#maybe i convince my mom to take me to michaels this weekend

[boycritter]

i wanna try cable knitting....

[missjanjie]

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 8

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~24.2k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), BVK (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo/Kameron Michaels), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Things seem to be going well for Lemon until they go really bad really fast. Things are actually going well for Jackie and Jaida.

-

For the next couple of weeks, it seemed like Lemon was on the mend. She had finished her finals, gotten through her senior year, and now it was time to celebrate. Hers and Gigi’s graduations were only a couple of days apart, so the group decided to combine their graduation party that weekend.

It was one of the rare times the club was closed on a Saturday, but Jackie wanted to make sure everyone could celebrate together and turned the main room into their party space. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass, “to Lemon and Gigi, college graduates!”

The group clinked their glasses together and drank, everyone resuming their casual conversation, relaxed, and enjoying one another’s company. With the exception, of course, of Lemon and Priyanka, who were still trying to avoid each other like the plague.

“Look, I love those two as much as the rest of y’all, but I’ve stopped feeling sorry for them — at this point, it’s just annoying,” Kameron remarked as she watched the way they behaved with a grimace. “Not that it’s any of my business, but it kind of is considering how often I have to witness them, but how long were they hooking up for anyway?”

Vanessa furrowed her brows as she counted on her fingers. “Dunno, like four months?”

“Shit, that’s like a lesbian year,” she murmured, sipping her drink. “This isn’t gonna fix itself is it?”

“Not as long as Pri’s got that rock on her finger.”

“It could be worse,” Brooke Lynn chimed in, her lips pursed around the straw in her glass, “at least she doesn’t wear it to work, can you imagine the fit Lemon would throw if she had to stare down a diamond every day?”

The three of them looked at Lemon, who, at least for the moment, appeared to be enjoying herself, then at Priyanka, who was talking to Crystal and looking stressed.

“So, dress shopping is happening on Wednesday?” Crystal asked. “Does she know?”

“Of course she doesn’t know,” Priyanka scoffed and shook her head, “I have no idea how to keep her from knowing, no one can keep a secret in their family.”

Crystal winced but nodded. “Well, good luck,” she offered before Gigi made their way to her side and her attention immediately became divided.

“Thanks,” Priyanka mumbled, her gaze drifting to Lemon, who was talking animatedly to Jan and Rosé, “I’ll need it.”

------

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Priyanka’s nerves hadn’t quelled in the slightest. Lucky for her, at least, those with her — her mother, sister, and future mother-in-law wrote it off as pre-wedding jitters. Scarlett knew better, but there was no need to blow up her best friend’s spot like that.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a more traditional store?” The mother-in-law asked, “I know Mark doesn’t want your culture to be ignored.”

“It will be two separate ceremonies,” Priyanka’s mom cut in before she could speak for herself, “she will be wearing her grandmother’s sari for that.”

Priyanka had to fight off the pained expression that tried to twist its way onto her face. It was only when she had broken the news to her family that she remembered what a big event weddings were in her family. She wasn’t about to get off lightly with this. Instead, she let the assistant at the shop lead her to a rack of dresses and suggested a few. She agreed to them without giving them a proper look, figuring she would let a majority rule.

Once she was in the first dress, she returned to the main room and stepped up on the platform in front of the mirrors. Right away, the women began discussing and debating the pros and cons of the dress — where it fit right, where it’d need to be taken in. But she couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything, instead zoning out to the song playing through the store’s speakers.

I'm living for the only thing I know I'm running and not quite sure where to go And I don't know what I'm diving into Just hanging by a moment here with you

Normally, Priyanka would roll her eyes at this sort of song, at the cheesy love in the lyrics. But with her only alternative being actively participating in shopping for a wedding dress, she listened to the music and let it resonate.

Desperate for changing Starving for truth I'm closer to where I started I'm chasing after you

She winced but blamed it on accidentally being stuck with a pin. They didn’t have to play a song that hit so close to home, she thought. It made it that much harder to ignore the feelings that bubbled up inside her. It was only then that she realized someone was talking to her. “Huh?”

“I asked if you liked the dress,” Scarlett replied.

“Oh,” she cleared her throat. “Yeah, it’s fine.” She then realized she should have been more convincing because she found herself ushered back into the dressing room to try on dress number two, which she would then force enthusiasm for so the day would end as soon as possible.

“Are you okay?” her mother asked with sincere concern.

Priyanka nodded as she stepped off the platform. “Just a little lightheaded, I didn’t have breakfast.”

“Well, let’s get this dress taken care of, then we’ll go get something to eat.”

She nodded again as she went back to change into her regular clothes. Maybe she did just need to eat, she thought. Maybe some food or a nap would bring her back into reality. The reality where she was preparing to get married. The reality that Lemon could no longer be the main character in, no matter what some stupid song was trying to tell her. Or even worse, no matter how much she wanted her to be.

------

“You don’t normally ask me to make house calls,” Jaida remarked as Jackie let her into the apartment, “is everything okay?”

Jackie exhaled deeply. No matter how many times she had rehearsed what she was going to say, she still ended up tongue-tied the second she laid eyes on her. But she was determined to work her way through this and not let nerves get the best of her. “I watched the video you did with Denali. I… I watched it more times than I’d like to admit,” she confessed. “And I can’t get the image of you fucking her out of my mind. But more specifically… I can’t stop picturing myself in her place.”

Jaida had to put all of her mental energy into fighting off a smug grin. She wanted to choose her words carefully, not wanting to overwhelm an already anxious Jackie. “Since we’re being honest here, that’s kinda what I was aiming for,” at Jackie’s confused reaction, she continued, “you could have been less obvious with your username and how you talk online. Maybe it’s ‘cause I know you so well, but I could read all of your messages in your voice.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured to confront how you felt, considering your coming out was still fresh for you. I just wanted you to know that the option was there whenever you were ready.”

There was a silent beat before Jackie swallowed thickly and told her, “I’m ready.”

“Then tell me what you want, baby.”

“I want you to fuck me.” The words felt foreign for Jackie to say, the phrase has never left her lips with any sort of sincerity before. But at the same time, she had never been more certain in her life about what she wanted and how badly she wanted it.

Jaida moved to Jackie, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her deeply. “I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” she promised as they made their way to the bedroom.

And Jackie trusted her, she trusted her more than she would have anyone else in this position. She let Jaida take her to bed, let her take her time undressing her and pressing kisses to every newly exposed inch of skin. She eagerly helped her clothes off as well, letting her hands roam her body in ways she had only fantasized about.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of being loud,” Jaida told her. “I wanna hear you, wanna know how good I’m making you feel.” As she spoke, her fingers glided down Jackie’s body, stopping between her thighs before starting to rub her clit in small, firm circles.

Jackie’s head tilted back into the pillows, soft moans spilling from her lips. Her body yielded to Jaida’s touch and her moans grew louder as the other woman eased one finger into her, thrusting and curling it before adding another and picking up a steady rhythm.

“Good girl,” she praised, trailing kisses down her body. She then slowly eased her fingers out and replaced them with her tongue, licking and thrusting at a similar pace while her fingers moved to rub her clit in tandem.

It wasn’t long before the sensation became overwhelming and Jackie’s hips started to jerk erratically. She barely managed to squeak out a warning before she came harder than she ever had before, her body trembling when she was spent. “Oh my god…”

Jaida came back up and laid beside her. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, pushing the hair out of her face.

“I’m good,” Jackie assured. “I just… I haven’t… it, um…”

“Jackie…” she furrowed her brows and sat up a bit, “have you ever been with a woman before?”

Jackie’s face turned a deep shade of red. “I have, kind of. It’s been hard to work through so many years of repression and internalized homophobia, you know? I’ve made out with girls, fooled around a bit. But I guess no, I’ve never properly had sex with another woman before. I wouldn’t have wanted to put that pressure on you anyway. Besides, I couldn’t have asked for a better first time.”

Jaida exhaled deeply, suddenly becoming aware of the weight that’d built upon her chest. “Then that’s all I needed to hear.”

------

“There’s a birthday party out there tonight,” Gigi remarked offhandedly as they and Lemon got ready in the quick-change room. “I know how much you love those,” they added with an overly exaggerated eye roll.

Lemon groaned. Birthdays and bachelor parties were tied for the worst groups of men to deal with as clients, the only exceptions being the ones that take it as an opportunity to go all out and tip well. “And you’re on the stage next?” she let out another disgruntled whine when they nodded, finishing off her cocktail. “Gonna get a refill, gonna need it for doing rounds.” Naturally, when she went to the bar, she went right to Crystal. The downside was Crystal knew to cut her off after three drinks and she had to flirt with men to keep the drinks coming.

“You’re getting your third one this early?” Crystal questioned as she mixed it for her. “Something on your mind?”

“Nope. Just got a birthday party that’s probably all gonna want lap dances,” she replied, taking a swig as soon as she got the drink in her hand. Sure, it didn’t help that she had seen Scarlett’s instagram post of Priyanka in her wedding dress earlier, but she wasn’t about to hash that out, especially not with the bride-to-be all of four feet away.

And Crystal wasn’t entirely convinced, but she knew there was no use in pushing further. “Well, good luck,” she offered.

Lemon set her empty glass on the counter before making her way through the crowd. It took a little while before she ended up in the vicinity of the group of men, and not long after that, they flagged her down. At first, it was business as usual, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that one of the men seemed familiar.

“Hey Mark,” the man celebrating his birthday remarked, “maybe we should come back here for your bachelor party. I bet Priyanka won’t mind!” he laughed.

That made Lemon freeze in her tracks as it all clicked. She saw red and her blood boiled with a wave of anger and loathing she had never felt before. Something inside of her took over, she hadn’t even realized she had thrown a drink in his face and screamed at him until Kameron was pulling her away and all eyes in the club were on her, including Priyanka’s, who had dropped everything to run over the second she heard Lemon scream.

“Who the hell are you?” Mark asked incredulously.

“I’m who your fianceé thinks about while you’re fucking her,” Lemon snarled while locked in Kameron’s grasp.

It was then that both Mark and Lemon realized Priyanka was right there. “What the fuck is she talking about, Pri?”

Priyanka felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach as she prayed for the floor to open up beneath her so the ground would swallow her whole. She knew she had been playing a dangerous game, but she could have never predicted that it would blow up in her face this badly. “I-”

“She’s never gonna love you,” Lemon continued with disdain in her voice. But then her tone softened to a calm, albeit distant one. “But don’t worry,” she looked towards Priyanka, their eyes meeting, “she’s never gonna love me either.”

Other than the music playing in the background, the room was silent as Lemon let Kameron take her upstairs to the common room. “How are you feeling?” she asked gently as she sat at the other end of the couch, resting her hand on the smaller girl’s leg. “You really caused a scene back there.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “He was gonna find out eventually. You can’t live a lie forever,” she hiccuped as she sprawled her barely-dressed body out. “I need another drink.”

“The only thing you’re drinking is water,” she said sternly, getting up and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and bringing it back, propping Lemon up enough so she could drink. “I’m gonna call Rosé and have her take you home, I don’t think you should stick around tonight,” she told her as she fished her phone from her pocket.

Lemon nodded and pushed herself to sit up properly. She hung her head down, intentionally hiding her face from Kameron as she sniffled quietly. “Pri’s gonna hate me now, isn’t she?”

Kameron winced, unsure of how honest she should be with someone both drunk and emotionally unstable. “I think once the dust settles, you two are going to have to have a long talk. It’s not gonna be easy, but it’s gonna be the only way you two have a shot at healing.”

“I ruined her marriage.”

She shook her head. “She ruined her marriage the moment she said yes to someone she didn’t want to be with. She probably would’ve gotten cold feet and left him at the altar,” she mused, both out of her honest belief and the hope that she could get Lemon to crack a smile. And once she did, she felt comfortable getting back up and calling Rosé, warning her of exactly what happened.

“I got here as fast as I could,” Rosé announced once she made it upstairs. “Three different guys tried to buy lap dances off me on the way, sorry,” she added before rushing to her cousin’s side. “You’ve done it now, huh, Lem?” she shook her head as she helped her to her feet.

Vanessa emerged from the locker room with the rest of Lemon’s belongings. “Here, you might wanna get her changed before you take her back outta here.”

Kameron furrowed her brows. “You know her locker combination?”

“Um… yes?” she tucked a bobby pin into her back pocket. “This ain’t about me,” she was quick to change the subject and helped Lemon get changed.

Rosé effectively ignored the entire exchange, saying her goodbyes to the other women before driving Lemon back home and getting her changed again, this time into pajamas. “Mik isn’t home, you can sleep in her bed,” she offered.

Lemon chewed her lip for a moment, then shook her head. “Can I stay with you? I just… I don’t wanna be by myself.”

“Of course, baby,” she assured and tucked her into bed. “Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?”

“Need to wake up in a world where none of this happened.”

Rosé sighed sadly. “Fresh out, unfortunately.” She changed as well before joining her in bed. “Just wake me if you need anything, okay?” When she got a nod of confirmation, she turned the lights off and called it a night.

But that wasn’t the case for Lemon. No, she wouldn’t be so lucky. Even though she had been drunk, the incident replayed in her mind in great detail no matter how many times she tried to shut it off. That, coupled with struggling to sort through the mix of emotions still swirling through her, kept her awake for another hour or so before exhaustion took over and she passed out.

And back at the club, everyone else was left to pick up the pieces of the explosive incident. But as much as the clientele was willing to move past what they’d witnessed, none of the employees could get themselves to carry on. So, with Jackie’s blessing, they called it an early night and nearly everyone went back home.

Priyanka hung back, seeking solace in Jackie’s office, knowing her boss might be the only one that could understand the gravity of the fallout. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Jackie? This is effectively outing me to everyone. And I look bad too, they’re gonna find out I’m gay and a cheater in one go. What should I do?”

Jackie sighed, her heart truly breaking for her. “I wish there was an easy answer for this. I think, for now, you just need to get through the night.”

And Priyanka would, though she was afraid to fall asleep, overwhelmed with the need to postpone tomorrow as long as she could, because she had run out of ways to hide or lie her way out of it.

[shes-an-oddbird]

A Very long list of Season 5 Predictions/Wish List

I tried to hit as many of the characters as possible so this is really really long

The trickiest thing about this show seems to be the ever growing cast creating several stories at once and the fact that it’s a show about first responders so even characters that don’t seem like they would follow that career choice end up there and those that don’t sometimes feel out of place.

This is not to say that I don’t LOVE AND ADORE FIREFIGHTER ALBERT HAN! (but really kind of thought it came out of nowhere and yet I’m not surprised because what else were they going to do with him?)

It seems unlikely they’d assign Albert to the 118 unless Bobby requests him like he did with Eddie, but I think Bobby might have some hesitations about that. They’re already as close as family and sometimes make dangerous decisions because of it. He might feel its better for Albert to be with a different fire house or maybe Chimney would.

But he’s a regular so putting him with the 118 would be the best way to give him screen time

I personally think he’ll be assigned to the 133 since we’ve seen a bit of them this season. I’d love if there was a fun rivalry between the two firehouses (whichever one Albert ends up at.) I’ve said it before that the 118 is probably notorious at this point for the weird situations they get into. The teasing and the taunting would just be so much fun to watch. Albert talking to Chim or Buck and just being like, so the guys told me about this time…

Actually can we take a moment to appreciate that the 118 got ANOTHER firetruck destroyed and this one wasn’t even theirs. The 133 spends FIVE MINUTES with Buck and Eddie and their truck is in shambles.

On a more serious note, we might meet Chimney and Albert’s dad. I’m thinking he’s not going to be thrilled about his youngest joining the fire department and show up to talk some sense into him and scold Chimney for letting him do it.

I’m so confused about how much time has passed? How long does it take to become a firefighter? They must have some sort of plan for him because cutting out him going through training seems like a lost opportunity. It’s a story we haven’t really seen through anything but montages. Is it difficult? Would he try to quit? I’d have liked to see him making the decision in the first place.

putting the rest under here because its really a lot

We’ll also miss Eddie recovering (and Bobby too actually), which I’m a little bummed about but not devastated. It sounds like we won’t see much in the way of the effects of either shooting but can’t do anything about that now unless they flash back and have them work towards that moment on the roof.

My biggest concern with the time jump is missing literally any of Maddie’s story. I don’t know much about PPD or if its called recovery or overcoming it but I do want to see Maddie work through that and Chimney and the others supporting her.

I think her leaving the dispatch center will be temporary but it may take half or all of next season for her to return.

Maybe she’ll take over for May, if she does go off to school

Or May might continue working at Dispatch and going to school.

If she doesn’t go to school Athena is not going to be very happy with her. But maybe we could get Maddie and Josh being big siblings to May which is an underappreciated dynamic. Maybe it will help Maddie cope with how useless she’s feeling with Jee.

I’ll need to rewatch to see if they say what May wants to do but maybe she’ll study journalism or something that will keep her in the loop of the main characters the way it does Taylor.

And speaking of Taylor, she is actually a very interesting character, whether you like her (morally) or not. I think we’ll see more of her in season 5 and I genuinely think she’ll fall hard for Buck. And I think everyone needs to chill about how it’ll destroy her character.  We’ve already established that Taylor is like the female version of Buck (with a bit more sense maybe but a mirror if him non the less). If Buck is allowed to grow and want an actual relationship, is anyone really surprised they’d have Taylor go through that too.

She’s just a few steps behind, like he’s in relationship phase and she’s just coming to terms with her own feelings for him

My big concern, since they like to break Buck’s poor little heart, is that she’ll leave. She’ll get a job opportunity and pick it over Buck. I think it would be a hard decision for her but in character. Or maybe they’ll surprise us and make Buck and Taylor endgame (I know a lot of people don’t want to hear that but I could see it happening that way)

On the flip side I don’t know what’s going to happen with Eddie and Ana. I know she’s pretty much hated but its super unclear what the plan is other than that they’ll eventually break up per what Carla implied. I suspect they’ll be together for a bit of season five until Eddie figures out what’s up with what his heart wants. I don’t think Ana is some awful witch so the break up will probably be mutual or at the very least Ana won’t be surprised.

But hopefully we get more than just that as far as Eddie goes. The episodes we do get that are focused on him are really some of my favorites. They are wrapping up his moving on from Shannon arc which is cool. The trying to be a good father to Christopher will always be there, that’s something that will never change and always be a growing/learning experience.

I’d love to meet one or both of Eddie’s sisters. They don’t have to stick around long term like Albert did but to have them pop up with some crisis would be interesting and we could learn more about Eddie and the dynamic with his family which seems loving but strained.

Maybe we will see Eddie working more with Hen too. I was wondering if they’d make Eddie a full paramedic to take over for her eventually, which I decided they probably won’t do. But one episode of Buck distressed over the fact that he and Eddie wouldn’t be partners anymore would be fun drama.

The two really are just at a loss without each other and I love that. They get so pouty when they’re apart.

I don’t know what other plans they might have for Buck next season. I suspect we’ll see him worrying over Maddie and I’d kill to see him watching Jee-Yun.

I don’t know how old she’ll be because of the time jump but can you imagine Buck watching the baby and it just being an absolute disaster. So he starts calling everyone in a panic and we get firefam taking care of Baby Jee, maybe while Chim and Maddie are at a therapy session or just a weekend away for themselves.

I’m convinced the Baby would love Eddie. I think its just me projecting my desire for Eddie and Maddie to interact more. But like Hen teasing him because of course the baby loves him, all the girls love Eddie, he’s got the pretty face. Buck being super jealous that Jee likes him more. Eddie being genuinely surprised because he felt like such a failure when Chris was a baby. 

Denny, Harry and Christopher are all getting older too so there has got to be a story there with at least one, if not all of them. Harry was sidelined this season but I love that kid, he is the spawn of Athena and Michael and we already know he’s a little trouble maker. Match that with Christopher who is sassy and too smart for his own good and Denny who is clearly the good kid of the bunch. I don’t know, it’s another lost opportunity if they don’t do something with that.

They could assign Karen and Hen an older foster kid who’s maybe not such a good influence at first. Unless they opt for just younger ones, I’m not really sure how that works. But they could get one that’s not as easy as nia and they have to work for that bond.

Might be they adopt them at the end

I hope we see more of Hen’s mom and med school friends but not like a crazy amount. The cast is already too big but I love them so an occasional appearance would be welcome.

I love David and Michael too but they always seem like the hardest to work in because, as stated, they are not first responders. David is a doctor though so maybe we’ll see some interaction with him and Hen. And all the Bobby and Michael content is welcome.

I NEED A WEDDING NEXT SEASON! Just pick a pair and marry them please!!! Maddie and Chimney!!! Michael and David!!! Someone, please! Even just a proposal?! Maybe? Please?

And there will be another crossover event which is exciting because I really enjoyed the first one. I wonder if they’ll come to LA this time and what would bring them there. With the scheduling of the shows next season they won’t have to tie them together so much time frame wise. They literally could just be popping in for a visit. I’m not gonna lie when I thought about another crossover I really wanted Bobby the self-taught chef to meet Charles the actual chef but now I can’t have that and it makes me so sad.

Putting all this out there is a really good way to insure it never happens, but still, they seem like logical places to go as of the finale.

[bluebellwriting]

Mom-Friend Looking for a Dad-Friend Part 2

You’re sitting in your office, going over some case notes from your last session with Paul. The poor thing has really been missing his husband. You never had the pleasure of meeting Hugh, but from the way Paul talks, he was a wonderful man and a loving partner. You’re sure you would have loved him. 

Your door pings and without looking up you beckon your guest to come in. The familiar sound of hooves on metal draw your eyes upward to Saru who looks... horrible. 

His skin is pale, eyes watery and pained, and he’s sniffling. Never in the time you’ve known him have you seen Saru look so vulnerable or so openly in pain. It’s a strange and horrible sight, and you want nothing more than to wrap him in your arms, and hug and kiss the pain away.

“Oh, Saru!” You stand and usher him over to the small couch in your office. He looks gigantic compared to it, but he sinks into the soft cushions and lets out a content sigh. Once he’s seated and you can actually reach his face, you place a hand on to his forehead.

“You’re burning up, you poor thing.” Saru leans into your touch, forgetting for a moment the immense pain he’s in, just relishing in the coolness of your hands. You’re so sweet, so lovely, such an angel. 

“Saru,” your voice draws him back out of the fever’s void. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in med bay?”

“I wanted,” he breathes, “to come see you. It’s nicer here.”

“But you need help. More help than I’m equipped to give you right now.”

You try to move away but a hand on your waist -- Saru’s hand -- keeps you there.

“I’ll be fine. I just need to rest.”

He leans his head back to lean against the wall, but you’re still being held in his grasp. Which honestly isn’t fair, you need to be helping him right now and the feeling of his large fingers holding you close is just so distracting.

“Saru, please. Let me take you to med bay, or at least back to your room. My couch is too tiny for you, you giant.” 

Saru sighs but lethargically rises from the couch. His hand remains on you though, gliding up from your waist to your back to your shoulder, using you like a tether to keep him from plummeting into something horrible. The longer this “cold” persists, the more it occurs to him that this isn’t a rhinovirus. But maybe he can just fall into you, let the embrace you have over him keep upright for just a little bit longer. 

You have to hold on to him with all your might to keep him from falling over in the halls. He refused to go to med bay, afraid of the inevitable. He wasn’t ready yet, there was still so much to do, so much to tell, to say to you. The issue of needing to confess his love to you now before he disappears forever is weighing on his mind just as much as the news of his impending death. But it wouldn’t be fair to you, especially if you didn’t return his feelings. To pour his heart out only to expire and leave you with the guilt of not loving him back would be far too cruel.

You’re about to reach his quarters and Saru is lost in a day dream of resting his head in your lap, letting your thighs cushion and comfort him. But Michael had to ruin that with a desperate call to the bridge.

You graciously helped him there but were called back to med bay at that by Dr. Pollard, who was desperately understaffed. You left him in a rush, a promise to check on him at every possible moment, and one last lovely sight of the back of your head.

---

The med bay was overrun with your wounded crew mates after... whatever had happened. You’re still not quite sure. Right now all of your attention is on checking vitals and applying hypos. But when Saru comes stumbling into the room, it’s like you have tunnel vision. All you’re able to see is how considerably worse he’s gotten, how he can’t even support himself anymore. He has such powerful legs, it’s strange seeing them so weak.

You finished quickly and rushed over to him, not even trying to hide the partiality you felt towards him. That’s when he told you that he was dying, that the man you were falling in love with was going to disappear from this realm within mere hours. You almost burst into tears then and there, but Saru was determined now, motivated to use what time he had left to save his crew. He didn’t need you blubbering over him or confessing your love (which you’re sure he didn’t reciprocate) to distract him. This is how he wanted to spend his final hours, and you were ready to honor that.

But it hurt. A very selfish part of you wanted him to want to spend these last hours with you. That same part so desperately wanted you to confess your love to him, to scream out into the world how deeply into him you had fallen. But a bigger part, the therapist, the maternalist, tells you that you can’t. That he doesn’t need the weight of some girl’s affections on his fatigued shoulders. He needs to rest and to work, he doesn’t need to be concerned for you right now.

So you stay quiet and resist the urge to check in with him and Michael every minute. You use what you remember from medical school to help patients who you can actually save. You try not let the those dim, teal eyes haunt you throughout the day.

---

You’ve just returned to your office after your long day assisting in med bay when you get the call from Michael. You’re tired, your arms are achy and your back feels like it’s holding up a thousand pound stone. But when she calls you, you’re out of your seat and down the hall before she can even finish.

He’s okay, she says. He wants to see you.

When you enter his quarters he’s on his bed, shirtless, and very much not dead. In fact, the color has returned to his face and his eyes are alight with a kind of energy you’ve never seen from him before. On his end table in a small bowl rests his... ganglia. The sight of them is enough to distract you from his shirtlessness.

“Saru!”

His eyes meet yours and he grins. You hug him before you can even think about it because he’s alive. He’s breathing and smiling and hugging you back. He’s alive.

“I was so worried. I was thinking about you all day and I--”

“I’m sorry.”

You pull back to look up at him but you keep your shoulders on his forearms, just to make sure he’s here with you. It’s definitely not because you like the way his skin feels against yours.

“Why?”

“I...” he breathes out. “I came in here with all intentions to... And I didn’t get to say goodbye.” 

