds my gaze as he slides his fingers into me.

“You like that?” he asks, his voice gruff.

I give up on remaining coherent and clamp my legs around his hand. I chase the heat coursing through me and urge him to keep going. He curls his fingers inside me, and I throw my head back and scream.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” I chant, the word becoming increasingly louder as he drives me to the edge. “Keep going. Keep going.”

He presses into my leg repeatedly, and I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so caught up in my own haze of sexual tension. He’s hard as iron inside his jeans, but it’s his hand working magic between my legs.

“Ahhhh,” I wail as the string finally snaps after several minutes of frenzied torture. My walls contract around him, and he continues to pump and curl as I thrash and shake. My climax ebbs into waves of molten metal. My skin burns and my blood boils, and nothing feels better than what we just did together.

He’s trembling in my arms, and I realize it’s taking every ounce of his strength to hold back. I will my arms to move and tug his shirt over his head. His chest—oh my hell. It’s gorgeous, solid muscle and incredibly broad. I push him off me and frown at the way his fingers glisten from my arousal. He’s been remarkably generous to me, a practical stranger, and I want to return the favor. Not that it won’t be amazing for me too.

It takes a few minutes to extricate myself from him, and he doesn’t protest at all. He’s a gentleman, I realize, and that makes it even more gratifying to grab his hand and pull him down the hall after me to my bedroom.

He closes the door behind us and draws me into his arms. We kiss for several minutes, and then I pull back and stumble toward my bed. He’s rumpled, his hair askew, and his cock straining against his jeans. His chest heaves, and his eyes are dark and glow with desire.

“Come join me,” I offer, and he crosses the room quickly.

The next several minutes pass in a flurry. Our clothes fall to the floor, and he rips the foil packet I hand him from my bedside table. We exchange a mumbled conversation, and then he’s inside me, pumping and grinding so hard I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming.

Peeta’s so enthusiastic it’s hard not to be completely caught up in our coupling. He’s got incredible stamina for a guy in a dry patch, which allows him to shift into new positions every few minutes. If he wasn’t so smooth, it would be jarring, but we change from missionary to cowgirl to reverse cowgirl with almost no pause in pace or intensity. The man’s a master.

I’m bouncing on top of him, back arched, eyes closed, when he grips my hips roughly and slows his thrusts. I wish I could see his face, but I’m facing the other way. Instead of his closed eyes and parted lips, I study the way his feet scramble against the mattress and his thigh muscles bunch and contract as he pumps into me.

“Peeta?” I pant, but his name comes out as a question. I can’t think, and I’m trying not to. I just want to feel—him inside me, the way my blood sings in my veins, how alive I feel.

“I’m almost there,” he grunts. “I’m trying to wait, but I can’t much more.”

I chuckle in disbelief. He’s trying to hold off, to make this last longer, to make me feel better. I glance over my shoulder at him and pull his hand around to rub my clit. My fingers interlace with his, and we stroke together as he shouts and falls apart.

The world shatters around me when I climax, too. The feel of him pulsing inside me and the condom filling with his ejaculate. His thick fingers wrapped around my smaller ones and covered in moisture. His inability to remain quiet as his orgasm shoots from him. My abandon as I buck on him wildly. Too much. Everything. All I can comprehend is these random sensations. No coherent thoughts. Nothing but us and burning heat. I’m on fire.

Finally, I slump into a heap beside him, and he leaves me by myself for several minutes. I assume he’s cleaning up since I hear water running in the bathroom, but I’m too exhausted to do anything other than float on a cloud of post-coital joy and alcohol-induced stupor. I’m still drunk, and my limbs are heavy.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and I startle. I nod, and he crosses to the bed. “Can I help you up?”

My cheeks burn, and I wonder how awkward this is going to be in the coming days. I can feel his hesitation as he offers me his hand, and I take it and stagger to the bathroom. After several minutes, he knocks on the door.

“Katniss? Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine,” I answer, choking with emotion. I splash water on my face and wrap a towel around myself. The thought of emerging from the bathroom and standing in front of him naked is too overwhelming.

His face is a mask of chagrined kindness when I finally emerge. He’s fully clothed, but his cheeks glow pink, and he can’t stop twisting his hands together. He’s trying hard to pretend he’s under control, but he’s failing. I can tell he’s uneasy.

“Uh, hi,” he mumbles awkwardly, and I grip my towel harder.

“We saw each other naked,” I blurt and immediately regret it. Peeta stares at me, unsure what to say, and my face burns with humiliation.

“You look good that way.”

“So do you,” I admit and duck my head to avoid his gaze. He extends my discarded clothes to me, and I turn my back on him to redress. He pretends not to watch, but I can see him in the mirror. He can’t stop himself from sneaking a few glances as I tug on my sleep pants and ratty sweatshirt. At least the gray material matches my eyes.

“Look,” he finally says when I’m redressed and facing him again, “this is awkward as hell, but I’m not going to pretend I didn’t enjoy every second of that. You’re sexy, Katniss, and you are amazing in bed. I’m not a prude. I’m a grown man who’s new in town and in between girlfriends and really enjoys good sex. What happened tonight doesn’t have to again, but I won’t be upset if it does. We do live together. We’re both single adults. If you want to uh…go to bed with me another time, well…all you have to do is let me know.”

And with that, he sweeps from my bedroom and marches down the hall. He unmutes the television, and I hear glass clinking. It takes several minutes before I follow him and rejoin him on the couch. He sloshes some liquid into a glass and hands it to me. We sip together as time passes. At midnight, he says goodnight and heads to his room.

I wake a few hours later, sweaty and unable to get back to sleep. It’s no surprise that Peeta’s door is unlocked when I test it, and it’s not shocking he welcomes me into his bed with unbridled enthusiasm. I wake the next morning cradled in a stranger’s arms.

[aceholmes]

the uncharted (5/?)

summary: commander troi and lieutenant swift find something very peculiar about the crew members of the uss delta.

here it is on ao3!

Tasha looks up from her drink, and into the faces of her concerned friends. Swirling the amber brown liquid in the bottom of the cup, she takes another swig and enjoys the burn of the alcohol down the back of her throat.

“You’ve had enough.” Beverly chides, sliding the bottle away from her. “Synthehol and real alcohol are very different things.”

