#my dad can fix it which means the window has to be partially rolled down because duct tape and like we taped plastic wrap over the window

[that-was-anticlimactic]

nO GUYS IT’S SNOWING HERE I FREAKING HATE SNOW ARGH

[munsons-melody]

wednesday mornings

summary: you bring eddie breakfast without him asking

pairing: eddie x female!reader (newly established relationship)

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this happens in my st dr so i thought it'd be cute to write about it

masterlist

i do not consent to having any of my works republished, translated, or posted to any other site except here. if you see my works anywhere but tumblr, it has been republished without my knowledge, consent, or permission.

—

"wooo" you screamed as the crowd clapped, a smile growing on eddie's face as they had just finished the last song of their set

"thank you all, we're corroded coffin, goodnight!" eddie screamed into the mic as the rest of the band exited the stage, and you jumped out of your chair and followed the boys into the small green room that was directly behind the stage

"amazing show you guys!" you told them ecstatically, gareth sitting down on one of the faded leather couch, chugging water

"thank you thank you" jeff said, giving a slight bow causing gareth to laugh

you felt a pair of warm, calloused hands slide around your waist, and a kiss land on the side of your neck

"hi baby" eddie said, and you turned around to kiss him

you fixed his sweaty bangs that clung to his forehead, and gave him a smile "you smashed it babe, i am so so proud of you" you told him and he smiled, putting his head down

"coming from you, it means a lot y/n" eddie said, and he brought one of your hands up to his lips, kissing the back of your hand

you caught notice of his watch and remembered you had a curfew of 10:45 pm and you mentally groaned, not wanting to have to leave soon

"hey babe what time is it?" you asked and he checked his watch. "uhhh... 10:30" he said and you leaned your head back in annoyance

"ugh" you groaned and he laughed "c'mon babe i'll drive you home" eddie said with a laugh, letting go of your grasp and walking over to where his keys sat on the counter next to the partially rusted old mirror

"good job tonight boys!" you screamed towards them, eddie ushering you out of the room and into the small hallway toward the back door, leading to where eddie's van was parked

"seriously i'm telling you, one of these days some big record exec is going to come here and see you and you're going to get signed" you told him as he held the door open for you

"i hope so, i'm just glad someone believes in us" eddie said, helping you into the side of the van

eddie walked around to his side of the van, climbing in and starting to drive from the hideout to your house

"i hate that you have to leave so early babe" eddie sighed, lacing his fingers with yours as the radio played softly in the background

"i know" you said, looking down at your hands intertwined "but i need to stay in my dad's good side so i can keep coming to see your shows" you told him, fiddling with the ring on his right hand

“yeah and i need my good luck charm there with me” he said with a wink, as he turned into your neighborhood

“are you going straight home or are you going to stay out with the boys?” you questioned, grabbing your purse and putting the strap over your shoulder

“i think we’re going to hang out and stuff, but i’ll see you in the morning? are you driving yourself?” he asked you and you nodded

“yeah i am, try and sleep a little bit please, don’t party too much babe” you said, kissing his cheek

he moved his face to kiss you, and you kissed back, not wanting to let him go but you knew you needed to

“see you in the morning” he said and you kissed him one last time before hopping out of his van and shutting the door

looking through the rolled down window you blew him a kiss, which he pretended to catch and put to his heart

you smiled one last time before turning around and walking to your front door, and letting yourself inside

you looked back to see eddie watching intently to make sure you got in okay and you waved at him as he waved back, driving off into the distance

you shut the door behind you and said hello to your parents who were finishing up watching a movie

they said a hello back, asked if you had fun and you if course said yes, and you ran up to your room, ready to go to sleep

after a nice soothing shower, you cuddled into your bedsheets, ready to go to sleep

—

your alarmed blared, waking you up from your lovely slumber and you groaned, knowing you had to get up

you hated wednesday mornings since it was the middle of the week and it meant you had to keep waiting till the weekend to sleep in

shoving the blankets off you, you finally got up to get ready for the day

after applying the little bit of makeup you usually wore, fixed your hair in your normal way, and slipped on a t shirt and jeans, you felt ready for the day

you walked to your kitchen, starting to make your breakfast, opting for a bagel and cream cheese

you thought to yourself about eddie and how much fun last night was, and how excited you were to see him again and how he’d stop by your locker to see you first thing

then you realized eddie would probably be late since he was out late the night before. it was a usual habit of his to come in late on wednesday mornings due to him staying up late, sleeping through his alarms, then skipping breakfast to speed to school in order to try and make it to first period

i doubt he’s gonna eat this morning since he’s probably going to use all his time to keep sleeping you thought to yourself

you grabbed another bagel, toasting it, and cracking open and egg over the heated stove, choosing to make him an egg, ham, and cheese on a bagel

thank god he wasn’t a picky eater, more like a human garbage bin who would and can eat anything- except mushrooms which he disliked immensely

you quickly finished his bagel sandwich, wrapping it in tin foil and grabbed your backpack, starting to head out the door

“have a good day sweetie!” you heard your mom yell and you yelled a quick goodbye back before heading into your car

your drive to school was quick, only living a couple miles away, and before you knew it, you pulled into your normal parking spot

you looked around but couldn’t seem to find eddie’s van. you knew it, it was typical of him but you just hoped that he wouldn’t hurt himself by speeding to school.

you got out of your car and walked into the school and to your locker, the usual crowds of students already formed throughout the hallways

opening your locker, you switched your books to the ones you needed when you suddenly felt someone walk up behind you, hearing the familiar voice of your boyfriend ring out

“good morning” he simply said, leaning against the locker next to yours and you turned around in shock

“what are you doing here?” you questioned him and he looked confused

“uh i’m actually trying to pass this semester so i figured going to class is a nice start” he smugly said and you laughed

“no like i meant how come you’re early? normally on wednesday mornings you’re late since you accidentally sleep in from staying out with the boys” you explained and he nodded, rubbing his eye

“yeah luckily wayne got me out of bed and sent me on my way but not before i got any breakfast” he complained, and your eyes lit up

you shoved your books into your locker, freeing your hand and you took the wrapped tin foil and handed it to him

eddie looked at you with a confused smile as he started to open it

“you usually forget to eat on wednesdays because you’re late and i made you breakfast, i know you like bagel sandwiches so i made you one” you explained

eddie stopped unwrapping it, looking at you with wide eyes

“you made this for me?” he questioned and you nodded

“yeah of course, i didn’t want you to be hungry” you said sheepishly

eddie smiled and looked down at the bagel

“thank you” he said in a sincere tone before taking a bite out of the bagel and leaning his head back with a groan

“oh my GOD baby this is amazing!” he yelled, catching the attention of a couple bystanders

he scarfed down the bagel as you talked to him about everything and nothing

the warning bell rang, signaling there was 5 minutes before class started

you shut your locker, holding your books as eddie crumpled the tin foil in his hand. you watched as he tossed it across the hall into the trash can, making it in

“giving jason a run for his money i see” you joked, and eddie smiled

“yeah everyone knows i could beat him but i just can’t handle all that popularity, my schedules pretty booked as is” eddie said making you laugh as he wrapped his arm around you, walking you to your first class

he said goodbye, kissing your cheek before walking down the hallway

he thought to himself how much he loved you. how much he cared for you. and after your act of kindness this morning, it felt like his heart swelled a million times it’s normal size.

he genuinely couldn’t believe that someone as amazing like you truly cared for him, and even though it was as simple as making him breakfast when you realized he wouldn’t have any, it made him care for you even more (even though he didn’t think that was possible)

hell, tears pricked his eyes as he walked into his first period, thinking about you

as he sat in his seat, he wasn’t even phased by the fact that he wasn’t paying attention to whatever his teacher was saying, all he could think about was how lucky he was to have you in his life, and the potential idea of giving you the ring he loved to wear that you always seemed to fiddle with

and all he did the rest of class was figure out the best way to ask you to wear his ring

fin.

[written-prose-things]

5 Times Eun Sang saw Young Do after he'd gotten beaten up by his dad + 1 Time she beat his dad up

The Second Time: The Pair's History Project

One thing Young Do respects is being punctual. As the heir to a well-known hotel chain, he has to meet all sorts of businessmen and associates. Being punctual and respecting schedules allows Young Do to bring some semblance to his life even if it’s in the form of a weekly schedule.

The only meeting he procrastinates about ironically happens to be the one meeting that is a permanent fixture in his schedule.

He has to report to his father’s port facility every Thursday at 5 p.m.. But he has given up on dragging his feet and throwing tantrums, now that there isn’t anyone who can hold his father’s anger off. The smarting bruises are inevitable, he only has a superficial choice between getting beaten up on the mat or receiving unexpected blows throughout the week.

So when his father’s secretary pulls up outside the school, Young Do gets in and goes along willingly.

****

Eun Sang didn’t know herself to be an unrealistic optimist. She knew that her strategy to be a wallflower would not be successful in an elite school where she was going to be one of the few charity cases. However, she hadn’t expected the universe’s attempts to turn her into the roadside freakshow of the school. Everything that could have gone wrong did and then some more. She’d had to fend off advances from a well-meaning but condescending rich twerp only to fall into another’s company all thanks to her history teacher’s amazing idea of pairing her with Young Do for the semester’s projects.

The only silver lining was that her situation made Chan Young laugh more than he had since middle school.

Now, she was exactly where she had expected herself to be. As soon as the last bell had rung, Young Do had walked out of the classroom without handing her his half of the assignment. She’d scoured all the shady spots in the school that his clique haunted, but had turned up empty-handed. As she entered the basketball court, the last place on her list, she checked her watch.

She’d wasted 15 minutes on looking for Young Do and now she was late for her evening job. She rushed out of the school, hoping to make it to the bus stop as quickly as possible. Hopefully, tomorrow she’d be able to go through Young Do’s work and fix all his mistakes before the teacher asked for the submissions. She thanked the blatant favouritism of the city council, the footpaths in this district were smooth and freshly painted, unlike the foot-trodden paths near her old house.

She turned the corner to the bus stop 3 minutes quicker than expected. The stop was empty and the board showed that the next bus was only 5 minutes away.

Behind her, she heard the peculiar and easily recognisable voice of Myung Soo.

“Hey, new girl!!”

“What?”

Myung Soo was sitting inside a pretentious black car. His torso hung out of the partially open window. He beckoned her over with the hand that was holding a folder.

Eun Sang stepped out of the bus stop’s awning and walked towards him.

“Here you go.”

He foisted the folder off on her.

Eun Sang pushed it back, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Myung Soo shrugged, “Young Do just told me to give this to you. He said you’d know what to do with it. Cool?”

Myung Soo replied to his own question, “Cool.” and started to roll up his window.

Eun Sang banged her hand on the window, “Ya! Not cool! What-?”

These people were going to make her kill herself. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

“Where is he?”

Myung Soo looked taken aback, “Who? Young Do?”

Eun Sang looked at him expectantly.

Myung Soo scrunched his nose, “He must be with his father right now. At the gym in Kim Tan’s district.”

Myung Soo’s expression of disgust made her uncomfortable. She’d give an arm to be able to spend quality time with her mother without having to worry about money.

Eun Sang nodded and opened the car’s door, “Okay. Drop me off there.”

Myung Soo moved back, allowing her to take a seat, “I’ll drop you somewhere else. You shouldn’t go and see him right now.”

Eun Sang glared at him, “I’ll do as I please.”

Myung Soo glared back, “No you won’t. Don’t pay him a visit at the gym.”

The thing about people who are perceived as flippant is that when they get upset, you can’t not take them seriously. Eun Sang surrenders.

“Okay. But I have to go that way anyway. I live in that district.”

Myung Soo nods, back to his usual self.

****

Eun Sang can feel Myung Soo’s eyes on her as she crosses the road. Unable to ignore him anymore, she turns around.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go looking for Young Do.”

Myung Soo smiles and rolls up his window. Eun Sang waits until his car has pulled out of the lane before crossing the road again.

The thing about being an invisible part of the huge courts rich people maintain is that Eun Sang can easily predict their habits and behaviours. So even though the district has thousands of gyms, Eun Sang can count on one hand the ones that Young Do is possibly a member of.

This is the third time Young Do has foisted off his work on her and she’s had it. She only takes an initiative to cross-check his work because it affects her grade. But being expected to do it compulsorily irritates her beyond measure.

Myung Soo can eat it. She’s going to find Young Do and throw his paper in his face.

She calls her boss and tells him a superficial sob story about not being able to come in today. He knows she’s lying, that much is clear. But he lets her off the hook for some reason. She cuts the call as quickly as possible. Looking a gift horse in the mouth isn’t something she can afford to do.

****

Eun Sang reconsiders her confidence. The sky is slowly turning black and she still hasn’t found Young Do in any of the elite gyms in the area.

It’s another moment when she feels like the universe has kicked her in the shins. She’d have been better off going to work and checking Young Do’s paper in her break.

She gives up on looking in the several other gyms in the area and begins to head home. The difference between the main roads of the district and the bylanes and back alleys is stark. She takes off her school coat and pulls on a sweatshirt. She replaces her phone and headphones for her keys, the former going back into her bag.

As she makes her way deeper into the maze of houses and shops, Eun Sang sees a figure walk out of the makeshift gym that the owner built in an old warehouse. She recognises his face easily even in the faint streetlight.

“Ya Young Do!”

He whips around quickly and makes a shushing motion. She walks up to him, ready to rip him a new one. But he beats her to it.

“What are you doing here? Have you been following me?”

“So what if I have? What are you doing here? Did you beat someone up again? Have you locked them inside?”

Eun Sang can’t help the way her voice rises as she asks questions. Getting in fights is one thing, but beating someone up and locking them up isn’t something that Young Do’s dad might be able to get him out of unless he really knows people in high places.

Young Do sighs and schools his expression before staring at her as if she’s the one at fault here, “That’s none of your business. Just- Why are you here?”

Eun Sang decides not to push it further and trusts his file back at him, “I’m not your homework machine. Do it on your own.”

Young Do nods, “Okay. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take this from you tomorrow. Just go now.” He pushes her away from him.

The door of the warehouse opens once again, with its typical creaking noise. An older man steps out.

If she saw this man walking on the street, she’d never know that he was Young Do’s father; but as Young Do instinctively cowers before him, it becomes obvious. And suddenly many things fall into place.

The man looks her up and down with a sneer.

“And who are you?”

Young Do answers for her, for which she’s thankful. She’ll happily follow his lead when it comes to answering explosive questions asked by opinionated and powerful men, “She’s a classmate.”

Young Do’s father gives him a withering look, “Do you answer for her?”

Young Do breaks away from his father’s stare, “No sir.”

For the first time, Eun Sang wishes she was still wearing her school blazer, but nonetheless, she adopts her best impression of an average girl from her school.

“I wish he’d speak for me. But I had just come to hand over the paper he forgot at school today.” Young Do looks surprised as if he had expected her to throw him under the bus.

Young Do’s father rolls his eyes, “How does it matter if he gets the file today or tomorrow, it isn’t like he cares about his studies. But anyway” he mimics a frown, “it’s good to see that there are people who care for him.”

The implication makes Eun Sang bristle and she knows from the look that Young Do throws her that she hasn’t hidden her feeling properly.

If his father notices her expression, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns towards his son, grabbing his neck in a way that resembles a wholesome action, but the emotion behind skews it, making her feel uncomfortable. In the quiet lane, she’s able to overhear Young Do’s father.

“I’ll leave you to it then. Lick your wounds and have fun with the girl. I’ll see you at the same time next week.”

With that, he stalks out of the lane. A moment later they hear the faint noise of a car pulling out. Eun Sang takes a deep breath.

Now she knows. Why Young Do hadn’t told her who he’d gotten in a fight with that day at the convenience store. Why Myung Soo didn’t want her to go looking for Young Do.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath trying to will away the guilt she’s feeling towards Young Do. It isn’t going to help either of them.

She opens her eyes and turns to look at Young Do. He beats her to it again.

“I don’t need your pity.”

Eun Sang rolls her eyes, “You’re not getting any either. I was just going to say that you can come to my place and we’ll patch you up.”

He raises his eyebrows, “How exactly is that not pity?”

Eun Sang shrugs, “I’m doing it for my own benefit. I need you to be in a good condition if we’re going to give our presentation tomorrow.”

With that, she turns around and starts walking back home, albeit at a slower pace so that he can keep up. It’s up to him to decide now.

He catches up quick enough, even though he’s breathing a little harder than she had expected. His dad really did do a number on him.

****

Eun Sang sits down in the middle of her room and opens the first aid box that her mother keeps in the corner of the kitchen.

Young Do’s still standing by the door.

“Come here and sit down. Unless you want to do it yourself.”