Your shoulders deflate and you remove your hands from him entirely. He came in here to die with Michael. He wanted Michael to be here instead of you. 

You take a step back, trying not to look hurt because this isn’t about you and your feelings. You should just be grateful that he’s alive. 

Plus, Michael’s known him for longer. And she’s stronger and more brilliant and more attractive than you, of course, he’d want her here with him. Of course, he’d choose her.

You hide your disappointment behind your best and brightest smile.

“It’s alright. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m just happy you’re here,” you tell him. He smiles at you again and proceeds to tell you everything that had transpired since you had seen him med bay. About his revelations regarding his people, about the freedom he now feels, about the conversations he had had with Michael. You try to be happy for him and in a way you are. You’re thrilled about his new relationship with his culture and his mind, and heartbroken with him over this new truth he has stumbled upon. But you have to force down the anguish you feel every time he mentions Michael.

---

You’ve been avoiding Saru since his vahar’ai, making up reasons for why you couldn’t eat dinner or listen to music with him. Sure it was cowardly, but you could take cowardice over the feelings he brought up for you. Every moment you did spend with him was just a reminder that he could do so much better, that your feelings were useless because he was probably in love with Michael or some other amazing person on this ship that wasn’t you.

Yes, you’re aware that if a patient of yours was acting so childish you would have told them to confront their problem head-on. But you’re only human and sometimes it’s just easier to descend into the pit of repression, no matter how psychologically damaging it might be.

That’s how your sister had put it when she had confronted you about your “increased workload” and frequent nights hidden away in your quarters.

“So what? You’re just gonna hideaway from him forever?” Sylvia asked.

“No! Not forever,” you pouted. “Just until I have to return to the Enterprise with Captain Pike.”

“Don’t remind me that that’s a possibility. I’ve loved having you here with me all the time.”

“I have too.” You smile at her. “But ultimately my home is on the Enterprise and this just... affirms that maybe this isn’t the right place for me.”

“But you are perfect for Saru!”

“That doesn’t matter, Syl. What matters is what he wants and I don’t think that will ever be me.”

“In that case... have you considered a rebound? Maybe that ensign that’s shown some interest in you,” she teases and you shudder at the thought of him.

“Mark? No, no way. He’s just a flirt who can’t take a hint.”

“Okay, then someone else! Oh! Maybe at the party next weekend?”

“No.”

“Oh, come onnnnnnn.” Sylvia flops onto your lap, sending you her best pleading eyes. 

“Ugh, no. I hate parties. The loud music, the bumping and grinding.”

“You’re such an old lady. Please? If you really want to get over him, a rebound might be the best way.” She nudges your shoulder.

“Syl,” you sigh. “I think that’s the problem. This isn’t something that can be fixed with a rebound, assuming I can even get one.”

Your sister sends you a glare, screaming ‘knock it off with that self-criticalness.’

“I just mean,” you continue. “This feels so different. I feel so different about him, more than I’ve ever felt about anyone and it just hurts to much knowing I can’t have him. He’s not someone I could just get over with a casual fling.”

“Why are you so convinced he doesn’t like you? You should know by now that he’s way different around you, way happier, way more relaxed. I don’t think it’s as out of the question as you think.”

You shrug because you can’t put it into words. It’s a feeling, deep in your gut, telling you that he’s going to break your heart if you’re not careful. You’ve already let your guard down too much.

“Well, how about we make it a girls night? We can dress up all fancy and dance~” Sylvia interjects, bringing you out of your cloud of negativity.

“...Fine. But I’ll only stay for a few minutes.”

---

Sylvia left your quarters with a conniving grin. She taps her comm badge.

“Tilly to Commander Burnham.”

“Burnham here. What’s going on, Tilly?”

“Can you meet with me in the spot?

There’s a short pause, but Sylvia knows Michael is grinning just as wickedly.

“I’ll be right there.”

“The spot” is really just their shared quarters but the two decided long ago that neither you nor Saru could learn about their secret meetings to get you two together. These meetings began as casual chats or with Michael complaining about the goo-goo eyes Saru would send you from across the room. Ultimately, this became the war room in the infernal battle to bring together two souls who were so obviously meant to be together but were too dorky to actually do anything about it.

“Did you tell her about the party?” Michael asks as soon as the door closes behind her.

“Yes! And she actually agreed which is the real miracle here. What about Saru?”

Michael sighs, “we’re gonna have to work on that.”

“What do you mean? What have you been telling him?”

“That there’s a party and it might be fun for him to socialize and relax.”

Sylvia looks at her incredulously.

“What?” Michael cries. “If I say, ‘oh, and (Y/N) will be there in a sexy dress,’ he’s going to panic and not show up at all.”

“How is he, by the way? Any better?”

Michael sighs and flops on her bed. Truth be told, Saru had been a nightmare and was making no attempt to hide it. He had been agitated every since his vahar’ai and everyone on the bridge was convinced it was because he wasn’t getting his daily dose of you. 

There was a pattern. He’d report for duty each morning with a hopeful look in his eyes. He’d send you a message asking if you wanted to have lunch. He’d receive ‘no’ as an answer. He’d ask about dinner. Again a ‘no.’ He’d mope for about a solid hour, and then be cranky for the rest of the day. At first it was kind of amusing, seeing the usually cool and collected Kelpien reduced to a depressed dork because of you. But now it was just annoying and infuriating, with a hint of sad.

“He’s getting worse. He doesn’t even snap at people anymore. He just mopes. Have you told (Y/N)?”

“Even if I did, she wouldn’t believe me. She’s so convinced that he’s actually in love with you.”

They burst out laughing at that. 

“Okay, okay,” Sylvia breathes, recovering from their fit of giggles. “You should tell him that she’s going to be there and that he should get a grip and whisk her off her feet. I have a feeling pushing him into the deep end on this will finally motivate him.”

“Are you going to tell (Y/N)?”

“Mmm, no. I think it should be a surprise.”

[echo-bleu]

Five Things You Can See

I originally wrote this for the Whumptober “Asphyxiation”, but I never posted it on here. So it’s not technically new, but it’s my entry for day 1 of the Missing Alex Manes weekend ( @alexmanesappreciation) since I didn’t have the time or energy to write new things.

[panic attack, PTSD, abuse, mentions of war]

“Hey, I'm heading out,” Kyle says, passing behind Alex's chair.

Alex checks the time on his computer to see that it's already lunch time.

“Got a date?” he asks.

“No, just a healthy work routine,” Kyle shoots back. “You should get out more.”

“I'm eating out tonight,” Alex shrugs. “So I just brought a sandwich for lunch.”

“Eating out, uh? That's what got you mooning at your screen all morning?”

Alex turns in his chair to look at Kyle, who is opening the bunker door. “I'm not mooning!” he exclaims.

“Right,” Kyle rolls his eyes. “See you later.”

Alex glares at his back and goes back to his monitor. Seeing the shimmering out of the corner of his eyes, he pulls back his sleeve to admire the handprint on his palm. The colors and shining still mesmerize him every time he sees a handprint or the console, and today it's tinted with a rush of pride−and a foreign feeling of love love love mixing perfectly with his own. Michael did that.

He's been struggling with his powers for weeks. After Isobel shared that she manage to make a picture frame explode, and that Noah said they all had more powers than they thought, Liz became convinced that the only way to bring Max back was for Isobel and Michael to figure out how to heal him. Since then, they've been working at it most days, and it's been a trying time.

Alex has tried to support Michael through his grief the best he can, ever since he came back to his trailer late the evening Max died, after Alex waited for him all day, and collapsed in Alex's arms. He told Alex everything, talking through the night, about Noah, about Max, and finally about Maria. How he'd tried to find solace in paying guitar and Maria's lips and found out that all he wanted was Alex's arms.

Alex welcomed him into his arms gladly.

Isobel is now good at tossing objects around the room, and Michael is a convincing telepath. But neither of them had made any kind of progress on healing wounds. Liz, always self-sacrificing, has given herself countless paper cuts−all in the controlled environment of her lab, of course−and even convinced Alex and Kyle to help, but nothing has seemed to work.

Until last night, when Alex cut his hand deeply while trying to cook for a date dinner. The date almost ended in the ER, which Alex should have known because he's a terrible cook, but Michael sat in front of him as Alex was trying to control the bleeding with a bunch of tissues, cursing, and grabbed Alex's hand.

It took almost half an hour before the wound was completely gone, and Michael spent another hour throwing up and chugging acetone, but it worked. And it gave Alex an interesting new perspective on Michael's feelings for him, as their emotions started to mingle.

That's why he's spent the whole morning smiling to himself like a newlywed, but he's not going to tell Kyle that.

Pulling his sandwich out of his bag, he absently presses play on the next of the Caulfield surveillance video. He and Kyle have been going through them for months, now, and by now they're mostly doing it to give themselves good conscience, because it's highly unlikely they're going to find something new. The videos Alex is currently speeding through are nearly twenty years old.

Except the image on the screen makes him stop in his tracks. It's his father. Alex has seen him pop up in the surveillance images often, but he's almost never taking part in the experiments. But this time he is.

He's towering over a woman strapped to a table, whom Alex recognizes immediately as Michael's mother. Fuck. His father and Michael's mom in the same room doesn't sound good. There's no sound, which is part of the reason why the surveillance videos have been less than useful, and the image is grainy.

Alex watches, transfixed, as Jesse Manes talks. He has the same expression on his face as the one he gets every time he tells Alex how much he's disappointed in his son. Alex can't tell what he's saying, but his features slowly turn angrier at Mara's lack of reaction. She looks strangely immobile, peaceful, like her mind is not even there. She's dissociating, Alex thinks. I recognize that look.

Alex can't take his eyes off the screen. He flinches, the first time his father slaps Mara. He can hear the sound in his mind, like a clap of thunder.

This would have been...he checks the date in the corner of the screen. A couple of months after his mother left. Alex was eight. His father was angry all the time then, and Alex bore the brunt of it.

It turns out he wasn't the only one receiving the abuse. And he wasn't the only one who was completely defenseless in front of Jesse Manes.

Alex bites on his finger as Jesse slaps Mara again. He can almost feel the slap on his own cheek, but worse than that, he remembers the marks on his mother's cheek, more and more common in the last few months before she left. Jesse Manes has always liked people he can tower over, people who will cower in front of him. His wife. His youngest son. His son's seventeen-year-old already-abused boyfriend, once.

And, apparently, tied-up alien women.

Alex doesn't even realize he's having a panic attack until the world is swimming in front of him. He gasps, desperate for air that won't fill his lungs.

Dammit. Alex tries to focus on breathing, but the video is still going, and his hands are shaking too much to stop it. Not that he can. He can't take his eyes off his father and Mara.

Breathe. It doesn't help.

Five things you can see. Alex has done this hundreds of time. He learned this particular technique in therapy, but he used some variation of it long before he even made it to basic training. The screen. The bunker around him. His father, in the goddamn video. Shit.

Wheezing, Alex lets himself slide down from his chair and to the floor. He huddled under the desk. At least from there he can't see the screen anymore.

The legs of the chair. Part of the table. His bag, on another chair beside the desk.

No movement. Jesse Manes isn't there. Alex gasps.

Four things you can touch. Er, the floor. Probably dirty, because no one has bothered to clean since Jesse Manes ended up in the hospital. Alex closes his eyes at the thought of his father. Focus. The wall behind his back. The desk, with the top of his head. His neck is going to hurt later. His leg, too. The prosthetic, he can feel it, the sock around his stump. His clothes.

Three things you can hear. There isn't much, with the bunker underground and soundproof. Ventilation. The computer's buzzing. His phone, ringing.

Wait, his phone is ringing.

Alex ignores it, still panting. The world is coming back into focus around him, slowly, but he feels exhausted.

Two things you can smell. Dust. Plastic.

One thing you can taste. Ashes.

Alex swallows.

The ashes taste is what he gets for letting his traumas mix up together, because that's one from the explosion. Oh, well. He could rinse out the taste, but his water bottle is in his bag, too far away. He lets his breathing slow down instead.

His phone is still ringing. It's on the desk, where the video is playing on the screen. He can't deal with it right now.

It stops ringing, and Alex makes no move to get up. He'll need to, before Kyle makes it back here, but he has maybe another half-hour. He rests his head on his arm instead, so tired that he would lay down on the floor if there was enough space under the desk, and traces at the shining mark on his hand, trying to find comfort in it.

Alex scrambles to stand up when he hears the door of the bunker open, almost hitting his head in the process. His neck and his leg have seized up from the awkward position he was in under the desk, as he suspected, and he lets himself drop onto his chair just before Kyle walks in.

“Alex? You're still here? Liz's been calling you,” Kyle says.

Shit. “I guess my phone's on silent,” Alex answers as casually as possible. He makes a show to check it, and the screen shows three missed calls from Liz and one from Michael.

A cursory, though apprehensive, look tells him that while the surveillance video is still playing on his computer monitor, it's now showing an empty room. He lets out a breath of relief. “What's up?” he asks.

“Apparently something weird happened to Michael during training,” Kyle says. “They called me to check him out.”

“Weird? Weird how?”

“He said it was like he was being asphyxiated for a couple of minutes, and then it was gone just as silently.”

Alex frowns. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he's fine, just a little shaken up. But we don't know what caused it.”

“I should go check on him,” Alex says, standing up. “I haven't eaten,” he adds, taking his sandwich. He hopes Kyle doesn't notice that there's several bites missing, or that Alex limps more than usual when he walks out of the bunker. Kyle doesn't need to know about his father and Mara.

Alex shudders just thinking about it, the images stuck in his mind. Trying to distract himself, he starts his car and puts the radio on, thinking about Michael. Is something wrong with him?

He makes it to Max's house, when Michael and Isobel have been training, before he's even finished his sandwich.

“Hey,” he knocks on the door, coming in without waiting for an answer. “Kyle told me something happened?”

“I've been calling you,” Liz says immediately, pulling him into the living room. Alex stumbles, but catches himself on a bookshelf. “Oh, sorry. You okay?”

“Fine,” Alex says through gritted teeth, riding the sudden added pain. “Michael?”

“I'm okay,” Michael walks up to him from the couch. “It was nothing. It's gone.”

“I still think you should come with me to the lab to draw some blood, see if I can figure out what caused this,” Liz says.

“Maybe you should,” Isobel adds. “It was kinda scary.”

“I don't think anything's wrong with me,” Michael says. “I feel fine. It felt more like...it came from somewhere else. Maybe the mind stuff went wrong somehow. Maybe Isobel choked me without knowing it with her telekinesis, she's still not fully in control.”

Alex looks between them, trying to follow the conversation. “You should do what Liz says,” he pipes up. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Fine,” Michael sulks. “Wait, didn't you feel anything? You're supposed to feel everything I feel,” he indicates Alex's hand.

Alex starts to shake his head, frowning, but he stops himself. What if−

Fuck. He looks at Michael, then down at the shimmering handprint. He did this. He made Michael feel−

Fuck. Fuck Fuck−

“Alex!” Michael chokes out.

“Michael!” Liz shouts.

Michael's hand goes to his throat, as Alex struggles to breathe.

“Shit, that's what it was!” Liz exclaims, catching Alex before he falls down. “What the hell?”

“He's having a panic attack,” Alex dimly hears Isobel says. “Alex, breathe with me.”

Alex tries, but he can barely see Michael in front of him, struggling to breathe. “Alex, focus on me!” Isobel tries, forcing herself into his field of vision. “Count down from twenty, okay? With me. Twenty−”

Alex shakes his head, looking wildly around him. He has to get this under control. Right now, before it affects Michael even more. Only the thought that he's doing that to Michael is making it worse.

Arms engulfs him, squeezing him tightly, and−it's Michael. Alex can hear his wheezing, irregular breathing in his ear. The hug grounds him, almost immediately.

Count down. Twenty. Nineteen.

Michael is like a warm cocoon around Alex's trembling form.

Eighteen. Seventeen.

Alex forces his breaths to lengthen, ignoring the burning feeling in his chest. He has to do it, for Michael.

Fourteen. Thirteen.

“You're doing good,” Michael murmurs haltingly.

Ten. Nine.

They're on their knees, and Alex knows he's not going to be able to walk after that, but it's okay. Michael's there.

Not his father.

Five. Four.

“Almost there,” Michael says.

Two. One. Alex lets himself falls fully to the floor, unable to hold himself up. Michael gently accompanies him until they're both lying down. Their hearts are beating in unison, too fast and too strong.

“There.”

The girls have retreated somewhere else. Alex will care, later, that they saw all this, but right now he doesn't. “You okay?” he asks Michael in a whisper.

“Yeah,” Michael says, pulling himself up to look at him. “Looks like I feel what you feel, too.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'd like to know what brought it on the first time, but we'll talk about it later. Right now, just let me get you to the couch and you can rest.”

“I don't need−” Alex starts.

“Alex, if the next words to come out of your mouth are that you don't need to rest, I'm going to choke you myself.”

Alex laughs weakly, surrendering. “Fine.”

He lets Michael pull him up and help him to the couch, using both his body and his telekinesis to keep Alex upright. Once Alex is lying on the couch, he sits down on the edge, running his hand down Alex's back.

“You don't have to stay,” Alex murmurs. Two panic attacks in a row are a bit too much for his body to handle. He feels his eyes closing on their own.

“I'm not leaving. I'd rather not end up randomly choking again without knowing why. So I'm stuck with you for the next few days.”

“Won't happen again,” Alex mutters.

“Yeah, well let's make sure of that together, alright? You can sleep. I'm just staying here.”

Alex nods, too tired to fight it. The hand on his back is still grounding, and he never wants it to go.

[tirednotflirting]

and we'd both stay out until the morning light

realizing i never posted this to tumblr. oops. ~vaguely~ inspired by 1973 by james blunt, an absolutely bitchin song i must say. and this piece was for miss helen aka @calumcest‘s bday approx one week and change ago. i went off a lil about my love and appreciation for her and our friendship in the ao3 a/n but the gist of it all is that helen is so so full of love and light and beautiful beautiful words and i’m so stupid thankful that this mess of a world brought us together. helen, if u see this, i love you to absolute pieces and i hope u are well x

you can find this here on ao3 if you wanna read there

Michael doesn’t consider himself to be great at much. He’s young, and making mistakes and having to try again is still his standard. He kind of likes that, though. He likes that his practicality in most things is seen as maturity and not a necessary default setting. He likes how his mom is proud when he learns how to cook a new vegetable or how to get a stain out of something. But he’s also comforted by the idea that it’s not irresponsible (or too much so, at least) when he throws caution to the wind and goes on some wild adventure with his friends or on his own. That it’s okay if he doesn’t know the word for something or has to google how to fill out a form because he’s still learning. Michael likes observing, learning about how he should be moving about the world.

That evening, something in the air feels electric. What exactly it is, Michael isn’t really sure, but it has him buzzing with anticipation for something. There’s a humming in the air around his apartment weaving around him like a ribbon but it’s moving too fast for him to latch onto. But for some reason, he doesn’t find it unsettling. He’s finishing up the dishes from dinner when the soft music playing from the speaker in his kitchen is interrupted with his ringtone.

He wipes his wet hands off before reaching into his back pocket. The screen shows a familiar picture, one always guaranteed to bring a smile to his face. He swipes his thumb across the glass and hits the speaker button. “Hi, Calum.”

“Come out with me tonight.”

His smile widens as he sets the phone on the island behind him so he can return to his drying rack. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Just being young and alive and in this gorgeous place and in love.” He can hear a dreamy tone to Calum’s words, evidence that he’s already begun a solo pregame.

“All about the dramatics tonight, are we?”

Calum huffs in a mock frustration. “We can’t let this place eat us alive, Mikey. Come out and dance with me.”

Michael sighs with a smile still pulling at his lips. He can practically hear the twinkle in Calum’s eyes that he tends to get when batting his eyes at Michael as he begs him to live a little. He thinks of the lunch he’s meant to attend with his advisor the following afternoon, of the novel and glass of wine sitting on his coffee table that he had set out for his quiet Saturday night in. But then he hears a quiet please, babe? across the line and rolls his eyes affectionately while placing the measuring cups back into their drawer. 

Maybe he’s meant to go on an adventure tonight. To observe, to see something new.

“I’ll be at yours in half an hour.”

*

Michael has never really liked clubs. He’s always found the environment to be one that bounces his brain between a place of numbness and overstimulation like his mind is a ping-pong ball. The duality of cocktails filled to the brim with liquor but also sugar only heightens the feeling. He prefers bright lights and sounds in a more controlled environment, like his computer screen or a movie theatre.

But Michael really likes Calum. And Calum likes clubs. So it’s fairly often that he finds himself with some brightly-colored drink in one hand and Calum grasping his other as he gets dragged through one of the night clubs near Calum’s new place.

The electric feeling in the air shifts with Michael’s change in setting. As Calum pulls him across the dance floor toward the bar for another drink, he senses it again, but in a different tone than he had felt in his apartment. Now it’s the beams of light passing between each of the bright, flashing bulbs high above their heads. It’s the energy swerving between the chattering, glittery people at the bar and the bass pumping below his feet. It’s Calum’s breathy laugh in his ear and the touch of his lips against Michael’s neck as he asks him if he wants something new to hold in his free hand.

Calum jumps up onto a stool at the bar as they wait for their next round and he pulls Michael to stand between his legs, his arms thrown lazily around his neck as he babbles through some story about some band that came into the studio that day. Michael loves watching Calum tell a story, his expressions adding their own layer of humor to the tale as Michael catches the rolling or widening of his eyes between flashes of colored light. Soon enough a couple more glasses are placed in front of them and Calum is reaching into his pocket for a few bills to pass back to the bartender before sliding down to the floor and pulling Michael back into the crowd.

Neither of them can dance to save their lives but that never stops Calum. He bounces around as Michael laughs and copies the movement. The liquid in their cups threatens to slosh to the floor or onto their shirts with each incredibly ungraceful swing of their hips.

“How is it,” Calum says between pants into Michael’s ear while wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him close, “that we’re out nearly every weekend and we still look like dads trying to dance every time we get out here?”

Michael shakes his head, the liquor in his cup starting to take its effects as he giggles against Calum’s cheek. “We’re musicians. One day when we make it big we’ll be too busy playing our instruments on stage to dance around. It would be a waste of time to learn to move any different than this.”

Calum’s smile shines bright through a laugh as he spins them around following Michael’s comment. “God, what are we going to do when our friends start getting married? We’ll be a disaster.” He pauses to take a sip of the concoction he’s ordered most recently. “Luke and Ashton are probably gonna threaten to kick us out if we move from our seats at their reception some day.”

“That’s how we’ll convince Ashton’s cheap ass to get the open bar. We’re far more agreeable when drunk.”

“Cheers to that.” Calum mockingly raises his cup and knocks it against Michael’s. 

The song changes then, the volume of the crowd rising with the song as the familiarity hits everyone’s ears and minds. Calum’s face bursts into a grin and his arms tighten around Michael’s neck to pull him closer to his chest. “Mm, love this song.” Calum pauses to sing along to the chorus. “Think I love you also.”

Michael blinks his eyes open, not having realized that they were closed. He watches light bounce around them and a drunken blush paint across Calum’s cheeks and nose. He’s had too much to drink to think too hard about it but really he’s never not questioning how he got so lucky. He lets his lips press against Calum’s nose, the rosiness in his own cheeks surely spreading when he catches Calum’s giggle through the music. “Love you too, Cal.”

They dance and sing for what feels like both hours and seconds. The mix of light and sound and those damn cocktails Calum keeps buying make Michael feel light like the confetti that starts flying around the room at some point in the night. He lost track of the number of nights they’ve had like this a long time ago, the center of glittering, happy chaos being a place Calum loves to frequent. He’d follow Calum anywhere, including to a mindless and seemingly pointless celebration like tonight. Michael knows he’ll go anywhere so long as he gets to keep watching the way Calum’s eyes and smile sparkle when even the faintest light hits his face. 

He’s watching it then, practically being blinded by it all, he thinks, when Calum catches Michael’s hand and pulls him back in for another dance.

*

They end up at the beach.

Their phones died ages ago but as the sun just barely begins to peek out from the ocean horizon, Michael figures it’s around 6am. They’re both still giggling and blushing at each other like mad as they strip off their socks and shoes and stumble toward the ocean. Michael isn’t even sure what he’s drunk off of anymore but whether it's Calum or the cocktails, he doesn’t really seem to care. 

Calum gasps at the temperature of the water as they let the little waves crash against their ankles, and he shuffles closer to Michael. He leans into Michael’s shoulder, lips pressing gently against his neck as Michael wraps an arm around his waist. 

The morning sunlight is just barely beginning to ripple over the dark water as they stand in silence, their breaths just barely audible over the waves. Normally seeing the ocean without the sun high up in the sky scares the hell out of Michael; hell, the ocean in general usually frightens him. It’s so unknown, and Michael doesn’t like being so close to something so vast and mysterious. It’s why he can’t think about space too hard most of the time either. He feels safe, though, and secure, standing there with Calum. He’s always wondering if it’s too early to think that way about the boy standing pressed against his side.

Eventually Calum lifts his head and grabs Michael’s hand, weaving their fingers together as he walks them back from the water just a bit before planting himself in the sand. “We’re watching the sunrise from here,” Calum explains to Michael’s confused eyes. Michael nods his understanding and drops down beside him.

“This city scares the hell out of me sometimes,” Calum says with a sigh, his fingers still dancing with Michael’s. “Like it always feels like I’m doing too much and not enough all at the same time. And then I get so stuck on figuring that out that I do nothing. There’s so many creatives here that the air feels like it’s filled with thoughts and ideas and dreams all the time. It’s so damn loud, you know?”

Michael nods, though the way Calum speaks he can’t really tell if he’s actually speaking to him or not. He considers asking but then Calum starts up speaking again, his crinkling eyes still facing out toward the water. 

“But then I come here and it’s like the tide kind of pulls all of that away. This is the only place where LA gets quiet, I think. It’s why I like to come out here.” 

Michael sticks his legs out in front of him and digs his bare feet into the sand as he ponders how to respond to Calum. “I get what you mean,” he starts as he drops his free hand against the cool sand and draws swirls with his finger. “I think this is the first time I haven’t been surrounded by people in a while.”