Tasha pouts, her face flushed. “You’re not my mother.”

“You’ve had a great deal of liquor to drown your sorrows in, but there comes a limit to everything.” Jean-Luc puts a hand on her shoulder, and gives her a knowing gaze. Something tells her that he’s done it in the past.

“We all have losses.” Beverly continues, pressing a napkin to her mouth, sombre. A beep sounds from under the table. Wincing at the crisp sound, Tasha coughs, squinting.

Jean-Luc takes his PADD from his satchel. Tasha can barely read the words Incoming Message: Urgent before he gets to his feet.

“Message from an Admiral. It’s important, I reckon.” He nods, and moves off to a quieter area to take the message.

After he leaves, Beverly leans in, lowering her voice. “It was the same, when I lost Jack. I never forgot him and sometimes it still hurts a little to think of him.”

“You saw his body. You knew he was dead.” Tasha states. “That’s what allowed to to move on.”

“Uncertainty hurts.” Beverly gives Tasha’s hand a little squeeze. “Take your time.”

“But you didn’t send him to his death. I appointed her to be on that away team.”

Beverly glances out of the cafe, where she spots her fiancee sitting alone on a bench. “Jean-Luc would know what it feels like.”

Tasha follows Beverly’s gaze, and she wonders how he could’ve dealt with the deaths he’d witnessed under his command.

“You know what uncertainty feels like, don’t you?” Tasha speaks up, almost in a whisper. “Remember the time where he was captured by-”

“Yes.” Beverly cuts her off before she can finish. Tasha doesn’t have to press on - she knows how Beverly’s feeling at this moment. Even though Tasha could’ve been referring to two separate incidents, the feeling of uncertainty was there both times, not only for Beverly, but for the whole crew. But it hit Beverly especially hard, just like how Deanna’s disappearance seemed to target her.

“She’s not gone, is she?” Tasha almost sobs into her glass.

Bringing an arm around Tasha’s shoulders, Beverly holds her as she trembles.

“Computer, activate artificial gravity systems in sickbay.” Troi yells. Immediately the gravity starts to kick in, and everyone is sent sprawling to the ground. Ke’lth cries out in pain as he lands on his side. Troi gets to her feet, and hauls Ke’lth onto the medical bed. Swift pushes herself to her feet, and digs through the cabinets for some ointment to treat her cuts and bruises.

“Activate Emergency Medical Hologram.” Troi orders. A little man appears before the medical bed, energetic and animated.

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency.” The Doctor gives his standard greeting, before something catches his eye. “Hey, stop that!” He walks over to Swift, and swats her hand away from the cabinets. “You’re not allowed to dig in there.”

“I just need some ointment for minor flesh wounds. You got any?” Swift shoots back, gruntled.

“Those are in here,” The Doctor grunts, walking across sickbay to grab a tub from a cabinet with a sliding door. “You could’ve unleashed Oxytriodine into the air. It’s lethal in large doses!” He tosses the tub across. “Take that.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Swift catches it, and starts to slather the ointment on.

“Doctor,” Troi interjects, gesturing towards the medical bed. “Your patient.”

“Now, what seems to be the problem?” The Doctor whips out his tricorder.

Ke’lth coughs. “Broken ribs and possibly a punctured lung. But you could run scans yourself just to confirm.”

“Your diagnosis is correct. I might have to perform surgery.” The Doctor confirms.

“Thank you.”

“You’re much more civil than most other Klingons I’ve met in my time,” The Doctor adds. “No offence.”

“None taken.” Ke’lth wheezes.

The Doctor turns back to Troi and Swift. “You two can wait in my office.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Troi says, gratefully. Ushering Swift out of the med bay, Troi breezes over to the computer behind the desk.

“You can get access to that?” Swift asks, perching on the corner of the table.

“I can try,” Surmises Troi. “Computer, read access code Troi-Beta-Gamma-Seven.”

“Access code authorised.” The computer beeps, and the screen flashes on.

USS DELTA COMPUTER 3A-01

“The Delta.” Swift gasps. “The one Admiral Johnson said went missing.”

“Yes.” Troi answers, and freezes. Deep down, she knows that something is not quite right. “She said it was destroyed by Romulans.”

“Well, we’re hiding out in sick bay of a functioning ship and not floating among bits of space rubble.” Swift puts out. “I guess not everything is as it seems.”

Troi blinks hard, sensing tendrils of fear creep up her spine. “There’s got to be a reason this ship is completely deserted.”

“Check personnel files.” Swift urges. “Maybe there’s something useful there.”

“Computer, access personnel files of the USS Delta.” Troi orders. The screen begins to scroll. Name after name flashes on the screen.

“Computer, open data file of Captain Miranda Collins.”

A bleep sounds, and the computer starts to display Collins’ particulars. But what particularly interests Troi is the field that says ‘status’. It’s left blank.

“Computer, what is the status of Captain Collins?” asks Troi, leaning forward.

“Unknown.”

“Explain,” probes Troi. “When was her last status updated?”

“No further information available.”

Swift shifts slightly on the table, crossing her arms. “What about the rest of the crew?”

“Hang on.” Troi clicks a few buttons. “This displays all the statuses of all the crew members that served on the Delta.” She raises an eyebrow. “All blank.”

“It’s like someone’s trying to cover it all up.” Swift offers. “Just a suggestion.”

“It could be anything.” Troi sighs. “In fact, we could be in an parallel universe that’s different from the one we came from.”

She gets an idea. “Computer, display the personnel file of Natasha Yar.”

File: Natasha Yar

Troi scrolls down.

Last held rank: Lieutenant

“Continue scrolling.” Swift pushes on.

Status: Deceased (Stardate 41602) Cause of death: Heavy synaptic damage

Troi stops, bringing a hand to hide her gasping mouth. She turns to Swift. “I’m almost certain we’re in an alternate universe.”

Swift nods. “What about us? Would there be any implications if we were to run into our parallel-universe selves?”

“Intersecting timelines wasn’t my field of speciality at the Academy.” Troi frowns, and looks for her own personnel file.

File: Deanna Troi Last held rank: Commander Last starship served on: NCC 1701-E

“The Enterprise-E.” Troi muses. “Not bad.”