He doesn’t rally back with his usual smart remark, choosing instead to step into the room and sit down in front of her. Thankfully she doesn’t have to make another smart remark for him to take his shirt off.

The sight before her makes Eun Sang gasp out loud. Thankfully Young Do doesn’t take offence. She pulls out the cotton swabs and disinfectant, hoping to make quick work of what is obviously going to be a very painful experience.

She dabs the swab over a cut in Young Do’s back and he recoils violently.

“Sorry.”

He grunts in reply.

Eun Sang grabs his file and passes it to him, “Explain what you’ve written to me.”

“What?”

She wakes her hand at his back vaguely, “This is going to take some time, we should get some work done in the meantime.”

Hopefully, this distracts him from the pain a little bit.

He nods and flips the file open, “So the topic is had to cover was how languages have evolved in East Asia over the past few years and I was interested in exploring the differences in the effects of the various kinds of colonisation on the Korean language and how the different dialects emerged from this process...”

Eun Sang listens to him as she continues to work on his back.

Finally, she closes the first aid box and hands him his shirt back. She walks back into the room after putting the box back in its place.

“You sounded like you actually did some work on this project.”

Young Do huffs, “I always do.”

Eun Sang gives him a look, “Of course.” And she motions him to give her the file.

After perusing through his paper two times, she can’t help but hit him on the head with it lightly. Lightly.

“Ya!”

“No! You don’t get to yell at me. What the hell is this bullshit?”

Young Do actually looks offended, “seriously, you crazy woman, decide what you want to say. You just complimented me for it.”

“What you’ve written and what you’re saying sounds entirely different. Where’s the point about maritime trade and its effects in the paper?”

Young Do grabs the file and flips through it. He pushes it back at her just as quickly, pointing aggressively at a paragraph, “Right here.”

Eun Sang reads it thoroughly again, “No. This isn’t it. You used loads of examples when you were talking about it. Why are those written here?”

Young Do shrugs, “I was just using them to explain this to you. I don’t think the teacher needs me to explain that to him.”

Eun Sang barely manages to control herself and not hit him again.

“Just- Shut up. I’m going to help you write answers now. You really have no idea about how to write anything.”

With that, Eun Sang and Young Do begin their weekly tuitions. Young Do learns how to write better answers and Eun Sang gets a new friend.

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Astor just sighed to himself as he walked down the castle’s long hallways.

The windows on this level of the castle spanned from the floor to ceiling, with natural sunlight dripping in through the gold trim. His eyes squinted at the light, and he let his hair fall closer to his face. I should get a hood one of these days.

His footsteps were mostly quiet and unnoticable, which unfortunately for him, led to a less than ideal collision with someone as he turned the corner.

“SON OF A—”

The man ran straight into Astor, his papers scattering across the floor. He shook a fist at the prophet, angrily—he was some old soul with blond hair with bits of grey, and a weathered round face with a set of furious blue eyes. 

“Watch where you’re going, you clod!” Ligero yelled. “I have half a mind to report you for interfering with sensitive documents!”

Astor leaned down, picking up the papers—seemingly just full of various recorded tax benefits—and rolled his eyes, mumbling. “Yes...and we wouldn’t want you to stress yourself working on only half a brain…”

“What was that?”

“Mm...nothing…”

“You youths...I hate mumbling…” 

Astor fitted the papers into a neat stack before handing them back to Ligero, which he snatched up, flipping through them carefully. The prophet gave a shallow, shallow bow. 

“My deepest apologies...Lord Ligero.”  

Ligero suddenly stopped reading, raising an eyebrow and looking him up and down for a moment. “Do I...know you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “If the stars had aligned correctly, this would be our first and last meeting.”

The Lord wagged a finger at him as his eyes lit up. “Ahhh...you’re that crazy star seer. The one aways snuggled up in the queen’s shadow…”

“Gh…...I’m not—”

“Yeah…” Ligero rubbed his chin. “You’re that sickly twig that’s been whining about our deaths and such...always making a fuss since Elane died.” He chuckled to himself, while Astor scowled.

“Her Majesty’s...passing, puts the future of Hyrule on a path of certain doom. I believe I’ve made my predictions of past clear, that the princess will not awaken her power in—”

 “Ayap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap…” Ligero opened and closed his hand like a mouth in mockery. “Listen boy, you won’t win any favours by spewing your miserable thoughts at every meeting.”

“Maybe I don’t desire your favour.”

“Well then who are you looking to please? Cause I’m afraid it’s a little late to cuck His Majesty any further.”

“Excuse me?” Astor took a step forward, but the Lord stood his ground with a smile, cocking his head to the side. 

“I mean, that’s the only reason some nobody like you is here in the first place, isn’t it? Royal connections? Lovely pity on a scrawny useless orph—”

“I’m here to do my job.”

“Aw, don’t live in denial, boy. I have an eye for this sort of thing. And I’m always partial to helping a lad in need…”

Astor was already turning to move past Ligero, but suddenly stopped. He smirked to himself in amusement. “Is that so…?”

“Oh sure. My own son I’ve raised to be the peak of perfection. Striking young man, dashing blond—like me—and skilled. Rising up the knight’s ranks faster than an octo balloon! That’s all me, all my parenting right th—”

“And which son is that?”

“My oldest, my…...one, son.” He glared at him with a frown. 

“Hmm…” Astor could barely hold back from snickering. “And what do you think of this oldest son then?”

“Oh, too much of his mother’s child, if you ask me. But much better than I in some regards, though of course, not all of them. Ohoho…”

“Yes…” Astor smiled to himself. “You’re a funny man, Ligero Hartell…”

Ligero finally stopped laughing to himself. “But you see, perfection like that isn’t born. It’s made and nurtured, you have to coax it out of them.” He poked Astor’s chest, and he flinched away in disgust. “Quit your mumbling, your babbling, your little grief stricken dreams, it’s all useless. No one cares for it.”

The Lord went to pat his head, like a puppy, but Astor dodged out of the movement with a verbal “nope” as he whipped behind him. Ligero just shrugged. “If you can’t churn yourself to be a better man, then you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. You want to be something more? Something of actual merit? Taken more seriously than some child that was dragged up these polished steps out of a late woman’s mercy?” He flicked his wrist, adjusting the cuff of his pristine white sleeve. “Stop chasing the dead. Don’t be blinded by replaceable things like compassion and the sort. Find a wealthy friend or something, get rich, get power.” 

Ligero turned to continue walking down the hall. “Besides, even if it is like you say—then all the more to ride the sayings of, ‘You only live once.’”

Astor glowered, watching Ligero walk away. He scoffed, and started to turn back towards his own destination, before the Lord called out once more—  

“And cut your hair or something! You’re no Rito, quit with the braids. It’ll get all greasy and frizzy...Trust me, I knew someone with hair like that, once.”

Astor’s expression softened just a bit—nearly undetectable—before immediately being replaced with a darker scowl.

He kept walking, his deep purple robes dancing just a finger-widths above the stone polished steps. He opened and closed his hand to himself, miming Ligero’s speaking.

“Always partial to helping a lad in need...gods, seems childhood memory has still captured him to perfection.” Astor came up on the wooden door, and walked inside. 

The ceiling was a stone dome, littered with old parchment maps, and Sheikah charts, along with chalk that outlined ancient constellations and designs. There was an old chalkboard—stolen, from the Sheikah department—with further sketches and notes, torn out pages from old journals and texts pinned to the board and walls. Even the window was covered by hanging gyrospheres and astrolabes, twirling in infinite suspension. Since they blocked the window’s hinges, they were probably the reason why the room smelled so musty.

Astor closed the door, and flopped down on an old velvet bench, staring at the ceiling in silence.

“BOO!”

“GAAaaAAAh!” Astor shot up, whipping his head at the dangerous intruder, only to find a giggling, blonde girl.

She was doing her best to muffle her laughter by holding her hands to her mouth. “Gotchu again, Mr. Astor!” 

He sighed. “What are you doing here?”

The princess shuffled towards his desk, hands already bored and ready to play with the nearest pointy object. “You took so long to get heeeeree….why was that old guy even talking to you?”

He fixed his hair behind his ears, not really paying attention. “Oh? You heard all that, then?”

“Yeaaah, the halls are—” she cupped her hands over her mouth, “—ECHOEY, Echoey, echoey...echoey….” Her voice grew fainter at each repetition. 

“Stop shouting in my study. You’ll attract the rats…”

“I like rats!” She ran back up to Astor, sitting on the other end of the bench. “They’re like dogs! But small!”

“They’re rodents. Think more possums and mice.”

“Like that old guy, right?” She played with a loose thread on her dress. “Last week you called him a gross...virgin? Vermin… Velvet…? I forgot the word—”

Astor suddenly scooped the young Zelda up under her arms, holding her out in front of him like she was a disease. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, alright? That’s our secret.”

“Put me doooooooown!!”

“No. Get out. I’m working.”

The princess struggled in his grip so much that by the time he reached the door with her, she was nearly upside down. He opened the door and she craned her neck up, pleading at him with an upside down frown.

“Pleeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase let me stay??? Dad never bothers to look for me here….and your room is so cool! Even mom hung out here a lot…” Astor physically flinched, and Zelda took that as an opportunity to let loose some puppy eyes. “Pweaaaaaaase????”

Astor was so ready, so ready to shake her off his arm and let her possibly break a bone tumbling down the steps. “Oh! It was an accident, Your Majesty. She was so busy talking and talking and bouncing off the walls she forgot how stairs worked! I tried to stop her but she used her superglue prank again! Oh what a shame!” It would have been so easy…

Instead, the prophet just sighed, turned around, and let her topple onto the room’s floor. She yelled a “Yay!” before scuttling towards the windowsill, adorned with sparkly objects. Astor made his way to his desk, muttering.

“You can stay for five minutes. But don’t touch anything.”

Zelda immediately started touching and spinning the gyrospheres around in her hand.

The princess pranced and sat and played and pondered around the room—five minutes, ten, fifteen, and twenty. Finally she hobbled up to Astor, her arms full of shiny orbs and trinkets. She peered at his desk.

“So whatcha working on?” Zelda asked, looking at the weird sketches. “You seeing the future and stuff?”

“Something like that,” he replied stiffly. Silence resumed in the room.

Zelda set down her arm full of collectables, before standing on her toes to catch a better glimpse. “So what’s gonna happen? What’s gonna happen in the future?”

The prophet rolled his eyes, still trying to focus on his work. “Oh, you know. Death, doom, destruction. You’ll fail to awaken your powers, everyone perishes...the usual sort.”

Zelda crossed her arms and sat on the ground with a huff. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“Oh yeah? Well if you can see the future, then WHAT am I gonna do next? Betcha can’t tell!”

“You’re going to attempt a backflip.”

“I’m going to do a b—” Zelda had jumped up, her arms already in the air, before she let them drop and sputtered angrily. “H-Hey! How’d you know that?!”

“Because that’s what you always do to try and disprove me.” He nodded towards the broken chair beside the door, along with a broken shelf, and a broken footstool.

“Hmph!”

“But that’s not how telling the future works anyways.”

“Oh yeah, well how am I supposed to know if you never TELL ME!” She suddenly scrambled into Astor’s lap, trying to steal his papers. 

“H-Hey! Get off you insolent—”

“Tell me what your jooooooob issssss you never doooooooooo anything despite having the coolest room…” Zelda palmed her face on his papers, refusing to move.” 

Astor was just about pulling his hair out, before taking a deep breath. “If I tell you, will you get off me?”

“Maaaybe.”

“Ugh. You’re insufferable…” Astor leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Well it’s like this. Every choice and possibility exists. Every universe and timeline with every outcome and conclusion you could imagine exists in the grand unknown. There’s a universe where you’re a boy, there’s a universe where you don’t exist, there’s a universe where you’re quiet and don’t bother me all the time—”

“Is there one where my mom’s alive?” Zelda leaned her head back and looked up at him.

He was silent for a moment, pondering his words. “...Yes. There is.” 

He finally raised an arm, gesturing to the decorated ceiling. “See now, predicting the future is all a matter of trying to identify exactly what kind of universe you’re in. You look to the stars—gifts from the spirits, who roam as a constant in all timelines. You look to dreams, and magic, and visions...your surroundings, the people...there’s a pattern and predictability that I can use to identify what universe we’re in, and how the future will play out.”

“So you think we’re in the one where the Calamity wins?” Zelda raised an eyebrow.

“From what I’ve seen, I’m almost certain. Yes.”

“That sucks.”

“It does...suck.”

Zelda jumped up and went back to playing with the gold and silver trinkets. “Why don’t we just go to a universe where we don’t lose?”

Astor turned back to his work. “Because that’s not possible.”

“Really? You sure?”

Astor stopped, pondering for just a moment, before shrugging and continuing to work. 

“Probably anyways. I imagine millions of people have tried before, millenia ago. And from the looks of things, nothing’s worked.”

Zelda fiddled with an Ancient Core. 

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (2)

OMG! Part 2 is here!!

I'm still finishing up two other fics, and this one's on the back burner for a little while. I apologize for pauses between uploads. I hope that makes it worth it!

Ao3 | FF.net

--

Plagg arrived at school on foot, which startled several people.

Of course, his choice of dress could have influenced that as well.

"Dude, what are you wearing? And…did you walk to school?"

Plagg held out a second coffee to Nino. "Yep. And as for what I'm wearing, I picked what I thought would make my father the angriest."

"Did it?"

Plagg turned around. "I'm not bleeding am I? I had to break a window to get out of the house."

"Dude!"

"So am I bleeding or what?"

"N-no, you're not. But what's gotten into you? You usually fold like a paper crane when it comes to your dad."

"Ooh, nice analogy. I'm usually pretty partial to Jello left out on the counter at room temperature, when it gets all melty and chunky."

Nino blinked. "I repeat, what's gotten into you?"

"Just tired of being a doormat."

Nino gave a little punch to his shoulder. "Hell yeah, stick it to the man!"

"But my dad's not the only problem I'm trying to fix."

"Oh?"

"You know Lila's a pathological liar, right? And that she's been sexually harassing me for the better part of a year?"

"WHAT?!" Nino shouted.

"Yeah, she's really good at manipulating people to get what she wants. Like how she got herself invited to my photoshoots. Don't know how that happened but it's super unprofessional. Also, she got Marinette expelled. Remember when she said Marinette pushed her down the stairs and garbage? Total lies. She only backed out of it when I threatened our 'friendship'."

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?! Lila's been babysitting Chris! And Ella and Etta! She said she was a certified babysitter!"

"I mean, Marinette's been telling everyone she's a liar for a while. So…"

"Well…" Nino rubbed the back of his head.

"Well what? What reason did Marinette give you to doubt her?"

Nino winced. "…I can't really tell you…it's not my place, and Alya will kill me."

Plagg threw his arms up in the air with a groan, nearly splashing coffee on his crop top. "Is there no communication with you people!? Just talk! Enough with the secrets!"

Nino blinked. "Uh…what other secrets are you talking about?"

Plagg shook his head, realizing he'd spilt a few beans. And some things really did need to remain secret. "Ugh, whatever. Doesn't matter. You just…spill!"

"No way dude! Marinette's my friend, and I won't tell her secrets without her permission!"

Plagg rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good dude, you know?"

"Oh so now it's a good thing that I'm hiding stuff from you? Pick a mood."

Instead, Plagg took a sip from his coffee. Having a human tongue again was so weird. It was a complexed organ with equal taste buds, instead of the 'smelly savory' he was used to as a kwami.

And if Adrien didn't like cheese, it wouldn't be likely that Plagg would still enjoy it in his body. His eyes glanced around the entrance of the school, taking notice of all the people who were side-eyeing him. Nearly everyone had their attention on him and Nino, though they were trying to be sneaky about it.

Humans were so funny.

And then he noticed Marinette approaching. She looked awful. Big bags under her eyes, dragging her feet, slouched shoulders. The look of a guardian who was downtrodden and exhausted.

"Hey Nino, wanna see something hilarious?"

"Absolutely."

"Here, hold this." He handed him his coffee. Then he tighten the sleeves of the flannel around his waist and ran full speed at Marinette, his arms out at his sides. "MAAAARRRRIIIINNEEETTTEEE!" He shouted.

Hearing her name being shouted startled the poor girl, and she seized up, holding her arms to her chest. Plagg collided with her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug and lifting to spin her around several times.

"Ad-d-d-rrrriiieennn!" She exclaimed, as she was rag dolled around.

Finally, he set her back on her feet and patted her on the head. "Sorry, you looked like you needed an extreme hug."

A big smile emerged on her face, accompanied by a very endearing blush. "Thanks Adrien. I did! I feel better now!"