Calum’s head drops to Michael’s shoulder again and turns away from the water as he nestles his face into his neck. “Mali suggested coming out here after I’d had a bad day at the studio and you and the guys were all busy or something. Said it was her favorite place to gather up her own thoughts when she was trying out living here.”

As he drops Calum’s hand to let his hand reach up to tangle with the dark curls at the back of his neck, Michael lets the importance of this place, of Calum bringing him here settle over them. There are very few things that Calum keeps to himself, this spot apparently having been one until that morning. “Thank you for sharing this place with me. It’s a beautiful spot.”

He feels Calum shake his head just a little, his arm moving to wrap around Michael’s waist as his fingers play with the hem of his shirt. “Of course. I wanna share everything with you.”

The electric buzz Michael has felt around him the whole night settles with him and Calum out on the beach. Now it skips across the gentle waves that grow bluer with each passing minute as the sun rises. It blinks with the light from the street lamps back at the road as they go back and forth on whether or not it is time for them to say their daily goodbye as dawn turns to morning. Its final act, Michael senses, is the shock he gets as Calum straightens up and gently lifts his hand to the back of Michael's neck, causing him to turn as brown eyes meet green for just the briefest moment before their eyes flutter shut while their lips meet. 

*

“And that’s when I knew that he was my soulmate, ya know?” Michael says, his smile widening as he watches Calum’s eyes sparkle, tears threatening to fall from his dark lashes. “Because we should have been falling over ourselves with exhaustion at that point but I had never felt so awake in my life. I never wanted to sleep again because I never wanted to stop looking at him.”

A single tear does fall, racing down Calum’s cheek, and Michael lifts his hand from Calum’s grasp to gently wipe it away. “Anyway,” he laughs with a sniffle, his eyes pulling from Calum’s to face the room filled with their family and friends. “Thank you all for putting up with my nostalgia and thank you for coming to help us celebrate today. Enjoy the reception.”

The music picks up once people finish their brief clapping and Michael sits down again while he watches people around the room begin to rise and walk in the direction of the cakes and the bar. His eyes follow Luke and Ashton as they wander in the direction of Calum’s parents and sister, presumably to say hello again. Ashton’s eyes briefly meet his own and Michael laughs quietly as he watches Ashton’s left eye drop into a wink. They share the look for only a moment because then Luke is dragging him along and a hand dropping to Michael’s thigh pulls him back.

“I really liked that night,” Calum mumbles against Michael’s neck, his lips pressing just below his ear. “Liked hearing you tell the story of it even more.” 

Michael can’t help his laughter as a smile pulls at his cheeks. “Listen, there are very few stories of nights out that I can tell in front of our parents. Had to go digging through my journals to really settle on one.”

“You were journaling about me already back in the day? That’s so sweet.”

“Back in the day?” Michael questions as he sits up to meet his husband’s (the thought of the word alone bringing butterflies swarming into his stomach) eyes. “That was like four years ago, Cal. We’re too young for anything to be ‘back in the day’ yet.”

Calum’s face softens at his words, his hand lifting from Michael’s lap to cup his cheek, his thumb running across his cheekbone. “I can’t wait to grow old with you.”

He lets out a sigh while Michael blushes at him in response to the declaration. Calum leans forward to brush their lips together before rising, his empty glass in hand in need of a refill. Michael watches him wander through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging smiles and kind words with every guest he passes while approaching the bar. None of it feels real yet, Michael thinks. Though it’s been less than two hours since they said I do so he figures he’s allowed a little longer to just be in awe of the fact that he’s got someone to spend the rest of forever traipsing through life with and that that someone is Calum.

And Michael still doesn’t consider himself to be great at much. He’s still young and can’t hold his liquor and can only really cook maybe three vegetables. But Michael is great at loving Calum and being loved by Calum. And maybe, for now, that’s enough. Michael finds himself thinking on that as he takes another sip from his own glass and gazes out to where Calum stands speaking to a friend and their partner. His cheeks warm as the three of them turn to look at him, a fond look resting against Calum’s face as their eyes meet. The ring on his left hand glitters in the light as he lifts it to gesture for Michael to join him.

Yeah, this is definitely enough.

*

[cozy-the-overlord]

Crimson Curls

Summary:  A barista at the Avengers Tower coffeeshop goes missing. Her boyfriend, prominent Avengers engineer Michael Hauer, headlines a desperate campaign to find her, aided by the support of Tony Stark and the rest of the super-powered team. But as Hauer’s narrative begins to unravel, it becomes clear that a certain Asgardian prince knows more than he’s telling.

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 3: Solace

Previous Chapter |

Word Count: 4,281

A/N:  Final chapter! Hope you like it :) Thank you so much for reading!

TW: domestic violence

Read it on Ao3

“Oh, did I mention that I finally convinced my mom to buy a smartphone?” Elaine was chuckling. “She just discovered the world of emojis. Every text I get from her is immediately followed by like twenty different happy faces!”

Laughter erupted up around the small table. Kristine found herself giggling too, despite herself. She almost hadn’t come tonight. She didn’t think the others had expected her to come, either: Curt had invited her with a nervous sort of hesitance that gave her plenty of room to back out.  “It’s okay if you don’t want to come. We totally understand.”

The excuses had bubbled to her lips in an instinctual panic—I can’t, I have plans, I’m not feeling well—but she clamped down on her tongue before they spilled out. Her therapist was always telling her that the only way she could take back control of her life was to trust herself to control it. So, Kristine swallowed her insecurities and smiled at her coworker.

“I’d love to. What time?”

It hadn’t been a perfect night. Old habits die hard, and Kristine found herself looking over her shoulder more often than not. Every time, she’d turn back to the table, feeling stupid. What did she expect to see? Michael lurking behind the bar in his orange jumpsuit? Her fellow baristas had to notice—if there was one thing that this whole ordeal had taught her, it was that she was incapable of subtlety—but they were kind enough not to say anything.

It had been fun, though—more fun than she had expected. Kristine hadn’t realized how little she knew the people she worked alongside. She found herself learning all sorts of things. Curt played rugby on the weekends. Kristine hadn’t even known rugby was a thing in America, but apparently he was in an amateur league right in New York, and went straight to practices after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tasha was a self-titled crazy cat lady, with five felines living with her in her small apartment. She passed around her phone with pictures of the newest kitten, a tiny orange fluffball named Tigger. Elaine was locked in a never-ending struggle with her 63-year-old mother to “introduce her to the 21st century.”

At first, Kristine had felt guilty that she didn’t have any captivating stories to contribute to the conversation. Her only hobby was her art, and there wasn’t much to say about that. I draw people when I’m bored. Certainly nothing compared to Curt’s gripping account of how his friend fractured his neck in a game two weeks ago. But there was no pressure for her to add anything, and slowly, Kristine relaxed, content just listening to the chat.

The couple at the table across from them caught her eye towards the end of their meal. They had been whispering to each other ever since they sat down, looking back and forth between Kristine and their phone screen. She stiffened as they gestured towards her. Getting recognized in public… that was a thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around. She didn’t understand why seeing her made people so excited… it wasn’t like she was a singer, or an actress, or some other type of celebrity. She was just… her. Normal. No different than anybody else she passed on the sidewalk.

Kristine tried to ignore the excited couple and turn back to the conversation, but it was hard with the tell-tale clicking of a cell phone camera to her right. She closed her eyes. Just ignore them. Just ignore them.

The camera shutter soon caught the attention of the others, however. Elaine stopped what she was saying and turned to glare at the other table.

“Hey!” she snapped at the couple. Kristine jumped at the sudden shout. “Knock it off! She doesn’t want pictures!”

The two were stricken. Mumbling an apology, they turned back to their dinner.

“Thanks,” Kristine murmured, eyes downcast. It seemed she couldn’t go anywhere these days without being interrupted by someone. She couldn’t imagine how annoying that must have been for those she was with. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Elaine said. “It’s not your fault that people act like dumbasses around famous people.”

Famous people.

Kristine wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be upset that the whole world seemed to know every intimate detail of her broken life, or should she be honored that they cared? Because they did care—that was maybe the most shocking part of it all. Once she woke up in April, after the whirlwind of finding herself in the Loki’s penthouse room and getting examined by the Avengers’ private doctor team and being interviewed by police investigators for hours, she finally looked at the Twitter hashtags that had been trending while she slept. It was… surreal.

Just saw the news about the blood in the apartment and I’m crying. I want her to be alive so badly, but I don’t think she is anymore. Please, @NYPD, don’t let this monster get away with her murder. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

He controlled her, abused her, and tried to blame her for her own disappearance. Do NOT let him get away with it. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

She’s such a beautiful girl. I hope they find her and that the boyfriend gets what he deserves. #JusticeForKristine

There were thousands of them. Thousands, and not a single handle she recognized. Perfect strangers, rushing from across the country to fight for her.

When Loki had returned with tea, he had found her in tears.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked, rushing to her side by the computer.

Kristine shook her head. “There’s just so many,” she whispered. “I never thought there would be so many!”

After the announcement was made that she had been found, alive and well, she thought the support would stop, but the floodgates had only just been opened. She started getting messages addressed directly to her, from tweets that read like letters to actual letters in the mail. Kristine had never gotten a letter in her life, and yet here she was having to open a special PO box because of all the mail coming into Avengers Tower addressed to her.

She got letters from people who followed the case, people who were so relieved to find that she was okay that they had to let her know. There were people she had never met, writing to tell her that she was beautiful and talented and deserved so much better than the likes of Michael. There were people writing to tell her that they hoped she knew that they would always support her, even if they could never understand what she had been through.

And then there were the people who understood exactly what she had been through. Some days, she found herself reading stories from women she didn’t know that read like pages from her own diary. Kristine had always been aware that she wasn’t the only person with a significant other like Michael—she had seen the PSA’s on television, she knew the words “domestic violence”—but somehow, she had always felt like the only one. Who else in real life was foolish enough to get into such a situation, and who else was weak enough to stay? But there were others.

So many others.

Those letters were overwhelming in a completely different way.

Kristine hid them all away, in a cardboard box underneath her bed in her Avengers Tower apartment. She had been staying there ever since she woke up: Mr. Stark had insisted. She had never really liked Tony Stark. He was fun to draw, because his face was so recognizable, but to her, that was where his merits always ended. Maybe it was because he adored Michael so much: every party she went to, he made a point of telling her how lucky she was that she snagged such a talented man. He provoked a deep bitterness in her chest, masked only by her anxiety. Kristine never had any doubts that if it came down to her word against Michael’s, Mr. Stark wouldn’t even bother to hear her out.

She couldn’t believe it when Loki told her Stark had fired Michael. He had done it early on, too: before the blood and the knife had even been discovered.

“The phone calls?” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s all it took?”

Loki looked at her sideways. “Those calls were horrific,” he said. “He’d have to be soulless not to terminate him after hearing them.”

And then, when she realized that she would have to find a new place to live now that Michael was in jail, Mr. Stark insisted that she stay at the Tower, at least until she found a suitable apartment elsewhere. He told her to consider it his way of apologizing.

“But—you don’t have to—to apologize for anything, sir,” she stuttered, unable to look him in the eye.

Mr. Stark was adamant. “This whole shitshow comes back to me. I hired him, I hired you, he met you because of it. Matchmaker, remember?” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, it all comes back to me.”

Kristine wasn’t so sure of that, but she was touched by his guilt. He had even offered to send his Iron Legion to retrieve her stuff for her, but she elected to do that herself, with Loki. There wasn’t much to retrieve: clothes, art supplies, little bits and baubles she had taken with her when she moved to New York.

She froze in the doorway when they first walked in. The floor was as clean as ever, and yet in her mind she could still see the sticky red trail, the sickly warmth seeping down her shirt. It had taken a minute to process that all that blood had been coming from her.

Loki squeezed her hand gently. “If you’d prefer,” he murmured into her hair, in a voice just barely loud enough for her to hear, “You don’t have to go in. Just tell me what you wish to fetch, and I’ll take care of it.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. No. I’m—I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Still, the events of that night played out in her head as she made her way through the apartment. How Michael had been ordering that she quit her job at the coffeeshop. He had been wanting her to quit for a while now, convinced that she was constantly flirting with other men while he was at work. If she loved him, he said, she’d prove it by doing this one thing for him.

Kristine refused. Honestly, her resolve surprised herself. At this point, she had learned that the only way to keep the peace was to cave to Michael’s wishes, but this demand stirred something in her. The barista job was the last thing she had left, the only thing he couldn’t touch. She told him he couldn’t make her quit even if he killed her for it.

She had regretted the words immediately. He lunged at her with wild eyes, that vein popping in his neck. When she tried to call Loki, he ripped the phone from her hands and flung her into the coat rack.

Kristine had scrambled into the kitchen area. She had grabbed the knife in a panic, some half baked idea of defending herself, but he was on top of her before she had time to think, shouting at her and wrestling for the handle.

And then it was in her.

She didn’t feel it go in. Even after it went in, it wasn’t that bad—just a dull stinging in her abdomen that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. She looked down slowly, dazedly, reaching out to grip the handle buried in her stomach. Michael looked down too, mouth agape. Kristine remembered thinking that he looked like a fish.

She wasn’t sure how she got back into the hallway floor, but Michael was yelling at her again.

“What the fuck were you thinking, going for the knife? Are you fucking insane?”

She was breathing hard, and it hurt more with every breath, sending shockwaves of pain through her body. Blood was dripping down her front. Her blood, she recognized dimly.

That was the scene Loki had arrived at. She didn’t remember much after that.

That moment ensnared her as she stuffed shirts into her ratty old suitcase. Loki didn’t talk about what he saw much, but it was clear from what he did say that he was certain Michael meant to kill her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him—had she seen what he saw, she probably would have drawn the same conclusion. But as it stood, Kristine wasn’t so sure. Maybe he would’ve finished her off, had her Asgardian knight in shining armor not come to rescue her, but she couldn’t forget his shocked fish face recoil when the blade pierced her stomach.

“What were you thinking Kristine?”

Why was she so hung up on this? What did it matter what Michael might’ve done if given the chance? The only important thing was what he did do: he hurt her, he manipulated her, he stabbed her. Wasn’t that enough?

It was enough for him to be arrested. Or… remain arrested, she guessed. Of course, the murder charge was dropped once it was proven that no murder had taken place, but police were quick to smack him with attempted murder and numerous charges of assault and battery. News outlets were constantly reaching out for comment, but Mr. Stark shut them all down for her.

“Ms. Ververs has been through a very traumatic experience,” he said at a press conference. “She has no desire to comment on anything at the moment, and we at Avengers Tower would greatly appreciate it if you all stopped pestering her.”

“Well, Kris, it looks like you’ve made it,” Agent Romanov said to her as they watched coverage from the television in the penthouse. “You’ve got Tony Stark acting as your PR. You can either celebrate or be extremely concerned.”

Kristine forced a laugh. Out of all her new super-powered roommates, the Black Widow was easily the most intimidating. Still, she seemed to like Kristine for some reason. Actually, all of the Avengers seemed to like her. Dr. Banner seemed to enjoy striking up quiet conversation with her, completely unbothered by her inability to get a coherent sentence out when she was nervous. Captain Rodgers was impressed by her artwork, always ready with some new compliment that made her day. Thor never failed to greet her with a smile.

Kristine was pretty sure they were just being nice because they felt bad for her, but she decided not to let it bother her. It made her feel nice too.

They were all outraged on her behalf when Michael took a plea deal. He plead guilty to attempted murder in the second degree in exchange for all other charges being dropped and was sentenced to seven years in prison.

“Seven years,” fumed Loki when the news broke. “He could have killed you, and he only gets seven years. It’s ludicrous.”

Despite popular opinion, Kristine was relieved. If Michael had pled innocent, there would have been a trial. She would have had to sit on the witness stand and face him down as she attempted to tell her story in front of dozens of eyes. Seven years was more than enough for her.

The check was paid, and the group made ready to leave, still laughing and telling stories as they walked through the door. Avengers Tower was only a short walk up the street, so Kristine said her goodbyes and started on her way. She never really went out much after the sun set. It was strange to think that even cloaked in night, the city still was wide awake. The night air sent shivers up her bare arms, but Kristine didn’t mind. She was wearing short sleeves a lot more these days, now that she didn’t have to worry about covering up bruises. It was freeing, in a strange sort of way.

Kristine noticed one of her missing posters taped to the stoplight while she waited to cross the street. The ink had mostly been washed away by recent thunderstorms, but she could still make out the outline of her face, grinning awkwardly at the ground.

It was a really awful picture they decided to plaster across the country. Michael had taken it, the morning after the first night they spent together. Her hair was a complete mess (but then when was it ever not?), and she had that uncomfortable photo smile she wore in every picture ever taken of her. She wasn’t even looking at the camera!—why on Earth had they chosen that one?  

She glanced around for a moment. When she saw that no one was looking, she ripped the poster from the pole and crumpled it into her purse. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. She hadn’t been missing for nearly half a year now, no reason to keep them up anymore. Still, Kristine crossed the street with the feeling in her stomach that she had committed a capital offense.

If her mother could have seen her now, she would have been laughing. Diana Ververs never understood her daughter’s desperate need to be seen by no one. It had been a problem her whole life. There was one time, all the way back in second grade, when Kristine had come home begging her mother to let her dye her hair brown so that she wouldn’t be the only redhead in the school.

At the request, her mom had tilted her head and frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Everyone looks at me!” Kristine cried. “It’s ugly and I hate it!”

“Oh, Krissy, that’s not true!” she said. “They look at you because your hair is the prettiest color in the whole world. That’s why I married your dad, you know.”

The girl hadn’t been convinced. “I want brown hair!” she said. “Like Ashley and Erin.”

“But if you had brown hair like Ashley and Erin, I wouldn’t be able to recognize you,” her mother said, pulling her into her arms. “I’d say, ‘where’s my pretty little Krissy with her red hair?’ I’d be sad and lonely. You don’t want me to be sad and lonely, do you?”

Little Kristine had faltered at that. “Nnnooo…”

“Then you’ll keep your red hair for me?” she asked hopefully, kissing the crown of her head.

“Alright,” Kristine agreed reluctantly. “Just for you, Mama.”

Growing up, it had just been the two of them. Kristine’s father had died in a car accident before she was born, and they didn’t really have any extended family nearby. Kristine had been exceptionally close with her mother, closer than she had ever been with any friends or acquaintances she met at school. When the diagnosis came in, the ground just fell out from under her. What had been simple complaints of back pain was suddenly stage IV lung cancer, and Kristine was dropping out of her master’s program to help her mom through chemo.

Everything spiraled so fast. Within months, she was gone.

While she had been asleep, Kristine had dreamed about her mom. Her dad had been there too: Kristine recognized the diabolical red curls that he had so kindly passed down to her. They had swirled around her in a mist-filled limbo, smiling and singing to her in voices too quiet to hear properly. Kristine had wondered if she was dead. It made sense to her healing-stone-drugged brain: dying young was in her blood, after all. Death and her were old friends at this point, might as well embrace it.

Frustratingly though, her parents remained just out of reach. Kristine cried and screamed and begged, grasping at thin air for her mother’s hand, but she couldn’t quite bridge the distance. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes into the elegant chambers of Prince Loki and felt her groan vibrate in her throat that she realized she wasn’t dead after all.

Actually, it seemed her life might have just begun.

Kristine slid her ID card in the door of Avengers Tower, smiling awkwardly at the night watchman, then swiped it again in the elevator.

So much security. Sometimes, she almost forgot that she was living on what was essentially a government base. The elevator chimed as the doors opened at the top floor and she slipped into the common room.

“Did you have a good time?” Kristine jumped. Loki was stretched out on the couch, legs crossed elegantly, not even looking up from his book.

She raised an eyebrow. “Were-were you waiting up for me?”

“Of course not. Not everything’s about you, you know.” Loki turned the page, but there was a glint in his eye that made Kristine smile.

“Um…” she pushed her hair out of her face. “I think I’m going to make some tea. Want some?”

“That sounds lovely.”

Kristine fumbled around the kitchen as she heated the water, feeling his eyes on her all the while. She found herself stealing glances back at him as well—he just looked so regal, lounging there as if he owned the whole place. She wished she could get away with snapping a picture on her phone, just so she could have something to reference for a sketch later. Kristine had been drawing a lot of Loki recently—after all, she had promised—but she had yet to show any of these portraits to him. The floundering, bumbling part of her was convinced that they weren’t good enough, that he’d hate them. Stupid, she knew—he had nothing but praise to shower on the artwork she did decide to show him, but still she was nervous.

She wanted him to like her so badly. Like them. The drawings. But her too. Kind of. And that was stupid as well, because she knew he liked her. He had saved her life, after all. But even excluding that, Loki had always been so nice to her. Kristine had often wondered if he knew how badly she looked forward to his little visits every afternoon at the coffeeshop, the silly little chats they’d share for a few minutes. And he never stopped looking out for her: even now, months after everything had been resolved, he’d still check up on how she was feeling.

Still, sometimes she wondered. Did he actually like her, or were his actions just out of pity? It was a strange thing to consider, especially given his tumultuous past (imagine trying to explain to the average New Yorker that Loki of Asgard might have spent months being nice to some random girl just because he felt bad for her), but she considered it often, nonetheless. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

Kristine brought the teacups over to the couch. Loki sat up, moving his legs so that she could sit next to him, thanking her softly as she handed him the cup. For a while, they just sat there, sipping their tea in silence.

Finally, though, she found the courage to clear her throat. “Hey,” she asked. “Remember when you asked me to dance at the Christmas party?”

He grinned. “How could I forget?”

“Why did you?” she asked bluntly. Her cheeks immediately flushed red. “I mean—did you—could you tell? That he—Michael and I—that we—”

Luckily, Loki seemed to get what she was trying to spit out. “Not exactly,” he said, stirring his tea methodically. “I could tell that you were unhappy, and that he was completely unbothered by the fact that you were unhappy, and I found that to be concerning. But at that point, I never would have guessed the extent of the situation.”

No. It seemed no one could have guessed the extent of the situation. “Oh,” Kristine mumbled. “Is-is that why you asked me to dance? Because you were concerned?”

Loki raised his eyebrows, turning to fix Kristine with an amused gaze. “I asked you to dance because I wanted to dance with you.” When Kristine stared back at him in silence, he laughed. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“N-no.” Now it was her turn to focus on stirring her tea and ignoring her companion. “I just… I’m not sure what happens now.”

“That would depend,” Loki said. “What do you wish to happen now?”

Kristine gulped. He had put the ball in her court. Even months later, she still found herself expecting someone to pop up and tell her exactly what to do. But Loki was waiting patiently. This decision was hers.

“I guess…” she started, speaking far too fast. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you took me out for coffee. Not in the Tower, I mean. There’s-there’s a place down the street. Unless you’d like the Tower better, that is. I don’t really care—”

Loki hushed her gently. “I’d be honored to take you out for coffee,” he said. “Would tomorrow morning suffice?”

It took her a full minute for her to fully process what he was saying, but once she did, Kristine couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, that would… suffice.”

“Good.” Loki leaned back against the cushions, and silence lapsed around them once more. Kristine hesitated for a moment before following him, shyly resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at first, and Kristine made to pull away, but he wrapped his arm around her and held her closer.

She sighed contentedly. She was safe here.

Safe with Loki.

[nerdforestgirl]

Note:  Ten years since Sheldon and Amy met for the first time?  How time flies when you’re having fun.  I am so thankful for this fandom and for the fact that so many of you are still here even now that Big Bang Theory has been off the air for over a year.  I hope you have a great and fluffy day!  Here is my story for this year’s Fluff Crawlspace.  It’s another Disneyland story because your girl misses the heck out of it.

Sheldon looked over at his wife where she stood in the kitchen making them dinner, and he felt like he never saw her anymore. Sure, they were basically in the same room at that moment, but they didn't spend nearly as much time together now that Amy was back in her lab instead of by his side while they worked on Super Asymmetry. He missed her. He walked over and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Hey. I love that you are being affectionate, but I need to finish dinner. Can we cuddle later?” Amy asked. She needed to move freely and their tiny kitchenette was far too small to fit both of them easily.

Sheldon felt a little dejected. It felt odd. In order to feel any kind of disappointment or rejection, he would have to admit that he wanted the love and affection to begin with. He just wanted some of Amy's attention and time. They were both just too busy these days. He didn't love it. He wanted one day of just spending time with his wife. He pulled out his phone to text Amy's new assistant, Ezra. The budget opened enough for Amy to hire the young man after the Nobel win. Sheldon had only spoken to him a couple times, but he had his number all the same.

“Hello. This is Dr. Sheldon Cooper. I am Dr. Fowler's husband. Is there a day next week that she is free or could have her schedule rearranged for a surprise day off?” Sheldon asked Ezra. After what happened when Sheldon had Amy's lab assignment taken away to help with their work, he wanted to make sure he wouldn't get in trouble for messing up her work by just taking her out of work for a day.

“She only has one meeting on Wednesday that could be moved to Friday. Should I block off the rest of Wednesday for you, Dr. Cooper?” Ezra wrote back quickly.

“Yes. I will be taking Dr. Fowler out for the whole day. Keep this our secret.”

“Thank you,��� Sheldon added after a moment when he remembered that he should be polite. He sighed when he received a smiley face emoji back, but he decided to not follow down that path. It wasn't worth his time.

Sheldon then bought Amy and himself two tickets to Disneyland for Wednesday. They hadn't been in a long time, and it seemed like just the kind of day that they could just enjoy each other's company and some fun.

On Wednesday morning, Sheldon shook Amy awake. He normally let her wake naturally, but they still needed to get to Orange County in morning rush hour.

“What?” Amy asked groggily.

Sheldon put a pair of Mickey Mouse ears on his wife and grinned at her.

“We're going to Disneyland! Come on. Get up,” he said.

“I can't. I have work today. I have a meeting,” Amy said as she rolled back over to try to steal a few more minutes of sleep.

“I had Ezra reschedule it. You are completely free today.”

“Sheldon, you can't just have my assistant reschedule my whole day because you want to go to Disneyland. You have work today too,” Amy said with a sigh. He always just thought about himself.

“But I miss you,” Sheldon admitted. He didn't mean to be that honest with her, but it was probably the best argument he could have made. Amy softened and nodded her head. If her schedule was already cleared, she could take one day off from work. It wouldn't kill her to spend one day at a theme park with Sheldon, and she had to admit that they hadn't been spending enough time together lately.