“Why would you turn down a post on a Sovereign-class starship?” Swift asks. “Seems like a damn good place to be.”

Troi thinks for a while. “Love.” Her heart trembles at the thought that Tasha, in her universe, is looking for her.

“I can’t sense her right now, but she must be hurting.” Troi makes a passing comment. “Anyway, we should search you up.”

Swift presses on the keypad. “I’m not here.”

“Not here?” Troi raises an eyebrow.

Swift sighs, almost in defeat. “Try searching on the Infoweb instead. Not Starfleet’s database, but the galactic one.”

Troi tries again. “Still nothing, Michelle.”

Swift comes down from her spot on the table and looks over Troi’s shoulder. “Try searching for the name Andromeda Orion Layson.”

“Andromeda Orion Layson.” Troi mutters under her breath, smiling slightly. “What a name.”

“Our last name is common, so my parents wanted to make me stand out.” Swift says. “I changed my name legally when I got older.”

“Andromeda. Orion.” Troi reiterates. “Like the constellations.”

“My parents were pop stars. They wanted something big and flashy.” recalls Swift. “They didn’t like it when I changed my name, or went into Starfleet.”

“You must’ve had a very interesting childhood.” says Troi, turning back to the screen. She brings up the most recent article about Layson.

Andromeda has second child, separates from husband. Juicy details!

Swift grimaces. “I can’t imagine that that’s me.”

“What, having children?” Troi pokes.

“Being on the cover of every popular tabloid in the Alpha quadrant.” Swift grumbles. “Fame, not really my thing.”

Troi laughs at Swift’s quip, but before she can say anything more, the Doctor comes shuffling into the office. “The surgery was successful, but your friend needs a bit of recovery time. He’ll have to stay in Sick Bay for another eighteen hours at least while I monitor his condition.”

“Thanks.” Troi smiles, clasping her hands. In the corner of her eye, she finds that Swift has moved away from the desk, and is prodding the replicator on the wall. At this, Troi’s stomach rumbles. It’s lunch time.

“Doc, does this even work any more?” Swift scowls, almost punching the controls. “Nothing seems to work.”

“The replicators have been offline for more than three months.” The Doctor replies.

“What happened to the crew?” questions Troi. “There hasn’t been anyone around.”

The Doctor shrugs. “I’m not very sure either. I haven’t seen a single crew member in three months.”

“Did everyone just leave?” Swift asks.

“I’m just the medical hologram. I don’t know the whereabouts of everyone on this ship.” He narrows his eyebrows. “Speaking of crew, who are you? I don’t recognise any of you.”

“Commander Deanna Troi, Lieutenant Michelle Swift.” Troi introduces. “And Ke’lth is out there on your medical bed.”

“Funny.” The Doctor sighs, then shakes his head. “You weren’t on the crew list.”

“Doctor.” Troi’s voice goes into a serious tone. “We aren’t from here at all. We were transported here in a transporter accident.”

“From which ship?” He asks, walking over to the computer.

“The USS Vienna.” replies Swift.

The Doctor shakes his head. “Doesn’t exist.” He looks up. “You’re from a parallel universe, either that, or you’re lying.”

“We don’t have any intention to deceive you.” Troi holds her ground. “In fact, we’re just looking for a way to get back to our universe.”

He sighs again. “I can only help you within the reaches of sickbay.”

“Are there crew quarters we can occupy for the night that aren’t under security clearance?” Troi asks. “That would be a great help if you could locate some for us.”

The Doctor takes a breath. “Unfortunately, I cannot give you access to crew quarters as they are under security clearance. That would be going against the code of conduct.”

Swift bites the edge of her thumb. “We’ll have to manage.” She pauses, before speaking to the computer. “Computer, is there a safe route from Sickbay to Engineering?”

“The quickest route has been downloaded to Computer 3A-01.”

“What are you doing?” Troi asks, watching Swift settle herself at the computer.

Swift gives an impatient huff. “Making this place livable, starting with the replicators. You coming?”

Troi deliberates whether to stay or leave. On one hand, she’s adamant to leave Ke’lth alone in Sickbay, or at least with the EMH she’s not very sure can be trusted wholly. On the other hand, it would be dangerous for Swift to go alone, considering that a thousand crewmen disappeared from this ship with no explanation whatsoever and that very same menace could be lurking deep in the shadows.

“I’ll come with you,” finally decides Troi, readying her phaser.

[cometocourtyou]

untitled [cardinal fic]

following up that post about danielle and lise ending up with a bunch of cats

Between her wife and their cat, Lise isn't entirely sure which one is the more pathetic one.

Goblin (yes, that name was Danielle's idea, and yes, she is the one responsible for the vet visits) is wearing one of his Christmas sweaters, curled up in her lap, purring softly.

Lise sighs and reaches down to scratch his head. It makes the cat open an eye, give her an expectant look. She arches an eyebrow at him wordlessly as his purr cuts off and he just stares at her, waiting.

"Fine," Lise sighs and starts petting him with a long suffering sigh. The cat remains silent, for a moment, before his eye closes again and he begins purring again, a rather smug expression on his face.

If anyone had told her a year ago that one day, she'd have a Sphynx cat in her lap who's wearing a Christmas sweater, she'd have laughed in their face. Turns out, she's an absolute sucker for the guy. Especially given that they'd stumbled across him when he'd been a kitten and his eyes and ears had been so big and wrinkly and he'd just looked so pathetic at the shelter, wearing a cut-up sock.

She knows Danielle is trying to get her to say yes to a playmate, for Gobby. She's been dropping "hints" all month. The thing is, Lise is not entirely convinced that Goblin would tolerate another cat. He's very, unamused, when he finds he has to share their attention with another human. She doesn't want to imagine the kind of terror he'd unleash on another feline.

Though maybe he's that way because he is lonely and starved for attention. Maybe another cat would help, with that. Keep him entertained and occupied. It might even mean that they get the bedroom back to themselves. Oh yes. For the past four months, Goblin has been sleeping in the bedroom. Though Lise is using that term loosely. He keeps interrupting their sleep by meowing because something spooks him, or because he's too hot, or too cold, or hungry, or, worst of all, attention starved. It took her almost two months, to get him out of the bed again, after Danielle had allowed him to sleep in it one night. In that sense, he really is a greedy little goblin who will take your entire arm if you even think of giving him a finger he might sink his claws into.