Plagg knew it would take more than an intense hug to fix everything on Marinette's plate. There was likely more bothering her than just the loss of Master Fu, too. But he was out to fix Adrien's problems, not hers. But hopefully, one of his problems would directly help her.

"Um…" Marinette started, looking him up and down. "Your father let you out of the house like that?"

"Oh, absolutely not. I snuck out."

"Adrien!" She gawked.

"It'll be fine." He waved her off.

Alya approached them, her jaw on the floor. "Adrien, what was that?"

Nino was just a step behind her, giggling.

"Have you never seen an epic hug before? Nino, you need to step up your game."

"I guess I do!" Nino chuckled. "Here's your coffee back, dude."

"Thanks." Plagg took the coffee with one hand while the other stayed firmly over Marinette's shoulder.

"You're being kind of friendly with Marinette this morning, aren't you?"

Plagg shrugged. "I just happen to think her shoulder is a really nice arm rest."

"Did you ask her permission?"

"Oh, you know, I didn't. Can I put my arm around you, Marinette?"

Marinette's giant panicked grin and a high pitch squeal was the only response he got.

"I'll take that as a yes." He squeezed her.

"Oh!" Alya chirped, taking out her phone. "Lila had an akuma in her room last night! Ladybug and Chat Noir stayed afterwards and hung out with her afterwards to make sure she was okay! She gave me this interview for my blog—"

"FAKE NEWS!" Plagg shouted, startling everyone around him. Alya almost dropped her phone.

"What?" She asked.

"I said, Fake News. There was no akuma last night."

"How do you know?" Alya got defensive. "The akuma alarm only goes off when someone sees the akuma. It happened so late last night, that no one was awake."

"I have an akuma sixth sense." Plagg explained, ignoring Adrien pinching his thigh inside his shirt. "But besides that, Lila is a big, bold-faced liar."

Alya sighed, rolling her eyes. "I expect that from Marinette, but you too now?"

"I've always known Lila was a liar, but I tried to play nice because she's super destructive when she wants to be. Just look at what she did to Marinette!"

Alya gave Marinette a once over, looking for injuries. "I don't follow."

Plagg huffed. "The expulsion? Surely you're not dumb enough to believe that Lila has some sort of disease that makes her…what did she say? Periodically lie? Misremember? I can't even remember what she said, but she revoked her evidence to get Marinette back into school."

Alya frowned. "She told me she was taking the heat for whoever this real person is. Someone wanted Marinette out of school, and Lila retracted her evidence because she knows Marinette wouldn't do that stuff."

Plagg blew a loud raspberry at her, making spittle fly into her face. "Of course she told you that, because she can't possibly be seen as the villain."

"What are you getting at, Adrien?"

"I'm the reason Lila retracted her evidence. She targeted Marinette. She's been targeting Marinette. I gave her an ultimatum. She could stop lying about Marinette, or I would retract our supposed 'friendship' and get her removed from modeling with me."

Alya and Nino just blinked at him several times, before Alya shouted, "WHAT?!"

"Yeah, like I said, I didn't say anything because I didn't want her to get akumatized, she may have turned on me, and I assumed eventually she'd lie herself into a hole and everyone would figure her out. But I guess everyone is denser than I expected."

"Harsh, bro."

"Nah. You'll thank me for this. Especially you, Alya. You want a reputable blog, right? What am I saying? You, of course, double check all of your sources! And if someone makes any outlandish claims that could get someone in trouble, you don't just post them willy-nilly. That's why I like you, Alya, you're discerning and thorough!"

Alya opened her mouth to retort, but shut it right after. "Yeah. Thanks." She finally said.

Marinette groaned. "Here comes the devil herself."

Lila sashayed up to the group, wrapping her arms around Plagg and yanking him free from Marinette. "Adrien! It's so good to see you this morning! I had such a fun time at the shoot—"

Plagg didn't let her finish before he forcefully ripped himself out of her grasp. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

His shout drew attention from everyone else around.

Lila laughed it off awkwardly. "Oh Adrien, you scared me! I'm not going to hurt you." And she reached for him again.

But Plagg danced away from her, behind Marinette and shouted. "HEY DON'T TOUCH ME THERE! THIS IS MY NO-NO SQUARE!"

Marinette was the only one that laughed, but it was mostly just a choked snort.

"What are you talking about?" Lila asked, pouting, "I wasn't touching you anywhere bad."

"R-A-P-E! GET YOUR HANDS AWAY FROM ME!"

"I think maybe you should keep your hands to yourself," Marinette said gently.

The flittering rage on Lila's face went ignored by Alya and Nino. "I'm not sure what's going on. Adrien's just being kind of goofy today."

"I agree," said Nino. "You break out of your house, now this? This is more than not being a doormat."

Plagg realized he may have taken things a bit too far too fast, and that his cover was in danger of being blown.

"Well! Would you look at the time! I gotta piss! See you in class!" And he took off running into the school.

Being inside a pocket meant that he didn't always see what direction Adrien went. But the bathroom was easy enough to find once he double backed on himself.

Thankfully, the bathroom was empty. And Adrien emerged the second the stall closed. "What did I say!? You wouldn't last five minutes! Everyone is suspicious of you! And what was that thing with Marinette? I thought you were going to fix my problems with Ladybug!"

Plagg held up his hands in defense. "Relax. I just got a little ahead of myself. You know, taking advantage of the situation?"

"What situation?"

"Alya brought up Lila, not me! I couldn't pretend to care! I can't even pretend to care about your problems and I love you!"

"Aw, Plagg. You love me?"

"That's what you got out of that?"

"I knew you were a big softy."

"You know who's actually soft? You." He poked his stomach. "That's what's got you in the situation in the first place!"

"Um, I'd argue it was your trickery."

"So you're soft and gullible. Got it."

"Hey!"

"Like I said last night, kid: You've only been on this planet for 15 years, and social for one. You're bound to be a little naïve. That's not necessarily a bad thing. Tikki would say it's honorable."

"And what would you call it?"

Plagg put a finger to his mouth in mock thought. "Unfortunate."

Adrien sighed, losing altitude. "You still didn't answer my question about Marinette."

"Trust me, getting cosy with Marinette is the key to solving your Ladybug trouble."

"You better not flirt with her! I don't like her that way, and I don't want to break her heart."

"You say that now…"

The bathroom door opened, so Plagg was quick to usher Adrien back into the pocket. "I'll roll it back a little, happy?"

"Not in the slightest."

—

Plagg appeared in the classroom just in time for class to start.

"YO, WHAT IS UP MY DUDES!?" He called, walking into the room with a beat in his step.

The scoff from his pocket went unnoticed by everyone else.

"Adrien, you know I'm not a fan of yelling in my classroom." Miss Bustier warned, patiently.

"Sorry Teach."

"And your outfit is outside of the dress code. Do you have something that covers your mid-drift?"

"No problems there, baby." He untied the flannel from around his waist, and slipped it over his shoulders, then buttoned the bottom few buttons, unaligned. "There, Gucci right?"

She raised an eyebrow, "And the sunglasses?"

"Sorry teach, I've got a major migraine and, low-key, kind of want to die. Glasses stay on, or I will cry."

Miss Bustier just sighed. "As long as you're not disrupting my class, I suppose that's fine."

"Sick." And he slid into his desk, propping his shoes up on the table.

"Sit in your chair like a normal person, please."

Plagg had to glance around to see how everyone else was sitting before he corrected his posture.

Now that he was wearing the flannel, it was a lot less comfortable for Adrien to be in the pocket. He poked and prodded at Plagg's chest to be moved. Thankfully, Plagg had mercy on him and scooped him from his pocket and deposited him into his bag.

From the bag, Adrien tried to watch Plagg, but he seemed to settle down once Miss Bustier started the lesson. Was he even taking notes?

"Plagg!" A sharp hiss came from his side, before a red kwami appeared.

"Tikki?" He choked.

"What the heck is going on with your holder?! He's acting really really weird!"

"Um…"

"My holder is worried about him!"

"She is? She saw all that?"

Tikki huffed. "How could she not?! She's right there!" And she made the fatal mistake of pointing at Marinette.

In hindsight, it was pretty obvious. He had guessed before, and he had hunches, but she had very cleverly removed herself from suspicion during Kwami Buster with Multimouse.

"Oh…that's why he said buttering up to Marinette would solve my Ladybug problem."

Tikki frowned. "What are you talking about? Who said what?"

Adrien awkwardly scratched his ear. "Heh…it seems there's been a tiny mix up. I'm not—" but a bunch of bubbles came out of his mouth. "Ugh. I'm Adrien."

Tikki's eyes grew impossibly large. "YOU'RE—" she grabbed him and yanked him down, phasing into the steps below.

It was an odd sensation, one that he didn't get to think about before Tikki was yelling at him. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU'RE ADRIEN?! You're supposed to be Plagg! And only Plagg!"

"I don't know! It all happened so fast! Last night we had an argument about my problems and he said it wasn't that big of a deal and I said he wouldn't be able to handle it and he said he'd fix it right away and then he made some pact and then I woke up like this and he was like that and I don't know what to do!"

"Okay, first, take a breath." She instructed, calmly.

He did so, taking another, and another, "okay...okay...I'm calm."

"Okay. Good. Now, what were the conditions of the pact?"

"I...I'm not sure? He said he was going to fix three big problems of mine."

"Which are?"

"Repairing my relationship with my father."

"Yikes. Okay, and?"

"Getting Lila to stop bothering me."

"Okay, what else?"

"And get Ladybug to love me back."

"That dirty rotten cheater!" She scowled.

"What?"

"Ugh," she rubbed her nubs over her head. "Promise you won't get mad?"

"Um...sure."

"Plagg and I both knew how you felt about..her. We had a running bet who would fall for who first, Adrien for Marinette, or Ladybug for Chat Noir."

He frowned at her. "I thought you were the mature one."

"I am. But I'm also thousands of years old. Teenager's love lives are like…corny TV shows for me. Besides, we're not supposed to meddle in the affairs of the human world." She glanced up towards the stairs, where Plagg was sitting on the other side.

"Does he do this a lot?"

"Not every wielder, but many."

"And…does it always work out?"

She was quiet a long time. "More often than not."

"But he has failed before?"

"There was one time where the contract was too difficult and he and his holder switched bodies until the holder's body died. At which point, Plagg's consciousness expelled the human's soul from the kwami's body and they perished."

"Jesus actual Christ."

"No, it wasn't him. Nice guy though! Very wise!"

"That's not what I—" He sighed. "Look, is there anyway to undo this? He's ruining so much!"

"I'm really sorry Adrien, but the only way to get switched back into your body is to complete the pact."

Adrien growled. "He could have at least given me a heads up! He just said he'd 'handle it'. I didn't know we'd switch bodies!" He slammed his paws into his face.

"Look, I'll tell Marinette as soon as possible, maybe she'll know what to do."

"No! Tikki you can't tell her!"

"I have too. As guardian, she must be aware of all the shenanigans that the Kwami's are getting into. She has to know about this."

"But she can't!" He begged. "This is all my fault! I was naïve and dumb and I didn't think things through—" He moaned. "She's going to be so disappointed with me!"

Tikki poked him hard. "Adrien. This is not your fault! This is Plagg's doing. He's tricky, and can be very selfish sometimes. She can't blame you."

"Please Tikki, I know she's going to figure me out sooner or later. Plagg's doing a really bad job."

"I'll say."

"But when that happens, I'll come clean and explain everything myself. But until then, can you just…pretend like nothing is wrong?"

Tikki sighed. "I hate keeping secrets from her. But, fine. Since you asked so nicely. Maybe you'll get your body switched back before she suspects."

He winced. "Ugh, except one of the conditions of the pact is to get Ladybug to fall in love with me. And if he's trying to get Lady-nette to fall in love with him, then if we switch back, she'll be in love with Plagg-me and not me-me!"

"Um…I don't think that's going to be a problem…"

"Wait, what?"

"You remember that TV show where they went into her room and your photos were everywhere?"

"She said she just liked fashion…and she promised she wasn't lying…"

"It was a half truth, at least. She does like fashion, and you are her favorite model. But…that other boy she keeps rejecting Chat for? That's you."

If a blush could be seen on black fur, he'd be the same color as Tikki. "What? Really? How come she never told me!?"

"Oh, she tried. Remember when you brought her medicine back from England?"

"Yeah?"

"That prescription she gave you was for Master Fu. She gave the pharmacist the love letter she was supposed to give you after you got on the train."

"Oh no!"

"The wax statue incident? That was her practicing. That beret from a 'brazilian fan'? That was from her. That blue scarf your father got you for your birthday? That was also from her. She's tried, Adrien. But she's either chickened out, or something's gone horrendously wrong."

"Oh Marinette…" His ears went flat, his heart breaking for her. "All this time?"

"Since you gave her your umbrella in the rain when you first met."

"Oh no! That long!? My poor lady!"

"And she's been trying to get over you since she thinks you're in love with Kagami. So I'm assuming Plagg's trying to convince her that you like her instead."

Since he awoke in this strange little useless body, Adrien was pissed at Plagg. But now he was beginning to realize how big of a favor this was. How close he had been to losing her, and hopefully it wasn't too late.

Still sucked though.

"Oh god…he's going to have to talk to Kagami too! I don't know if I can bear to watch this!"

"Well, you don't really have a choice. And you stand a pretty good chance of getting your body back soon. I…think Plagg knows what he's doing."

"You think?"

"I hope."

"Ugh…"

"Look, if you need help, you know where to find me. I'll be in my holder's bag here at school. Though, today, unless there's an akuma, I'll sit with you in your bag and tell you whatever you need to know about being a Kwami."

"Oh yeah! How is superheroing going to work? How do I transform?"

"It'll probably be the same. He'll say your name instead of his own. Then you'll get to see what he sees and hear what he hears. Cataclysm draws from this body's form, so he'll call on it when he needs it, as well as your other powers."

"Other powers?"

"Sure. There's more than just Cataclysm. But I'm sure he's waiting to teach you them until you're ready."

"To be honest...he never really taught me Cata—"

Tikki was quick to slap a paw over his mouth. "DON'T SAY IT!"

"Oh, is it like transformed rules? You say it, you activate it?"

"Yes, but in this form it's incredibly powerful, and you don't know how to dismiss it! You activate it and bump into something, and you nuke Paris! That is a forbidden word!"

"Okay! I'll take your word for it."

"We should probably get back up top, no telling what trouble Plagg's gotten into already."

"But we're in class. He should just be sitting there."

"You're underestimating Plagg's attention span."

Phasing back up through the floor and into Adrien's bag, they could hear Adrien's voice.

"...and of course you're not even going to talk about the ramifications of Phillip the V's denial of his niece on the throne."

"Louis X's daughter? She never took the french throne."

"Oh, yes she did! She held it for 6 years in 1316, Phillip only recanted her name after her rule was revoked. Furthermore, after she died, her legitimacy as Louis' blood relative was called into question. Her mother was branded as an adulterer."

Miss Bustier hummed. "I never heard of this. Where did you read this, Adrien?"

"Oh I didn't read it, I saw it—in a documentary! That's right! On the Hundred Year War! That's right!"

"You'll have to tell me what that documentary is, I'm very interested to see that! But you were saying something about Louis X's daughter on the throne?"

Adrien had to refrain from smacking himself in the face. Not 15 minutes into class, and Plagg was already rewriting history.

Had they even gotten to the Hundred Years War?

A knock saved Adrien from second hand embarrassment.

"Come in," called Miss Bustier.

Adrien couldn't see who was at the door, but they were being silent.

"Um…can I help you?"

There was a grunt.

"You're here for Adrien?"

Adrien, in kwami form, peered out ever so carefully from his bag, only to see the Gorilla standing in the front of the room.

Uh oh.

"...hey big guy..." Plagg tried to greet as enthusiastically as he could.

Another grunt, and the Gorilla motioned towards the door with his head.

"Sorry, but I'm in the middle of class. We were just discussing the conditions that led up to the Hundred Years War. I know dad's pissed that I left this morning, but I'll be home after school..."

The Gorilla shook his head and started to advance on him, his hands open and making to grab him.

Plagg however, was not above evasive maneuvers. He hopped up on the desk.

"You'll never take me alive!"

The Gorilla never stopped advancing and shot his arms out to grab Plagg by the waist.

But Plagg leapt from the table and landed on the Gorilla's shoulders, riding him like a bull.

The Gorilla swung around, flailing his arms trying to dislodge Plagg from where he was mounted, but Plagg dug his heels in and held fast.

"YEEEEEEEEEE—HAW!"

The Gorilla bucked and swung, making Plagg rag doll around, but he still would not let go!

Finally, starting to get dizzy, Plagg twisted in place and pinched the bodyguard in a particular place on the shoulder, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes, unconscious, on the floor.