Amy got dressed in a Disney dress she bought on a whim with Bernadette and the kids. Halley and Michael were surprisingly convincing when they urged her on to buy the dress with Mickey Mouse on it. It wasn't appropriate for work, but it was appropriate for a day of ditching work. Then she put the ears that Sheldon gave her back on top of her head. She was ready to go.

Sheldon looked like Sheldon, but he also had on a blue Mickey Mouse shirt that Amy had never seen before. He looked completely adorable even if he didn't look a thing like a 40 year old Nobel Laureate. It didn't matter. That wasn't the role he was playing today anyway. Today he was playing cute husband ditching work with his cute wife.

“What was the first appearance Mickey Mouse?” Sheldon asked his wife as they played a Disney themed trivia game he made up during the drive to Anaheim. It was a long drive, so of course they had to play some games to pass the time.

“Steamboat Willie,” Amy said confidently. This was a pretty easy question.

“No. It was a silent short called Plane Crazy.  Steamboat Willie was the first short with sound and was distributed first, but Plane Crazy premiered in May of 1928 and was rereleased the next year with sound,” Sheldon told her. It was rare that he knew something she didn't, and unlike if it were anyone else, Sheldon wasn't a jerk when he told Amy this factoid. He just filled her in and asked another question about Beauty and the Beast. Luckily, this time she knew that The Beast was just The Beast in the film and had no other name.

They arrived at the park, and Amy was so glad she let Sheldon talk her into this. He took her hand with the biggest smile on his face. She realized that she missed him just as much as he missed her. They would need to find an excuse to work together again soon.

“What's first?” Amy asked.

“Let's try to get Rise fo the Resistance,” Sheldon said. He hadn't had a chance to ride the newest Star Wars themed ride yet, but he had also heard it was nearly impossible to get a seat on the ride with its soft opening. Still, they would try. They each pulled out their phones to try to get in the virtual line for the ride.

It turned out Amy was Sheldon's lucky charm because they had two seats on the ride that afternoon. In the meantime, there were lots of rides they could go on first.

“Space Mountain?” Sheldon suggested next. It was always a good one to do first because he had an empty stomach instead of one full of too many snacks.

Amy grinned and took Sheldon's hand while they walked to the ride. She was able to tell him about her new project at work while they walked and stood in line. Sheldon listened and asked questions about her work. She knew that he believed that she should quit neuroscience to work with him full time, but her heart and training weren't in physics. Not really.

At they made their way across the park to The Haunted Mansion, Sheldon thought about telling Amy about his own work. Then he decided to tell her about what his Meemaw was up to these days instead. Not everything was about work. Especially on a day when they were ditching it in order to recharge and spend a day together.

“Meemaw won a poker tournament? That's seriously impressive for a 92 year old woman,” Amy said. In the years since they first met, Amy's relationship with Sheldon's grandmother had improved considerably. Amy even kind of liked her now.

“Yes. So now my mother is escorting her to Las Vegas for a weekend for the finals of this tournament. Mom is hoping to cleanse Sin City of all its sin while she is there,” Sheldon told Amy.

“If anyone can do it, it's your mother,” Amy agreed.

Both Sheldon and Amy had their favorite rides, snacks and shows, and they took turns picking things to do. With maybe too much focus on Sheldon's preferences. However, the park wasn't too busy, so they made efficient uses of FastPasses and were able to ride nearly every ride they wanted. While they waited in lines they were able to just talk in a way that they both often felt too busy to do these days.

“I am so glad that you suggested this,” Amy said as she leaned into Sheldon's side while they waited for the fireworks at the end of the night. It was the last thing they were going to do before the drive back to Pasadena.

Sheldon put his arm around Amy and pulled her closer to him. It wasn't like Sheldon had felt like his marriage was in trouble before today, but this day filled some reserve in him that he didn't realize was close to empty. Sheldon just loved Amy so much. He needed her in his life in a way that he had never really needed anyone.

“Me too. We need to do things like this more often, but perhaps scheduled in a way as to not miss work,” he told her. Then he felt the urge to do something with his wife that he had never done before. He leaned down and placed a sweet, gentle kiss on her forehead.

Amy sighed happily and looked up just as the fireworks show began. A perfect end to a perfect day.

[calumance]

LA Devotee - Part V

Warnings: Angst, Cussing, that’s about it

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Emily is excited for what she has convinced herself is a date with Calum, however that comes crashing down incredibly quickly.

A/N: Oooooh man, this is probably one of my favorite parts of this story (so far) I hope you all enjoy it! Feed back and requests are literally always welcomed!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

       On Friday after work, I bid Mikayla a goodbye and stepped into the Uber I had requested. As I sat down, I brushed off my skirt. While I was getting dressed this morning, I specifically planned and outfit that was appropriate for work but was also dinner date worthy. I had picked out a black and white striped pencil skirt, a black, loose fitting, tank top with a coral colored blazer over the top. A pair of black ankle boot wedges to top off the whole look. Maybe the outfit was a little over the top, but I thought maybe I could spice up my look a little.

           As the Uber pulled up in front of Calum’s house, I thanked him and concentrated on my steps to not roll my ankle on the way up to his house. Not that I wasn’t used to wearing high heels, high heels were a part of my normal work outfit, I just wore flats to walk to work. I’m just saying that it would be my luck to eat shit while on my way up to his door. I rang the doorbell and fixed my hair while waiting for him to come to the door. When he opened the door I suddenly felt completely overdressed. He was wearing the same pair of black joggers he was wearing the morning after we met when he was on his way to the studio, and a plain black t-shirt that was probably three sizes too big for him, and the grey beanie. All topped off with a Coors Light in his hand.

           I looked down at myself as he looked me over. “You look really nice. Come on in.” He motioned into his house and I reluctantly walked past him. Just as he closed the door I looked up and noticed three boys sitting in the kitchen, laughing at each other. Fuck, this isn’t a date is it? I put my hand on my face and as Calum started to walk past me I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to come towards me. “What’s wrong?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing.

           I let go of his wrist and motioned to myself. “Maybe I should go home and change. I came right after work, and I thought,” I stopped myself, how could I have listened to Mikayla and thought he was asking me on a date. I felt like a complete idiot, and I felt like crying.

           Calum tilted his head to the side waiting for me to finish, “Thought what?”

           I waved my hands dismissing my last thought, “Nothing. Maybe I should just go home and change really fast.” I turned to leave, trying to get to the door as quickly as possible.

           He must’ve known that if I walked out the front door, I wouldn’t actually be returning in more comfortable clothes, because Calum caught my hand and pulled me close to him. His cologne filling my nose, causing me to feel dizzy. “You look fine, don’t mind what we’re wearing. The guys insisted that they meet you.” They insisted? What has he been telling them? Calum grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the kitchen and stopped so that all three boys could see me. Calum let go of my hand and I crossed my left arm over my right and then laced my hands together in a weird twist, then mimicked my arms with my legs. “Guys, this is Emily. Emily this is Michael, Ashton, and Luke.” I knew who they were the second I laid eyes on them, however, that did not make this situation any better. They all waved at me, and I sheepishly waved back. “Do you want something to drink? I have those drinks that you have in your fridge, bought them specifically for you.” I nodded and he pointed over to where the guys were sitting, “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, I’ll bring you a drink in a second.” He pointed toward the table and then left my side.

           I watched as Calum waltzed over to his fridge and pulled out the Smirnoff Ice’s that I keep in my fridge at all times. There is a million in my own fridge, so I wasn’t exactly surprised that he noticed that I liked them. After a second I took a breath and took a seat next to Luke, across from Michael. I apologized to them for being so overdressed, but they brushed it off. Just as Calum set my drink down in front of me, the doorbell rang. Calum went to answer the door and I watched him, watching his back muscle flex with every arm movement. I ducked my head feeling the flush across my face. On the other side of the door was a delivery guy holding a large bag of Chinese food. “Calum hasn’t stopped talking about you since you two met the last weekend. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Luke said in a hushed tone, bringing my attention away from Calum and to him. He smiled and then looked back at Calum to make sure he didn’t hear anything.

           I swallowed hard and looked at Luke, “It’s nice to meet you too.” Just as I was about to say something else to Luke, Calum came back over to the table holding onto the bag full of Chinese food. He sat next to me and passed out the food. While everyone grabbed their food, I sat on my hands, a bit nervous and still utterly embarrassed at the fact I was convinced this was a date. Calum nudged me and I smiled at him, trying to put on a face that everything was fine. I put on a good face, I’ve always been unapologetically good at faking it. It helps that my mom drilled “fake it ‘til you make it” in my head since I was little. Every joke that was told, I laughed in response, and whenever someone talked to me, I talked back. In all honesty, I did have a good time, but I was ready to go home and curl into a dark corner.

           One by one the boys started to leave, Ashton being the last one to leave. I stood up and pulled my skirt down realizing we were now alone. “I think I should be heading out too, thanks for inviting me over to meet the rest of the guys, I had a great time.” It was a half lie.

           Calum stood up, his eyebrows pulled together, and set his drink down, “You don’t have to go, Emily. I was thinking we could have a few drinks outside before you go?” He pointed to his backyard as I seriously considered staying. In the midst of my thinking, Calum had taken a few steps closer to me, “I’d really like it if you’d stay for a little while longer.”

           My heart raced, my guts telling me to dart, but my heart telling me to stay. “Listen, Calum, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay.” I took a step back and shook my head, playing with my fingers in nervousness.

           He tilted his head and took a step towards me to make up for the one I took away from him, “Why would it not be a good idea for you to stay? It’s just a few drinks.” He chuckled in confusion.

           I ran my hands through my hair in frustration and dropped them to my sides, my palms making a slap as they hit my thighs, “Because I am probably the biggest idiot in the world.” I spat, “I’m going to go home, I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I waved my hand and walked towards his door, the only sound being my shoes clacking on the tile floor. I flung the door open and unlocked my phone to request an Uber home. My feet kept going until the Uber was confirmed and that’s when I stopped. As I crossed my arms over my chest, I looked behind me in the direction of Calum’s house. He hadn’t run after me like some sort of cheesy romance movie, not like I had expected him to, but it would’ve been nice.

           Instead of standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, I called Mikayla. I wanted to direct my rage at her, she’s the one who convinced me this was a date, but this was also my fault. My right hand held my phone to my ear while my left pointer finger ran down the bridge of my nose in frustration. When she answered it took everything in me to not start yelling. Instead I started crying, “It’s wasn’t a date, Mikayla. I showed up and Luke, Michael, and Ashton were all there. Which, it was cool to meet them, but why did I let myself think this was a date? I knew I wasn’t ready, and I got all excited, I got all dressed up, and they were all in sweat pants. Holy fuck, Mikayla, I’m the biggest idiot on the planet.” My chest heaved with a sob and I felt like dropping to the pavement. Instead I squatted, putting my weight onto the heels of my shoes for balance. My hand sitting on my brow ridge to hide the hurt on my face.

           The Uber pulled up and I pushed myself up, and composed myself enough to get in the car without looking insane. “Oh, Emily. I’m sorry, this is all my fault. Maybe it’s still too early? Sweetie, just give it time.” Maybe she was right, but maybe I was right to think I was a huge idiot. As soon as I got back to my apartment, I kicked my shoes off and walked into the bedroom. I wasted no time taking off the outfit I had specifically picked out for today and crawled into bed, covering my face and crawling into a black hole of sleep.

           Mikayla tried to get me to do something on Saturday night, she had suggested going out to dinner. However, I decided to stay home and watch TV, and get absolutely black out drunk. When my phone rang, waking me up, I realized I was still on the couch and it was morning. Smirnoff bottles scattered all over my coffee table. My head pounded and I realized that even though I thought about going to bed, I never actually made it there. My fingers fumbled trying to find my phone, when I opened one eye to look at the screen, I saw Mikayla’s name and picture on the screen. I placed my free hand over my eyes and declined the call, placing my phone on the floor where my arm fell. The weight that had sat on my chest so long after my divorce had come back. The weight that told me I still wasn’t good enough for anyone, the weight that made me feel miserable at every point of every day, it was back. Once I put my phone on the floor, I didn’t move, I couldn’t move. Not only because of the weight, but because this was all over a guy I met a week ago.

            I put my hand over my face and tried to remind myself how much of an idiot I was being. My hand ran down my face then dropped to the floor as I groaned. I used the leverage of the floor to push myself and roll onto my back. My eyes opened and I squinted, not a fan of the daylight pouring through my windows. Maybe I wasn’t a complete idiot, It’s not like he’s made the effort to call me or text me since I literally ran out of his house. On the other hand, Mikayla has been blowing my phone up since I hung up on her last night and decided not to take anymore of her calls until I saw her at work again. My hands connected with my face again as I tried to rub the headache away. A voice inside my head, the one telling me I was an idiot, told me to get off the couch and make some coffee. I obeyed and pulled myself off the couch, causing an immediate wave of nausea, causing me to grab my stomach and run to the sink. It’s never ideal to throw up in a sink, but sometimes you have to when it’s the closest thing to you. After I completely emptied out whatever bit of contents I had left in my stomach, I started brewing a pot of coffee.

          As I walked down the hallway to my bathroom, I ran a hand through my hair. At least when I get stupid drunk, I do it at home, and alone. I quickly brushed my teeth and gargled some mouthwash and made my way back to my kitchen. My hands gripped the edge of the counter and I leaned back, putting most of my weight into my wrists while watching the coffee drip. After a moment I looked down at myself, all I had been wearing since I got home from Calum’s was underwear, a bra, and maybe some socks, I barely had the right mind to change my underwear. A part of me told me to put some clothes on, but, honestly, there was no point. It’s not like anyone was coming over anytime soon. A knock on my door proved that thought wrong, but thinking it was Mikayla coming to see if I was dead or something, I sauntered my way over to the door. She’s seen me at lower lows than this one, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to her if I answered the door practically naked. The headache still pounding in my head caused my eyes to narrow and my fingers to rub my temple. My eyes narrowed further as I swung open the door, ready for Mikayla to start yelling at me, causing my head to ring.

            However, it was a large surprise to me to find Calum standing on the other side. Suddenly, the headache washed away. I looked down at myself, “Oh, Fuck.” Without shutting the door, I ran down the hallway and slammed my bedroom door. My heart raced as I stood in the middle of my room trying to find something to throw on real fast. Sitting on the chair in the corner of my room was a pair of sweatpants. Frantically, I grabbed them and pulled them on, jumping my way into the loose fitting pants. My eyes scanned my room until I saw a white tank top hanging out of one of my drawers. I snatched it out of the drawer and pulled it over my head, adjusting it so that I was completely covered. When I came out of my bedroom, Calum was standing just inside the entry and the door was closed behind him. In all honesty, he looked amazing. His hair freshly washed, but not styled, a tight fitting forest green t-shirt, and a pair of grey sweatpants. I shook the thoughts of how attracted I am to him out of my head and cleared my throat, “What are you doing here?” I spat towards him, running frustrated hands through my hair.

          He tilted his head back not ready for the attack I just threw at him. “You hadn’t talked to me since the other day when you told me you were an idiot and stormed out of my house. I wanted to know if you were okay.” He played with the keys in his hands and I looked at the rings that adorned his fingers, a lump forming in my throat.

          I cleared my throat and looked away from him, running my hand up and down my arm, “You didn’t talk to me either, Calum. A call or a text would’ve done exactly what you’re doing.” I said with a hint of salt.

         He pulled his eyebrows together and dropped his hands. “Maybe I felt that was a little impersonal. Look, what did I do to upset you this much?” He snapped back at me, causing me to back down a bit.

         A sigh escaped from my chest and I looked up at the ceiling. “It’s nothing that you did. It’s what I did, it’s what I thought.” I decided that I no longer wanted to be standing in front of him, so I started walking towards my kitchen. I shrugged past him, making sure I didn’t touch him. With the rage burning in my stomach, I flung open the cabinet and grabbed a mug and aggressively set it on the counter.

        “Emily,” I continued to make my coffee, slamming everything like an four year old. “I’m not a mind reader.” He leaned against the entry into the kitchen and crossed his arms over his chest, then crossed one ankle over the other.

         I stirred my coffee vigorously, trying to internally debate with myself if I wanted to admit my thoughts or not. The spoon tinged on the ceramic mug and made a loud clang as it dropped into the stainless steel sink. I gripped the edge of the counter again and bit my lip. My eyes closed tightly and sprung open as the word vomit spewed from my mouth, “I thought when you had invited me over to your house for dinner, it was a date. Which is why I had dressed up and why I acted so weird. When I showed up and the guys where there I just realized how much of an idiot I was for thinking that. I’m sorry I acted the way I did, I just felt really fucking stupid.” Without looking at Calum, and without letting him speak, I grabbed my coffee and made my way to my balcony, throwing myself into the chair that is on its last leg.

          As I took a drink from my cup, Calum took a step onto cement pad of the balcony, just barely out of the door. He stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. “When I originally invited you over for dinner, I had this idea in my head,” He looked out over the balcony, his eyes narrowed. “I’d have candles lit on the table, and I would’ve just finished making this amazing meal when you rang the doorbell.” He raised his eyebrows, “Then you and I would sit together and enjoy a meal together, and alone.” He emphasized his last word, then looked at his feet. “It was supposed to be a date, Emily.” I choked on my coffee and looked up at him. “The guys showed up unannounced earlier in the day, and as the time got closer to when you told me you’d get there, I was going to tell them to leave, but I thought that we had such a great time with your friend, that maybe we’d have the same type of fun with my friends.” He looked at me, the same sad look from the restaurant the other night. “I was hoping that you were going to stay so that we could actually have a date, but then you left.” He shrugged, then lowered his eyes to his feet again.

          I stood up, placing my coffee on the little glass table in front of me. The weight fell off my chest, but a sudden, overwhelming feeling of being a complete and utter jackass washed over me. If we were in a cartoon, my face would’ve turned into a donkey. “Calum, I’m sorry. I had no idea you tried to make it a date.”

         He waved his hand and smiled, it was a fake smile, but I took it, “It’s fine, there’s really no way you could’ve known. Listen, can I make it up to you tonight and take you on an actual date, one that we both know we’re on, and one that we’re alone for.” He raised his eyebrows and adjusted his stance so he was no longer leaning against the wall.

          A smile stretched across my face, “Yeah, I’d like that.” I felt my cheeks flush and I played with my fingers nervously, “What time should I be ready?”

          “I’ll be back around seven to pick you up.” He looked out over the balcony and then leaned forward so that he was close enough to whisper, “I think you should wear that skirt again.” He leaned away from me and a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” As he left, I could feel the burn on my cheeks, and then the panic of wanting to get ready set in.

[talesfromthesnogbox]

Stuck Here With you

Rating: M (Rating for explicit conversations about sex) 

Words: 3,586

Summary: Richie and Eddie are stuck quarantining themselves together... what could possibly go wrong? OR based on this tweet: "@cjkasulke: APPARENTLY you have all just been *waiting* for this moment to confess your love to your roommates, so many of you live with people you have been silently in love with for y e a r s"

Notes: This is so stupid. Yes, I wrote a quarantine fic. Yes, this whole thing is a serious matter and I am an adult who's working from home and it all sucks, and there are people dying all over the world, and I do care, but I just thought people needed a little bit of a laugh, ya know? Anyways, this is wildly out of character and not good in general, but drop a comment if you like it, or if you think I'm a horrible person, whateves.

AO3

*~*~*~*~*

Richie woke from his catnap with a startled jump as he heard the front door slam shut.

“Jesus Eds, is it 6:30 already? Did I sleep all day?” He asked with a laugh.

“No asshole, it’s noon.” Eddie slammed his briefcase on the breakfast bar and worked his tie open. “This pandemic bullshit has gotten out of control.”

“Is that why you’re home right now…”

“Yes! Jared that fucking lunatic went off and brought some girl home last weekend and now he’s got a fever, so we were all sent home, and I’m stuck in isolation.”

Eddie was pissed, but Richie could see through his thinly veiled layer of anger; there was fear.

“Oh. Do you hang around Jared a lot at work?”

He sighed. “No, no I don’t, but it’s just a precaution until he can get tested properly.”

“That’s good then, right?”

It was good. After seven full days, Eddie finally emerged from his room with a cheery smile. “Jared’s in the clear, turns out he just picked up some STD, and I get to go back into work tomorrow.” He plopped down on the couch.

“That’s great Eds, but I hate to break it to you…” Richie pointed towards the TV where the headline read “California officially shut down”.

The first few days felt like any weekend would. They had extra groceries delivered, they binged some true crime documentary on Netflix, they had a group Skype session with the Losers, they did pretty much anything that took their minds off the current situation. But then the fifth day hit.

It was only 7am when Richie dragged himself out of bed for a coffee. Sure it was early, and he had nowhere to be, but time meant nothing anymore.

Usually Richie’s clamoring about the kitchen woke Eddie up. The first few nights that Eddie moved in after Derry were rough; turns out, Eddie was a pretty light sleeper, and Richie was loud. But today, there was no Eddie in sight.

He continued on his way, pouring himself a bowl of cereal when he saw it through the window to his backyard… and promptly spilled milk all over the counter.

On the bright side, Richie had found Eddie. The only downfall was he’d found him in a pair of tiny running shorts and a tank top doing squats on his deck.

“Fuck!” Richie swore, grabbing a tea towel to clean up the mess he’d made.

“Richie?” Eddie stopped his squats and ran into the house. “What the fuck happened dickwad?”

“N-nothing, nothing happened, it’s just early and I lost my grip.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“So um… what’s happening in the backyard there, Jillian Michaels?” Richie giggled.

“Fuck off. I usually go to the gym before work, but now that the gym’s closed, I had to improvise.”

“Ahh, I see, trying to pick up the new future Mrs. K with…” with thighs I want to wear as earmuffs and that tight ass? He was glad there was an entire counter between them to hide the fact that he was currently at half-mast.

Eddie gave him a strange look and shook his head. “Shut the fuck up. I’m a divorced 40-year-old living with his best friend, I don’t think I’m going to be picking someone up that easily at the gym. Besides, Santa Monica women aren’t really my type…”

“Oh? Well when this is all over, I know a few places we can go pick up chicks. West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, hell even Studio City. Name your type Eds, we’ll find her.”

“Aren’t you gay? How do you know so much about picking up women?”

“Closet case my boy.” Richie winked and took a bite of his cereal. “I’m as good of an actor as I am a comedian.”

“No wonder there were never any articles about how much of a playboy you were then.” Eddie said straight-faced, walking back out to finish his work out.

“Eds gets off a good one!”

*~*~*~*~*

After that eventful morning, Richie tried his hardest to stay in bed until after Eddie’s morning routine was done. One almost-embarrassing situation in his pants was enough to last a lifetime around his best friend of however-many years, he did not need it to escalate from there.

As the days passed on, the two of them found ways to entertain themselves. Eddie took to reading on the deck in the mild April weather, and Richie decided to pick up his guitar again for the first time in years.

He was a little rusty, but after a few hours of practice, it was like riding a bike, and before he knew it, he was back playing the tune he’d spent hours playing as a teenager.

Richie hummed along to the tune of “Eddie My Love” as his fingers formed the familiar chords with ease. He didn’t even realize Eddie walking in from the backyard, a stunned look on his face.

“Rich?” He jumped, startled at the sound of the other man.

“Hey Eds, sorry was I being loud?”

“N-no.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know you played.”

Richie chuckled. “Yeah, I picked it up in high school after Went agreed to teach me a bit. I was in a band in college, but we kinda sucked.”

Eddie scoffed. “You don’t suck, that tune is lovely. What is it?”

Richie’s face felt hot all the sudden. “Uhh, I can’t really remember the name, just something I used to play a bunch. It’s an oldie my mom really liked.”

“Can you teach me?”

His eyes widened. “Y-yeah, here, come sit.” He moved more away from the body and more towards the neck of his acoustic, allowing Eddie to sit nestled between his folded legs. “Okay, um so you hold it like this, and your fingers go here.” Richie curled Eddie’s fingers around the neck of the guitar, placing them in the correct spots on the frets. “So we start with a G chord.” His other arm snaked around Eddie’s shoulder to show him how to strum the chord.

Eddie shivered, completely engulfed by his best friend, noticing for the first time how much he loved his arms being wrapped around him like this.

“Then we move to an E minor.” Richie shifted Eddie’s fingers again and strummed. “Then A minor, and up to D.”

Eddie moved his fingers, pliant beneath Richie’s big hand. His heart beat fast, and he could feel Richie’s breath warm on his shoulder as he played.

For a moment, Eddie could convince himself that Richie felt the same way about him, but only for a moment. They were best friends, and just because Richie was gay, it didn’t mean he was interested in Eddie, no matter how hard he wished that he was. He would never have Richie, but he’d always have this moment.

*~*~*~*~*

“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting drunk.” Richie pulled out a rather large bottle of vodka and a few other spirits. “I’m mixing you up a quarantini.���

“A what now?”

“Quarantini, Eds. We’re getting shitfaced.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Rich, there’s no way in hell I’d—” he paused. Maybe this was the perfect way to come on to Richie. Lowered inhibitions were a great excuse to do something potentially stupid, and if it all went sour, he could blame it on the alcohol. “You know what, fuck it. Mix me a quarantini.”

“That’s the spirit!” He mixed the drinks and dragged Eddie over to the couch. “Alright, we’re indulging tonight. I want not a peep from you. I never got to do any of this gay shit before, and now is the perfect excuse to start a new series. We’re watching RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

Eddie nodded his head. “Drag racing, okay cool, I like cars.”

Richie burst out laughing. “No asshole, drag race… like drag queens.” He popped on a random season and hit play.

Four episodes and many quarantinis later, both Eddie and Richie were yelling at the TV.

“How could they send April home, she’s like the hottest one there!” Eddie put his hands up.

“Right? Look at how hot he is ugh I just wanna…” Eddie glanced over at Richie with a smirk. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I see it.” He pulled out his phone, April’s instagram profile already loaded. “The scruff is driving me mental.”

Richie chuckled. “Eds, that sounds kinda gay.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” Eddie said, face heating up. “Um, surprise?”

“Oh… shit dude, yeah, um, congratulations. Thanks for telling me.” Richie brought his friend into a tight hug, the alcohol running through his system making him feel a little light headed.