"Why is it so cold?" Danielle asks as the blonde finds her way downstairs, to their living room. She's still in her PJs, her hair horribly messy from sleep. She reaches up and rubs her eye, watching Lise with a sleepy-confused expression.

"Because I turned off the heat in the bedroom," Lise shrugs.

"Why?" her wife whines and walks over. Curls up next to her and pulls the blanket off the back of the couch, so she can curl up in it.

"Because you were sweating in your sleep!" Lise laughs and leans over to brush her lips over her forehead. "Seriously, how can you stand it being so warm?" she asks her, watching her wife for a moment. Danielle shrugs and opens her mouth, but only lets out a loud yawn.

Goblin lets out a chirp of surprise and turns onto his back. Glares at her and swats at Danielle's hair, drawing a hiss from the blonde when his claws tangle in it and he yanks his paw back.

"Hold still," Lise sighs and grabs the strand of hair, carefully untangling the cat from it.

"Aw, look at you," Danielle mutters as she beams at the cat. "Aren't you a cutie, in your Christmas outfit? Look who's managed to stay clean all day! What a good boy you are, yes you are, yes you are," she babbles and Lise rolls her eyes. She'd have thought any cat would declare her wife a horrific monster when she baby-talks at him, but Gobby actually seems to enjoy it. Attention whore that he is.

"Wait until he's had his breakfast," Lise chuckles, causing Danielle to pause and give her a look, before she shrugs.

"There are more where that one came from," she declares and settles down again.

"Exactly what I was afraid of," Lise mutters and scratches Goblin's chin. She's putting up with the sweaters because it is kind of cold, in the house. She's wearing long-sleeved things, as well, so she's not cold, so she's not going to make the cat shiver or turn up the thermostat for him. In the warmer months, he does okay without them, but in winter they are kind of necessary. Plus, she has to admit, the reindeer print on this one is kind of cute.

"Got him one with Santa for Christmas Day," Danielle giggles, drawing a mixture of a groan and a laugh from Lise. "Hey, you said you didn't want him in those grubby socks!"

"Yes, I did," Lise admits. Aside from them being ugly, they'd easily unravelled, especially once Goblin figured out that it was a surefire way to get them to take them off him, if they caught him playing with a thread on it. Funnily enough, once they started putting him in the cat sweaters with the prints, he gave up on that. Almost as if he actually likes them.

"Do you know, what an Oriental Shorthair is?" Danielle asks her, after a while.

"Please tell me you haven't been looking at cats again."

"I haven't been looking at cats again," Danielle replies earnestly. Lise casts a look at her face.

"You're lying," she sighs. Her wife shrugs and reaches out to take her phone. She unlocks it and goes to the browser. Pulls up the shelter, and selects the 'Prospective Adoptees'.

"Her name is Princess," Danielle declares and shows Lise the picture of a white cat with huge ears, and a comical nose.

"No," she declares immediately. "Definitely not. Especially not with that name."

"We changed his," Danielle reminds her. She's right. Before they adopted him, Goblin's name had been 'Artus'. Sometimes, Lise thinks she should have let him keep that, instead of giving her wife the power of selecting a new one.

"Please, Lise. Please, please please please-"

"You sounding like a very spoiled child is not going to change my mind," she informs Danielle. "On the contrary," she adds at her wife's sceptic look. Danielle slowly sits up and looks at the display of Lise's phone, her lip between her teeth.

"She's beautiful," she murmurs softly. "I thought we agreed, that he needs a companion-"

"I am sure that Goblin would eat Princess for breakfast," Lise quips and shakes her head. "Look," she adds, calmer. "I have no idea, if Sphynx cats and Oriental Shorthairs are compatible, trait-wise. Nor do we know, if these two would like each other. I'm not getting a second cat to have the one we already own snap and start tearing shit apart."

Danielle lets out a soft sigh and puts Lise's phone down again.

"Sorry," she apologizes softly. Reaches out and gently scratches Goblin's tummy. "I don't want him to be..." she starts, her brows furrowing. "Neglected? Lonely? Miserable?"

"He's not," Lise argues. "He's got us. And he has us wrapped around his greedy little paws, doesn't he?" she asks pointedly as the cat begins to purr again, basking in Danielle's attention.

--

She must have went wrong somewhere, Lise thinks, as she feels the weight tug on her leg. With a sigh, she reaches down and pries Wendy from her leg. Picks her up and offers her a perch on her shoulder.

The sensation of the cat's naked trail curling around her neck makes her shudder as Wendy rubs her head against Lise's face.

"Brat," she sighs and grabs the bag of food to fill the three bowls sitting on the counter. When she's done, she pauses, and then grabs the bag of treats and offers one to Wendy. The cat jumps from her shoulder onto the counter and scarfs it down, watching Lise expectantly.

"No," she shakes her head and scratches her chin. "Your siblings will kill me, if they find out I'm pulling favorites," she tells her.

Which may be the truth. Goblin absolutely detests when he thinks Danielle or Lise give more attention to one of the other two. He'll scream at them until he is petted and played with to his satisfaction.

If anyone asks, Lise will deny having a favorite. She loves all three of them. Goblin was their first cat and he will always hold a place in her heart. And Odin is so cute, with his big ears and funny nose, and the dot of black fur on his forehead and the dark tip of his tail on his otherwise white coat. He's still not entirely used to them, still has moments when he gets spooked by either Goblin or Wendy. Lise would accuse Danielle of having gotten her will, since Odin is an Oriental Shorthair, but it was actually her, who fell in love with the guy when she'd seen him in the 'Please Adopt Me' part of the newsletter they get from the shelter.

But Wendy, Wendy holds a special place in her heart. She was so small and sickly, when they got her, having been found outside. The vet had cautioned them that there was a very real chance, of her not making it. She'd been riddled parasites, had pneumonia, and her left eye had been glued shut by an infection. She's pretty much blind on that side now, they've found. Like Goblin and Odin, she's extremely clingy and will perch on either Danielle or Lise's shoulder when they're doing something around the house that means she can't be in their lap. And she has the strangest meow. It's a mixture between a honk and a scream. The first few times they heard it, both Danielle and her thought something was wrong with the cat, that she was in pain, or scared, until they figured out that no, that's just her voice.