Plagg simply climbed off of him, dusted himself off, and took his seat. "Now...where were we?"

"Principal's office. Now."

--

@chaosace-e @horson @consumeconstantly @percabeth @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @ezio-demon @judyhopps934-mt-zd @wannajointhecrabcult @buggaboy27 @starpony999 @bevvydraws @lavenderjunes

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Here’s the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. Also a big thank you to @edward-or-ford, as always, for his invaluable feedback!

Chapter Five: Into the Night

It’s three AM, I’m outside your window. Jump the fence; dad will never know. And then you took control of the radio, turned up all the songs I know. I’m risking everything, and that’s alright with me. - The Summer Set, Passenger Seat

Mabel Caroline Pines, age seventeen, five foot three (and a Virgo, for interested parties) was positively average. As in, she was perfectly fine. Reasonably acceptable. Nothing to gawk at, sure, but certainly not a goblin or in any way repulsive.

Her face was average, her boobs were average, her hair was average, her butt was average. Even her feet were average-sized. There was nothing inherently wrong with Mabel’s appearance. Sure, she’d change the odd thing here and there if given the chance to do so (the length of her eyelashes, for example, or the natural shape of her eyebrows).

Of course, Mabel would never admit such things out loud. How could she? It would ruin the confidence she pretended to have, and that simply wouldn’t do.

To be fair to herself, which she always tried to be, Mabel was quite skilled at creativity-driven tasks. However, no amount of creative proficiency could have prevented the required sleuthing, as well as pre-sleuth planning and timing, that one particular evening required in order to be pulled off.

Mabel didn’t deign to share with Candy and Grenda exactly whom she was meeting (“I’m sneaking out to meet my brother in the dead of night” hardly warrants a forty-five minute shower where she spent the majority of the time shaving parts of her body that didn’t strictly need shaving as they wouldn’t be seen, thirty minutes of blow drying and styling one’s hair, thirty more minutes of makeup application, the nervousness, not to mention the outfit-picking-out process), but she did say she was meeting a boy she might’ve sorta kinda had a teensy bit of a thing for. Her friends knew her well enough to know she was understating her feelings a great deal, of course, but they didn’t pry. Okay, they did, but they didn’t pry too much.

In any case, Mabel was quite pleased with the results of her hour in the bathroom mirror. She’d drenched the ever-loving crap out of her hair in glitter spray as she brushed it, and the hot air of the hair dryer made the spray set in so it didn’t get on Candy’s fingers while she began a partial French braid at the crown of Mabel’s head.

Y’know, the sort of hairstyle that, to the untrained eye, didn’t look like it took a whole lot of time and effort, when in reality, it 100% did.

“Why can’t we use bright red lipstick again, or wing your eyeliner?” Grenda complained.

“Because,” Mabel said emphatically. “If Di-“ Cutting herself off and pressing her lips together tightly, collecting her thoughts. Candy raised a slender eyebrow before Mabel continued. “If he sees winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick, he’ll think something’s up! I don’t want him to know I’m interested!”

“But you want him to look deep into your eyes, and the eyeliner will draw attention to them,” reminded Grenda.

“Yeah, and bright red lipstick will draw attention to your lips, which means he’s more likely to think about kissing you,” agreed Candy.

Mabel sighed and held up a tube of lipstick that was just a few shades darker than her natural lip color.

“The pink will do that same thing without being too obvious about it. If he’s interested, he’ll notice my lips and my boobs, and if he’s not, then, well… then he’s not, I guess.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Grenda conceded.

Candy was silent for a moment, staring searchingly at Mabel’s face. “Who did you say you were meeting again?”

“I- I didn’t,” Mabel stuttered briefly, covering her discomfort by turning her attention to applying the lipstick. This was just as well, as if she had seen Candy’s highly suspicious expression, she would’ve been even more nervous than she already was, and it should be noted that that was no small amount by any measure.

Perfect. Just the right amount of “LOOK AT ME” vibes from her lips.

Grabbing a bottle of perfume, she sprayed a bit on her wrist, rubbing it against her other one, and then on her neck and under her ears.

“You guys sure this outfit isn’t too much? I don’t want him to think I’m trying to impress him, and the heels, I dunno...”

Both girls shook their heads furiously. “No, it’s perfect! And we already coordinated your makeup and jewelry so no way are we changing it up now!” Grenda exclaimed.

“Mhm,” Candy agreed. “And the heels are perfect! They make your hips sway extra when you walk and they make your butt stuck out a little bit! They’re not even that high, he probably won’t even notice you’re wearing them.”

Right. Nobody wore jeans when they were trying to impress somebody. Well, not when they were being obvious about it, anyway. And Mabel was certainly trying her hardest not to be obvious.

And she was 100% trying to impress Dipper. She wanted Dipper to see her and wish she wasn’t his sister, wish they shared a soulmark. She wanted him to ache so badly for her that it felt like his bones were trying to escape his skin.

She ached for him that way, after all. It was only fair she made him ache for her in return. Even if it was only once, only for a split second.

When Mabel’s phone chimed to signal she’d gotten a text, she snatched it up before either of her friends could sneak a peek at the screen.

I’m outside read Dipper’s text. Then a second one came in with a whoosh from her phone’s speaker. Lights are off so nobody can see my car but I’m here.

Mabel wasn’t sure where her heart was. It might’ve been in her stomach, or perhaps her throat, or maybe even Candy’s basement, but it most definitely was not in her chest.

“He’s here,” Mabel said quietly, standing on shaky legs. God, why had she worn heels? What had she been thinking?

“Are you ready?!” Grenda demanded excitedly.

“Nope,” Mabel squeaked out.

“Yes you are!” Candy said firmly. “You are absolutely ready! You look hot, girl, you’re gonna make him jizz his pants just from looking at you!”

Mabel seriously doubted that, and she would most definitely laugh if it happened. But yeah, it wasn’t gonna happen. Because no matter how much time Mabel spent on making herself look her prettiest, Dipper would only ever see her as his sister.

Still, though. A girl could dream, right?

Mabel has never really considered Candy’s first floor bedroom being an asset before, but it most certainly had become one. Climbing out a window was far easier if that window was on the ground floor.

Still, staring out into the blackness of the cold Oregon night as Candy popped out her window screen and set it to the side, Mabel wondered how she had gotten there. Thirteen minutes before midnight, done up like she was going on a date, about to climb out her friend’s bedroom window and tiptoe through the front yard to secretly meet her twin brother whom she just so happened to be in love with, praying to every deity she’d ever heard of that he hadn’t found his soulmate.

Not yet, she pleaded silently, staring at the outline of his car, just a shade darker than the trees and the night sky, barely visible at all. Let me have him to myself just a little longer.

She wasn’t ready to share him with another girl. She never really would be, but in time, she’d come to accept it. She had to, right? There was no other option. She wanted him to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with her, even if it made her feel like her body was consuming itself from the inside out, she wanted him to be happy.

“Mabel?” Grenda asked cautiously.

“I’m fine,” she assured her friend. She couldn’t mess up her makeup by crying.

Mascara and eyeliner were a bitch to fix.

Bracing herself on the windowsill, she put one jean-clad leg over and out the window, then the other.

Looking back at her friends in the light of Candy’s bedroom one last time, second guessing herself for half a second (she’d never snuck out before, after all), Mabel smiled shakily. Both her friends beamed back at her. Candy leaned down the couple of inches required to be at Mabel’s eye level.

“Knock ‘em dead.”

Grenda nodded enthusiastically. “And tell us everything when you get back!”

Grinning, Mabel hopped out of the window only to immediately realize that heels and frosty grass were not a great mix, and thus struggled to maintain her balance.

“Wait!” Grenda whisper-yelled.

Whipping her head around to look at her friends staring out at her through the window, Mabel smiled as Candy hastily squashed the essentials (phone, lipstick, tampons, breath mints, makeup remover wipes, and a compact mirror) into a purse before shoving it into the hand Grenda had stretched out behind her and was flailing about wildly, signalling to hurry the fuck up, Candy, time is of the essence here before finally tossing it at Mabel, who caught it with minimal fumbling and put it over her shoulder.

“We’ll leave the window unlocked. Let us know if you aren’t gonna come home tonight!” Grenda informed Mabel with an exaggerated wink and closed the window.

Mabel rolled her eyes affectionately and did her very best to hobble over to Dipper’s car with as much dignity as she could muster.

Heels and grass did not mix, and they extra-dextra didn’t mix when the grass was wet and very, very cold.

Reaching the curb, she perched her feet on it, and reached slowly, ever so slowly, towards the handle, and heard the click of the lock being undone from the inside. She couldn’t see in the windows; it was too dark.

The chill of the winter night bit into her fingers as they brushed the silver door handle, and she exhaled as she grasped it, her breath visible in the cold air.

Grasping the handle, Mabel opened the door slowly, and the overhead light in the car switched on automatically.

“Hurry!” Dipper whispered urgently. “Don’t want anyone to see the light.”

Mabel moved to sit in the passenger seat of his car as quickly as she could with the amount of shaking her limbs were doing, and settled in, closing the door behind her.

“Where are we going?” She asked, too afraid to look at him in the dim light of the streetlamp. She’d have to strain her eyes a great deal to see him, anyway.

“The woods. Not far from here. Just… somewhere nobody will see my car and recognize it.”

“Awfully recognizable, are ya now?” She tried to joke, but it came out stilted and awkward. Could he tell how nervous, no, how terrified, she was?

She could almost hear the shrug in his voice as he started the car, not turning the headlights on until they turned a corner.

“I mean… it’s a really small town. I don’t think there’s anybody here whose name I don’t know. So yeah, they all know what my car looks like,” he said it quietly, and it occurred to Mabel just then that he hadn’t turned on any music. The silence was suffocating.

Not knowing what to say, Mabel remained silent for a bazillion years, watching the trees pass them by. It was nothing like California, where the activity never stopped, just changed. It was quiet. Peaceful. Suffocating.

Okay, so it wasn’t actually a bazillion years. More like ten minutes. But hell if it didn’t feel like a bazillion years.

Dipper pulled into a clearing and put the car in park. It wasn’t a road, but it had clearly been driven over many a time.

The light came on again as he switched gears, and he turned the headlights back off. Turning to look at each other, really look at each other, for the first time since that afternoon, they found themselves speechless.

Dipper was, in a word, breathtaking. The soft glow of the overhead light lit the shadows on his face in such a way that his eyes almost seemed to glow, and his hair fell over his forehead in the most adorable way, and his lips were slightly parted and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

It was warm in the car, but what else could his cheeks be flushed from?

“You look…” he coughed, looking at his lap briefly. “Nice,” he finished weakly.

“Thanks,” she managed to force out. Even a syllable was a struggle. God, how had she never been alone with him before? Why was the atmosphere so incredibly different? She didn’t even feel like herself!

“So… here’s the thing, Mabel…” he trailed off.

“The thing?”

“Yeah, the thing I wanted to talk to you about. Y’know. The thing,” he held his hands out and accentuated the last word with a movement.

“Errr… sorry, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro-bro,” she shook her head. “You literally just left me a ultra-mega cryptic note saying you had to tell me something and that’s it.”

He nodded, ran a hand through his hair, and when he turned his head just so his jawline came into the light and- good god why? Why must the gods torture Mabel thus?

“Right. I guess…” he blinked rapidly, staring determinedly off in the direction of absolutely nothing. “I guess you wouldn’t, huh?”

“Is… is everything okay?” She asked him softly. “It’s gotta be pretty important for you to want a one-on-one meeting like this, so…”

“Yeah, I mean, no… I mean. Ugh. I dunno.” He ran a hand over his face, clearly agonizing over something.

What in the actual ever-loving fuck was going on?

“Dip,” she said, forcing a sternness she definitely didn’t feel into her voice. “What’s going on?”

“Right,” he said with a nod that appeared to be more to himself than to her, and then looked at her. There was something in his eyes. Mabel didn’t know what it was, but whatever was in his gaze, she knew in her very soul that it was the exact opposite of the frost on the grass outside the car.

Not that that made any sense, of course, but that was the only conclusion she could come to without at least forty-five minutes of analysis.

“Right,” he said again. “I guess… I guess it would probably be easier to just… show you, maybe…”

“Uh. Okay?” Mabel blinked. Show her what now?

Dipper held out his arm, palm up, except his fist was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were shut, too, and in much the same way, and then…

And then he took a deep breath, held it, and yanked his sleeve up.

Mabel’s eyes were fixed on the inside of his wrist. Dipper’s soulmark was a shooting star with the outline of a tree in the center.

Exactly like hers.

[wispandwhispers]

Welcome to Monochromia!

Words: 2048

Previous | Next

Tw(s) : Cursing, Implied torture, getting disturbing commissions, talked about murder (Tell me if there is any to add)

Pairing(s) : Eventually Logicality, Dukeceit, Eventually Prinxiety.

Notes : I’ve had this idea on the back burner for so long and its finally here

"Zynx, how do you plan to secure the vote in the Fumi sector?"

"No comment."

"Zynx, how are you planning to make a comeback after Foster destroyed your chances of getting the majority ?"

"No comment."

"Zynx, is the rumours of you and Crownford sleeping together true?"

"I'm sorry but I'm not sure what you're talking about."

A limousine pulled up in front of the city hall and the chauffeur rolled down the window. A simple eye signal and he knew it was time to go.

"No more questions."

"Zynx a moment of your t-"

The chauffeur slammed the door of the limousine and started the planned safety-checked drive back to his boss' residence.

He looked in the mirror at his employer which a cheeky grin.

"I have a good feeling your sick of this question but how in fuck's name are you going to win this election? "

The passenger glared at his employee, clearly pissed.

"Do not test my patience Remy."

"Holy shit, you didn't say my full name, who are you and what have you done with Logan Zynx?"

"Just pass my yarn bag, I'm so fucking stressed."

Remy opened the compartment and chucked the medium sized light- blue pouch to the back.

"I don't understand why you don't you just go around firing people, snort crack, hate sex or whatever rich people do the wind down."

"I don't really know, this brings me peace for some reason."

The conversation died down and Logan got to work on stress knitting a new scarf/sock/ thing while Remy took the back route to his estate in the Prime sector with the sound of the radio in the background.

The usual daily announcements, the signal time, the weather update, the tired host annoying the news-

-Roman Crownford made headlines tonight when he was caught carrying election candidate, Logan Zynx in the bridal position . Rumours have emerged that the two are in a relationship and-

The driver's neck snapped back to stare at the person in the back seat.

"Spill."

"I don't speak slang."

"Fine, explain."

"I decided to go out for a drink, someone decided to spike it, woke up in my bed with this guy staring at me. That's what I can remember at least."

"Sounds like the start to some shitty rom-com."

-Footage can be seen of the actor carefully helping the politician get to his car to supposedly drive him home.

"Please turn that down, If I listen to that anymore I'll get a headache from the bullshit they are spewing. And I already have one from the debate so please."

Remy turn the dial anti-clockwise.

"Anyway, you need to be focusing on which is the best assassin in the area, I personally recommend Remus-"

In the mirror, the driver could see his employer's eyes sharpen in annoyance.

"I plan to win the election without murdering someone and even if I was to kill Patton, I would probably get caught anyway."

The limousine came to a halt.

"You better get inside, three minutes 'til the signal goes live."

Logan let himself out of the vehicle and faced the other

"I'm aware. That's why I wear a watch if you weren't aware."

Remy just shook his head.

"You're still the fucking antisocial nerd you were as a teen."

"And you were the same shade of black and white since you were twelve but I don't comment about it." Logan retorted as he started to walk to his door.

"Don't come for my kneecaps bitch, I'm being a queen in the colours I can see and I'm fucking proud of my basic bitch style."

"God you're so egotistical. Why am I friend with you again?"

"Your bad life decisions, not mine."

Logan heard the limousine drive off into the distance. He would assume the Remy would just listen to the signal in the car. And then promptly go and get a coffee to fuel his caffeine addiction that can never satisfied.

Logan walked into his house and sat down on his armchair. Cathrine climbed onto his lap but he's shooed her away. She always seemed to meow louder during the signal.