“Thanks for being cool about it.” Eddie mumbled, pulling away a bit, but still resting within Richie’s grasp.

“Hey man, I get it… I’m a closet case too.” He laughed.

The two were silent for a moment, content in each other’s grasp, until Eddie couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “Come on, next episode. I hope Laganja gets booted, I can’t stand her.”

Many episodes and quarantinis later, Eddie was fully shitfaced.

“Come on, bedtime for Eds.”

Eddie giggled. “Yeah Rich, take me to bed.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Richie’s heart stutter.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough from you.” Richie deposited Eddie onto the bed, helping him with his shirt, when Eddie pulled him down hard.

“Oops, sorry Rich.” He giggled. “’s not my fault, you’re trying to get me out of my clothessss.”

“You’re wearing jeans, I can’t let you go to bed in jeans Eddie. What kind of asshole wears jeans in quarantine.” Richie giggles, undoing Eddie’s zip and pulling his jeans down his hairless legs. Fuck, his legs are amazing. “Eds, do you wax?” Richie giggled, rubbing a hand up his thigh.

“Pffftt, we’re in isolation shithead, I haven’t been to my wax girl in weeks.”

A jubilant laugh bubbled from Richie’s chest. “Shit, I’ve learned more about you tonight than I have in all the years I’ve known you. You really are a twunk.”

“A what now?”

Richie planted himself down on the bed beside Eddie. “Twunk, hunky twink.”

A look of realization dawned on Eddie. “Ohhhh, that makes a lot of sense. The dude at the checkout told me I was a twunk when I went to buy those underwear without the butt.”

Richie’s brain went blank. “Eddie, do you wear thongs?”

“No asshole, the other thing without the butt. Jock something, I can’t remember.”

“A jockstrap? Eddie are you trying to kill me right now?”

“Shut the fuck up asshole! They’re good for working out in. And they don’t give me lines in my nice suit pants.” Richie was speechless. “So if I’m a twunk, what are you?”

“I—I—I think it’s time for bed.”

“Oh.” Eddie said sounding dejected. “O-or we could just hang out?”

Richie was at an impasse. He knew they were walking a thin line right now, and he shouldn’t stay, but he wanted to see where this would take him, he didn’t want to leave Eddie’s side.

“I think I could hang out for a bit.”

Their “hanging out” didn’t last very long. Within ten minutes, the two men were out cold.

Richie woke up first the next morning and left the soundly sleeping Eddie to go make a pot of coffee. His head was pounding, and as much as he knew the bright sunlight was going to burn his eyes, the fresh air couldn’t hurt.

He’d never been more thankful for his manager who also happened to be a fantastic decorator. The outdoor couch may have seemed stupid to him when he first bought the place, but at times like this, it was a great choice. He could relax, and look out towards the ocean, and forget everything that happened the night before.

That is until Eddie decided to join him.

Richie’s breath left his lungs once he got a good look at his friend. It was like a blast from the past seeing him in a pair of tiny red running shorts, much like those he wore when he was a kid, but now… now they were so much more. Richie’s mouth watered when his eyes caught a good look at how Eddie’s ass filled out the shorts. A large tank top donned his torso, one that Richie had been gifted, and definitely not been too comfortable wearing himself judging by how low cut the arm holes were. He looked hot, not that he wasn’t always attracted to Eddie, but this felt like something had changed, a sexual awakening of sorts, and Richie would never look at his friend the same way.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungover.” Eddie complained as he sat beside Richie. “That stupid drink went down like water.”

“Yeah man I hear you, I feel like shit.”

“I had fun though, it’s been a long time since I’ve had that much fun.”

Richie looked over to him. “No regrets about spilling your guts then?”

Eddie winced. “Okay, maybe you didn’t have to hear about what kind of underwear I prefer.”

Richie burst out laughing. “No, I definitely appreciated that tidbit of information, Eds. I’m proud that my twunk theory was right.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward.” Richie mumbled to himself.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“N-nothing.” He said, darting inside. “Going to work on my new show, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Richie had to get out of there. Last night was a lot, sure, but something felt different today. Seeing Eddie in his boxer briefs felt almost safer than whatever the hell he was wearing today. It’s almost like… almost like he’d purposely dressed up for Richie, and it was killing him. He didn’t know how much more he could take before he combusted.

Unfortunately for Richie, this new look seemed to be Eddie’s new uniform. Richie could tell that now Eddie was out to him, he felt more comfortable being himself, but Richie hated every second of it.

He dreaded seeing Eddie in the morning, dreaded knowing what fresh hell lay beyond his bedroom door in the form of a 5’9 firey bundle of sex personified.

Nearly a month into their quarantine, it was finally warm enough for Richie to sit out by the pool. He donned the brightest swim trunks he could find and rubbed his pale skin down with sunscreen, soaking up some vitamin D.

He’d been out there for just under an hour when he heard (and felt) a splash from the pool where Eddie jumped in.

“Okay, I take back everything bad I ever said about you having a pool when the ocean is right there. The pool is definitely more relaxing than the beach.”

Richie giggled. “I told you, asshole.”

“Oh, and I totally figured out what you are now. If I’m a twunk, you’re an otter.”

“A what now?” Richie removed his sunglasses and moved to sit on the edge of the pool.

“An otter.” Eddie rested his elbows on Richie’s thighs as his calves framed his torso. “At least that’s what I think. It’s like a softer bear. You’re not quite as big and not enough hair to be a bear, and you’re still too thin to be a cub, so you’re an otter.”

“I understood exactly none of what you said except for ‘bear’. I met a bear on Grindr just before Derry that made me realize I like being the bigger body in bed.” Richie winked saucily.

“So you’re a top then Trashmouth?”

Richie’s brows rose into his hairline. “I—I—we are not talking about this right now, not when you’re this close to my dick.”

“Oh come on, you used to talk about your dick all the time.”

“Yeah, I was a closeted kid who’s balls hadn’t dropped yet, obviously I wanted to come off as heterosexual as I could.”

Eddie laughed. “Okay, good point.”

The two sat in the same position for a few minutes, exchanging no words between them. It felt intimate, it felt like Eddie was flirting with him, but he’d never been good at picking up signs. Could Eddie want this too?

“I am though.” He said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

“You’re what?”

Richie’s heart thudded in his chest. “A top, I guess. I don’t mind bottoming, I like it, but I guess I just…”

Eddie grinned. “You like being in charge?”

“No, fuck no.” Richie laughed.

“Really? Huh, okay.” Eddie nodded, mostly to himself.

“Hey, what the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing at all Tozier.” Eddie pushed off of Richie’s legs and floated on his back towards the inflatable lounger.

*~*~*~*~*

The week that followed was agonizing. All Eddie wore was those stupid shorts and a variation of t-shirt/tank-top/fucking crop top, and it was driving Richie mental. He felt like a teenager again, he’d never had so many hard-ons in one week in his life.

It was only a matter of time before Richie snapped.

Richie was descending the stairs from his room one fateful morning and groaned rather loudly when he saw what was waiting for him.

The shorts seemed shorter, tighter on his ass (damn all those squats he does) and his already short shirt seemed to rise up, showing the lovely dimples on his lower back as he reached for a bowl from a high shelf.

“Hey Rich, can you help me… what’s wrong?”

He huffed out a laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wh—did I do something?”

Richie stared at Eddie in disbelief. “Did you… did you do someth—the shorts man, what’s with the shorts!”

“The shorts? I always wear the shorts.”

“I fucking know you always wear the shorts, that’s the problem!” Richie’s stomach rolled. He thought he was going to throw up, he’d never been this candid about his feelings in his life.

“You have a problem with the way I dress? Fuck you, dude.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward!”

Both men fell silent. The tension could be cut with a knife, it was so thick between them.

“Richie?”

“Fuck man, I’m sorry I freaked out on you like that, I just don’t know if I can take this anymore. We’ve been cooped up for a month and I swear I’ve done more jacking off in the last month than I ever did as a teenager.” As good as it felt to spill his guts, he definitely thought he was going to pass out any second.

“I—I don’t…”

“The worst part is, it’s not even just that I’m horny. It’s you! Shit man, I’ve been dreaming of you since we were fucking teenagers. And now… now here you are looking like a goddamn… a goddamn what’s the word… a goddamn snack, telling me shit about the sexy underwear you buy, and asking me if I’m a top. Eddie, I don’t know if you’re flirting with me or not, but Jesus fucking Christ, it’s taking every single fiber of my willpower to not rip your clothes off right now.”

Eddie held back a smile. “Wait, I’m sorry, what? You couldn’t tell I was flirting with you? Are you fucking blind? Actually don’t answer that, I know you’re fucking blind.”

Richie was sure he was gonna get a nosebleed any second. “S-so you were flirting with me?”

Eddie laughed out loud. “Yes you idiot! Literally since the moment I got here, I have been flirting with you. You didn’t get the hint that I have feelings for you?”

“What the fuck, no man! Like you said, I’m fucking blind. I thought you were straight until a few weeks ago!”

Eddie moved to lean against the island, closer to Richie. “You dumbass, I tried so hard the night I came out to you, why do you think I told you about what fucking underwear I wear?”

“I don’t know man, I’m not good at this shit.”

“Clearly!”

Richie cast his eyes down. “S-so, so you really like me?”

Eddie reached for his hand and interlaced their fingers. He pulled Richie closer to him, so he was pinned between Richie and the island. “I love you, dickwad.”

Richie huffed out a laugh. “I love you too.” He blinked rapidly, looking up towards the light. “Oh god, why am I crying.”

“Get over here you big baby.” Eddie detangled his fingers from Richie’s and brought his hand up to the other man’s cheek, bringing him in for a kiss. It was sweet, it was chaste, it was everything Richie wanted from Eddie when they were younger.

But he wasn’t a teenager, and he wanted more.

He dove forward, tongue clashing with Eddie’s. It was hot, it was toe curling good. He snaked his other hand down Eddie’s side, curling around his hip and moving to squeeze his ass. Eddie groaned and ground himself into Richie’s thigh.

“Fuck.” Richie said pulling away. “Fuck, how are you so hot? We’re fucking forty man.”

“Me? Dude, look at you. Your arms… your chest…” Eddie snaked his hand under Richie’s shirt, scratching at the smattering of hair on his pecs.

“Jesus man, I’m not gonna last… fuck… bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

*~*~*~*~*

The two men finally emerged from Richie’s bedroom for dinner later on with kiss bruised lips and satisfaction plastered on their faces.

“Anything good on?” Eddie asked as Richie turned on the TV. “Rich?”

Richie laughed. “You better come see this.”

“QUARANTINE LIFTED” The headline read as news anchors happily recounted the fall in new cases, and the rise in recoveries.

“You’re fucking joking.”

[collecting-stories]

Apple - Connor Murphy

A/N: For those of you who follow me and don’t know, I’m obsessed with Broadway and musical theatre. I’ve always kind of thought about branching out to write fanfic about it but never did but I’ve decided to just go ahead and do it. So here is some Dear Evan Hansen shit. 

I don’t swim, I just dive, right into those blue-green eyes...spill your emotions into my hands, that's what I want - Apple, Julia Michaels

\\\

The light shone in through the cheap curtains in the dorm room, highlighting Connor’s face and disrupting his sleep. He rubbed at his eyes before shifting onto his back, looking over to the spot next to him. Instead of being curled up under blankets asleep, which is exactly how  he left you the last time he’d woken up, you were sitting up. Back to him, fingers swiftly moving on the keyboard of your laptop, the soft clicking making him huff. It was still early and all he wanted was to burrow under the blankets, ward off the sun, and go back to sleep. It had been a late night for both of you. The storm that had started midday yesterday only worsened and with it so did Connor’s mood. Fall was never an easy time for him and the transition to harsher weather made him antsy, angry, he felt a little like he was losing control.  

“What are you doing awake?” Connor groaned, soft voice taking on a raspier quality from the hours unused.

“Sorry,” you turned to look down at him, a smile already on your face. It took no other coaxing from him, you were already closing your laptop and standing up briefly to place it on Evan’s empty bed.  

“Close the blinds too.” Connor instructed, voice muffled as he rolled over to face the wall. He pulled the blanket over his head, just the top of his long hair poking out.  

He’d been threatening to cut it off but you knew he wouldn’t, not with the weather getting colder. His hair was like a warm, worn sweater that kept him comfortable and safe and no amount of threats from him would cause him to do more than let you trim an inch every couple of months.  

Once the blinds were closed you crawled under the covers with him, throwing an arm over his waist and sneaking your other beneath his pillow. He took the hand at his waist, guiding it up so he could kiss along your knuckles, chapped lips scratching on soft skin. Connor gave you a million sensations at once and you loved every single one. You liked quiet moments like this and easy moments when he let you pick the music for study sessions that lasted so long you both had trouble waking up. You liked when Evan was there and the three of you hung out watching movies on your laptop or when Zoe stopped by to visit on the occasional weekend as her and Connor figured out how to be siblings again.  

There were bad times too. You’d been with Connor since the spring of freshman year and you were juniors now. So bad times were only normal. Fights over stupid things like his incessant need to wear the same sweatshirt and never let you wash it, or not wanting you to meet his parents or him not wanting to meet your family. Fights came easily when he wasn’t in his head and they triggered even worse blow ups where he told you to ‘fuck off’ and told you he hated you. Those were the worst times. It’d been a storm like that last night, outside and in his head. He’d said some awful things and you’d waited him out, because you were good at that, at knowing what to say and when. And when he was calm again, when the storm had passed you talked, for a long time, and he apologised and then finally you went to bed. In the early morning hours when exhaustion was making you both irritable you coaxed him to bed.  

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Connor asked, sleepy voice breaking through your own attempt to get in some extra rest.  

“My dad’s this year,” you replied, shifting to press yourself closer to him.  

“Think you can get out of it?” He twisted onto his back again, first pushing you away and then pulling you close once more. “My mom wants me to come home for the holiday and I thought you might wanna come along.”  

“An invitation to the Murphy house?” You smiled, pushing yourself up enough to look at him. Splotchy red skin covering his face and neck, sure signs of embarrassment. He had his eyes closed, as if you wouldn’t be able to see him that way.  

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.” He tried to make himself sound nonchalant but it was impossible. He’d been mulling over the ask for days, thinking of how to go about things.  

“I’m not.” You promised, resting your head just below his, the bridge of your nose brushing the sharp line of his jaw. “Should I bring something?”

“Absolutely not.” He squeezed your side. In all honesty, if he had it his way he would never bring you home because then he could live in these two separate worlds he’d created. He was still himself in both but he was the worst parts of himself at home. His memories were riddled with guilt over the past but he had promised his mom he would come home this year. He wouldn’t stay at school and hide away from family that he knew only cared about him. But he didn’t want to be alone.  

“Does this mean I can convince you to come to my mom’s Christmas Eve party?” You asked, kissing the underside of his chin and laughing when he squirmed. He was highly ticklish in some key areas and sometimes, only because you loved the way his nose twitched and his face scrunched up, you would take advantage of that.  

“Maybe.” He replied. His skin was hot and the redness had only increased as he thought of it. Evan had been twice in a row now to your mom’s Christmas Eve party. Even Zoe had dropped in last year. But still the thought had his hands threatening to shake and his breath hitching. He wanted you with him the same way he always wanted to wear the same hoodie, the same way he never cut his hair, because you made him feel safe. You eased his mind when it was racing and made him feel grounded when he was slipping away. But what could he do for you? What could you need from him?  

“It’ll be fun, plus my mom wants to meet you.”  

“Why?” The self-deprecating single word question tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it.  

“Because I talk about you all the time and she probably thinks you’re like, a made up fictional character in my head at this point.” You replied.  

“You could probably make up something better than this.”

You hummed and placed another kiss to his chin, “that’s your perspective. I’m pretty partial to this though, I mean, I do happen to love you. A whole lot.”  

There was a long pause, a silent minute that Connor laid there trying to think of what to say. His gut reaction was to lose his cool, to lash out with all the reasons he wasn’t good enough in some self-sabotaging attempt at making you see your mistake. But he was trying not to do that anymore and trying meant patience and you had a world of it stored inside you. Another kiss was placed right at the base of his neck and Connor exhaled, all of that negative energy escaping from his lips. “I love you too.” He decided.  

And you didn’t mention Christmas Eve again, instead you offered him a real kiss and he melted into it as he held you close to him. When the topic was broached again it was by him, later in the day when you’d woken up again, and he said only that it sounded good and he meant it.  

-

I thought about whether anyone would read this and then came to the life altering decision that I’ll be okay if it’s just for me. 

[fanaticfangirl001]

Grease Spot, Birthday Cake and Musicals

John Bender x reader

Author’s note: 1. I know this universe is like 80’s to mid 80’s but like I reference play rehearsals for Phantom of The Opera, it’s my favorite so we’re using it. 2. Queen in the early years had some really rock/ thrash rock hits like Stone Cold Crazy, I think John would have liked Queen so that’s that. 3, I know the request said small gift but come on. 

Warning: Sex is mentioned. *It’s John Bender,come on* 

Y/n is the top of her class at Shermer High, and the leading lady in most of the school plays. This makes her one of the cool nerds.No one would ever guess that she frequently slept with John, and neither of them got much sleep on those nights. Brian, one of Y/n’s friends knew the tell tale signs of those nights.

Brian scrunches his nose smelling the remnants of strongly brewed tea, as Y/n stops by her locker beside him.

Closing his locker he asks “ Why with him?”

“I like sleeping with him.” She whispers.” Besides you said he wasn’t that bad after your stint in detention.”

“He’s not. Just be careful.” Brian pats her on the shoulder and walking with her to English class, the last class of the day.

Y/n starts writing notes about the naturalistic literary movement and then pulls out another sheet writes ‘You comin’ over?’, crumbles it up and tosses it behind her to John when the teacher isn’t looking.

The paper ball hits her on the back of the head and drops to the floor. Y/n picks it up and uncrumples it under her desk. In John’s chicken-scratch of handwriting reads ‘If you want me tonight sure.’ Y/n rolls her eyes and writes a response of : ‘Got a surprise for you, birthday boy.’ As she writes this the teacher calls on her to explain the main theme of naturalism.

“The main theme of naturalism in literature is that nature doesn’t care if you’re a man you’ll die.” Y/n answers much to the teacher’s surprise.

“You’re correct, Ms.L/N, but do pay attention.” The teacher says turning her back to the class and writing on the board.

“Yes, ma’m.” Y/n says tossing back the paper ball.

The bell rings and Y/n and John leave at the same time.

    “You don’t have to anything special, not like you’re my girl or nothin.” He whispers passing her.

‘He’s right, I’m not his girl’ Y/n thinks. She’d like to be his girl, even if everyone she talks to is against him. Most annoyingly Claire. For a girl who kissed him, you’d think she’d think better of him. Y/n runs to the auditorium for Phantom of the Opera rehearsal. Honestly she thinks the theater teacher is crazy for trying to even put this on. Michael and herself are the only ones who can sing. Claire was put in the role of Carlotta, the prima donna, which seemed fitting since her attitude during rehearsals.

The darkened auditorium was easy to sneak into. John snuck into the back but then saw Brian go upstairs to rehearse the lighting gues. He follows Brian up the stairs.

    “Hey Jimmy, it’s my turn with the..” Brian stops when he turns and sees John, “ You’re not allowed up here.”

John balls up his fist.

    “Take a seat.” Brian pulls out a second stoll.

John sits and looks over the railing. “ You can see everything from up here.”

    “Yup. So is Y/n your girl or something?” Brian asks turning on the light and moving it to the side as to not blind the actors on stage.

    “Nope, just a friend.” John answers telling the half-truth.

    “That you have sex with.” Brian points out.

    “Let’s not get vulgar.” John smirks.

The theater teacher looks up and shouts at Brian,” Look ready, start of Think of me.”

Brian grabs the light and tilts it towards the stage getting Y/n in the center of it as the surrounding lights fade. John watches Y/n as she begins singing.

‘Think of all the things

We’ve shared and seen

Don’t think about the things

Which might have been’

John thinks about a few things, one Y/n is the one girl who he always comes back to, she doesn’t ask questions about the burns on his wrists, just nurses any new ones. Y/n keeps her bedroom window unlocked so he can sneak in after a bad night of getting hit. She keeps a first aid kit in her room for this reason. The one time she slept over at his house, well that went about as well as he expected. His dad called her a whore, then his mom said “ She’s not a whore, he’s not paying her, that’s a stupid whore.”

    “She’s the best singer in the whole school.” Brian says drawing John out of his thoughts.

    “She’s good, it’s not really rock.” John shrugs his jacket partially covering his Queen shirt.

    “You know, that you can actually talk to girls you like right.” Brian says.

    “Shut up, what do you know about girls.” John snaps.

    “I know that you like her, and I’m one of her friends.” Brian cuts off the light as rehearsals begin to end

    “You tell her I like her, I will knock you into next week.” John threatens.

    “So you do like her, since you threatened me.” Brian smiles.

John shoves Brian out of the chair and leaves the auditorium.

------At Y/n’s house------

John sits on the back porch swing waiting for Y/n to stop talking to her parents and for them to leave for the long weekend. Y/n told him they were going to Nevada for a Dentist convention, which sounds just as boring as to him as it did to Y/n when they told her. The parents leave out of the front door and he comes in the back.

    “So what’s the surprise.” John makes himself comfortable in a chair leaning his arms on the back of the chair.

Y/n opens the fridge then shuts it quickly “ Close your eyes, no peeking.”

John smirks but closes his eyes trying not to laugh at her being this secretive about his birthday surprise.

“Okay, you can open.” Y/n says.

When John opens his eyes, he sees a big homemade chocolate cake in front of him with a candle lit and his lighter sitting beside it. On the other side of the table is a black mechanics tool case, and a helmet. He’s shocked. He kind of thought the surprise was sex but this is more than he thought she’d do.

    “John, are you gonna say something.” Y/n is convinced he hates this.

    “Why the tools, and the helmet, I don’t have a bike.”

    “Remember when we hopped the fence to my uncle’s junk yard if though the gate was unlocked, and you saw a cherry red bike that you said needs some tlc and parts.”

    “Yeah.” John says still a little in shock.

    “Well he won’t be needing it in prison so, I took it. It’s in the garage with some parts” Once Y/n told John where the bike was he was out the door to the garage and down the stairs.

Y/n follows him laughing. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning, or at least a normal kid on Christmas. Not like the Christmases John experienced.

She finds him sitting by the bike just looking at it and the parts Y/n thought to take as well.

John then looks up at her, a little suspiciously.

    “Why?” He asks. “Why all this for me?”

    “Dunno,” Y/n shrugs, “ I like seeing you, around. That’s all”

John face changes into a smile.

    “You like seeing me around. Just like or like like.” He teases.

Y/n’s face feels hot.

    “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” She leans against the box of parts.  “I know you don’t do one girl one guy stuff.”

    “Who says I don’t.” John says

    “You.” Y/n pokes him the chest

    “Well maybe I’ve changed my mind.” John gently pulls Y/n onto his lap.

    “Maybe?” She questions looking up at him from his lap.

    “Yeah on one condition.” John nods.

    “What?” Y/n is a little confused as to where this is going, and to who he wants to be his girl.

    “You say yes to being my girl.” John kisses her.

Y/n pulls away “ John, the answers yes.”

    “Then why’d you pull away.” He asks.

    “I’m sitting in a puddle of grease, and my ass is wet.” Y/n answers getting up, slipping on the grease.

John catches her, slings her over his shoulder, and runs inside for one long weekend of fixing a bike and birthday sex.

[missjanjie]

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 7

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~21.2k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), BVK (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo/Kameron Michaels), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Denali and Jaida collaborate, Rosé's roommate takes care of Lemon, and Jan and Nicky go to Paris.

-

Jaida glanced over her shoulder as she adjusted the lighting setup in her room. “Now, are you sure this is gonna get the reactions we want?”

“We can’t be sure about anything other than death and taxes,” Denali pointed out, “but my gut is telling me this is exactly how we kill two birds with one stone.”

Although she wasn’t completely convinced, Jaida decided to trust Denali’s judgment on this. She was the one that had been doing this for a living, after all. If she says filming a scene together could be both the final push Jackie needed to come to terms with her feelings and ignite a spark of either jealousy or passion (or both) in Rosé, she just had to trust the process, right? “Alright, let’s do this.”

“You could be a little more enthusiastic,” Denali remarked in mock offense before turning the camera on.

“Sorry,” she exhaled, “I just need to get in the zone.”

After a brief moment to hype herself up, Jaida was ready to go. She and Denali admired themselves in the mirror, at the lingerie they were both wearing, then began filming. They didn’t bother with pretenses – their viewers didn’t want a preamble or plot, they wanted two hot girls having sex, and it was something they could readily oblige with.

They started by making out, hot and heavy and full of pleasured sighs and breathy moans. They peeled the lingerie off of each other, taking time to kiss and grope the newly exposed skin, getting each other worked up until they were naked and ready.

Jaida pinned Denali’s wrists above her head with one hand and with the other, eased one finger, then another into her, thrusting and curling her fingers into her. “Good girl,” she praised, “taking me so well.”

And Denali fell into her role perfectly, which wasn’t particularly difficult when she was with someone as skilled as Jaida. She tossed her head back and moaned out, arching towards her fingers. “Fuck, feels so good,” she whimpered. Her body rocked in perfect tandem with Jaida’s fingers, and when the other woman switched to using her tongue instead, her moans only got louder and her body moved more fervently.

Jaida gripped onto her hips firmly, keeping her just steady enough to alternate between sucking on her clit and thrusting her tongue in and out of her. She could feel when Denali was about to come and doubled down on her efforts, fucking the smaller girl through her orgasm and not relenting until she was certain she was spent, then even a moment longer for a final touch of overstimulation.

They shared a few calm, chaste kisses as they recovered, then Jaida shifted so Denali could get up and turn the camera off. “I’ll edit it, should be good to go by tomorrow,” she assured with a smile. “That was great, by the way. Jackie’s in for a treat once she comes around.”

“Thanks,” she couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Here’s hoping.”

------

“Hey, listen,” Rosé poked her head into Mik’s room on her way out for her morning shift. “Check in on Lemon every now and then if you can. She’ll be out cold with a hangover until noon, but, you know, after that.”

Mik looked up from her phone and nodded. “Sure, gorge. It’s so refreshing to not be the messiest bitch in the house.”