Lise thinks Goblin bullies her, for that sound. He keeps swatting at her when she does it for too long, and Lise wants to just hug Wendy and cuddle her and tell her she's perfect with her honking scream.

"Ready to gorge yourself?" Lise asks the cat and picks her up. Puts her on the floor and grabs the food bowls so she can place them in the cats preferred spots. Goblin eats by the door, Wendy has hers in the bathroom, and Odin's spot is beneath the window sill in the living room.

Odin abandons his play with Danielle the second he sees Lise with his bowl. He almost manages to trip her by winding around her legs as she walks over to his tray and sets down his bowl.

"Not hungry?" Danielle asks with a laugh when Wendy comes in and goes straight for her. Rubs herself against her and honk-screams in reply. The blonde reaches out and touches her thin shirt. "You need a bath, huh," she mutters softly. "And a fresh outfit."

"Please stop color-coordinating them," Lise quickly says. "I keep catching a glimpse of either her or Gobby and get confused."

"Alright," her wife laughs. "It's happened to me, too," she admits. "I was folding up laundry the other day and thought I was losing my mind because they kept passing by the door. I felt like I was seeing double," she shakes her head with an amused smile.

Wendy lets out a chirp and goes over to Odin's bowl. Sniffs his food, and Odin leans back, watching her, his tail twitching.

"Ten bucks says she gets whacked," Danielle whispers. Lise rolls her eyes at her. Between Goblin and Odin, the Oriental is the more tolerant one. But he has little patience when it comes to his food, and Lise sees him slowly raise a paw. Wendy pauses and ducks her head, slinking away.

"You have your own bowl," she reminds her. "What's wrong with your food?" she inquires and picks up the cat. Scratches her chest and kisses her forehead when Wendy closes her eyes in appreciation.

It took them some time, to realize that Odin is somewhat of a social eater. He doesn't go for his bowl unless either Lise or Danielle are in the room with him. They've tried if having one of the other cats around him would help, but it doesn't. Aside from them pissing Odin off when they try to go for his food, it hadn't accomplished anything, he still hadn't eaten. Hence why his bowl and water dishes are in the living room, increasing the chance of him being able to eat in peace with either or both of them around.

Maybe Wendy isn't hungry. Maybe she's saving her food again. Lise decides to give her some more time, to see whether she goes for her bowl. If she doesn't, they'll take her to the vet in a few days, and switch her back to her high-calorie food to prevent her from losing weight again. They'll just have to make sure that Goblin and especially Odin don't get their paws on that food, as well.

--

"Yes, yes, I know," Lise says, flinching when Wendy lets out a particularly loud scream as she pushes her to the side carefully and closes the door behind her. Odin keeps slinking around her legs and she's ready to call for Danielle, so she doesn't fall over him.

"Will you stop?" she sighs and lowers the bags of groceries she picked up. Put them down on the floor and crouches down so she can greet the cats, get them to calm down and leave her some room.

Goblin is strangely absent, from the greeting. It makes her tilt her head and wonders where he went. If he destroyed something again and is hiding in an attempt to escape punishment. Not that they do that, especially not when neither Danielle nor her have seen which cat did it.

"Come here," Lise sighs and picks Odin up and pets him. Kisses his head and cuddles him, as she feels Wendy glowering at her. The Sphynx sits back and starts licking her paws, acting like she doesn't care, though Lise doesn't miss how the cat keeps her in her sight at all times. As soon as Odin is out of her arms, she runs over and clamours to be in her lap. Lise shakes her head and scratches her head gently, strokes her sides as Wendy rubs herself all over her, a strangled purr coming from her. She sounds like a snoring giant with a head cold when she purrs.

"Hello," Danielle greets her, Goblin perched on her shoulder when she walks over. Slowly bends down to kiss Lise and then picks up a bag to get it to the kitchen and begin to unload them.

"Someone's, clingy," Lise observes when she joins her a few minutes later with the rest of the groceries and sees Danielle holding Goblin and cooing at him.

"He's limping," she tells her. "I think he fell off the cabinet, when we were out." she sighs and gently bounces the cat before kissing his bald head. "I want to take him in, if it's not better by tomorrow."

"Is it one leg, or..." Lise frowns, suddenly worrying that the guy might have hit his spine on the counter on his way down.

"Front left," Danielle nods. "He's not licking it, but not putting weight on it, either. He was giving me this really miserable look when I came home, sitting there in the hallway and crying out," she mutters, a sad expression on her face.

"Poor baby," Lise mutters and reaches over to pet Gobby. He's been climbing up on the kitchen cabinets for a few days. They've only been in this house for two weeks, the cats are still kind of getting used to the place. The cabinets they had before were lower, easier to get up onto, and easier to come down from, too, with the kitchen windowsill as an in-between station, plus there'd been a table they could have used to jump down onto, as well. But this place doesn't have that, and Lise is starting to think they'll either have to put some shelves up, or add a border to the cabinets to keep the cats from getting onto them. She hasn't seen either Odin or Wendy try to get on them, but Goblin has. The other day, he got stuck up there, yelling because he couldn't figure out a way to get down.

She really hopes that this is just a sprain, and not a more serious injury.

--

"Shit! Motherf-!"

Lise starts at the loud yell from her wife. Drops the laundry basket and runs towards where the yell came from, to find Danielle curled in on herself on the couch.

"What is it?" she breathes and hurries over, crouching down in front of her.

"He jumped on me," Danielle hisses, her eyes clenched shut, hands between her legs. Lise looks over to see Odin peeking out from behind the armchair, ears flattened to his head as much as he can.

"Oh darling," she whispers and reaches out to brush Danielle's hair from her face as her wife moans in pain. Lise checks her watch and hesitates before leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"I'll be back in a second," she promises. Hurries to the kitchen, to grab an ice pack and a bottle of water, along with Danielle's pain meds.

She's stopped rocking herself, when Lise returns to the living room. Her hands are out now, clutching at one of the cushions.