Your daily broadcast is about to begin, remember you can always t̙̰̖̲͔͈͚̱̞͙̐̇͋́̅̊̀̅̕͝ų̺̺̟͇͈͎̝̫̱̳̝͈̬͔̩̠̞̙͑̍͒̌̅͗̔͑̿̋̔͘̕̕̚̕͠͠͠r̡̧̧̛̟̺͍̘̘͉̞͔͇̭͍̮̒̋͆́̎̿̀̉́̏̊͘͘͜͠͡n̡̢̛̥̺̱̫͖̹̩̲̝̪͊̊̊͂̔̇͆̓̄̋̓̓ͅ i̢̱͕̮͎̺͓͂̒̊͂͒̏̍t̨̨̥̦̙̭̦̀̄̾̂̽̄͘ o̧̥̗͚̮͇̬̠̥̼̮̫͕̞̪̭̝̼̍͒̇̀̐̌̊͆́̐͂͒̀̋͌̌͐̕̚͜f̡̢̨̢̥̬̳͓̺̖͍͐͒̍̄̋̂̏͂̍̊̏̅͜f̛̹̱̜̥͇̜̥̙͇̻͍̙͈̱̈́̎͋̏̑̑͊́̌̓̓͗́́͟ ȧ̢̧̢̞̙̦͉̪͇̇̾̄̑̽̓̈́̾̓̌͟͜͝ͅẗ̜͎̖̰͖͉͇̦̥́̍̑̄̚͘͞͡͞ ä̡̫̰̪̰̖͕̲͙̲̝̘̤͎́̂̏̇̓̃̍̽̐́̚͘͢͞͡͡ǹ̢͇̙͇̙̯͎̬̟͖̪̥̹͔̙̿́̓̍̽̊͆̈̓̍̎̀̏͌͌͜͞ͅy͓̪̟̲̩̙͚̗̫͚̰̘̫͈͌̍̊̃̎̓͒̄̔͑͆̈̄͠ -

It cackled unholy sound, like the type static made but way worse and the device proceeded to go radio silent (no pun intended). Logan walked over to see if Cathrine had chewed through the wires again but she was curled up in a ball on the heater.

"I got this fixed not even a week ago, It can't be broken already.."

The box suddenly flickered back to life akin to a car engine. Logan sighed in relief, returning to his chair waiting for the-

Good evening lucky citizen, I am proud to interrupt your daily brainwashing in the hopes that you will heed my warning. Stop listening to the fucking signal or broadcast or wave or whatever you call it in your sector.This is probably the most idiotic thing that you have ever heard. I am fully aware. But also was that story our caregivers told us so we wouldn't cover our ears. So you listened through the hidden circle of hell that was the sound you heard. But you don't remember the pain and only the calm when it ended, don't you? In the very likely case you are currently at your mobile trying to report me., let me save you the hassle of trying to find a name. Call me-

Logan promptly ripped the radio cord out of the socket.

Pacing around his study slowly, trying to mentally recall a fact, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. The broadcast had ended the second he had pulled out the plug. He couldn't dwell on that. He typed in a number and let the waiting sound become his background noise until someone picked up.

"Patton, can I stay at yours for the night?"

*****

" Q.Quill. A twenty year old woman who grew up in godforsaken dump that is Fumi, clawed her way to the top and started to biggest drug empire in the city, who always has four weapons on her person at all times, the person whose body has never gotten more than a scratch before the person who dared to hurt her died was killed by her own hands and you killed her sneaking an acid bomb into her Big Mac. I'm surprised Duke. It's less creative than how you usually murder your target."

"You wound me Pip, when I joined this company I swore to myself that every single job I do , I would pour my hearty and soul into. There is no was in-"

"Let me guess, the acid is more than acid."

'Duke' gave a slick grin. "Wanna know what was in it?"

"Nah, I'm still traumatised from the hat job."

She passed a bag to the assassin.

"You know where to pick up your pay check from. Get the fuck out of my office..

Grabbing the sack, moonwalking on his hellys that Pip was convinced he was not wearing before, 'Duke' went to collect his earnings.

He rolled to the Shed, pick up the cash, stuffed a red hot poker into the eye of a guy who tried to mug him and continued on with his daily rout-

"Thomas!" Duke ran up to the named person and lifted him into the air. Then he slapped his face.

"Ow, what the fuck was that Re...," A frantic head shake for 'not the right time. "Duke .."

Thomas narrowed his eyebrows and pulled the Duke to the nearby alleyway. Thomas was going to speak but the other beat him to it.

"I slapped you, partially because I wanted to and because it's not safe to be around me at the moment because I kinda killed someone off duty so the Shed is probably after me and your dad will kill me if I get blood on your shirt and Janus is terrifying when pissed."

Thomas just stood back, taking a good moment to process the information.

"How did you get chosen to be an assassin?"

"Do you think I know?"

Duke perked his ears up. Footsteps. Very light and carefully planned ones as well.

"Ok Thomas, I'm got to play with people's intestines now, say hi to Janus for me and rennet that's nothing is illegal if you don't get caught!"Duke took out a sewing needle out of his pocket than had green thread.

Thomas felt sorry for the victims ,already starting to back out of the future crime scene.

"Sure!"

*********

Virgil stepped back from from his computer, questioning why he even decided to take commissions in the first place. And seeming from the email, this wasn't someone trying to fuck with him.

Time to get some moral support.

i'llburnifigointothesun: What would you do if a guy offered you one fucking million for a piece of fanart of them living out their romantic fantasies

FosterDawg: You don't need to do nsfw pieces. You're not a broke college student

i'llburnifigointothesun:Yeah, I've upgraded to a broke adult.

FosterDawg : So...Why are you nervous about this? You've drawn kisses before albeit it wasn't normally the most light hearted work but this isn't one of your triggers.

i'llburnifigointothesun: the condition is I have to hand paint this and they want it 'hyper-realistic'. i kinda don't want my hands to die.

FosterDawg : Kiddo, at the end of the day, it's your call if you want to do this or not.

i'llburnifigointothesun: it was such a dad thing to end that with an exclamation mark.

Virgil put down his phone, listened to the broadcast ,stared long and hard at his paintbrushes. After about half an hour he got out a canvas and pulled up reference images.

He gritted his teeth. "If they're lying, I'm about to going to sue."

*******

"Dad, I'm home!"

Thomas flung his backpack onto the floor, walking to the kitchen to partially look for his dad and partially to get the leftover pizza.

"Okay, he's still at work which means time for-"

"Thomas you can't watch Steven Universe re-runs until five in the morning again, you have your revision that you'll procrastinate and then panic a month before you the exam date in guilt of not studying."

The father had seemed to just manifest out of thin air, standing behind his son and the other couldn't tell if he had been there for an hour or two minutes.He rarely wore his emotions on his sleeve.

"Dad, I didn't ask you to peer into my soul.Also Remus says hi." He fiddled with the remote control, deciding what cartoon to binge watch .

The parent rushed to his son ,checking his face to see if was hurt. "Shit, you didn't see him kill or hurt anyone, right?"

"Yep!"

Janus let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. "Thank fuck, you can't be used as a witness."

Thomas walked over to the front door to retrieve his discarded backpack and took out his music theory notes. He scanned through the notes and then lowered his head in frustration."Why did I pick this class?"

"It seemed like a good decision at the time, for you and you just started your Hamilton phase." Janus saw his son staring over what he assumed was the homework. The due date was in a weeks time. He had an internal debate with himself and came to a decision.

"You know what, fuck that!," He chucked Thomas homework to the side. "Do what makes you happy tonight, you seem stressed and you should take time for yourself."

Thomas started at his dad for a few seconds and gave him a big hug. " Thanks, I kinda needed that.. This maybe a bad time but I kinda threw my tie-dye pride flag with your yellow dress shirts.

Janus stared at the other with a glare that could be sarcasm or could be anger. "Well, everything could be gayer."

The dad finally put down his hat on the coat stand and started to walk upstairs. "Remember to keep it down, I'll be live."

"Kay.."Thomas started his self care routine by microwaving the leftover pizza.

Taglist( Ask me if you want to be added):

@katlikethesword, @crinklesnuff

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 4/?

Words: 3,831

Baz

SS (20:14): What are you up to anyways?

ME (20:15): Well, I was reading a book. But now I’m talking to you ... Obviously.

SS (20:15): Oh shit, sorry. I can text you l8r if you prefer. I didn’t mean to bother you.

ME (20:16): No. Don’t worry, you're not bothering me. I wanted to talk to you … You’re far more entertaining than Austen, anyway.

SS (20:16): Okay cool :D

SS (20:16): Austen? Like ... Jane Austen? Is that for school?

ME (20:17): No. Just for fun.

SS (20:18): WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?

SS (20:18): I had to read Pride and Prejudice for the GCSEs. It nearly killed me!

SS (20:19): I’ve never really been the best at reading, but that just took the piss! I swear to God, I didn’t understand like half of the words!

ME (20:20): That's understandable, to be honest. I will admit that the language can be a little 'flowery' at times. If you’re not really into reading, Austen isn’t exactly the most accessible literature. The stories are good though.

ME (20:21): Did you watch the film?

SS (20:23): Yeah, no kidding. I despised that fucking book!

SS (20:23):  And, kind of. We watched, like, half of it in class, but we never finished it - Ran out of time.

ME (20:24): That’s unfortunate, it's pretty good, as far as adaptations go. I have the DVD somewhere. If I can find it, we could watch it together when you come over, if you’d like?

SS (20:24): Aw yeah defo :) That sounds good.

SS (20:24): Are you free tomorrow?

SS (20:25): Not for me to come over dw - I know you want to wait till your dad is away.

SS (20:25): If not dw. I know it’s a bit short notice. Soz.

ME (20:26): Don’t worry. I’m free, as far as I know. Why? What did you have in mind?

SS (20:26): I was wondering if you wanted to come play footie with me?

SS (20:27): Josh and Nathan are out.

SS (20:27): So it would just be us 2.

SS (20:28): If that’s okay with you? I know footie with just 2 is a bit difficult.

Pathetically, my chest surges at the sight of it … Just us two. It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.

BP (20:30): That’s okay, I’m sure it would still be fun - I’d like to come. What time were you thinking?

SS (20:30): 1:30ish. I can do later/earlier if it’s better for you tho.

BP (20:31): No, that won’t be necessary. 1:30 sounds fine.

SS (20:32): Okay good :) The pitch is a few mins away from the home. I could come and pick you up if you like? We could walk down together?

BP (20:32): Is my house on the way?

SS (20:33): Nah. Not exactly. I don’t mind tho it’ll only take, like, 15 mins more.

BP (20:34): I can just drive down to your house. There’s no need for you to go out of your way.

SS (20:34): Oh okay, sure. Sounds good :)

SS (20:34): Lazybones ;)

SS (20:34): Do you need my address?

BP (20:35): Yes, Snow. As talented as I may be, I’m not a psychic.

SS (20:35): Aha lol. Bigheaded much?

SS (20:36): I live on Pallot Road. Number 61.

SS (20:36): Do you know where it is?

SS (20:36): Idk the postcode off the top of my head. Soz.

BP (20:37): Yes, I know it. I’ll be there at 1:30.

SS (20:38): Cool. Can’t wait :)

I falter, unsure of how much of myself I’m willing to give away. I’ve never been good with openness - Hiding behind sharp words, and a false air of indifference. In that respect, I’m Snow’s antithesis. He’s a boy without walls - Open and forthright, to a fault. Defenseless, yet not afraid. I don’t believe that he’s ever tried to conceal any part of himself, around me - Even when we were literal strangers (Which, despite how it may feel, was barely a week ago). And, we’re certainly more than that, now (Well, I hope so, anyway). So why should I keep pretending? Why not just be real? Why not be a little more Simon Snow? I mean, he could hardly fault me for it - That would just be immensely hypocritical.

I type out my response in a rush, staring down the screen critically. Realistically, all I’m doing is parroting him. And while I know that, it feels like something much more. It feels like a partial admission of another truth. Another, much more frightening truth … That Simon Snow appears to have found himself in my affections, in a way that nobody else has before. That being with him makes my heart pulse, and my soul sing … That I’m a helpless, lovelorn fool.

Nevertheless, I scrunch my eyes closed, and hit send quickly (Before my courage, inevitably, dries up).

BP (20:43): Neither can I. It’ll be great to see you again.

————————————————————————————

He’s already standing outside when I pull up to his house. His bronze curls whipping around in the wind, messily, and a hand tracing the hem of his hoodie absentmindedly.

Shyly, I slide out of the car, and pace over to him.

“Good morning, Snow.”

“Hey, Baz!” he chirps, smiling over at me.

“You’re actually ready on time, this time. Congratulations!” I toy.

“Hey! Piss off!” He gruffs, sweeping his hair back, out of his face. “I was three minutes late. That doesn’t even count!”

“Au contraire - It most certainly does count. I was deeply inconvenienced by your casual approach to promptness. I had to sit on the stairs for a whole five minutes ... I looked like a complete prat.”

“Not my problem,” he shrugs. “You didn’t have to wait right by the door, you moron. That is completely on you.”

“Whatever,” I scoff, my face flooding with heat.

He lets out a laugh - Deep and rumbling. “You know for a smart guy, you really are awfully dumb sometimes, Baz”

I roll my eyes dramatically, unable to think up a comeback. Stumped, I decide to move the conversation forwards ...

“Have you got everything you need?” I ask, nodding my head towards the backpack in his hands - Not even bothering to question why he’s chosen to hold it that way.

“Yep. I brought a ball, and everything!”

“Perfect,” I mumble, nudging my hand against his, and pulling the bag from between his fingers. “I’ll just put this in the boot, and then we can go ... Hop on in, Golden boy.”

————————————————————————————

Simon

Baz is ruthless on the pitch (Just like I’d imagined he’d be) - Pelting across the grass at a breakneck speed, and booting goal after goal into the back of the net. Truly, He’s a sight to behold - All straining muscles, and wicked grins. I’d be basking in it … If I wasn’t so bloody annoyed.

He’s absolutely thrashing me (Of course) - 5 to Nil. It’s an absolute disaster on my end, having, apparently, lost any sort of scoring capability. And, to make matters worse, he’s not exactly coy about it - Assaulting me with a constant stream of ' Are you even trying, Snow 's and over-exaggerated, false yawns. Utter prat.

In my desperation, I stick my leg out in a particularly botched attempt at a tackle, accidentally clipping the back of his ankle, and sending him tumbling to the ground. Shit.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, squatting down onto the floor besides him, and flipping him over with a tug to his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry. I was trying to get the ball, I swear I didn’t mean to do that.”

He glares up at me, his full lips twisted into an acrid scowl. My stomach sinks at the sight of it. Shit. I’ve really fucked this up.

But then, he’s chortling heartily (Apparently incapable of maintaining his cruel act, any longer). His face scrunching up delightfully, as his eyes well up with joyful tears.

“What the fuck even was that, you complete barbarian,” he laughs, clutching at his stomach, stupidly. “Couldn’t stand losing, so you thought you’d just try knocking me out instead ... That is definitely a foul, Snow”

“I know, I know. It was an accident though, I swear,” I whine. “Just ... Shut up, and let me help you, you dick.”

I stick a hand out, pulling him up into a sitting position. He’s a mess - Small clumps of mud and grass clinging to his face, and a nasty, bloodied scraze disfiguring his knee. Yet somehow, even with all the marks of my stupidity, he still manages to look infuriatingly good.  

I take his face in my hands gently, tilting it towards mine. The laughter dies out, suddenly - His face falling marginally, as he goes eerily quiet. Unperturbed, I continue my ministrations, brushing my fingers across his face, sweeping away the debris as I go.

“I really am sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“It’s alright, Snow. I was only teasing. I know it was an accident. It’s fine, really, it’s just a little scrape - Nothing a wash and a plaster won’t fix.”

“Okay,” I huff, relieved. “I didn’t bring any with me, though ... But, there’s a first aid kit back at home. We could go and patch you up there?”

“No. If it’s alright, I’d rather do it back at my own house. It’ll be much less awkward that way”

“Oh,” I drone, my voice weak with disappointment. “Sure.”

How the fuck did I manage to mess things up so quickly? We were supposed to spend the rest of the day together (I mean, neither of us ever actually said that, but it was definitely assumed), and now, within one poxy hour, I’ve managed to kill all chances of that. I'm such a bloody idiot.  

“Cheer up, misery-guts,” he giggles, “There’s no need to strop - You can come too. You might just have to sneak in through the window, or something.”

“Okay, sure,” I beam, stupidly elated. “I can handle that.”

————————————————————————————

Baz

As it turns out, he really can't handle it.

“Christ, Snow,” I hiss. “You’re being way too loud. Shut up.”

“It ain't my fault! I don’t know why the fuck you thought I would be able to climb up this thing properly. It’s made for flowers Baz, not people!”

He has a point, to be honest. I knew that getting him up the trellis would be a challenge, but we didn’t exactly have many other options.

I thrust my hand out of the window, gripping onto his forearm tightly, and shifting my weight to support him properly.

With that, his body starts shaking violently, a poorly concealed chuckle escaping his lips.

“I told you to shut it, moron,” I scold (Although, there is no real malice in it - The smile is clearly audible in my voice).