Rosé rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Mik. It’s never taken her this long to bounce back from a girl, and she wasn’t even in a relationship with Priyanka.”

“Like I said.”

She sighed, knowing that her roommate had a point. “Okay, sure. Just make sure she isn’t completely shitfaced by the time I get home, she missed her last two shifts and I promised Jackie she’d show up at least mostly sober.”

“Relax, I’ll take care of her,” she assured, then waved Rosé off, waiting until she heard the front door close before laying back down. She still had a few hours before she had to be on Lemon duty.

But it didn’t take a few hours. It had only been an hour and change before Lemon wandered out of her cousin’s bedroom and, upon realizing Rosé wasn’t there, into Mik’s. “Did she go to work?”

“Did no one teach you how to knock?” Mik asked as she sat up, then added, “yeah, she left a little while ago.” She rubbed her eyes and looked the blonde over, and she looked as rough as Rosé had made it sound. “Jesus…”

Lemon rolled her eyes. “Spare me your pity,” she mumbled and flopped backward on Mik’s bed. “I’m aware of how fucked up I am.”

“Admitting it is the first step,” she shrugged, then smiled slightly when Lemon almost laughed. “You just want some company, then?”

She pushed herself up, only to shift and lay by Mik’s side. “You don’t mind? I know I’m no one's first choice to keep around these days,” she murmured.

“Oh, shut up,” Mik scoffed and shook her head. “You know everyone’s worried about you because they care about you.”

“Not everyone.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, silently figuring out what she could do to pull Lemon from this mindset. “I could offer you some distraction sex in this trying time.”

Lemon tilted her head. “Yeah? Because I’m about to take you up on that. This is the longest I’ve gone without getting any in ages.” She got up and straddled herself across Mik’s lap and pulled her shirt off. “Let’s do this.”

Mik’s brows rose at the blunt quickness of Lemon’s decision, but it didn’t deter her in the slightest. She sat up and tugged her shirt off and tossed it aside, then leaned up and kissed Lemon as her hands rested on her ass. “I’ll take care of you,” she assured before flipping their positions so the blonde was now underneath her.

“Please,” she exhaled, arching her hips up to wiggle out of her shorts and toss them aside.

“So eager,” Mik cooed as she ducked down to kiss at her neck. “Just how I like them,” she added, smirking to herself as she moved a hand down Lemon’s body, stopping between her legs and using two fingers to rub her clit.

And Lemon couldn’t have denied it if she tried. Instead, she just let out a moan and arched into her touch.

Mik smirked, moving her head between Lemon’s thighs, sucking on her clit as she eased one finger into her, letting it curl as she thrust slowly. She waited until she felt Lemon start rocking against her finger that she added another, thrusting, curling, and scissoring them inside her, feeling the way her body writhed and the sounds of her moans.

Lemon hadn’t realized just how badly she had needed this until waves of pleasure crashed over her body. Now, her only challenge was not letting her brain wander to anyone but Mik. The very last thing she wanted was for Priyanka’s name to spill past her lips while another woman was fucking her.

And Mik was oblivious to Lemon’s train of thought. Her goal was to get her off, plain and simple. So, her ministrations were steady and firm until she could feel the other girl come, fucking her through it until she was sure she was spent. “You good, princess?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” she exhaled, laying flat on the bed. “As I’ll ever be.”

------

“Priyanka?” There was silence, followed by a more forceful “Priyanka!”

“Hm?”

“Are you on your phone right now?”

The question, and the harsh tone it was asked in, jolted Priyanka into reality. “Um… I thought it might be an emergency,” she replied, knowing her voice wasn’t as convincing as she would’ve liked it to be. But she didn’t know what she expected when she decided to check instagram while her fiancé was having sex with her and perhaps should have been more subtle.

“Come on,” he groaned, “if you’re only gonna let me hit it once a week, you could at least pretend to be into it.”

Priyanka rolled her eyes, which of course he couldn’t see, and set her phone aside. “Sorry, proceed.”

Luckily for Priyanka, a few fake moans were enough to convince Mark that she was into it, which she repeated a few more times until he came, and she went right back to scrolling through instagram while he threw the condom out.

He laid down beside her with his hands behind his head. “My mom wants to take you dress shopping. She said you can bring your maid of honor or whoever too,” he told her.

“Cool,” she replied, as if her heart hadn’t dropped into her stomach, “I’ll text Scarlett.” It made much more sense that she would pick her best friend since college to be her maid of honor as opposed to one of the girls from the club. She loved the girls, but it would just be too messy. She wasn’t sure if she was even going to invite them at all. Maybe some of them would understand, but she knew for sure all hell would break loose if Lemon was anywhere in the vicinity of the venue.

———

“Something on your mind?” Mark asked tentatively, knowing more often than not it was pointless to try to ask.

“Just… thinking about how much we have to do for the big day.” She only ever referred to it as ‘the big day’ — ‘wedding’ made her stomach churn and it was hard for her to say without gagging. But that wasn’t enough for her to call it off. She was in this too deep, how could she ever turn back now?

She couldn’t, that’s how. No amount of sickness in her stomach or pain in her heart would break her free of this. At least, that was what she would keep reminding herself.

“What do you think of the room, ma chérie?” Nicky asked as she led Jan into the hotel suite they would be staying during their weekend getaway.

Jan’s eyes widened as she looked around. It was nearly the size of her apartment back home and decorated with the elegant Parisian flair she had only seen in fashion magazines. “It’s gorgeous,” she exhaled, setting her suitcase by the bed and walking around for a better look, wandering into the bathroom. “That is the biggest tub I’ve ever seen,” she said as she came back out.

Nicky chuckled fondly as she watched her girlfriend dart around the room like a kid in a candy store. “This is the reaction I was hoping for,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around Jan when she finally stood still long enough for her to do so.

“Nicks, this is so beautiful,” she gushed, kissing her sweetly. “I know, at least financially, this is easy for you, but I still appreciate you doing it for me.”

“I would still try to do the most for you if it was difficult,” she replied with a soft smile, gently caressing Jan’s cheek. “I love you,” she added in a voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, the room didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Nicky and hearing those words come out of her mouth. Her heart started racing and she pulled her into a deep kiss, her hands cupping her face to hold her in place. “I love you too,” she murmured against her lips.

Nicky hadn’t even realized there was such a weight on her shoulders until it lifted with those four words. She melted into the embrace, nothing in the world could have made her happier than being there with Jan, now knowing they loved each other. “As much as I would like to show you exactly how much I love you by fucking you within an inch of your life, we have dinner reservations in an hour, and there’s a surprise for you in the closet that will be part of it.”

Jan looked at her curiously, letting go of her face and walking towards the closet, her eyes going wide when she opened it. “Oh my god, this is beautiful. And it looks like it’ll fit perfectly, which, no offense, I didn’t expect from French fashion.” Being five-foot-four and a size eight meant she was generally fine with mainstream clothing, but when it came to lingerie and ‘high fashion’ she was often, to put simply, shit out of luck.

“I had a friend alter the dress to your measurements. I know it isn’t easy to fit your triple-d breasts, as much as I enjoy them,” she hummed.

She bounced excitedly on her heels as she took the dress off the hanger and got changed. “It fits perfectly, I love it, baby,” she beamed.

Nicky smiled warmly as she got changed as well. “Then let’s go, I’ve got to broaden your palate to French cuisine. I promise I won’t make you eat any snails.”

------

Denali’s video with Jaida was burned into Rosé’s mind. She was frustrated — she had no right to be jealous if Denali wasn’t her girlfriend, but seeing another woman fuck her — a woman who knew what she was doing in bed — made her blood boil. But when Denali invited her over after work, it all clicked. She wasn’t oblivious, she could put two and two together and realize this was a ploy to get some extra attention.

“If that’s how she wants to play,” Rosé said to herself, “it’s game on.”

“Hi, Rosie,” Denali greeted cheerfully as she let her in. “How was work?”

Rosé didn’t have time for pleasantries, unceremoniously yanking Denali into her bedroom and pinning her to the door. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Getting me all worked up by letting Jaida fuck you on camera. You can act like you were just helping out a friend all you want, I know you were trying to make me jealous.”

Denali’s heart started racing and her face felt hot, but she did her best not to let her expression falter. “And what if I was?”

Her grin darkened and she tilted her chin up with two fingers. “Well then, Mommy’s just going to have to give you what you want, aren’t I?” She backed off of her, hands on her hips. “Go on, grab the strap and get undressed.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Denali breathed out, grabbing the strap-on from her drawer and setting it on the edge of the bed before stripping out of her clothes and tossing them aside.

Rosé smirked, undressing and fastening the harness around her hips, then took her sweet time rifling through another drawer. She knew where Denali kept her silk ropes, but it wouldn’t be a punishment if she didn’t drag it out to tease her. “Here we go,” she finally pulled one out and walked back to her. “Don’t give me that pout. You wanted my attention so badly and you got it,” she clicked her tongue as she tied her wrists together with her arms above her head.

And she knew she couldn’t argue with that, so she lay in place and watched as Rosé slicked up two fingers with lube, easing in one after the other, instantly arching up into the contact.

The taller woman allowed it, thrusting and curling her fingers into her until she deemed her ready, then eased her fingers up and lubed up the dildo, gently guiding it into her and giving her time to adjust before she started to thrust. And she knew she didn’t need to stay gentle for long — that Denali preferred it rough and could take her fair share of manhandling. So, she started thrusting hard and fast, keeping a bruising grip on her waist.

Denali whimpered and moaned, her hips bucking up as she eagerly begged for more. She kept up with Rosé’s fervent pace, though her hips started to jerk more erratically when Rosé began rubbing her clit as well.

“You gonna come, baby?” she cooed. “Go on, come for Mommy,” she prompted, then continued to thrust through her orgasm. She waited until Denali laid flat and spent on the bed, but didn’t move. When the woman underneath her looked up inquisitively, the smirk returned to her lips. “You didn’t think I was done, did you?” And after a beat of silence where Denali realized what she was in for, Rosé began thrusting again.

The cycle repeated longer than Denali could’ve anticipated. After the third orgasm, she started to feel lightheaded, after the fifth, she could barely keep her eyes open, let alone focused on anything.

And mercifully, when Rosé realized she was about to tap out, she stopped, pulling out of her and untying her wrists. She tossed the rope aside and shimmied out of the harness. “There we go, you were so good, baby,” she praised as she got the two of them under the covers. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M good,” Denali mumbled, cuddling up to Rosé and nuzzling her head into the crook of her neck. She didn’t have the energy to stop and think, to overanalyze her actions and stop herself from crossing the line between friends-with-benefits and… something more. That didn’t matter. What mattered was Rosé being soft and warm and very attentive when it came to aftercare.

“Do you need anything?” she asked gently. “Water? Something to eat? Advil?” As comfortable as she was in bed with her, she would’ve gotten up at the drop of a hat if need be.

But Denali shook her head. “I’m fine, Rosie,” she assured in a soft, sleepy voice. “Just don’t move, I need you to be my body pillow.”

“Go ahead, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Rosé promised. They laid in comfortable silence, though it left her alone with her thoughts. She started to analyze her feelings when she saw the video, the possessiveness for someone she had no claim to. Even though they were both single, she had the wherewithal to realize this could go down a similar path to Lemon and Priyanka’s if she wasn’t careful. “Hey, Denali, I—”

Oh. She was asleep.

“Maybe next time,” Rosé murmured to herself.

[raybansandcoffee]

Adventure of a Lifetime: Chapter Eight

If you haven’t read the first seven chapters you can find them HERE.

*****

A piece of my hair fell from my messy bun into my face. As I reached for it Jeremy’s hand reached up and brushed it out of my face. His hand stopped and his thumb brushed against my cheek. Our eyes connected as I looked up. I could feel the blush creeping into my cheek. It was that intense kind of eye contact that could make you feel like your stomach had temporarily relocated into your throat.

“I love you,” Jeremy said before bending down to kiss me. Our lips connected and a jolt of electricity shot through my body. The kiss ended and I backed away to look up into his eyes again.

“I love you too.” As he pulled me back in for another kiss and started to unbutton my shirt Michael Giacchino's theme from JJ Abram’s Star Trek filled the air at an almost deafening volume. “Where is that coming from?” Jeremy started to get blurry in my vision when the same 30 seconds of the song started to play again at that same unbearably loud volume. I shot straight up in bed. It was my phone ringing and waking me up from a dream.

“Hello,” I answered without looking at my phone to see who was calling.

“Hey Charlie, it’s Jeremy.”

“Hi.” Fuck. He was in my dream. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “What’s up?”

“I was calling to check and see that you were awake before I headed over.”

“Yeah, I’m up. Come on over.”

“Alright. I’ll be there in a little bit.” With that, I hung up the phone and fell back onto the bed. I pulled my pillow over my head and screamed into it. This was NOT supposed to happen. I was not supposed to be having dreams about my daughter’s best friend’s Dad. I was not supposed to be having sex dreams about Jeremy. I mean I know it wasn’t a sex dream yet but it was totally headed that way if I hadn’t been woken up. One more scream into the pillow and I crawled out of bed. I wandered into the bathroom before mindlessly making my way into the closet. I definitely should not have stayed up as late as I had and should never have drank as much tequila as I did. I pulled on the shorts I wore yesterday, a red lace bralet, and a faded black Pink Floyd t-shirt. The sleeves had been cut off of the shirt and showed a little bit of the lace on the sides and at the neckline. I put my feet in my slip-on red and black checkered Vans then I hurried back into the bathroom and put a little bit of makeup on before going downstairs.

“Good morning,” Savannah said. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. I sort of feel like I was run over by a truck.”

“Same,” Tony groaned.

“How are you alive and in here already this morning?” I asked.

“I woke up because there is SO much light in my bedroom and I couldn’t fall back asleep. Then I got bored so I came in here to hang out. I thought about waking you up but didn’t want to get my head taken off.”

“If you had you would not be getting Nonna DeLuca’s meatballs.”

“Meatball!” Axel yelled.

“Yup dude. Mama’s makin’ meatballs today. She might need to make coffee first.”

“Did someone say coffee?” I turned to see Jeremy walking in the door. He had a drink caddy from a coffee shop in his hands.

“You are like an angel.” He came over to me and handed me a cup that had my name on it.

“Good morning, Charlie.” He hugged me and I felt him leave a kiss on my cheek.

“Good morning to you, my coffee-delivering hero.”

“Good morning Tony and Savy. Hey Axe-Man.” He proceeded to give a coffee to Savannah and Tony and high-fived Axel. He took the coffee that was meant for him and threw the caddy into the trash in the kitchen. “Where are the girls?” he asked after taking a sip of his coffee.

“They wanted to play with the Barbie Dream House this morning so they are still upstairs. I just checked on them about 10 minutes ago,” Savannah answered.

“Nice. So weren’t you supposed to be cooking?” Jeremy asked as he looked at me.

“I was maybe asleep when you called. The fact that I was capable of making myself look human before you got here should leave you impressed.”

“Oh, it does.” He raised his eyebrows at me before taking another drink of his coffee.

“Okay, you two are in charge of the tiny humans today, I am in charge of the meatballs. Jeremy do you want to be in charge of going with me to the grocery store to buy what I need?”

“Sounds great.”

“We will be right back,” I said before I walked through the first floor towards the garage. Jeremy followed. I grabbed my purse from where I’d dropped it in the butler’s pantry yesterday and opened the door to the garage.

“What’s up there?” I hadn’t taken Jeremy on the tour of the garage half of the house.

“The room my sister usually stays in. There’s a small room off of it that she can use to work when she’s here. Though she’ll probably be evicted from it when my Dad and Mandi come out.”

“Damn, you’ve got toys.”

“These aren’t even the toys. The garage under Tony’s place has some ATVs and stuff. Michael bought every single toy you could imagine wanting out here. There’s even a thing that’s big enough to plow the driveway which is ridiculous because the driveway is heated.”

“Seriously?” I nodded. “So what are these if not toys?”

“Well, the Wrangler is my baby. Most girls in Beverly Hills ask for a cute, zippy little sports car. I asked for something I could go off-roading and into the desert with.” Jeremy started to laugh. “I was still driving it when I turned 35. My Dad convinced me to sell it to him and I bought a new one.”

“Why did your Dad want an almost 20-year-old Jeep?”

“Umm, for me to not be driving it, mainly. It’s still at his house. I think he drives it for fun on occasion. It was also only a 2-door. I would’ve been fucked if I still had it.” I pointed to the Ford F150 Raptor in the other garage stall. “The Raptor was Michael’s toy here. He bought it when they bought the house.”

“So what is that flashy ass Benz I’ve seen you drive in the school pick up all year?”

“That was Sam’s. It was her push present for Axel. She’d really wanted a G Wagon but Michael made her get one with a third row because he wanted to have more babies.” I giggled a little. “When they died everything was left to me. Everything was paid off for the truck and the GLS because Michael refused to have car payments, so I kept both of them. The idea of taking the babies around in a Wrangler had me terrified. I also maybe love having the doors off of it WAY too much to let kids in the back. It’s really, really difficult to get them in and out of the Raptor. I have to do it for both of them, the GLS Ellery can climb in and out of now that she’s in a booster seat.” The doors were currently off of the Wrangler, along with the roof. Something I’d done over the weekend. I walked over to the Wrangler and climbed in. I plugged my iPhone in, picked some music and put my sunglasses on. “Wait? Did you just say all year? You’ve seen me in the school pick up all year? I met you two freaking days ago.”

“Of course I did. My daughter’s best friend had a hot mom who either showed up in a flashy ass Benz or a giant truck. It’s hard to miss you in one of those.”

“Every damn Mom in that parking lot drives some luxury vehicle. Most of them have more than one.”

“Also, you are one of the few parents who didn’t sit in the drive and honk their horn at their kid while they stare at their cell phone. You seem like the kind of Mom that gets involved and cares.”

“I definitely try to be. Deep down I’m the girl that wants to pull the doors and roof off of my Jeep and pick the kid up with classic rock blaring to scare the Moms but alas, I don’t.”

“You probably had way too much fun in a Wrangler when you were younger.” I backed out of the garage, turned and started to head down the driveway.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I still have too much fun in a Wrangler. My friends all got speeding tickets in their Audis and BMWs. I usually got stuck or tried to see how far I could take it before we thought the Jeep would flip. Frankie did the typical thing and got a cute little convertible. She and Mandi tried to convince me I wanted an M3 like they both had. Which of course makes it sound like we were spoiled brats that I could’ve picked a BMW M3 as a 16-year-old. But honestly, that was the life I grew up in. I didn’t know anything other than that life and I didn’t want any of it. Frankie embraced it. She was super popular, cheerleader, varsity athlete. I either had my head in the books or my hands on an instrument. I worked my ass off to get a full-ride scholarship to college so that I didn’t have to accept money from my parents and could do what I wanted and never worry that I wasn’t living up to their expectations with their money over my head.”

“So sexy and smart. You’re the whole fuckin’ package.” I started nervously laughing again.

“I am far from it. I am awkward, a bit neurotic at times, and have been known to talk to myself, like a lot. I am just really good at hiding all of that in this package.” I waived my hands around me while I laughed. “Which by the way is not sexy, just a bit crazy.”

“Oh, it is. Also, a little bit crazy can be fucking sexy.”

“Stop, the flirting isn’t necessary. I’m cooking you dinner tonight without it.”

“Flirting is fun. You just seem a little out of practice. Which is cute. You nervous laugh every time I flirt with you. That’s adorable. You just need to get back into practice.”

“Being out of practice is an understatement. I was in a relationship for 5 and a half years. I haven’t had to actually flirt in so long I don’t even remember what flirting is.”

“You should re-learn how to flirt. It’s fun. You’d like it. I certainly enjoy it.” I glanced over at him and started to laugh.

“You might be the crazy one. I mean you invited me to your house without knowing me. I could’ve been a fucking stalker.”

“If you were a stalker you would’ve been at Ava’s birthday party and not sent your teenage nanny.”

“Probably true.”

“Definitely true. There are Moms that showed up at her birthday party and stayed, even though they didn’t have to and instead of watching their kids tried to flirt with me or just stare at me while I was trying to play with all of the kids.”

“There are some weird Moms. I learned quickly that I did not fit in with the PTA Moms at school.” We continued to talk about the weirdness of parenting by ourselves in this environment on the drive to the grocery store. I pulled into a spot near the door and parked. When we walked inside Jeremy grabbed the cart as I pulled up the list I’d made on my phone while Tony and I were drinking last night. “So do you or Ava have any food allergies? Is there anything she doesn’t like or that you both don’t eat?”

“Nope. We will both eat anything and are really damn lucky to be getting a home-cooked meal like the one you are preparing.”

“You’re both just lucky that I love my brother because this is something he makes me cook often despite it being a pain in the ass. Frankie and I are the only ones other than our Grandma and one of our aunts who can make it. I keep trying to convince Tony that men who can cook are attractive and that he needs to learn.”

“I’ve heard that. I’ve maybe even impressed a woman or two in my life with my skills in the kitchen. You should come over for dinner soon. Ava is obsessed with tacos so it’s always Taco Tuesday at our house.”

“I love a good taco. I miss living in LA. There were so many awesome restaurants or trucks. There was a truck that was always outside of our studio and I think I ate at it every single day.”

“Maybe you’ll have to show me where your studio is some time.”

“I miss it, it doesn’t exist anymore though. When I sold it so I could move here the company that bought it gutted everything and it became a doctor’s office. I’ve got a friend with studio space in Santa Monica that I know I can just show up and he’ll let me have space to work.”

“A fellow composer?”

“Yes and no. He does some composing for film and TV but he’s also in a couple of bands, he’s done some producing of stuff. He grew up around music and honestly some of the world’s greatest musicians so he does a little bit of everything. And his space is amazing and close to my Dad’s place so I’ve been known to just wander in, find one of his guitars and start goofing around.”

“That’s nice to still have there. I have a studio in my house in LA and here. Not nearly as nice as yours but it’s a new project. I’m working on making it better. Your expert help might be needed.”

“I just might be able to provide some help and contacts for you. I work with a lot of great companies that gave me some great shit when I set mine up.”

“That would be awesome. I’ll have to let you check the stuff out and tell me what you think I need.”

“I sort of geek out about the tech stuff so I’m just warning you now.” I grabbed several bags of lemons from the produce section.

“Lemons for spaghetti and meatballs?” He raised an eyebrow because the idea of lemons being used in spaghetti and meatballs would be unconventional.

“Dessert.”

“Oh. You’re baking too?”

“I am. Lemon pie. Tony didn’t ask for it but he’ll be really excited to have it. I also am almost out of the batch of homemade limoncello that I always have around. So I need to make more since it takes what feels like forever to be ready.”

“You make homemade limoncello?”

“I do. I’m Italian. This is a thing we do, at least in my family. I learned how to make it when I was a teenager. And with my family being here soon I need to have more than what I have in the house right now because I’m down to my last bottle. I’ve baked with it recently so I ran through the last batch faster than I normally do.”

“That’s sort of awesome. I’m going to have to watch you make this too. I’m intrigued by everything that you are doing today. It’s like the adorable little Italian housewife. Only this one is in a Pink Floyd t-shirt.”

“Oh, I can pull out the stops and become the little Italian housewife. I spent several summers perfecting it when I was younger and still question why I ever came home. It’s even better when I have dark hair because I fit the stereotype.”

“You lived in Italy?”

“My family has a villa on the Amalfi Coast. I spent at least a month of every summer growing up there with my Dad. Then I lived there the entire summer before I started college. My ex was a writer so traveling was easy for us. We stayed there for a month and a half several years ago while he worked on a novel. I haven’t been in way too long, my last trip was like 18 months ago. I miss it. It’s my favorite place in the world. Lounging in the pool. Wandering through town on a Vespa. Waking up with views of the sea out my window. Afternoon naps in a hammock with the breeze and smells and now I miss Italy. The obsession with lemons is because I’d get to pick fresh lemons from our little lemon orchard. I baked. I made limoncello. Homemade lemonade. Lemon everything. We are planning a trip as a family at the end of the summer so the kids can go for their first time.”

“That will be nice. Really, every summer as a kid? So do you speak Italian?”

“I do. I don’t speak it often enough because basically, only my family speaks it. I tried to teach Savannah when she was a kid. She’s been with me several times since she was little. Eventually, I’ll try to teach the kids. I considered only speaking to Axel in Italian when he was a baby hoping he’d grow up bilingual but it weirded out Elle so I stopped doing it. Someday I’ll teach them both, growing up bilingual was fun. Frankie and I essentially spoke in code around friends, women that Dad dated before Mandi, and some of our cousins who never learned.”

“That would be fun.”

“Oh it is, we still do it because Ryan has no idea what we are saying and neither do any of the kids.” He laughed at that. It was really funny to watch Ryan’s face contort as we started to speak in Italian. We could talk about him and he had no idea what we said. We wandered through the grocery store and I watched as he threw junk food in the cart. The last stop was the wine aisle before we headed to check out. I used my expert blocking skills when he tried to pay for the groceries.

“You know you could’ve let me pay. You are doing all the hard work,” he said as we walked to the car.

“I could have. But I also didn’t have to. I find it hilarious that you doubted my skills when it came to blocking in there. I am the middle child. I grew up playing defense.” He helped me load the groceries into the back of my Wrangler and we climbed in to head back to my house.

“So when does your family get here?”

“Two weeks and they will be here for four or five days. By the time it’s over I’m going to need a vacation from the vacation of them being here.” Jeremy laughed. “Frankie wanted to plan every moment of it so that I didn’t have time to think about the horrible thing we are together to memorialize but I tried to convince her we didn’t need to do that. I just want everyone here. I’m sure that with the number of kids that will be here that not having a pool will become a pain in the ass. These are California kids. There’s only so much they are willing to do that doesn’t involve water in the summer.”

“You can borrow my pool.”

“I’ll figure something out. There are some resorts around here.”

“Seriously, you can borrow my pool,” he said again. We stopped at a stoplight and I turned to look at him and smiled. “I like you. It’s going to be a rough weekend for you. If I can help make it easier by giving the kids something to do that keeps them busy and gives you a chance to breathe, then I want to help. Plus I love kids. The more my house is filled with the better.”

“You are way too kind. For real. You’re the nicest person I’ve met since I moved here.”