"Here," Lise mutters and hands her the ice pack, which her wife gingerly puts to her crotch, a hiss of pain leaving her. "Want some?" Lise asks her, rattling the bottle of pills gently.

"Yes, a hundred times yes," the blonde mumbles. Slowly sits up and grimaces in pain. "I am murdering him," she declares as Lise hands her two pills and opens the water for her. "Goulash is on the menu tonight," her wife mutters darkly. It makes Lise let out a soft chuckle as she sits down next to her. Gently reaches down and repositions the ice pack, drawing somewhat of a relieved sigh from Danielle.

"I'm sorry he did that," she tells her and brushes some of her curls away from her face. Her wife swallows and gives a slight shake of her head.

"He didn't know it would hurt me," she sighs, looking over to where Odin is still cowering. "Sorry, baby," she mutters and reaches out her hand. "I didn't mean it. No goulash."

Their cat decides that he's better off, leaving them alone, and slinks from the room in hurried steps.

"None of them ever jumped on me like that," Lise frowns, before remembering Goblin landing on her crotch once, having been spooked by loud thunder. That had been, unpleasant. She doesn't want to imagine what it's like, for Danielle. How much having Odin land on her privates probably hurt, given her current state.

The cats went a bit, crazy, while she was gone for a week. Not that Lise blames them. She found it hard, to be without Danielle. Found it especially difficult, given the reason for her absence.

She seems, happy, though. Lighter, somehow. And she's so, so happy for her wife. That surgery went well, that the flight back wasn't too bad, for Danielle. That she seems to be recovering well.

Danielle asked her, if she wanted to see the pictures, but Lise told her no. She'd rather wait, until Danielle is ready to let her see the real thing. However long that may take.

"Hm," Danielle lets out a soft sigh and leans back against the couch cushions.

"Starting to work?" Lise asks her and watches as the blonde nods.

"Yes. Sweet relief, how have I missed you," she jokes. She's only been taking the pain meds for sleeping since she got back from Toronto. At least the prescribed ones. Lise knows she's taken some ibuprofen at times, but most of the time, Danielle tries to do without.

--

"Okay, so," the vet starts, looking at the notes. "Wendy, Odin and, Goblin?" he frowns and Lise bites back a groan as Danielle snickers.

"Gobby," she offers. "Her idea," she adds and points at her wife, drawing a laugh from the vet.

"It's not the strangest name we've had," he assures them. "Though it's a strange combination, I suppose. I mean, a children's book character, a Norse God, and a fantasy creature."

Lise tilts her head a little at the statement. She's never really looked at it that way. Goblin and Wendy were their choices, Odin already came with his name and they thought it fit him well enough, so they kept it.

"Okay, which one shall we do first?" the vet asks, causing Lise and Danielle exchange a look, before she lifts Wendy's carrier onto the table.

"Wendy," she declares and opens it carefully and lifts the cat out. "It's okay, darling," she murmurs to her as the cat scrambles to get up onto her shoulder, eyes wide. "I know, I know," she mutters and gently removes her claws from her shirt and sets her down, holding her still.

"Any concerns?" the vet asks and Lise shakes her head no as he listens to her heartbeat.

"She's been eating fine, and doesn't seem sick," she shrugs.

"Which eye is the one-"

"Left side," Lise tells him. "Her left," she amends at the vet's look. Watches, as he checks it carefully, Wendy letting out a hiss and shaking her head to escape his grasp.

"It does look a bit cloudy," he nods. "She's completely blind, on that side?" he asks and Lise exchanges a look with Danielle.

"Our previous vet assumed she is," Danielle answers. "But we think she may be able to see a little? Like, tell the difference, between light and dark. Maybe see some rough outlines? She does duck, when something comes flying at her from that side, like a toy," Danielle says and reaches out to gently pet Wendy, who's trying her best to shrink, to make herself smaller.

"Ah," the vet nods. "Do you think it bothers her?"

"Not really," Danielle shakes her head.

"I think she had some trouble, when we moved. Ran into the doorways a handful of times, when they were playing. But she seems alright now," Lise shrugs. "She's able to find her way around, climbs, plays, eats... I never got the impression that it was causing her pain or anything like that."

"That's great," the vet smiles. "Her skin looks nice, too," he compliments. "Any irritations or stuff like that?"

"No," Lise shakes her head.

"Good. So, ready for your shots?" he asks the cat. If Lise didn't know better, she'd think she sees Wendy's eyes widen even more. The cat lets out her honking scream and tries to climb up on her again.

"How is she, with these?" the assistant asks Lise. Danielle hands her a towel wordlessly and Lise wraps the cat up in it, to prevent her from sinking her claws into her skin. She doesn't try to bite, but Lise had the unpleasant experience of a very panicked cat scrambling up her front and down her back before, and it's one she can do without repeating.

"My, aren't you a cutie," the assistant coos upon seeing Odin. It makes Lise let out a soft laugh. He is cute, she agrees, but it never ceases to amaze her, how people who don't particularly care for Wendy and Gobby will just melt at Odin.

"He's a rescue, as well?"

"They all are," Danielle nods, gently restraining him from jumping off the exam table. "We got him when he was still mostly a kitten," she adds and scratches Odin beneath his chin, drawing a purr from the Oriental.

"He looks a bit on the, heavy side," the vet says carefully as he examines the cat, and Lise finds herself blushing a little.

"We tried clicker training. He's very, food motivated," she offers weakly.

"We ended up having to hide the clicker. They were all very, insistent, on their rewards, but he actually went and grabbed it. He'd follow us with it and step on it and then scream at us, until he got his treat," Danielle explains, drawing a bark of laughter from the vet.

"Gotta love Pavlov, huh?" he chuckles with a shake of his head. "But yeah, Orientals can put on weight pretty fast."

"He's actually a social eater," Lise says. "Like, he won't eat, unless Danielle or I are in the same room. He'll yell at his bowl and scream at us, but he won't touch his food."

"How about when the others are around?" the assistant inquires.

"We tried that," Danielle shakes her head. "He's, unimpressed. Goblin hates when someone's around when he eats, so we had to separate them, anyway. Wendy doesn't particularly care either way, so we figured we'd feed them together, but no, Mister Norse Mythology here requires the attendance of his human servants," she sighs. Odin chirps at her and bumps his head against her stomach, rubbing up against her.