“I’m trying, really. It’s just - It’s just this is like some shitty version of Romeo and Juliet, Baz. You can’t blame me!” He laughs. “It’s funny!”

“Yes well … Romeo was much more graceful about it than you!”

“Shhhh. I’m doing my best. I’m almost up! You should’ve gotten me a rope or something, it isn’t my fault!”

“Oh yes, Snow,” I deadpan. “Sorry. Let me go and grab the ten foot rope I keep under my bed at all times”

“Hey! I don’t know what kind of kinky shit you’re into! You could've had a rope lying around somewhere!”

I don’t even try and justify that with a response, choosing, instead, to focus on helping him up.

Eventually, we manage to pull him into the room - Snow plopping down onto the floor, with an unceremonious thud.

Laughing hysterically, he props himself up against the wall besides me, and rests his head against the side of my shoulder.

“Thanks for helping me up. I was so scared I was gonna fall back into that stupid rose bush.”

“It’s no problem. I didn’t really fancy having to explain to Father why you, of all people, were sneaking into my bedroom.”

“Hmmm,” he hums, his throat vibrating distractingly, against my shoulder. “You need me to help you with your leg?”

“No. I can handle it … I was going to have a quick shower, actually, if that’s alright with you? Get it properly cleaned up and everything, you know."

“Oh yeah, that’s fine,” He murmurs, lifting his head up, and shifting his body sideways (Away from mine). “What - I mean what am I supposed to do, though? Do you want me to hide somewhere?”

I puff out a breath, amused by his sincerity. “No, Snow,” I drawl. “You don’t have to hide yourself away in the wardrobe. You can just wait around here. Nobody is going to come in - Don’t worry.”

“Oh, right” He mumbles, glancing his eyes down towards the floor. “Cool.”

“Yeah. There’s plenty here to keep you entertained, though. You could play on the PS, or watch some TV … Or, you could read something, I suppose. Although, I know you’re not big on that.”

He smiles over at me, his freckled cheeks puffing out wide. It’s frustratingly adorable.

“Yeah, maybe not that. I’ll probably just watch TV, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” I say, jumping up, and treading over to the en-suite door. “I won't be long, though, honest - I’ll be back in half an hour, latest.”

————————————————————————————

It definitely took me longer than half an hour. Although, that was Snow’s fault entirely - His lovely tackle, had left awful clumps of mud matted into my hair, so I had to give it a proper wash.

When I step back into the room (My hair still annoyingly damp), Snow has got himself starfished out across my bed, his chin propped up in his hands. He looks completely at ease, laid out in my bed like that - Even with the, admittedly, rather intimidating decor of my room.

Stepping besides the bed, I scoop his legs up in my arms, and swing them over to one side of the bed - Making room for myself besides him.

“What are you watching then, Snow?” I ask, laying myself down onto the duvet.

“Dunno. Some crap cop show. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“No?” I ask, gasping with faux incredulity. “Would you like to play some FIFA instead? That way I can thrash you again, without sustaining any serious injuries.”

“Don’t be a wanker, Baz,” he scolds. “You know I didn’t mean to do that!”

“I know, I know,” I coo. “I’m only messing with you. Don’t stress.”

He glares at me, pouting his lips out, slightly. “Okay then,” he agrees, a sly smirk spreading across his face. “I actually play a lot of FIFA, you know. So, I reckon I’m going to enjoy beating you … Would serve you right for being such a cocky bastard!”

I raise my eyebrows in challenge, punching out a quick, mirthless laugh. “I’d like to see you try, Snow. Do your worst … We’ll see who comes out on top!”

————————————————————————————

For all my arrogance, I will admit that Snow was actually a very worthy opponent (Although, I’d never tell him that).

Considering that I’d been playing everyday for the last two months, I had assumed it would be an easy victory - But, as it turns out, I was wrong. He put up a more than admirable fight - Actually leading for the majority of the match. But, of course, I still managed to beat him - Hammering in a goal on the ninety-third minute (Much to Snow’s dismay).

“For fuck sakes!” He fumes, throwing the controller down onto the bed, childishly. “I almost bloody had it, as well!”

“There, there, Snow,” I tease, pressing a hand to his shoulder in a mocking comfort. “There’s always next time.”

“Piss off, Baz!” He whines, flopping back against my pillows with a dramatic sigh. “I’ve had enough of this shitty game!”

“Alright,” I breathe, slowly laying myself down besides him, as I desperately try to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside me. “Do you want to play a different game, then?”

“No.”

“Okay,” I drawl, my voice rising with uncertainty. “So … You want-”

“Just wanna stay here for a bit,” he gruffs.

“Okay. We can stay here, then.” I agree, my voice hushed.

As silence settles over us, I steal a glance over at him.

He’s got an arm stretched out over his face (The synthetic material of his football shirt, straining against his broad shoulders, perfectly), and beneath it, I can see the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Unobserved, I take my opportunity to scan my eyes over him, appreciatively. Sprawled out against my bed, he looks positively obscene. His hair mussed intoxicatingly, where it rests against my pillow, and every revealed inch of skin decorated with constellations of moles. For a moment, I envision pressing my lips against them, lavishing each and every mark with the attention they deserve, but I quickly restrain myself. Allowing my mind to wander now, when he’s so close to me, would be an irreparably idiotic move.

In an attempt to cool myself down, I flutter my eyes shut, and shift my focus onto the steady puff of his breathing - Slow and constant. In and Out. In and Out. In and Out …

————————————————————————————

Embarrassingly, I’m halfway to sleep when he speaks next.

“Baz?” he whispers, poking my arm lightly. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, my voice deep and lazy with tiredness.

“Okay. Cool,” he sighs. “Can - I mean, can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm. Of course” I hum.

“It's just that, I’ve been thinking … Did - Did you mean what you said the other day?”

I scoff, quietly. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, if you want me to answer that, Snow.”

“Right yeah. Obviously,” he huffs, clearly frustrated.

Opening my eyes, I tilt my head over to look at him - Our eyes meeting immediately. His deep blue boring into my grey. This close, it’s far too intense.

Caught off guard, and humiliatingly wonderstruck, I avert my eyes, focusing my gaze on the canopy of my bed, instead. I feel my face flush with heat, once again, and pray to God that he doesn’t notice. That would be the last thing I need, right now.

“I just - I mean what you said to your dad,” he continues, stammering slightly.

“What bit?”

“When you were all like - 'Oh don’t worry Father, he's one of mine',” he explains, making an absolutely atrocious attempt at mimicking my accent. “I just mean like - Do you really have lots of, like - I don’t know ... Guys?”

“No,” I drone. “There’s no one else ... Never has been. I just said that to get him off of your case. He doesn’t really like talking about that stuff, so I figured it would be effective.”

“Oh,” He breathes. “Okay.”

I pause, unsure of what else to say. The silence stretches between us painfully - Tangible tension flooding the air. And then, I feel it. It’s barely a brush at first - Easy to play off as a simple accident, given our close proximity. But then, he continues. Pressing our hands together more fervently - His skin impossibly warm against mine. It’s searing - The contact lighting me up from within, as hopeful sparks ignite within me.

I gulp, audibly. “Why?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“Just - I’m just like … Curious, I suppose,” he murmurs, his finger tip tracing it’s way along the side of my thumb. It’s feather-light, but it weighs like lead in my heart. And I think that, maybe (just maybe), he might be trying to tell me exactly what I want to hear.  

He presses on, nervously, his voice wavering slightly. “It’s just that -”

Suddenly, there’s a banging at the door - Loud and insistent.

Panicked, I shove him off of the bed, sending him flopping onto the floor with a girlish yelp. Biting back a laugh, I rush over to the door, and pull it open ever so slightly.

“Basilton. Dinner is ready. I don’t know what on earth you’re doing in here, making all that racket, but you need to come downstairs now,” Father chastises.

“Of course. I’ll be down in just a minute.”

“Alright. Hurry down though. Please don’t keep us all waiting. We don’t want to start without you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Father,” I taunt, my tone laced with sarcasm. He’ll definitely lecture me about that later (He’s never impressed with my 'petulant attitude'), but, right now, I don’t particularly care.  

Closing the door behind him, I scurry over back to where Snow is sat.

“You have to leave,” I whisper, rushing out the words with a frightful urgency. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time. You just - You really have to leave. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone ... So, you can't really stay.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he hushes. “It’s fine. Don’t stress. Do you want me to go right now?”

“No,” I cry. “Just - Wait until I’ve been down at dinner for a few minutes - Then you can leave … That way, you can be certain nobody will be creeping around outside.”

“Okay, sure.” he says, smiling over at me.

Looking at him - I hesitate. “But - Are you sure you’ll be okay climbing? If you’d rather wait, I’m sure that I can find some other way to sneak you out, a little bit later. I could say I'm going out to the bin, or something. If you were quiet, we might be able to get away with it.” “Baz,” he sing-songs, teasingly. “I’m sure I can climb down without your help. It’s only one floor.”

“Yes well,” I deadpan. “Forgive me for thinking it may be best to find an alternative route. You didn’t exactly dazzle me with your speed or grace in getting up here.”

He snickers, squinting his eyes at me daringly.

“Yeah, but it’ll be easier going down. So chill. I can handle it - Trust,” he reassures. “You’ve seriously gotta go and get your dinner now, though. If your dad comes stomping up here to yell at you, it’s game over for me! And then fussing over this would've been entirely pointless”

“Okay,” I huff, standing and pacing over to the door, reluctantly.

Flashing him a quick smile, I call out a quiet “Message you later, Snow,”, and then, I leave him.

————————————————————————————

I’m just tucking into my dinner, when an almighty crash tears through the hush of the dining room. Of course, I know what it is immediately - Simon bloody Snow falling off of that god-forsaken trellis.

Fucking hell. I knew I should’ve tried to sneak him out another way.

I mean, what if he’s hurt himself? It’s not exactly a steep fall, but it’s certainly enough to do some damage. And the only reason he is even here, is because of my stupid, desperate plot to get to spend more time with him - And now, he's probably laying out there with a broken leg, or something. God. I'm such a selfish dolt.

Anxiously, I slide my phone out of my pocket, beneath the table, and hurry out a quick text.

ME (19:27): Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? Do you need help?

I wait, holding my breath as my leg bounces under the table, impatiently.

SS (19:28): Nah. Don’t worry. I’m good.

SS (19:28): I might’ve killed your flowers tho :/

SS (19:28): Sorry!

I smile to myself privately - Doing my best to hide my grin behind my hand.

That bloody disaster is going to be my undoing, I swear.

[mikkomacko]

Wonderwall 1

"You're gonna be the one that saves me."

~

I had seen him around, everyone had. It's hard not to notice the Harry Styles, slayer of Lord Voldemort and girls hearts. He's popular, in a unconventional way. Everyone knows him and everyone adores him, but he's not the kind of boy that has a million friends. He has two extremely close ones, Liam Payne and Niall Horan. Sometimes Louis Tomlinson hangs around him but that's when he's not macking on his girlfriend.

People are drawn to him, whisper about him, giggle when he passes by. He's a sort of ghost while also being a living legend. Of course, the mystery of how he managed to survive the killing curse, cast upon him by Lord Voldemort, gave him a magnetic field that draws people in.

It's that, and his devilishly handsome looks, that I blame my connection with him for. Since the first day of school, seeing him be sorted into Gryffindor house, I've known that something was different between us. I could tell by the way he froze when he saw me, green eyes wide and curious. It had felt like we had this zing rush up our spines. And ever since then, we've been odd around each other. We never really spoke, for not only am I forbidden, but neither of us enjoyed the energy that took over when we communicated.

I thought it had something to do with magic, and I was right of course, but it wasn't as simple as I thought. I thought our spirits collided because we were different, we were polar opposites. We collided because a witch, with the eyes of a hawk and a brain of a dung beetle, spoke it forth. Harry Styles and I collided, because we were destined to.

~

"Lily!"

The Hogwarts Express blows out a warning whistle, steam hissing out to fill Platform 9 3/4. I thank the bell hop that has taken our luggage, turning to grab Zayn so we can board.

He's wrapped up in his mom's arms, not really hugging her back because he's too cool for that, but pressing his face into her shoulder. Like usual, his mother wipes tears from her eyes and pats his cheeks.

Zayn's sister, Zhavia is next to be pulled into a bone crushing hug. Unlike her older brother, she easily hugs her mom back, face hidden in her chest. Zhavia receives a pat on the cheeks as well.

"Alright you three," Their mother breathes, reaching out to me. I step closer, gladly excepting her hug. "onto the train now. Wouldn't want you to miss school this year."

"Yes you would." Zayn says, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. I chuckle at him, grabbing his outstretched hand and waving goodbye to his mom.

"Bye mum!" Zayn calls over his shoulder, pulling me along with him. We board the train, turning left to go to our usual compartment. As always, it's empty and Zayn tosses his bag onto the left bench and I take the right.

"Can I sit with you?" Zhavia asks timidly, poking her head in. I shrug, giving her a nod of approval. Zayn sighs but doesn't argue so his sister plops down on the bench next to him.

Zayn looks around at us for a moment. He's frowning, more than usual, meaning he's contemplating something in his head. Zhavia gives him an innocent smile, picking up on his behavior as well. Zayn switches his gaze from his sister to me.

"Did you bring the bottle?" He asks quietly.

I nod, lifting up my backpack from the ground and patting it. The plastic bottle caves under the pressure but pops back up after.

"Good," Zayn grins. "I brought my candies."

"What candies?"

Zayn, Zhavia, and I all freeze. In the compartment door that we happened to leave open, stands none other than Harry Styles.

"None of your business." Zayn tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry shrugs, shouldering his way into the compartment. He places his bag on the rack over head, falling into the seat next to me.

"Alright?" He asks, dimples on full display as he pats my knee. My breathe gets caught in my throat. His eyes, a warm spring green, stare at mine and I remember that I'm supposed to act like I don't know the plushiness of his lips or the strength of his fingers.

I nod, quickly removing my gaze from him to the boys that are shuffling into the compartment as well. Across from me, Zayn is glaring at Harry while Zhavia looks at him with heart eyes. I'm not sure which look I hate more.

~

The train compartment is humid and stuffy, filled not only by seven Hogwarts students, but also the wrappers of all the sweets Harry purchased for the group of us (that ended up being eaten mostly by Niall).

Zayn is brooding, obviously displeased that we're stuck with four Gryffindor boys. I know it's partially my fault, they're all here because Harry's here, and Harry's here because I'm here. Even so, I didn't believe Harry would sit with us and I really didn't think he'd bring his gang.

After minutes of tangible awkwardness, Liam clears his throat, the sound loud in the little compartment. "What do your parents do Zayn?" Liam asks, doing his best to smile at my pouting best friend.

"My mom works in real estate, sells houses and stuff, and my dad's not around." Zayn mumbles, not moving an inch. His gaze is fixed on the window, arms locked over his chest and legs crossed at the ankle. Zhavia discreetly elbows him.

"Oh," Liam breathes, obviously not expecting to hear that Zayn's dad isn't in the picture. Everyone falls silent again, Liam and Niall looking between Zayn and I.

"I hear your parents are dentists, right Liam?" I ask, desperate for something else to be said. I don't think I can handle another second being squished between the window and Harry, slowly suffocating on the tension.

"Yeah!" Liam beam, eagerly leaning forward. "My dad got bit once, had to get a bunch of stitches."

"That's crazy." I force a grin, not particularly excited by the story but glad that Liam has begun to speak more. "I went to the dentist when I was little. I got to pick out this finger trap toy but I got my dad's fingers stuck in it and he ended up lighting it on fire. Never went back after that."

Liam laughs, nodding his head as if he knows exactly what I'm talking about. "Wow," He heaves, chocolate brown eyes gleaming. "I didn't know wizard kids went to the dentist."

"They don't." I explain with a shrug. "But my mom was raised by muggles so she kind of pushed their practices on me."

"Niall's dad loves muggles." Harry pipes up, nodding towards Niall. Niall's eyes widen, glaring at Harry for bringing him into the conversation. "Maybe you can have Lily chat with your dad one of these days, he'd love that." Harry says to Niall.

Niall huffs, pursing his lips as if he's thinking of a response. After a moment of consideration, he nods. "Maybe for Easter holiday or something you can come visit." Niall grumbles, not sounding too pleased with the offering.

"Oh," I respond, pretending to think it over. I don't want Niall forcing himself to be nice to me because of Harry. It doesn't matter that I kissed his best friend last year, Niall Horan and I don't get along and it should stay that way. "I don't know. I'm probably busy, ya know stealing from children, killing puppies, the usual Slytherin things."

I give him an overly polite smile, shrugging. "Don't forget beating up the elderly." Zayn adds, finally looking over at Niall. He too, gives Niall a fake grin, squeezing my foot that's stretched across the cabin and resting on his lap. "It's kind of a tradition in our house."