“I could probably say the same about you. I mean I’ve lived here longer but you’re still the best person I’ve met here. While the circumstances that brought you here suck and while I am so sorry that you had to go through that, I’m glad I met you. Extremely glad.” I felt the blush creep into my cheeks. I turned my eyes away from him and to the lights just as they turned green. The rest of the drive home was fairly quiet, I didn’t really know how to reply to that. I mean, I felt the same way but knowing someone for two days and admitting that they are the best thing the last year has brought you seemed psychotic. It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem logical or practical or anything. It seemed crazy. Which I guess fit the theme. The last year of my life had been completely crazy and unpredictable and unstable. It had been an adventure that while I would give everything to have Sam back, I was doing my best to start enjoying it. To embrace this role and life I’d had thrust upon me in an instant. To do everything I could to live the way Sam would want me to and not just sit and cry about her not being here anymore. She’d be absolutely irate with me that I stopped living when she died.

I pulled the Jeep into the driveway and parked in the garage before Jeremy and I started to unload the groceries. He sat at the island talking to Tony, who was making more coffee, while I put the groceries away. I started to pull together the ingredients and spices I would need for the sauce and meatballs and put them on a tray before taking them out of the pantry taking them into the main part of the kitchen. I grabbed the biggest pot I had.

“You bought a grove’s worth of lemons today,” Tony said.

“I did. I’m down to one full bottle and one partial bottle of limoncello. I need to make a batch before the family gets here.”

“There’s enough for at least two batches here.”

“I’m baking you a pie too.” Tony walked over to me and engulfed me in a hug. He stood there squeezing me as tightly as possible.

“You are the best sister ever. Just don’t tell Frankie I said that.”

“Never. She also would totally agree with you if I baked her a pie.”

“She would,” Tony replied laughing. “You are the best of us, I’ll easily admit that.”

“You’re such a good ego boost to have around here.” I hugged him tightly again before bumping him away with my hip so I could get started. “Alexa,” I said and watched the device that sat on the counter light up at the sound of my voice. “Turn on my cooking playlist.”

“Now playing Charlie’s Cooking Playlist on Amazon Music,” the device replied as music started to fill the kitchen. I grabbed myself another coffee and got started on the food. Eventually, Savannah went upstairs to put Axel down for a nap and play with the girls. Once the meatballs were in the pot, the lemon pie was out of the oven and in the refrigerator to cool, and the batch of limoncello was in the pantry to start its long process, Tony and Jeremy followed me downstairs to the studio. Savannah had promised to stir the sauce so I could have grown up adult time for a while.

“Okay, I need to know the guitar hiding spots,” Jeremy said. Tony’s eyes lit up. Even he didn’t know all of them so having a partner-in-crime when trying to locate the hiding spots made him happy.

“I did find my favorite guitars of hers last night. She even let me play Lucy,” Tony said.

“I need to meet this Lucy,” Jeremy replied. I walked over to a set of doors that had a keypad on them to lock the doors. I entered the code and opened the door. Inside were several guitar cases placed like books. My hand gripped the handle of the familiar case and I took it out, making sure that I did so carefully and that none of the other guitars inside tipped over. Tony and Jeremy were sitting on the couch I had in the studio, I placed the case on the table and turned it to face Jeremy. He slowly opened the case revealing, Lucy. “She’s beautiful.”

“She plays like a fucking dream,” Tony said.

“Clapton’s review was basically that he couldn’t tell the difference between this and the original. If I had to pick a favorite guitar that I own, it would be this.”

“Despite the fact that if you listen to anything she records she uses her Strats on basically everything.” Tony loved to pick on me explaining it like my Fender was my steady relationship, the loving husband that would go nowhere. The Gibson was the person I cheated on and made sweet love to but kept that hidden. It maybe helped that Fender had always been extremely good to me working to build guitars just the way I wanted them to be and continued to let me fiddle and change things until I had a perfect guitar. I’d only ever bought Gibson in a guitar shop or online. I’d never worked closely with anyone at Gibson the way I had with Fender since I was fairly new in the game.

“A Strat is my workhorse. That guitar has honestly never done much then get shown to people and played a handful of times so that I can feel like I’m Eric Clapton being taken into Abbey Road to record with The Beatles. You know, when I’m living out my little fantasy in my mind.” Jeremy strummed the strings lightly as sound quietly rang from them. “Here let me show you how great she sounds.” He handed the guitar to me and I walked over to my amp set up and plugged it in before turning the amp on. Tony smiled knowing what I was doing. He stood from the couch clearing the coffee table and hurrying to the piano. He expertly played McCartney’s opening piano part before I came in on guitar.

We’d learned to play together when we were young and at one point he’d tried to convince me we were starting a band together. I almost considered it but instead convinced him that getting into Stanford was a good thing and he didn’t need to run away from all responsibility. I’d tried the same thing. I nearly didn’t get on the plane in Italy to come back to the states to start my freshman year. By that time I’d already met Sam who threatened me within an inch of my life if I didn’t get on that plane to be her roommate. Tony and I were kindred spirits, which I think terrified our parents just a little. We could read each others mind, finish each others sentences, and in a moment like this with a guitar in my hands and my brother’s hands on the piano keys I could zone out and forget everything going on in the world. I easily played through the lead guitar part of ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’ as if it was the thing I did best in the world and in this moment, it almost was.

“That was fucking beautiful. Is that your favorite song?” Jeremy asked.

“I can’t pick a favorite song. It’s a fun solo to play. I mean essentially anything from Clapton is fun to play. One of my main work horses is based off of his guitar, Blackie. I’ve made very few adjustments to it. The other is based off of David Gilmour’s Black Strat.” I watched Tony walk over to the glass door and open it, letting in my two tuxedo cats, both black and white, one slightly chubbier than the other.

“Hi boys.” I bent down to pet each of them as they meowed their greeting at me.

“I didn’t realize animals lived here,” Jeremy said as the larger of the two jumped onto the couch beside where Tony had sat with one of my guitars that he’d grabbed from a rack as I packed up Lucy. I placed her back into the special closet before grabbing one of my main Strats and plugging it in.

“She has two cats. This is Harrison and that,” Tony gestured to the skinnier cat who was now sitting in the chair that was at my computer. “That is Clapton.”

“What not Lennon and McCartney?” Jeremy asked. “I mean they are after all the dream duo right?”

“Nah,” I answered. “Clapton and Harrison for sure. They made beautiful music together and hell what more of a dream duo can you have. They even shared a wife. Ellie had two fish named Lennon and McCartney. It wasn’t pretty. Her Dad didn’t realize that beta fish should be alone.” Laughter filled the room. “So that’s a traumatic experience for her. I adopted Clapton and Harrison 8 years ago from a rescue that I volunteered for.”

“Trust me, when she named them one of her friends told her she was crazy.”

“Only because he suddenly didn’t know if I was talking to him or the cat.” Jeremy’s face looked confused. “My friend with the studio in Santa Barbara.” Jeremy nodded recalling our prior conversation. “It’s Dhani Harrison, George Harrison’s son. So my cat is sort of named after him which he found weird at first and then it became this ongoing joke that every time he was at my condo he took selfies with the cat. He actually asks to talk to the cat when we FaceTime when I’m on the struggle bus with a song. I do still need to round out the crew. I want a Hendrix, Petty, Dylan, and Gilmour.”

“Gilmour needs to be a dog. Dogs of war and men of hate. With no cause, we don’t discriminate. Discovery is to be disowned. Our currency is flesh and bone,” Tony sang the Pink Floyd lyrics that rounded out his theory.

“Your niece wants a dog so that might happen. Though she’s not so sure how she feels about Gilmour as a name. She keeps trying to call Harrison, Harry which I sort of let slide. She tried calling him Dhani and then George which has kind of won. Poor dude is confused. Clap on the other hand is a no, so she calls him Eric. Which is almost too hilarious to listen to a kid as small as her have conversations with cats who have such basic human names.”

“She’s my favorite human.” Tony really did love her. Him being here was going to be a good thing.

“She is pretty much the best. She’s young and already has her mother’s sense of humor. Teenage Ellery will be the death of me.” Jeremy started to search through the cabinets and drawers looking at my guitars. I kicked Clapton out of my chair and sat down at my computer. “T, I need you to hear what I’ve been writing this week. I feel like I’m stuck on something that you can help me figure out.”

“What is the score for?” he asked as he stood up and walked towards me. He knew that I was often going the extra step when working of splicing the video and the music together so I could watch the scene with the music in the places I thought the production team would use it.

“That Netflix series. I sent it to Dhani the other night but I’m fairly certain he spent yesterday on planes to get home to spend some time back in England. So he’s been useless at helping me.” Tony, being the weirdo that he is, sat down on my lap to see the screen. I watched him hit play and take in the way I’d put it together. “I feel like the piano needs to be….more sweeping or something.”

“You’re too critical of yourself. It sounds phenomenal together. I get what you’re saying but I think the more subtle sound works well with the scene. I mean I don’t know what’s happening in it completely but it works.”

“I didn’t catch the scene but the music sounds great,” Jeremy said. I watched as he sat back down on the couch with one of my acoustic guitars and started to strum it. “So what else is in with Lucy? I mean I assume it’s your favorites because it’s locked and fireproof, right?”

“It is. How did you guess?”

“Most people aren’t going to leave a $15,000 guitar just laying around the house,” he replied.

“Umm, a couple of special ones from friends. One that my Dad gave me when I got my masters degree. It’s signed by my professors, family, and close friends. It was the guest book at the party he threw for my graduation. I have a couple of other special edition guitars in there too. All of the ones that are are essentially irreplaceable. I also have Sam’s favorite guitars in there so they are safe for the kids.”

“Did you keep all of her instruments?” Jeremy asked.

“I did. There’s a fireproof safe not in here that has most of them. I won’t use them for daily use type stuff but the kids might want them some day. Michael’s drum kit is in there as well. The only instrument of their’s not in the safe is the baby grand upstairs.”

“That’s good of you to keep that stuff for them. They will cherish it someday.”

“I hope so. Piano lessons with Ellery are tough.”

“She’s not you or your kid,” Tony said. “You at 5 loved it.” He glanced to Jeremy. “I’m well aware that I wasn’t alive when she was 5 but you should hear our father go on and on and on about her. The prodigy. The savant. The child star. One of us runs an incredible non-profit that is helping women achieve equality around the world all while getting her law degree and having three kids because she’s a fucking overachiever, the other of us got a full-ride scholarship to multiple Ivy League schools, including both Harvard and Yale, as well as Stanford and then proceeded to graduate with honors and two degrees. You wouldn’t even have a clue about that. The only one he brags about is her.”

“I am 100% Dad’s favorite,” I admitted. “There’s no question about it. It’s basically because I let him come with me to premieres and award shows. Plus I will tolerate his desire to play music with me. You won’t and Frankie can’t.”

“He likes to sit around and pretend he’s Bob Dylan, not like just play the song but impersonate him. Raybans, weird hats, and all. He’s a strange dude sometimes. He used to do that when I had my friends over thinking it made him the ‘cool dad’ instead of the suit wearing, lawyer Dad. It was just weird.” Tony was laughing as he spoke. He had the exact same laugh that I did which was also our Dad’s laugh.

“These days when he does that he’ll even sit on the deck by the pool and smoke some pot too. Unlike me, Dad didn’t have the benefit to choose whatever he wanted to be when he grew up. He had to be a lawyer. If you ask him now, he still says he wants to be Bob Dylan when he grows up.”

“That’s great. It’s also awesome that your family gets along that well. That you can all sit around and play together.”

“Most of us can,” Tony said.

“Frankie is helpless when it comes to music. Could never learn to read music, couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. I tried really, really hard to teach her stuff and she’s just helpless. Which is funny because her husband can play guitar and piano, it’s part of what won her over.”

“Is your mother also a musician?” Jeremy asked.

“Not really. I mean she can sing but she never really cared to do it. Her art was photography. Everything from music photography, which is probably her biggest love, to photojournalism that took her to warzones, developing nations, major national and world events. She’s an incredible photographer and I’m glad that she was able to pursue it the way she wanted to.” I truly was. Despite the occasional abandonment issues that still crept up in my life from being barely a teenager and having my mother pack up our house, drop us off at my Dad’s and hop a flight to London because she was hired to be a UK based photojournalist for the Associated Press. These days she no longer worked full-time. She’d ended up back in the US for a while, decided she needed a home base and picked one so close to my sister that the distance between them wasn’t even as big as the property my house was on. She wanted to be close to us again, which was great. She’d embraced the role of grandma or Nonni as she preferred to be called. She was still traveling, still taking photos but these days they were seen more in fancy art galleries than on the cover of a newspaper. She loved love in a way few people I knew did. She was always either in a relationship or waiting for the next great love of her life. I envied the way she so openly gave her heart to people, an ability that I didn’t have because of how often my heart had been stuck in a blender by the people I’d chosen to give it to.

“Is that her work?” Jeremy gestured to the walls of the studio where there were several photos that were fairly large and framed around the room. Most were artsy shots, all of me or a few of Sam that I had put up on the walls, all with an instrument or something music related like a record or sheet music. Some of my favorites were of me in the midst of playing without even noticing she’d taken the photo. My signature checkered Vans on my pedal board with an electric guitar in my hand. My hands on the keys of a piano. The silhouette of me and my guitar in front of a sunset. Sam goofing around on Michael’s drum kit. Sam in a record store hiding behind a Fleetwood Mac record. The two of us sitting on the beach playing ukuleles on this old blanket my Mom had that she always kept in the back of her car when I was a kid, just in case we needed a picnic. There were so many more, it just felt weird to surround myself with photos of me. I put them up because for some reason it made me feel a little different about my relationship with my Mom. She showed her love through her art. Over the years she’d taught me what she could. I was a decent photographer, basically meant I had a really artsy instagram and some great photos of my friends and kids.

“They are beautiful photos. Personal favorite is the black and white of you in the leather jacket. ‘The Rebel Girl Within Me Will Never Die’ I love it.”

“Thanks. That’s from my last visit trip with my Mom to London. We were walking through the city at night after she’d taken me to some club she loved hanging out at when she lived there. That trip was only a couple of weeks before Axel was born. The rebel girl is still in me somewhere but she doesn’t do much anymore.” Both Tony and Jeremy laugh at that.

We continued to goof off on guitars, pianos, drums, and everything else we could get our hands on in my studio which was a lot. Hell, I had enough kazoos in the studio that we could have an entire kazoo orchestra if we wanted to. Within a few hours, we sounded like we could play a local dive bar on a Friday night and not sound horribly. It was nice to play music again and not alone. To have an excuse to go nuts on a guitar and relax into a solo instead of focusing on music for a scene. It made me miss being in college and being surrounded by other music students who were always down for a jam session. Or living in LA when I could wander into Dhani’s studio on a Tuesday and play. A guitar in my hands was a form of therapy for me and the project I was working on was very heavily piano. I felt the best I had in weeks.

We eventually emerged from the dungeon that was my studio to cook some pasta and have dinner. It was the perfect end to a great day. We had three kids covered in marinara sauce and four adults full enough that multiple asked to be wheeled to bed. Tony volunteered to clean Axel up and get him changed into his pajamas while Savannah went to Ellery’s room with the girls to get everything of Ava’s packed up. I went outside onto the front porch with Jeremy. Within a few seconds, he lit a cigarette and started to walk down the stairs, over the bridge that ran over the creek that went through the property and towards the driveway.

“Today was great. You are almost as great of a cook as you are a guitar player.” I laughed. “Okay you’re probably tied in both but honestly, you’re an incredible musician. I guess I imagined a composer for film and television scores to be different.”

“Different how?” I asked as I reached for the cigarette in his hand, stole it and took a drag.

“I didn’t imagine that a composer could play a guitar and sound like they’d been sprinkled with magic fairy dust by the greatest guitar gods.”

“I wish I was sprinkled by magic fairy dust. Wait, I was. Last week. Ellie threw glitter at me and told me to think happy thoughts and I’d be able to fly.” I took another drag of the cigarette before handing it back to Jeremy.

“I didn’t realize you smoked,” he said.

“I don’t and I didn’t realize you did either.” He laughed at me. “I quit smoking a really long time ago. Okay, I quit smoking cigarettes a long time ago. I’ve snuck a few cigarettes over the last year and there’s maybe been a time or two when I shut off the ‘Mom Brain’ I’ve developed let Savannah take care of the babies and sat in my bathtub and smoked some pot. Stress is a bitch.”

“Yeah, it is. You truly are amazing,” he said. He handed the cigarette back to me, his fingers brushing lightly against mine. It was like an electric shock went through my body. I looked up and into his eyes as I took a drag off of the cigarette. When he smiled it showed in his eyes, which were already beautiful enough that I had lost track of what was happening looking at them a few times today. “Today was great. Thank you for having Ava here last night, letting me play with all of your instruments today, and making the most amazing dinner. I’m going to dream of meatballs tonight.”

Well, at least it’s not like last night when I dreamt about you.

I’d never been so glad that I resisted the third glass of wine so that I could retain that thought inside my head instead of blurting it out loud. A strand of my hair fell from my messy bun and into my face. He reached up and tucked it behind my ear before his thumb brushed against my cheek. I was fairly certain every single millimeter of my skin was instantly covered in goosebumps. And almost exactly like the dream I had last night, my stomach had made its way to my throat.

“I’m glad you liked it. And thank you for today, too.”

“No need to thank me. All I did was play your guitars, eat your food, and drink your wine.”

“I haven’t had this much life in this house in a long time. There’s often people here but the energy today was so happy and full of everything I’ve missed for the last year. I haven’t been able to play with other musicians in nearly a year. I haven’t clicked with another musician like this since Sam. You helped me feel alive today and not like the walls were closing in. There’s honestly not enough thanks in the world for allowing me to feel that way. To get lost in a guitar riff and just have fun rather than feeling like there’s a gun pointed at my head to write music. Today was the best day I’ve had in a long time.”

“I’m glad I could help with that. Honestly, I’m happy to hang out and play music with you whenever. In fact, I’m happy to just hang out with you whenever.” I felt the blush creep into my cheeks and was so glad it was dark outside. “We should do dinner this week.”

“That would be nice. I’m sure I could whip something up for all of us again.”

“No, not everyone. Just us for dinner. You and me. Like I pick you up and take you out for dinner and a couple of drinks one night this week.”

“That might be nice.” My brain was arguing with itself at that answer. Going to dinner with just him. Possibly having an adult I could spend time with. A chance to be the 36-year-old single woman that I truly am and not the Makeshift Mother I became a year ago in an instant. The idea of maybe at some point going on a date and hopefully, it was before Axel turned 18 and abandoned me for college. The other side of my brain was reminding me that I was a Makeshift Mother. I needed to put these kids first. I needed to not worry about my love life, or more accurately my lack of a love life. I didn’t need to think about the way his laugh sounded and his smile looked. More than anything in this world I needed a friend who understood what I was going through that was physically here, not just someone to call in when they could.

In truth, I deserved a night out and if the only thing that came of it was another friend I was all for it. If at some point in the future of my life there was someone of importance that fulfilled a romantic need in my life that would be great. But I needed to have a life to get there. I needed to let myself move on and allow myself to feel and live. I had essentially allowed myself to stop living when I lost Sam and Michael. It was the worst thing I could’ve done. The thing she would’ve been angriest at me for. I was doing absolutely everything I could for her kids but not for myself and it would’ve made her incredibly disappointing. It was time to live again, for her, for the babies, and most importantly for me.

“Actually, I would really like that.”

****** AUTHOR'S NOTE *****

First things first, I am so sorry this update took so long. I have a few chronic health conditions that flared up recently. After a 10 day course of antibiotics and a lot of rest, I am back on the mend and was able to finish this.

It's my longest chapter to date for this book coming in at 8,002 words. The last thing I wrote my chapters somehow all ended up at 12,000 words which is really difficult to keep up with and made updates have longer gaps between them, so I hope I figure out how to not be so long-winded in chapters.

Now about the chapter. Reading back through it there is a lot that happens even though it's only in the span of a day. Charlie's subconscious is starting to tell her that there is something special about Jeremy. That dream *WOO* what could have happened if that phone call didn't happen.

I want to make Charlie seem relatable even though she's probably the furthest thing from me ever. I base my characters in reality and often have a few things in common with them. One of the things we have in common is that we are Italian, though she's full-blooded and Ancestry's DNA test crushed my soul reminding me I'm only 24% Italian. Her parents are divorced, Dad's remarried and Mom is an artist. My parents divorced when I was 7, Dad remarried when I was 10, I have a brother named Tony but he's older and not a half brother (it's a common Italian name so I ran with it - it's also my grandfather's name). Oh and my mother is an artist, though she prefers acrylic paints at this stage of life, when she was an art student she studied photography and has a brilliant eye, she just hasn't figured out how to work my DSLR. I also have a cat named George who is named after George Harrison, my house has 3 cats and a dog, all rescues because rescued is my favorite breed. I have a red Squire Stratocaster (Fender is out of my price range) but I haven't been able to play it since I was 21 when I took lessons in college), I have my grandma's old out of tune piano, and a keyboard that the only song I can play on it is the theme from The Godfather. I sing along with every song on the radio because my brain uselessly stores song lyrics but I haven't attempted to sing in any formal way in almost 20 years when I was done with high school choir.

Charlie, however, grew up with a privileged life I didn't know. My Dad was a teacher at a community college and my mother worked in the events industry in everything from a massive arena to higher education in the years of my life that she worked. Until I started school she worked from home so I was lucky to never experience daycare or nannies because I had my Mom around. My first car was a Pontiac Grand Am, not a Jeep though I tried really hard to convince my Dad I NEEDED a Jeep, he didn't buy it. But he did eventually buy one or two for himself and refuse to let me drive them.

While Charlie grew up with everything that money could buy her life was far from perfect and she worked hard to earn her piece of the pie. She didn't want a handout though I'm sure somewhere there is a nice trust fund in case she ever did try to run away to Italy. She struggled to embrace the status in a way that the rest of her family didn't. She wanted to have a say in her life so she didn't live like her Dad always dreaming of being Bob Dylan, she gets to be whatever she wants. I also realize that making her friends with a Beatles' kid is a bit weird but Dhani Harrison is actually an incredible musician who is also a composer. I wanted her to have a contemporary that she could still rely on for advice in her career that also allowed her to have fun and act like a kid. I love Dhani almost as much as I love his Dad so he seemed like a fun fit for me though perhaps random for the story context.

I don't have kids and will not be having them, there are multiple reasons that play into that most being health-related and also the fact that being an aunt is the only title I want for a kid. I am actually SUPER open about it so if you're curious, ask. I don't hide it even though society judges me a lot for it. So I can understand a bit of Charlie's internal struggle that she's a Makeshift Mom and doesn't feel like a real Mom especially when you add that children were never in her plan for life. She had struggles with her own Mom when she was younger that would honestly make anyone leery about taking on that role themselves. And then she was thrown this curveball and she's stopped allowing herself to be herself really. She thinks she needs to fit the mold of Mom and she is starting to rediscover herself as the year anniversary of Sam and Michael's death approaches. Being willing to open herself up to people and maybe *hopefully* open her heart to someone at some point.

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'd LOVE to hear from you. Feel free to comment, message me, whatever. I'm an open book, love feedback, and just meeting new people. Thank you so much for reading this. It means the world to me.

Now it's time to turn on some music (currently it's Eric Clapton Essentials on Apple Music because the chapter inspired me), wind down for the day (I was up at 7 AM to pre-order my new iPhone - I work for myself so 7 AM is not a time I see often), and probably start working on the idea for the next chapter. I have two ideas I can't decide between. Hmmmm, Wonderful Tonight just came on. That might help lead me a direction. ;)

xx. Annie

[caranfindel]

Recap/review 14.13: “Lebanon”

THEN: They hit me right in the face with gorgeous young 1.01 Dean saying "Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days" and beautiful baby 1.01 Sam saying "we've got work to do" and we end with 14.12 and Sam furiously punching his brother and then furiously hugging him and Dean saying "let's go home" and does anything else matter? No.

NOW: We see the reflection of Sam and Dean walking up to a pawn shop, with a nice selection of guitars and sunglasses and that weird monkey that was in Rocky's Bar. The proprietor seems friendly enough. Dean flashes him a wad of hundred dollar bills because they're looking for "the really good stuff." This gains them admittance into a secret back room full of things hunters would be interested in, including a hockey mask (?) and a perfume atomizer full of dragon's breath. They tell the guy they're looking for the skull of a specific woman who was executed during the Salem witch trials, and the fact that he has it basically proves that he killed the friend of theirs who previously owned it. (Also Sam picks up a teddy bear and starts to pull the string to make it speak and the guys warns him not to and this is Dean's role, isn't it, messing with things he shouldn't be messing with? But I don't care because chastized Sam and eye-rolly Dean are precious to me.)

Sam goes through a ledger of the guy's inventory and says he's got a lot of occult objects that they should take with them. (Dean plays with the dragon's breath. Sam ducks and flinches and does the really, Dean? thing with his hands and face. I laugh again.) Dean agrees they should take the stuff home.

Title card!

The Impala zooms past a sign welcoming us to Lebanon, Geographical Center of the USA. Then we find ourselves in front of a movie theater showing Beetlejuice and Hell Hazers (All Saints' Day is coming soon, and I imagine Route 666 can't be far behind), where a group of teenagers is talking about... somebody. "People say they're brothers," a kid in a knit cap says, "but all I know is, I was standing right here, and I heard this bam from the trunk of their car. And then, this like, shallow breathing." I'm pretty sure this is a fake-out, and it will turn out he's talking about someone else, but the Impala pulls up in front of the theater and Knit Cap Kid says "that's them!"

As the Winchesters get out of the car and enter a liquor store (decorated with that Family Business neon sign from Rocky's), Sam is still reading the ledger, which lists things like a hangman's rope, fairy dust, and John Wayne Gacy's cigar box. Well, that's oddly specific! The guy working there greets the "Campbell brothers" and knows their usual order. Oh, wow. I love that they're actually known in Lebanon, and that they're going by Campbell. And we know that actual Lebanon, Kansas is too small to have a movie theater or this much business downtown, but I'm happy to handwave that.

What do you mean, "happy to handwave that?" You're always complaining about the inaccuracies regarding tiny Lebanon having traffic cams and whatnot.