"We moved his feeding spot to the living room. That solved the issue, mostly," Lise offers.

"I'll have someone at the front desk give you some food recs, for him" the vet offers. "I know they're indoor cats, so unless you want to leash-train him and take him for walks to get exercise-"

"Oh no," Lise shakes her head at the same time Danielle does.

"Low calorie food it is," her wife agrees.

"Sorry, buddy," the vet apologizes. "So, his sister claws. Any warnings, for this one?"

"No, he's a very good boy. Aren't you?" Danielle smiles and holds him down as he gets his shots, Odin letting out a short yowl before resigning himself to his fate.

"All done," the vet declares and Lise lifts their cat up and puts him back into his carrier as Danielle gets out Goblin.

"Oh, someone's dressed up," the vet remarks as Danielle puts the cat down.

"He's been awful about licking himself," she sighs. "He'll do it until his skin is all red and raw. Hence," she gestures at the thin sweater she's put him into. They tend to leave Wendy and him naked, during the warmer months, but his skin has just been getting worse, and he won't stop licking, even when he's in either one of their laps.

"Aw, poor guy. Let's have a look, shall we?" the vet mutters and carefully pulls the sweater off. "Oh boy," he mutters at the sight of Goblin's chest. Lise flinches, as well, her heart aching for their boy.

"We've tried bathing him regularly, switched shampoos, gently rinsed him off. We've changed his food, as well, we thought it might be allergies..." Danielle trails off.

"Any big changes, lately?" the vet asks, gently pulling Goblin's paw away when the cat goes to lick that. "That may have coincided, with this happening?"

"I had, surgery," Danielle mutters, her brows furrowing. "It was pretty big. I was gone for a week, and after that it took awhile, for me to recover."

"I'm going to make a wild guess and say he's more attached to you, than he is to your wife?" the vet gives her a look, and Danielle nods.

"Wendy worships Lise, and Odin's kind of, both our baby, but Goblin prefers me, yes," she confirms. "Are you a little neurotic anxiety ball?" she asks him with a sigh.

"I'll give you some cream, to put on the worst spots. Try to see that he doesn't lick it off, it's not toxic, but it's not great if he keeps eating it, either," the vet warns them. "Aside from that, keep doing what you're doing. Put him in something that prevents him from licking incessantly at his skin. Offer him distractions, play with him, cuddle, maybe even try reading to him. Sphynx cats, like Orientals, are very intelligent. I'm sure you've noticed that already. But that also means they notice changes more than other cats might, and if it's something they feel like they have no control over, it can really upset them."

"Poor Gobby," Danielle mutters and kisses his head, drawing a meow from their cat.

--

Lise sits back and watches as Odin slowly sneaks closer on an unsuspecting Wendy, who's just cleaning her paws. She reaches up to keep herself from laughing and drawing the attention of the cats, presses a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Wendy lowers her paw and turns her head to start on her back, and Odin uses that moment to pounce on her, sending them both tumbling on the floor.

"Brat," Danielle laughs, Goblin curled up on himself in her lap. He's been a lot better, about his incessant licking. So much so that they keep him out of his shirts now, when they are home. They still put something on to prevent him from hurting himself when they're gone, and just by the state of his clothes when they've returned, Lise still thinks it's necessary. The other day, the front of Goblin's sweater was soaked with saliva when she came home, Danielle having left for a meeting already.

Odin has been somewhat of a pest, these past few days, annoying his siblings with play fights all the time. To the point where Goblin has started seeking refuge with Danielle, hissing at the Oriental when he dared approach them.

They've been trying to distract him, have played with him and done some more tricks and training. It's better, today, he's only mildly bothered Goblin earlier, and Lise thinks Wendy can do with someone putting her in her place every so often. She seems to enjoy the playing right now, at least, so Lise is not inclined to step in and separate them.

--

Lise gently strokes Wendy's back and watches as she licks her nose, looking miserable.

"No, nothing that we can see," Danielle sighs and reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, holding her cell phone up to her ear.

"I know, love," Lise murmurs when the cat lets out a pathetic sound. She quickly grabs the bowl when Wendy gags again and then throws up, causing Lise to pull a face.

"Can I, get back to you, on that?" Danielle asks and then signs off, drawing a deep breath. "We can either wait, until morning, or bring her in now," she tells Lise, having been on the line with the vet clinic.

Normally, she'd be inclined to wait until morning, but Wendy's been just absolutely miserable for the past few hours.

Danielle and her were in the bedroom, when they heard the retching down the hall. She'd been pissed, at first, thinking it was Odin hacking up a hairball, but instead they'd found Wendy in front of a puddle of vomit.

"I don't know," she sighs. "I mean, she does look worse, doesn't she?" she asks Danielle, deciding to trust her wife's judgment. She tends to, overreact, when Wendy's health is concerned, Lise is well aware of that. She just loves her so much and she's been through such a horrible ordeal already, she doesn't want her to have to go through something like that ever again.

"Compared to when it started? Yes," Danielle confirms. Frowns, at the cat, for a moment. "Let's take her in," she declares after a moment's consideration.

"Okay," Lise nods and slowly stands, to get Wendy's carrier as Danielle calls the clinic to let them know they're coming in.

--

"Will you stop?" Danielle laughs and tries to shove Goblin away from the counter where she's attempting to fix dinner.

"Hey, pest," Lise calls, jiggling one of the balls they have for the cats with a bell inside. Goblin looks up, ears going as he looks for the source of the sound, but then decides that whatever Danielle is doing is much more interesting. Plus, it involves food.

"Jesus, you're being a real pain," the blonde declares and plucks him up from the counter to put him onto the floor. The cat lets out an indignant scream at the treatment, not used to Danielle turning him away.

"You're hurting my feelings, Gobby," Lise sighs dramatically when the cat ignores her completely, going back to Danielle and trying to climb up on her. The blonde lets out a hiss of pain as his claws dig into her leg. Bends down and picks him up, an exasperated sigh leaving her.

"You are a little shit," she declares, but still kisses his head, drawing a meow from Goblin. Lise shakes her head at them and goes to wash her hands at the sink, figuring that she'll have to take over dinner prep now.