"Sounds fun," Louis peaks over Harry's shoulder and gives a cheeky grin. "Can I join?"

~

Taking a sip of my pumpkin juice, I find the nervous eyes of Zhavia Malik at the Ravenclaw table. It's obvious she's trying to get Zayn's attention but he's too busy filling his pockets with dinner rolls to notice.

Zhavia gives me a helpless look, the same eyes that her brother has, brimming with tears. Knowing that, while Zayn loves his sister, he's awful at comforting people, I set my goblet down on the table and climb off the bench.

"I'll be right back." I tell Zayn, waving Zhavia towards the doors of The Great Hall. She's quick to jump up, following me out the double doors and around the corner so I can speak to her privately.

"What's the matter?" I ask, plopping down on one of the cement stairs. She's follows, swiftly sitting down and hugging her knees to her chest.

"I don't think I should be in Ravenclaw." She says shyly.

"The fact that you put a lot of thought into this is further proof that you should."

She huffs, flopping her head down to rest on her knees. She speaks through the fabric of her robes. "But I really thought I'd be in Slytherin with you and Z."

"No you didn't." I say softly, placing an arm around her thin shoulders. "You hoped you would be but that's not who you are. You're far too clever for Slytherin."

"What if no one in Ravenclaw likes me?"

"Like that would ever happen." I snort. "You're just like Zayn, I'm sure everyone wants to be friends with you. But if you ever need anything when we're not around, I want you to go find Hagrid or Professor McGonagall and ask them to come get us, ok?"

Zhavia lifts her head, hopeful eyes meeting mine. "You really mean that?" I nod, squeezing her in a brief hug.

"Thanks Lily." She murmurs.

"Of course." I reply. "Now get in there and finish dinner, they should be bringing out the sweets soon."

Giggling, Zhavia rises to her feet. She takes off in front of me, disappearing around the corner and back into The Great Hall. Sighing to myself, I follow. I'm rounding the corner, dusting off my robes when I bump into someone.

"Shit, sorry-"

"Alright?" Harry interrupts, his hands grabbing me around my arms, gently pushing me back around the corner and against the corridor wall.

I peer up at him, curiously waiting for him to explain what he's doing out here. He grins down at me, thumbs brushing back and forth on my arms.

"You alright?" He repeats, softer this time. He takes a step forward, close enough that I can feel his hips against mine.

"Yeah." I say. My eyes stay stuck on his, my brain reeling with the memory of him holding me against this exact wall last year when he had kissed me for the first time.

The left side of his mouth lifts into a smile that's topped off by one of his infamous dimples. "You're too sweet to be in Slytherin."

I grin. "And you're too dorky to be in Gryffindor."

"I guess both of us look pretty deceiving." He responds and if it weren't for the warmth in his eyes, I'd have taken his words negatively.

Before I get the chance to retort, the hands on my arms are cupping my face, drawing me forward and a familiar pair of lips are slotting together with mine. My own hands grab onto his robe, tugging him even closer to soak in the heat that pours from his body over mine, knowing I'll need it for the cold night in Slytherin common room.

~

"Sometimes I wish we weren't so cool."

I snort at Zayn's words, looking up from the potions book I was reading. He's draped across the bottom half of the black leather couch, the green lanterns behind him casting a mystic glow around him.

"I mean it," He grunts as he sits up, straightening out the collar of his black robes. "If we weren't so cool, I could find other people worthy of my company and not have to follow you around as you follow Harry Styles around."

"I'm not following him around!" I whisper harshly, swatting at Zayn's arm. I cast a look around the common room, checking to make sure no one heard. Slytherins aren't very fond of Gryffindors, let alone Harry Styles.

"Sorry," Zayn rolls his eyes. "I forgot that you're just 'keeping an eye on him.'" I scoff at him, shutting my book and tossing it at him. It smacks into his shoulder and falls to the floor with a clatter.

"Do you mind?" Pansy Parkinson shouts from across the room, causing a bunch of first years to flinch. "We're trying to talk over here, Jackals."

"Sorry Pansy." I huff, reaching down to pick up my book. She gives me what I assume is a smile, ducking her head down to continue her discussion with Merula Kane and Elizabeth Riot.

"Anyway," I whisper, scooting closer to Zayn so I can keep my voice down. "I'm just doing what my parents asked of me and it's awkward enough so please don't make it worse."

Zayn gives a small laugh. "It's only awkward when you're with his friends, especially Niall. When you're not paying attention to them, the two of you look quite comfortable with each other."

"What?" I gawk, staring at Zayn in bewilderment. "It's always been extremely awkward around him, I've told you this and you said-"

"I know what I said." Zayn cuts off, taking my book from me with caution. I let him pull it out of my hand and tuck it under his arm. "And I know, you get this weird, like vibe from him but as I've said before, that's just the sexual tension between you two."

"I can't believe you!" I hiss, cheeks burning at his words but stomach swooping pleasantly. "I don't want to fuck him!"

"Yes you do." Zayn laughs, catching my wrist when I swing my hand at him again. "That's why you're always so weird about talking to him. And why you look at him every time he comes into the room."

Too worked up to say anything, I settle back into the couch and bring my knees to my chest to hide the fact that I feel like Zayn can physically see my heart pounding against my rib cage.

"If I'm being honest," Zayn murmurs, bumping his elbow against mine. "I think this all started when your dad actually forbid you from speaking to him."

"Would you stop!"

"Just hear me out!" He begs around a chuckle. "You've always thought he was hot and then your dad not letting you talk to him makes him even more hot and now you're being 'forced' to spend time with him. This is all just coming back to bite your dad in the ass."

"Excellent theory," I say sarcastically. "but I'm not spending time with him. I've said two words to him since the whole Hogwarts Express thing so explain that."

"Alright." Zayn smirks, eagerly rubbing his hands together. "You've noticed that he makes you all hot and bothered so you're proud not talking to him. But somehow you always manage to get caught up in his messes. Like the whole Sirius Black thing."

"That was an accident brought on by my father."

"What about the Tournament then, huh? You were awful worried about him."

"Only because he was being chased down by an Azkaban escapee!"

"Stop making excuses!" Zayn growls lightly. "If you opened your eyes for two seconds you'd see that you and him are into each other. That's why you let him kiss you last year, you didn't feel bad for him. You're into him."

Not wanting to discuss this anymore, I reach around him and rip my book free of his hold. Ignoring his smug smirk, I flip it back open to the chapter on identifying poisonous potions and continue reading.

~

The sun shimmers off the Black Lake, casting a glow over the cut of Zayn's cheekbones and jaw. I roll my eyes, irritated that no matter where Zayn is sat he seems to always look perfect. In the warmth of the summer, wearing only a black tee-shirt and jeans, he looks like he should be on the cover of The Rolling Stone. In the dungeon, where the lanterns and the lake cast eerie shadows, he looks like he should be the bad boy of a teen romance movie. It's not fair that someone is allowed to look so good all the time.

Puffing out a breath of air, I push my dark hair out of my face and sheild myself in Zayn's shadow. I continue adding the recipe of chemicals the Horan twins asked for that would allow a firework to burn for ten minutes while in motion.

"What are you huffing about?" Zayn questions, squinting at me from under his thick eyelashes.

"S'just hot." I reply, not wanting to tell him that I think he's got a veela somewhere in his line of ancestry.

"You always complain about how cold the dungeons are but now that you're finally getting some warmth, you're still complaining." He tsks. "There's no pleasing ya, is there Jackals?"

"Whatever," I groan but I'm unable to stop the smile pulling at my lips. My favorite thing about Zayn has always been how easily we get on. Since the first train ride to Hogwarts, Zayn's been by my side with a witty comment on the tip of his tongue to follow my sarcastic ones.

"I take it back." Zayn chuckles. "I think I found something that'll please ya."

Not particularly listening to him, I double check the potions book that's laying in the grass. "What's that?"

"Styles and the rest of his 'holier-than-thou' friends are heading over here." I look up at Zayn, ink blotting the parchment I was scribbling on as I push down too hard.

"Fuck," I mumble, hoping it dries quickly. I look up just as Zayn sends a wave towards the gang of Gryffindors that's being led by Harry himself.

"Zayn," Harty greets, nodding. "nice to see ya again. Mind if we sit? The weather's awful nice today."

Zayn shrugs. Harry falls onto the grass next to me, shrugging off his robe and leaving him in just a white button up with his tie falling down his broad chest. Louis, Niall, and Liam do the same.

"Alright?" He ask me. I nod.

"Hi Lily." Liam greets, smiling at me. "How have ya been?"

"I've been good." I say, looking down at my lap to check if the ink dried. Once it has, I begin writing again.

"What have ya got there?" Harry asks, leaning over my shoulder to see what I've been writing.

"S'for Fred and George." I say, lightly nodding towards Niall as if Harry wouldn't know the older Horan boys.

"What is it though?" He pries.

"For their fireworks." I reply simply.

"They're trying to make one that lasts longer and she's got a knack for potions so they asked her for help." Zayn explains, blowing his hair out of his face.

"You're really that good at potions?" Niall asks. Out of the corner of my eye I see Liam elbow him. "Sorry, I just thought Snape gave ya good marks because you're Slytherin."

I ignore him, not really knowing what to say. They've never interacted with Zayn and I like this before. Sometimes Harry would approach me after meals for light conversation but not once has he and his friends sat with us.

"I'm awful at it." Louis tells me, bumping my knee with his foot. "Maybe you could help me out some time?"

"We could have like a group thing!" Liam jumps in. "I need to improve my marks in there too!"

I shut my potions book, setting the parchment on top of it to dry. I meet Liam's eager gaze, trying to keep the confused look off my face.

"The first time you spoke to me was three weeks ago. " I turn to Louis. "You stole my homework last year after I worked on it for a whole night." I look at Niall. "You told the whole school I was petrifying people in Second Year." I look at Harry. "And no matter how much I try to help you, Snape would never give you high marks."

They all give me guilty looks, except for Harry who just nods and looks down at his lap. "This is why everyone tells ya your bitchy." Zayn snorts, elbowing me.

"Yeah ok, Mr. Brooding." I scoff. "I've never seen any fifth year with as many frowning lines as you."

"Least I'm not mean."

"You just implied that I was being a bitch when I was actually being honest." I argue. Zayn shrugs, smirking at me before returning his gaze to the Black Lake.

"Alright," Niall sighs. "We've been dicks to you, especially me, and we're sorry. You're just so scary, it's hard to be friendly with ya."

Zayn snorts as if to trying to say "I told you so."

"Why do you want to be friendly with me anyway?" I ask, choosing to not comment on my "scary" looks.

"We just thought it'd be nice to be friends with you." Harry says softly. "Especially after what happened last year."

I hum, thinking over Harry's words. Just like Zayn, the sun shines through his curly hair and highlights his face. He looks like he's been casted in gold and laid out in a museum. Even squinting into the sun he's gorgeous, dimples sunken in his cheeks. Warmth pools in my stomach but I'll blame it on the heat.

"Technically, I can't tell you what to do." I say, giving Harry a sly look. "So you're free to hang out wherever you want and if I just so happen to be there, then I promise to not be a bitch."

Harry smirks, dimples sinking even more. He gives me a nod, pushing a hand through his messy hair. For a brief second, the scar on his forehead is visible but his hair falls to cover it before I can get a closer look at it.

Louis and Liam begin chatting about some candy they tried last night, making Niall and Harry focus on them. I meet Zayn's gaze, rolling my eyes at his smug smile. It's the same one he gave me after claiming Harry and I fancy each other.

I blow him off, leaning my back against his shoulder so I can listen to Louis speak. I end up watching Harry, admiring the curves of his nose and lips. It's really not fair that someone is allowed to look so fucking good all the time.

~

Sighing heavily at the sight of the defense against the dark arts classroom, I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder.

"Let's get this over with." Zayn mutters, glaring at the doorway. I huff out another breath, taking the lead and entering the classroom. I follow the aisle between the desks, faltering when I get to the table Zayn and I usually sit at. In Zayn's seat sits Harry Styles, casually leaning back to speak to Niall, who is sat at their usual table.

"What?" I mumble, looking back at Zayn. He rolls his eyes, stomping his feet and taking the seat next to Niall. I fall into the seat next to Harry, slamming my text book onto the desk a little too loud.

Harry looks to me with a concerned furrow in his brow. "Alright Lily?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I mumble, placing my forehead in my palm to try and will away the blush that's creeping up my neck and burning my ears.

"Ya don't look fine lovie." Harry says quietly. He turns his body towards me, knee knocking into my thigh and warming my skin. "What's wrong?"

"I just didn't sleep well." I sigh, chest feeling heavy as my mind replays the nightmare I had last night.

"Bad dream?"

I nod, rubbing my knuckle into my eye without even thinking about the mascara I probably smeared everywhere.

"Want to talk about it?"

Yawning gently, I meet Harry's eyes through my blurry gaze and give him a closed lip smile, shaking my head.

Harry nods, sympathy etched into every corner of his handsome face. Umbridge enters the classroom and I don't hesitate to lie my head on my arms and fall into a nap-like state as she drones on. I'm on the verge of actually falling asleep, my body heavy and numb but mind still aware when someone clears their throat, the sound akin to that of a frog.

Sighing in irritation, I lift my head to find none other than Umbridge glaring down at me, her ugly pink bow casting a shadow over her eyes.

"Hello professor," I smile innocently. "love the bow. I hear Voldemort has a green one, do you guys trade off every once in awhile?"

Snickers break out across the room, Harry's being the most prominent. My lips quirk up into a proud smirk.

"Why are you sleeping in my class?"

"I'm just preparing for all the sitting and waiting I'll be doing when the Death Eaters are torturing me." I deadpan. "Since, you know, I'm not learning to cast spells or anything."

"As I've said before," Umbridge hisses, her lips twisted into an overly kind smile. "there is no dark magic waiting for you out there. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is gone!"

I hum, thoughtfully. "Maybe I should call up Diggorey and ask him. Oh wait," I fake a gasp. "I can't because Voldemort killed him."

Once again, snicker echo throughout the otherwise silent room.

"Detention Ms. Jackals." Umbridge grits, already turning on her obnoxiously pink heels and storming away.

Sighing, I grab my bag off the floor and sling it over my shoulder. "See ya Harry." I mutter, climbing out of my seat and grabbing my book. I turn to look at Zayn.

I tap my knuckles on his textbook. "Good luck, Z."

I make my way through the desks, mind foggy as I think of returning to Slytherin common room for a much needed nap before my detention. I'm almost to the doorway when Umbridge calls out my name again.

I turn on my heel to look at her, faking a smile.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I nudge my thumb in the direction of the doorway behind me. "Figured I'd go prepare for the mental anguish that is writing lines."

"One of these days, that smart mouth of yours will get you in a lot of trouble."

I smirk, tossing my textbook into the trash next to the door with a loud thump. "I'm counting on it."

Ignoring Umbridge's glare, I spin around and exit the room, smiling at the thought of my pillowy bed waiting for me.

~

The painful throbbing behind my eyes does nothing to dull the stinging of Umbridge's lines on the back of my hand. After three hours of writing lines, the quill scratching the letters into the back of my hand, Umbridge had given up on my lack of tears and now even more heavily instilled attitude towards her.

I drag my feet away from her office, hand clenching and unclenching, reveling in the brief half a second that it goes numb. The corridor is dark, the candle lights casting shadows across the walls. A few feet ahead, nose stuck in a book sits a familiar boy with familiar floppy curls.

My lips quirk up into a grateful smile when I spot him. He's changed out of his robes, now clad in a dark green hoodie and a pair of tight black jeans. His usual brown boots sit on his feet, the toe of his left one curling into his right one.

"Harry?" I ask even though I know it's him. His head snaps up, eyes lighting up when he sets his gaze on me. He shuts his book, placing it on the bench next to him and clambering to his feet.

He meets me halfway down the hallway, his pace quicker than usual. As soon as I'm in arm's length, he's reaching for my hands. Out of instinct, I tug my left one back and tuck it behind me.

Frowning, Harry tugs me closer by my left hand. "Let me see it, lovie." He urges, free hand slipping around my waist and hooking his fingers around my wrist. I let him pull my hand forward, focusing on the candle burning against the wall so I don't have to look at the disappointment on his face as he reads the words written in blood.

I must respect Umbridge and her big, fat mouth

His thumb tickles over the unwounded part of my hand. He lets out a tiny laugh, so quiet I wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for how closely were standing to each other.

"I'm assuming that's not what she asked you to write?"

"Technically it is." I answer. "I just added my own touch. If I'm going to scar, might as well personalize it."