Well, maybe this episode just MAKES ME HAPPY, okay?

Anyway. Sam thinks cataloguing the confiscated items would be a good way to take Dean's mind off "things," but Dean's pretty convinced nothing will ever take his mind off that.

Outside, the teens are asking where the guys even come from, and what about their weird trenchcoat-wearing sidekick, and "that kid with the dumb Bambi look on his face all the time" (!) One girl says that, whatever the deal is with these guys, they do have an awesome car, and no one can argue with that. And the other girl, Max, who seems to smitten with the first girl, gets an idea.

Inside, Sam has discovered something significant in the ledger - the "beyzoo" (no, I know that's not how you spell it), which is one of eight ancient Chinese treasures. A pearl that gives you "what your heart desires." Oooh, getting rid of Michael, maybe? But as the guys are discussing this, Dean sees the Impala drive by the window. Guess Max figured out how to impress that other girl! (BTW, there are couple of COOL old trucks on the street.)

The guys see Knit Cap Kid standing on the sidewalk looking confused, and while Sam tells him the car is dangerous to whoever stole it, Dean looks like he wants to murder someone. And yet the Winchesters are confused when the kid says he doesn't want to die. (Or get locked in the trunk!) He says Max is new and he doesn't know where she lives. Dean raises a fist, but Sam pulls him away.

MURDER. I'D MURDER THEM.

Post office. There's a poster of stamps featuring old cars behind the customer service counter. I'm really getting my old truck fix tonight. Sam comes in with his sweet anxious smile and asks for help finding the girl who washed his car, since he forgot to tip her. Post Office Lady is not amused or helpful, or the least bit swayed by his sweet anxious smile. Then Dean comes in and calls her by name and asks about her grandson and she MELTS and he gets sincere and puts his hand on hers and she does exactly what I would do, which is offer up ANYTHING YOU WANT, ANYTHING AT ALL, WOULD YOU LIKE MY SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER WHILE I'M AT IT? Unfortunately, all she knows is where Max's mother works.

SAM’S FACE.

(Sidebar: Have I mentioned that Sam is wearing that nice blue jacket from the episode where he killed the alpha vampire? I like it. Toss that stupid orange jacket, Sam, and wear this more often. And Dean's wearing the black jacket that I always love.)

At the restaurant where Max's mom works, we learn that she has no idea where her daughter is, because she was supposed to be in school. But the guy working in the kitchen knows February 7 is Skip Day (is it always February 7? what about when that falls on a weekend?) and that she'll probably be at a party at this old house on Route 36. (Yes, I did confirm that Route 36 is just outside of Lebanon. Yes, I did use Mapquest. I'm old school up in here, y'all.)

Party house. The little batch of delinquents has taken all the boxes of occult objects out of the Impala for some reason. Including the evil teddy bear. Luckily, someone announces "pizza's here" before a girl pulls the teddy bear's string. At some point I've got to find out what would happen if you pulled it. Fic it for me, friends! (Also, I just noticed the teddy bear's mouth is SEWN SHUT and that's not creepy AT ALL.) The camera slowly pans to a wooden box, and we watch the lid open to reveal a smoky/dusty ghost hand. With a ruffled sleeve. Uh oh.

Knit Cap Kid runs in to warn the partiers that "those guys" are looking for Max, and he's told to chill. Another teen goes into the bathroom, where the mirror frosts over and then the CREEPIEST CLOWN EVER comes out of it. Seriously, creepier than the clown in Plush, which you wouldn't think was possible.

The Winchesters pull up in yet another antique truck, where Dean greets his car with "Baby, Baby, please tell me you're not hurt." Sam's more concerned about the boxes of dangerous occult objects missing from the back seat. Ghost Kid comes running outside and the girl following him tells the brothers that he saw a clown ghost that tried to kill him. Maybe it's my imagination, or maybe Sam has a flash of crap, a killer clown ghost expression before they run into the house.

Dean announces they're FBI and everyone needs to get out, now. Once the room is cleared, he asks if "anything screams clown to you?" Sam immediately notices John Wayne Gacy's cigar box and guys, I'm ashamed to say I didn't put the two together until now. The killer clown ghost is John Wayne Gacy. And Sam is freaked the fuck out about it. "We should burn that right now," Dean says, in a lovely holding-in-the-freakout way, and Sam rushes to throw it into the fireplace. Then Dean says "I mean, this is like a best worst thing that's ever happened, because you love serial killers, but you hate clowns" and I'm DEAD. (I'm also loving TWO gifts from the Continuity Fairy in once sentence.) The lights start flashing before Sam can get his lighter lit, and then the killer clown ghost shows up and tosses Dean around. Knit Cap Kid and the girls run back inside just in time to watch John Wayne Gacy's ghost go up in flames. So the kids get the "monsters are real" speech and are told to keep it secret.

Back at the bunker, Sam's going through the occult goodies and thinks he found the magic pearl. Dean's ready to use it right now, and dismisses Sam's suggestion that they call Mary or Cas. If it doesn't work, he doesn't want to have gotten their hopes up. Sam looks distressed at the idea it won't work, but agrees. The pearl doesn't come with any instructions, so Sam suggests Dean hold it and concentrate on what his heart desires. "Michael out of my head," Dean says, and I'd have been more specific. I'd have concentrated on Michael out of my head and destroyed, and me perfectly fine, but, well, what do I know?

(Also, I KNOW all you Wincest and Destiel fans are gonna have your own ideas about what - or who - appears in front of Dean when he’s granted what his heart desires. This setup is better than sex pollen. Have fun, my kinky little friends.)

Dean clutches the pearl and concentrates, and the lights flash and then go out, and in the red emergency light we see someone in the bunker. Someone fighty, who knocks both brothers down and then pulls out a shotgun and says "don't you move," but it's a familiar voice and then the lights come on and what do you know? Winchester Surprise!

So, was anybody truly surprised? I covered the guest stars on first viewing, as I always try to do, but I noticed on rewatch that they didn't even credit JDM at the beginning of the episode. Which they sometimes do, to avoid spoilers. And yet. Has there been a single episode of this series that was more spoiled? I don't think so.

(Sidebar: What do you think would have happened if Sam had taken the pearl and made a wish? I think Michael would be gone. Because I don't think there's anything Sam wants more than saving his brother.)

Back to our story. Everyone is shocked. John thinks Sam should be in Palo Alto, apparently in his 14th year of post graduate work. He thinks he's still in 2003, and he doesn't notice his boys are older. And they apparently don't notice that his hair is very short and a lot greyer than it was when we last saw him. (I mean, really, they slapped a wig on Samantha Smith to make her look like The Last Version Of Mary, so why couldn't they do the same thing with JDM? It's distracting.) Sam figures they must have accidentally summoned John from the past. So they do what one does in this situation - sit down and drink.

John's astonished. Dean's proud. Sam's visibly anxious. We don't get to see exactly how much of the backstory they tell him, but they do tell him about the apocalypse and Lucifer and living with "an angel and Lucifer's kid." And now John thinks he died "taking out Yellow Eyes," which... not really? But okay. And they don't tell him Mary's back, until he mentions her and Sam's, all, yeah, about Mom, and then she comes in and John hears her voice and tears up and dammit. This reunion is everything I didn't think I ever wanted. I mean, I've made no secret of the fact that I'm not a fan of John Winchester. He's a fascinating character and JDM does a great job with him, but he's such an awful father (don't bother arguing with me, you will not change my mind) that I can't really like him. And I'm not too impressed with resurrected Mary, either. But when these two come together... damn. It's good. It's very good. Well done, you two.

I love that the boys give them some privacy, because it's been over a decade since John saw them, but it's been even longer since he saw his dead wife, and this should really be a John and Mary reunion.

Out in the hall, Dean's gleeful and Sam's all, how the hell did this happen? Dean explains that he's wanted this since he was four years old (oh, my heart) but Sam warns that messing with time will not end well. I don't actually remember Sam being that concerned about the unintended consequences of time travel, but I'm sure there's a good reason he's bringing it up now. Dean doesn't care. Dean just wants one family dinner together (oh, my heart again, remembering his one last dinner with Mary).

Sam, sans Dean, runs into John in the library, because Mary's off making a shopping list and he decided he'd rather examine the bunker than be involved in that I guess? Okay. But then this happens.

I screwed up with you a lot, didn't I?

No, that's okay.

No, it's not. Sammy, tell me the truth.

I don't want to talk about that.

You didn't have a problem talking about it before you left.

Dad. For me, that fight, that was a lifetime ago. I don't even remember what I said. I mean, yeah, you know, you did some messed-up things. But I don't... I mean, when I think about you... and I think about you a lot... I don't think about our fights. I think about you... I think about you on the floor of that hospital, and I think about how I never got to say goodbye.

Sam. Son. I am so sorry.

I'm sorry too. But you did your best, Dad. You fought for us, and you loved us. And that's enough.

OH MY GOD. This is everything I ever wanted.

1. John admitting he was a crap parent to Sam.

2. Sam trying to sidestep that - because he's Sam Winchester and that's what he does - and John not letting him.

3. Sam finally calling him out instead of just saying nah, it's fine.

4. John calling him Sammy.

5. Sam pointing out that he didn't get a goodbye from John. (Did he ever find out that Dean got praise and an apology?)

6. John apologizing.

7. Sam forgiving him.

8. "And I think about you a lot."

9. The way Sam keeps having to stop talking and look away and make that little "hmmm" noise.

10. And the tears.

10b. The way Sam tears up even before The Talk, when he remembers them as kids trying to make Winchester Surprise.

11. The shaky voice.

12. And Sam's shirt.

13. And the way Sam's expression looks so much like his expression in Sacrifice, when he tells Dean that his confession was about how he let his brother down.

This, right here, is two minutes and 24 seconds of the best television I've ever seen. I don't care what else this episode does, this 2:24 is worth it. And yes, this is three weeks in a row that Jared Padalecki has ripped my heart out of my chest and STOMPED ON IT.

And I love it.

Meanwhile, Dean gets the shopping list from Mary. Sam finds him and tells him he's right, because Sam also just got everything he ever wanted, and then offers to go shopping with him. (Saaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmm!!!!!!!)

When they get to town, the guys split up - Sam to the grocery store, Dean to the liquor store. Dean's surprised to see the liquor store guy, the one who remembered his "usual" earlier in the day, has no idea who he is. If Dean had ever seen "It's a Wonderful Life," he might say this is just like when George Bailey goes into Martini's Bar and isn't recognized. But apparently Dean Winchester, pop culture aficionado, has never seen that movie (no, I haven't gotten over that, and I never will) so he doesn't recognize a classic uh oh, we changed the course of history moment when he experiences it.

Meanwhile, Sam steps out of the grocery store and finds that neither Max nor the postal clerk recognize him. And then he sees a wanted poster in the post office window. Dean Winchester, wanted for assault, murder, and credit card fraud. Whoops! He trots to the car, where Dean is waiting, and tells him they have a problem. "Yeah, we do," says Dean. "Check this out."

He shows Sam his phone and it's a video of SAM IN GLASSES AND A BLACK TURTLENECK AND SLICKED BACK HAIR GIVING A TED TALK. HE RUNS A LAW FIRM AND LOVES KALE. IT IS THE SECOND MOST AMAZING THING I'VE SEEN TONIGHT.

HE'S STEVE JOBS.

So, those of you who were spoiled... did you know about this? Or did they actually keep THIS AMAZING THING under wraps?

Sam Jobs tells his audience that being your best leaves no time for hobbies or a family, and Sam has seen enough. He tells Dean about the wanted poster, and Dean says yes, of course he googled himself too ("a lot of beheadings," hee!!!) and wonders if there are alternate versions of them running around. Sam thinks it's a "temporal paradox," and time is self-correcting, changing to the new one. If they don't fix things, they'll become those alternate versions of themselves. "Well, I'm cool," Dean says, "but you're, ugh." Sam's less worried about them, and more worried about what else might have changed.

(Sidebar: You know, I could quibble about why bringing John forward in time has such a significant butterfly effect, but bringing Mary back, and their other time travel, and Henry's time travel, changed nothing. I absolutely could. But I choose not to, because SAM JOBS, Y'ALL. But okay, let's think about it. 2003 John would have disappeared while Sam was at Stanford. Dean wouldn't have gone to get Sam. Or Sam would have refused to go. Maybe the hurt on both sides was still too fresh. Maybe that's why Dean's hunting alone, and Sam's an internet-famous lawyer.)

What else has changed, you might ask? How about ZACHARIAH? That's right, my favorite angel is back. And with him is ORIGINAL FLAVOR CAS WITH HIS FLUFFY HAIR AND THINGS JUST KEEP GETTING BETTER AND BETTER. Zachariah calls him "Constantine" and Castiel says "I don't understand that reference" and THANK YOU BABY JESUS, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I DID TO DESERVE THIS, BUT THANK YOU. They enter Max's mom's restaurant and ask who's been messing with time. (Because she would know?) And if they don't start talking, he'll have Cas murder all of them. "My name is Castiel," he intones solemnly. "I'm an angel of the Lord." YES YOU ARE. He reveals himself like he did to Dean (no, not like that, jeez) with the shadow wings. Outside, the Winchesters see the bright light of an angelic reveal coming through the restaurant windows, and they know something's up.

They herd everyone out of the restaurant, and are shocked to see Cas and Zachariah. Zachariah is equally surprised to see them. He says they had big plans for the Winchesters, but then their father disappeared and... and he doesn't finish, so we'll never know why yoinking John out of 2003 changed any of that vessel stuff. (Handwave!) Cas, of course, doesn't know them, and when Zachariah orders him to kill them, he complies.

Dean pulls out an angel blade but is, of course, unwilling to actually kill Cas, so he starts hitting him with other things. And Cas, for whatever reason, doesn't just put a finger on his forehead and kill him dead. (Handwave!) Zachariah chokes Sam and asks him what they did, even though he can't talk because he's choking (handwave!) and Sam acts like he's trying to speak so Zachariah gets closer to hear him, and Sam stabs him with an angel blade. Cas continues fistfighting with both of them, and slams Sam head-first into a table a couple of times, leaving him spitting blood on the floor. Which Sam uses to paint an angel-banishing sigil while Cas is choking Dean. Smart Sam for the win!

Bunker. Pretty bruised Dean has explained the temporal paradox, and John accepts that he has to go back, or else Mary will probably disappear. "Okay," he says. "I mean, me versus your mom, that's not even a choice." DAMMIT JOHN WINCHESTER DO NOT MAKE ME CARE ABOUT YOU. Elsewhere, pretty bruised Sam explains it to Mary, and tells her John won't remember anything.

John tells Dean he never meant Dean to have this kind of life. He's proud of him, but he hoped he'd be able to have a normal life, with a family. "I have a family," Dean says. They sit down and have one final family meal together, and everyone's quiet and sad until John points out that they can either think about what's going to happen, or appreciate what they have right now. They cheer up and listen to Bob Seger (well, we listen to Bob Seger) and talk and laugh and have the family dinner Dean has always wanted.

Later, while doing the dishes, Sam says how unfair it is that they all had this and then have to throw it away, and John has to go back to being Dad. He thinks it would be nice for John to go back knowing what he knows now. "I used to think that too," Dean says, and admits that he's blamed both John and Mary for their crappy lives. And if they could send him back to 2003, or even earlier, maybe none of the crap would happen. "But here's the problem. Who does that make us? Would we be better off? Maybe. But I gotta be honest, I don't know who that Dean Winchester is. And I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are."

Later. Mary and John are holding hands, and I guess they're doing the thing now. I'd hoped they'd at least let these two have one last roll in the hay (especially since I'm pretty sure Mobby is permanently done after this), but no. They have a very sweet goodbye and their sons are brokenhearted and I am too. John tells his boys to take care of each other and Sam says "we always do." That's a nice change from telling Dean to take care of Sam, isn't it? He tells them both (BOTH) that he's proud of them and loves them, and they have a three-way hug and Sam wipes his eyes and Dean says "love you too" and I REALLY CAN'T, BOYS, YOU HAVE TO STOP. Then John takes Mary's hand again and Sam crushes the pearl (why does Sam have to be the one to do it?) and John glows and then fades away.

We get a quick glimpse of downtown Lebanon returning to normal, and the three teens talking about how cool it is that "those guys hunt monsters," and then we're back to the bunker. Cas walks in the door and sees the remaining Winchesters, obviously distressed, and asks what happened. "Well, there's a story," says Dean.

And finally, we see the Impala WITH HER ORIGINAL KANSAS PLATE. John's asleep in the driver's seat when he gets a phone call from Dean. "No, I'm okay, I just had one hell of a dream. No, it was a good one."

GUYS. GUYS.

When I heard there was going to be a musical episode for the 200th, I was sure it would suck. When I heard about the Scooby Doo crossover, I cringed, because I knew it would be awful. WHY AM I ALWAYS SO WRONG.

Eh, who cares why. Let's just appreciate what we were given. Happy 300, my friends. Here's to 300 more.

(Please help me stay unspoiled for future episodes, thanks!)

[words-writ-in-starlight]

starlight! starlight!!! you're one of the few people I know who reads toby daye and pls I need to yell with someone about night and silence because IT WAS SO GOOD I'M DYING I HAD TO PUT THE BOOK DOWN AND WALK AWAY SEVERAL TIMES

@maelace​ asked:

Have you read the new October Daye book yet? Because oh my goodness I must know what you think!

Y’ALL

Y A L L

LET’S HAVE A CHAT

OKAY FOLKS

So, some FAIRLY INCOHERENT thoughts about Night and Silence, which I keep calling Nights and Silences because my brain really likes them plurals I guess:

FUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! FUUUUUUUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! I HATE HER SO MUCH!!!!!!  SHE DOES NOT APPEAR ONCE AND YET I AM CONSUMED WITH RAGE

Seanan does such amazing work on all kinds of mental illness stuff, which I think I’ve discussed before re: Toby Daye and her ongoing upward mobility, but fuck the entire Tybalt plotline was so crushing.  That’s what it’s like, is the thing, to watch someone you love retreating from you and not be able to do anything about it because you don’t want to hurt them worse, and I cheered out loud when he came back, and asking Ginevra to come stand in as regent was such a bittersweet scene because on the one hand yes Tybalt my love take care of yourself, but on the other hand I just want him to be okay.  (FUCK Amandine, by the way)

I would die for Quentin, just kind of in general, but I’m specifically really delighted with the subplot of “Quentin thinks Toby could do better than this arrogant tomcat,” and I’m so proud of my best bisexual prince son for calling Tybalt and apparently just ripping into a King with all the worst swears Toby has ever taught him.  I can’t goddamn wait for the King of the Westlands to be this charming, kind-hearted knight-ling whose impeccable etiquette and noble bearing is deeply and profoundly at odds with the fact that he has really kind of absorbed Toby’s problem-solving techniques.  

Aside: there’s nothing I want more than for this series to go on long enough for the Court of the Westlands to be scandalized by their young king jumping up from his throne and hugging a grumpy changeling dressed in a blood-drenched leather coat without regard for his fine silk shirt.  Even more than that, picture the scene.  It’s the coronation of High King Quentin Sollys, attended by royalty and the highest celebrities of Faerie, Sir October Daye grinning fit to split her face with her husband Tybalt and her adopted nephew, the recently ascended King of Dreaming Cats, all looking ready to die from pride.  Quentin’s parents are both crying perfect beautiful tears, as Daoine Sidhe do, and he’s about to be crowned and presented to the people and it��s great and then--  The ceremony is already underway when the door opens again to admit the Luidaeg, as her most terrifyingly Firstborn self, scowling like a storm cloud and gowned like a hurricane, and everyone is fucking terrified for a moment as she sweeps up the aisle toward the dais.  And then she breaks into a smile and holds out her hands to the Crown Prince, and Quentin laughs and rushes into her arms as he cries “I thought you said couldn’t make it!”  And everyone has a moment of religious fear when the sea witch pets his hair fondly and straightens his shirt and then presses a kiss to his forehead and declares to the room at large “You will be a king like none that Faerie has seen in many centuries, because you have a heart as strong and fair and kind as any I have ever seen.”

No one’s sure if it’s a blessing or a prophecy or just a moment of deeply unforeseen maternal affection from the goddamn Luidaeg, but suddenly the sea witch comes to visit the High King on a semi-regular basis and Quentin is delighted and...well, she was right.

Speaking of people I love, I love Danny?  The best rock boy?  He just wants Toby to talk about her feelings, it’s so sweet, I hope they invite him to the wedding so I can read about an eight-foot suit-wearing granite troll sobbing into a handkerchief about how proud he is of Toby.

I ALSO LOVE MAY, God, give me her and Jazz getting married please.  Also I would love to know more about Jazz--maybe a book with the core mystery including Jazz’s flock of Ravenmays?

SOME TAM LIN SHIT GOIN’ DOWN IN THIS BOOK, I GOT A LOT TO SAY

We all know I’m a fucking weak bitch for Tam Lin retellings.  Tam Lin being a lying piece of shit isn’t especially novel, but I LOVE the idea of Janet being the villain of the piece, however unintentionally?  I’m honestly enthralled.  Bitch...give me a novel...make the Luidaeg the main character and let me weep bitter tears for my beloved sea witch....

You know how I just had a whole bit about “Fuck Amandine” up there?  I stand by it.  Furthermore, FUCK JANET.  Every time she gets nasty with Toby I puff up like an angry cat.  

Incidentally, both Janet and Amandine had a (terrible) daughter they doted on, and when their daughter slipped away, they went out and got a replacement that they tried to force to be completely and entirely mortal, without regard for what their replacement wanted or what would be best for them--and ultimately, the person who took the most damage as a result of their selfishness was Toby both times.  Janet is, I guess, slightly better because she seems to at least care about Gillian, but she’s still...weirdly possessive?  She focuses a lot on how Gillian is hers, and hottest of hot takes, love and possession are not the same thing.

Sign me up for front row seats to all of Toby’s family losing their shit over how Janet treats her.  Sign me up for seats in the goddamn orchestra pit when, having started to realize that, actually, Toby did not bail on her, and that Toby is actually a great person who wants nothing more than to have a relationship on Gillian’s terms, and that Janet actively arranged events to drive Toby out of Gillian’s life and then convinced Gillian that Toby didn’t love her, Gillian fucking Comes For Janet’s Whole Life.

Again, the Luidaeg is dear to my heart beyond words, so honestly the fact that she saved Toby all the way back in An Artificial Night by breaking Michael’s Ride like Janet broke Maeve’s, right down to singing the ballad of Tam Lin to hold the magic in place...not to sound like a little old white lady, but that shit is breathtaking, yo. Talk to me forever about how Toby is the first family the Luidaeg has loved and been loved by in a long time, about how the Luidaeg used the same ancient magic that destroyed her life to save this woman who wasn’t yet her favorite niece from the man who used to be her beloved brother, about how the Luidaeg’s entire life is about taking the skins of tragedies and making something new.

Anyway, on to non-Tam Lin things.  Gillian...honey...you’ve been so lied to by so many people.  Toby is the only parent who ever gave Gillian a choice in which life she wanted to live, and it’s so sad.  All Gillian focuses on in the blood memories Toby sees is how much her car represents freedom and safety and...oh honey.  Oh baby girl.  If Janet and Cliff aren’t careful, now that Gillian knows that they manipulated the truth about Toby to completely take her away from Gillian, she’s going to straight up buck their rules and leave.  (I...want Gillian to live with the Luidaeg?  The only full Selkie in history to have the blessing of the sea witch, living with both feet in Faerie and getting coffee with her mother on weekends, turning the full count of Small Children Who Adore The Luidaeg from one to two.  Let the Luidaeg be Gillian’s weird aunt.)

LET TOBY HAVE HER DAUGHTER BACK.  On Gillian’s terms, because Toby wouldn’t want it any other way, but God, just let them have a relationship.  Let Gillian meet someone who doesn’t have Jocelyn’s blind hero worship or the Luidaeg’s ingrained sense of honor and who will tell her that her mom, A, did not voluntarily leave her, and, B, is legitimately rad as fuck.  And then let them start with awkward weekly coffee dates that turn into an awkward dinner at Toby’s house that turns into a slightly less awkward trip to the movies or something and so on and so forth until they’re close and Gillian understands how much Toby loves her and Toby understands that sometimes it’s okay to push for a relationship.  Because Toby’s willing to do the work, but she’s not willing to push for the relationship because she believes Gillian doesn’t want her around, but Gillian only thinks that way because she believes Toby abandoned her, and the only way that vicious loop is going to change is if Toby actually pushes the boundaries for long enough to explain.

It’s so adorable how Toby thinks Quentin’s gonna be her last squire.  My boy’s going to be gone for two months before Toby comes back to the house with a baker’s dozen children and a mulish expression.  Within a hundred pages she goes from “I’m never having another squire because I’m so unfit for this” to “I should reopen Home and run it myself” and I just.  I love her so much.  She’s so dumb.  She has such a good heart and she’s so dumb.  I’d die for her.  Every fifteen pages in any Toby Daye book I just end up crooning “You’re so stupid, I love you so much” to the pages while Toby fails to notice, again, what an incredible person she is.  I’ve loved watching her grow so much, I’m getting weepy here.

OH MY GOD, AND THE NOVELLA?

HOLY SHIT, THAT JUST.  DESTROYED MY WHOLE SOUL.  EXACTLY EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED FROM A STORY ABOUT A NEW SELKIE.  I FEEL LIKE THIS GIVES A LOT OF SUPPORT TO MY HEADCANON THAT SELKIES HAVE TERRIBLE DREAMS ABOUT BEING CLUTCHED IN BLOODY HANDS WHILE A VOICE WEEPS FOR THEIR MOTHER IN THEIR EAR.  I WANT FIRTHA AND GILLIAN TO BE BEST FRIENDS.  I LOVE HOW DIFFERENTLY FIRTHA OBVIOUSLY TREATS GILLIAN, THE FIRST SELKIE IN HISTORY WHO DID NOT CHOOSE THIS.  I LOVE HOW MUCH ATTENTION IS GIVEN TO THE CHOICE THAT SELKIES MAKE, TO TAKE THE SKIN AND ALL IT CARRIES OR DIE.  

I LOVE SELKIES IN THIS UNIVERSE.  I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THE LUIDAEG CALL IN THAT FUCKING DEBT.  HOLY SHIT.