Sure enough, Goblin keeps demanding Danielle's attention the entire time, the woman unable to set him down again. Even on her shoulder, he keeps rubbing his face against hers and meowing loudly.

--

Lise lets out a soft sigh and slowly blinks open her eyes. And finds Odin's face inches from hers, causing her to let out a yell of surprise. It makes the cat jump and scurry off the bed as Lise sits up sharply.

He returns a moment later, tail moving slowly as he sits down and watches her.

"What?" she asks him and rubs a hand over her eyes. "What do you want, huh?" she inquires as he keeps staring. Lise slowly lowers her hand and tilts her head at him, Odin mimicking the gesture. She gives a slight shake of her head and reaches out to pet him briefly, before she gets out of bed to relieve herself. And finds a note taped to the bathroom mirror, telling her Danielle was called into work.

That explains why Odin woke her, Lise thinks and washes her hands, splashing her face with water.

"Are you hungry?" she asks him when she steps from the bathroom and finds him sitting right by the door. Odin lets out a yell and sprints down the hallway, disappearing down the stairs briefly, before he comes back when Lise doesn't immediately follow him.

"Yes, yes, sorry," she mutters and heads downstairs. Grabs a mug of lukewarm coffee, for herself, before she heads into the living room. Odin immediately goes for his bowl and begins to scarf down his food, gagging.

"Hey," Lise shakes her head and gently pulls him back, forcing him to take a moment. "Slow down, no one's taking it away," she assures him as she lets him go again.

--

Danielle's making kissy noises at Wendy, who watches her briefly, before she tugs her head under Lise's chin, a honk leaving her.

"Jerk," Danielle murmurs and sticks her bottom lip out in a pout.

"As if Goblin doesn't treat me exactly the same way," Lise chuckles, pointedly looking at the Sphynx curled up against Danielle, napping with a rather blissed-out expression on his face.

Odin is sprawled at the foot of their bed, undoubtedly enjoying the heated blanket Lise switched on for the Sphynxes. She has half a mind to turn it off, but he seems rather happy about having conquered the warm spot, for a change, without his siblings trying to shove him off it.

Lise feels Wendy beginning to purr softly and pets her, kissing the cat's head and receiving a lick on her chin in return, before Wendy also falls asleep as soft snores drift over from Odin.

"Maybe we should have opted for the baby," Danielle muses, her voice low so as not to disturb the cats. "I mean, taking care of one infant would probably have been easier than wrangling these three."

"Maybe," Lise replies softly, shifting a little to get more comfortable as she finds herself growing sleepy as well. "But I think I like our three 'kids' just the way they are."

"Yeah, me, too," Danielle sigh happily and reaches out to take her hand.

--

It's funny to her, how Odin will linger around in the bathroom when they are bathing the Sphynxes, but seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to knowing exactly when he's supposed to be the one receiving a bath, and then manages to hide for hours.

"Yes, we are very cruel," Lise nods as Odin lets out a yowl that nearly makes her ears bleed and tries to scramble from her arms again.

"Will you stop it? I swear, I will take you to the groomers and have them shave you, you little dirty goblin," she frowns at him when he continues to scream and flail around as she tries to get a better hold on him, so she cat put him into the tub without losing a limb or him falling onto the rim.

Danielle flinches at the volume of another scream and moves aside to give Lise more space. She finally manages to get Odin into the tub and lets out a ragged breath as Danielle turns on the water and fills the colander they use to wet him. He doesn't like having his body submerged, nor does he like it when they use the showerhead on him.

"I swear, he's the worst," Danielle murmurs and carefully pours the water over their cat, Odin yowling and trying to get out of the tub again. Lise shakes her head and puts him back, trying to calm him with some petting, but it doesn't seem to help, at all.

Danielle sets the colander aside and grabs the shampoo for Odin's fur and sets about scrubbing him. He's usually good, about cleaning himself, but one of the cats knocked over a flowerpot today, and he just rolled around in the earth, resulting in a desperate need for a bath. Funnily enough, both Goblin and Wendy look clean. They got some dirt on their paws, which was easy to clean, but neither one of them required a bath, like their reckless, dirt-loving brother.

"Odin!" Lise exclaims as he slips from her grasp and makes a mad dash around the tub, sending the showerhead flying, water shooting up and drenching both Lise and Danielle, since Danielle hadn't completely shut off the water.

"You piece of shit!" the blonde laughs and manages to get a hold of their cat again, hugging her to him. She's wet now, anyway. Danielle sets him back down into the bathtub and blows a curl of hair from her face.

"Can you..." she starts and Lise grabs the showerhead and turns up the water, deciding to skip the colander and rinse Odin off this way, hoping it will get it done faster.

He seems to resign himself to his fate now. He still yowls, but has stopped struggling and trying to escape, at least. When Lise shuts off the water, he gives her a miserable look and she does feel bad, for him. For doing this to him. But he kind of did put himself in this spot.

She grabs a big towel and wraps him up in it, starting to dry the cat off, to more meowing complaints about this undignified ordeal.

"There, all done," she declares after a while, when Odin seems sufficiently dry. He jumps off her as soon as she takes the towel away and shakes himself off before running from the bathroom. Probably to hide, again.

"Cheeky monkey," Danielle shakes her head, having cleaned the tub in the meantime. "And what do you want, Mister?" she addresses Goblin when he joins them, jumping up onto the sink and watching them with interest. Danielle raises the showerhead, aiming in his direction. "Quick rinsing?" she suggests. Goblin merely watches her, his tail flicking briefly, and she lowers the showerhead again with a sigh.

"He knows when you're bluffing," Lise chuckles and pats Goblin's head briefly before putting up the towel to dry.

"You are just too intelligent for us, aren't you?" Danielle coos and picks Goblin up, making kissy noises at him. Lise could swear that the cat gives her a 'Help me!' look, before he resigns himself to having his front showered in kisses. If she so much as though about attempting this with him, Goblin would claw at Lise's face and hiss at her, and she wouldn't expect anything else. But he's an absolute glutton for Danielle's attention, no matter how ridiculous.

Then again, she's pretty sure some of the things Wendy's put up with from her would have gotten Danielle her eyes scratched out, had she tried them.