He drops my right hand, instead cupping the back of my neck in his warm palm. I shiver at his touch, meeting his gaze. His eyes, mossy and mysterious as the Forbidden Forest, watch me intently with a sort of warmth that I can feel bubbling in my stomach.

"You're too much." He whispers, squeezing my neck softly.

"It's my specialty." I grin, nudging my shoe against his.

"Lucky you're cute," He murmurs, dimples sinking into the plushy part of his cheeks. I find myself dreaming of pressing my lips into them.

"Why's that?"

"I'd be biting your head off for antagonizing her if it weren't for how sweet you look right now."

Humming, I let my body fall into his and tuck my nose into the thick column of his throat. He smells of cinnamon and pine with a hint of campfire and it makes my toes curl.

"Do you not like being seen with me?"

His words take me by surprise, his voice still soft but not as confident as before. I wrap my free arm around his waist, shaking my head softly.

"I just don't want the drama that will instill if we tell everyone. " I say, keeping my answer vague. I don't exactly want to tell him that I'm afraid of the way my father will treat him if he finds out.

Harry stays silent. I pull back enough to look at him, knocking my lips against the bottom of his chin. "Think of all the shit we'll get from our houses. I'd like to enjoy being snuggled up to you without Kane or Parkinson biting our heads off."

"Wouldn't it be worth it?" Harry asks, using his chin to gently nudge me to look up at him. "Getting to hold your hand all the time? Walk ya to class? Know I'd take good care of you, lovie."

"I know." I respond immediately. One of the first things that drew me to Harry was how kind he is. Whether it be the fact that I didn't receive this kind of protection at home growing up or if I'm just a sucker for Harry, doesn't matter because I love how open I feel when it's just him and I.

"Will you think about it?" He breathes, breath fanning over my blushing cheeks. "For me?"

I nod, blinking sluggishly when he leans closer to me and pecks his lips between my eyes. "Thank you Lily."

"Of course." I whisper, leaving my eyes shut as he pecks the tip of my nose. "Anything for you, H."

My breath catches in my chest, finally feeling his lips mesh with mine for a tender kiss that makes my chest ache for more. I let my eyes flutter open when he pulls away, meeting his dopey gaze and realizing how utterly fucked I am when I notice his hoodie brings out the darkest green of his eyes, but standing in the empty corridor, wrapped up in him I don't care what my father or anyone else has to say about us.

[suckerforsaikik]

Hypothetically, HYPOTHETICALLY, if someone were to write a Saiki Kusou no Psi nan crossover with assassination classroom. In your opinion, what would be the funniest, clever or most mysterious way to integrate him into class 3-E? (Assuming you've read/watched the series that is).

(this took way too long because i ended up binging the whole series for ‘research’)

Summary: Saiki tries to hide his psychic powers from the assassination classroom when he finds himself in their world.

Saiki needed to stop getting himself into these situations. He didn’t know which gods felt the need to torment him like they did, but an angry letter of complaint to their office wasn’t enough to make up for what happened.

It started as soon as he woke up. Approximately 0.0076 seconds after he got out of his bed, Saiki had noticed something wasn’t right.His limiter had fallen out during his sleep, and was now partially under the pillow. His bed and the better chunk of his room were submerged in sand, which went on for miles. Using his clairvoyance, Saiki still couldn’t see any people for a good 50 kilometres. He had found himself in the middle of the desert.

“Yare yare, I must’ve teleported.”

He then had tried teleporting to his house, but he couldn’t find it. He went through the whole neighbourhood, but his dad and mom didn’t seem to… exist? He even checked the whole country, But popping up all over Japan attracted the attention of a few parties.

And that eventually ended up with him here, With a government agent prattling on about whatever threat the world faced. After revealing his telekinesis on a surveillance camera (thankfully they never found out about his teleportation), the government of Japan had noticed him, and had immediately dragged him to a secret government bunker, talking about how they knew he had special powers. Not that he was listening. Instead, he was worrying over what had happened to everyone he know. The latest theory he had come up with was he had hopped a dimension. It only happened once before, and ended with him running from powerful espers from the 7th division of Claw. He soon realized it would take a day to get back to his normal dimension when he was trying to get back, so that was probably the minimum amount of time he’d have to spend here.

“What a cliche trope”  Saiki sighed. “I’ll just have to play along, I guess”

“-the reward is 30 billion yen to kill that yellow monster. Will you do it?” The annoying side character agent, who introduced himself as Shiro, finished.

Saiki rolled his eyes. Even if he’d rather spend the day taking advantage of this universe’s coffee jelly, he knew he couldn’t escape the plot. If he tried running, he would just get dragged back into it for some stupid reason, or he’d be pulled into another, more ridiculous, story. It was the only thing that could beat him.

A nod confirmed his alliance.

“Excellent! I’ll get you prepared.” Saiki’s mind-reading abilities told him Shiro wasn’t the most mentally stable, but he figured he’d have a few episodes before Shiro went full crazy.

“Time to get you enrolled in the assassination classroom.”

—

(Somewhere in a sketchy government facility)

A bloodstained report smacked onto the desk of the prime minister.

“We have intel.” the spy who had delivered the file spoke, with his toque shading his eyes, and you could only see his dark pupils drilling down into your head.

“What’s it aboot?” The prime minister’s eyes had seen his fair share of wars, they were dark and unbreakable like a beaver’s den. He pulled the files toward him, examining the files with the intensity of as if they were tickets to a professional hockey game.

“The Japanese have been keeping secrets from us, sir. They have been hosting a dangerous octopus creature, who says they’ll destroy the Earth next March.”

“Those bastards.” The prime minister stood up from his desk, causing his chair to scrape the floor as it moved away from him.

“When I’m done with them, I’ll show them no mercy.” He furrowed his brows. “I’d bet a toonie they thought we couldn’t help because we’re a ‘peaceful’ country. I’ll show them… when we BLOW UP THAT MONSTER OURSELVES!!”

“How do you plan to accomplish that, sir?”

“Heat seeking missiles. We aim it right at the students so that damn octopus can’t escape, then we bomb the whole thing with anti-teacher pellets.”

“Sorry for doubting your plan, sir.”

“Sorry for making you doubt my plan.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

—

“I hear we’re getting another student transfer, Kayano!” Nagisa stopped to chat with his fellow student on the way to their mountain school.

“Do you think they’ll be normal this time?” Kayana said.

“Doubtful” Itona appeared. “The only transfer students we have are freaks. I had tentacles, Ritsu’s an assassination machine, and Karma has too many problems to be ‘normal’.” he listed the transfer students’ ‘quirks’ on his fingers.

“You might want to stop insulting me,” behind Itona, Karma stood. He smirked, then said “But I wouldn’t disagree.”

Everyone made their way to class, where KoroSensei was waiting.

“Hello class.” He tittered. “ The new transfer student comes today, and he has ALREADY challenged me to a fight, so we’re moving quite fast. Ooh, telekinesis? How intriguing!”

After staring at the note intently, KoroSensei held it up, showing japanese kanas spelling out the time and place for meeting, along with the students known powers.

“Now please be patient, everyone. The student should arrive right–”

The door to the classroom blew open. Shiro stepped into the scene, with Saiki a few seconds behind him, yet already regretting it.

“Hi.” Saiki said.

Stepping into the classroom, The minds of the students told Saiki about the previous fights of different rivals of Korosensei. All of them had failed, obviously. They tried to kill him, got beaten badly, then learned the value of friendship and working together. It seemed that was what was expected of him as a transfer. Saiki could at least help speed the process up.

‘Alright,’ he thought, ‘ I guess I have to do it.’

He held up his hands in surrender.

“Oh no. You are too strong, I can see it now. There is no way I can beat you. I’m so sorry, Shiro, I guess I’m giving up.” He walked off to the empty seat in the corner of the classroom, right next to a window. He smirked. A few more hours and he’d be out of this classroom .

“W-What?!” Shiro sputtered, stepping closer to Saiki with an intent to murder, “You’re supposed to fight. Get up and KILL HIM!!” he reached to grab Saiki’s shoulder’s before Korosensei’s tentacles pulled him away.

“You’re not allowed to hurt any of my students, Shiro.” Korosensei said, smiling. “Please excuse yourself from this classroom.”

Shiro left, albeit slowly. Saiki’s recently created plan was going well.

As Korosensei started the lesson, a student with flashy red hair (‘Karma Akabane’ Saiki noticed) leaned over to talk to him from the other desk.

“So, I heard you had telekinesis.” Karma face was two inches from Saiki. Saiki couldn’t really deny his powers here. He nodded.

“Interesting!” His face was now just an inch away. “Can I have an example?”

Yare yare. Saiki waved his hands, and a spoon flew into his hand from a nearby lunchbox. Letting go of it so it could float on its own, the metal spoon bent before Karma’s widening eyes. He let out a gasp,  making everyone turn to see the spoon that was levitating thanks to a certain psychic’s powers. Now he had an audience.

“Wow! I guess it’s true. How much power do you have?  Can you lift a car? A train? Could you fix the moon?”

“Why would I need to-” Shoot. That was close to revealing himself as an outsider. His telepathy showed him the broken crescent moon that all the class was thinking about. Could he fix it? He would have to take out his limiter and turn it back seven years, though it wouldn’t be hard theoretically. But if he said yes, that would mean they would ask him to fix it. It also wouldn’t make sense to how he could fix a whole moon and not defeat a yellow octopus man. Lying was the better option here. “I mean, no, Nothing bigger than spoons.”

“Um, okay.” The whole class was staring at him now. He could tell they were suspicious. He just had to switch the subject, and then they would forget.

“So what are those weird pink balls on your head?”

Shoot. He had forgotten to telepathically suggest they were hairpins. Being the center of attention was too dangerous.

“They’re my hairpins.” Everyone seemed to accept that, thank the gods.

“Wow! Can I pull them out and see them?” one classmate reached for his head.

“No.”

Yare yare. He might not survive today.

—

As Saiki was being tortured by the students of 3-E, Korosensei was sitting read The Great Gatsby. Even when he was thoroughly enjoying his book, his nose caught the faint smell of chemicals. Normally this wouldn’t be the biggest issue, but the chemicals were a fuel-oxidizer mixture, they were up in the air, and they were coming closer at a rate too fast to be a plane. Missiles, then. He could smell out the steam of infrared electricity, so they were heat-seeking missiles, specifically. Why would anyone send heat-seeking missiles to him? He didn’t produce that much heat, so the missile would more likely go to actual people like-

The children.

They were aiming for the schoolchildren, to keep him here. Korosensei couldn’t smell it now, but he bet there was also an anti-sensei missile searing through the sky towards him.

How could he solve this? He needed to stop the missiles, firstly. Should he tell the students? No, that would only worry them about problem with an obvious solution.

He flew off from his desk in the classroom. At Mach 20, disabling the missiles would be easier than stopping them physically with his lack of strength. Then he would have to bury them in the ocean, or maybe space. Speeding up to the closest missile, he noticed a Canadian flag design on its side.

“Canada, hmm? It’s always the quiet ones.”

He tried to open up the hatch to the missiles wires, but his tentacles burst as he touched the metal plating.

“Anti-sensei plating.” that made it harder. He could go back and grab his napkin to hold it, but he couldn’t navigate the wire system accurately with such a huge handicap. The only option was to evacuate the students and hopefully get out of the missiles range.

He flew back to the classroom, where a certain psychic was sitting.

Of course, Saiki knew about the missiles. With a quick check using clairvoyance, he counted 3 in total. Heading straight for them at about Mach 15. There was enough explosives to decimate the whole mountain. Korosensei may try and save all his students, but there were only 20 seconds left. He wouldn’t make it.

Korosensei quickly shoved his students out the door of the classroom.  He talked quickly as he persuaded them out of the building, but he was too agitated to fully explain the situation. Now there were 15 seconds. The missiles could be seen before Saiki and rest of the students were all outdoors. Everyone immediately realized what KoroSensei had been trying to do, and started to sprint, but no one here was fast enough to escape except Korosensei, and he would not abandon his students. 10 seconds. They seemed to realize the couldn’t outrun their death, so they just stood, motionless, wondering what would happen next. Less than 5 seconds left.

—

Saiki knew he had to do it. They would question it, and ask him why he hadn’t used his powers. But even if he hated confrontation, and talking, and socializing, that wouldn’t matter if they were dead. His rule of not interfering would be broken, but he could make an exception. No matter what excuse he made to himself, he knew he wouldn’t run away.

Two seconds left.

Saiki calmly stepped forwards to the missiles, putting himself in front of all his classmates. His hands stretched out before him. Like they were frozen in time, all three missiles slowed to a stop, five feet away from the students they were to kill.

But that was only a temporary solution. Taking out his limiter, Saiki set the missiles to seven years in the past. Plates of metal materialized to take their place, and fell to the grass. The clattered onto the ground unceremoniously

No one spoke.

“Wow.” Karma was the first to break the silence, “One question. How?”

“I’m uh… not from around here.” Saiki fiddled with his hands too much to be normal. He’d rather get hit by a missile than be asked awkward questions in front of a crowd.

“You’re American??!”

“No, that’s-” Why was everyone so stupid? “A bit farther than that.”

“You’re an alien!!”

“No…(Yare yare) well, close enough.”

“So why?” Nagisa asked. He seemed to have completely recovered from the shock of certain death, and now stood in his usual pose. Not cocky or reserved, but unfazed.

“Why what?”

“Why would you lie?”

“Because then you’d ask me to kill KoroSensei,” This much talking and honesty was getting uncomfortable. He might end up teleporting away from his problems.

“You can?”

Korosensei had gotten over the attempted bombing of his students and his regular smile was now imprinted on his face. “Now now, class, I’m sure he wouldn’t be able to,” he coughed. “So you aren’t remaining to study with our class?”

“No, I have 20 hours left in this universe”

“So you’re staying with us until then.”

“I was going to go and grab some coffee jelly from-”

“Great! We can teach you some assassination moves!”

They started to forcefully drag Saiki up the mountain, back into the classroom.

“So Saiki,” Karma said, in a cheery tone, “Can you fix the moon?”

“Yes, I’m powerful enough to.”

“Will you fix it, please?”

“No.”

[purplebenjy]

1998

For the second time in his life, Benjy Fenwick had just been dumped. And it still sucked.

What had happened with Ollie had been as close to amiable as break ups could be, but what happened with Lisa cut deep.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

She’d said this against his lips when his hands were under her shirt. He’d laughed, thinking she was joking because she didn’t like what he was doing, but when Lisa had pulled away fully, Benjy had stopped laughing. He redid his pants and sat up in his back seat of the Honda Civic his brothers all pooled together to buy him for his sixteenth.

“Uh, okay? Why?”

Lisa had shrugged and fixed her blouse.

“I’ve got a crush on someone else.”

Jealousy had bloomed in his chest by then and Benjy felt his jaw twitch when he spat out the word “who?”

Lisa fished a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of her jeans and lit up. Annoyed, Benjy leaned over her and rolled down the window.

“Does it matter?”

Benjy sucks on his bottom lip for a second.

“What’s he got that I don’t?”

It was pathetic and he knew it, but he was blindsided. He thought things were going good. Not great, but good. Lisa was hot with long blonde hair and good tits. Not great, but good. She liked the same bands as he did, always dated skateboarders and tried to look like Courtney Love. She’d taken one of his flannels and hadn’t given it back and sometimes she blew him in his car after they went to the movies. It wasn’t love, but he was having a good time with her. He liked her a whole lot and she gave him attention and clout among his friends. He figured they’d at least go to prom together in a few months. Benjy watched as she shifted a little in her seat, ashed her cigarette out the window.

“He’s just different, Benjy. I don’t know.”

“Different how?” He tried to keep his voice level, but it still cracked. He reached for her hand but she pulled away.

“You’re a little uh....gay.”

He stared at her as she turned her face to look out the window.

“Groovy.” Benjy muttered, before sliding up and over the center console and into the driver’s seat. He punched the radio off, cutting Cheryl Crow off mid song. They sat in silence, the only sound Benjy’s exhaust. He pulled up in front of Lisa’s house and his brakes screeched as he parked.

“Benjy...” He flicked his eyes up to the backseat to look at her.

“It’s nothing personal.”

Before he could even say anything, she slid out of his back seat and was gone. This sentence has been haunting him ever since. It’s been two days and today when he saw her after fifth period, she was sucking face with that asshole named Trent.

Benjy doesn’t quite remember what happened after that, just Trent’s fist in his face and now his lip is swelling up. He cut the rest of the day and now he was here in the skatepark, trying and failing to try the new kind of flip he’d been practicing for weeks.

“It’s nothing personal.”

“Shit-“

He falls hard on his back, his board going up the half pipe and then falling back down to hit him in the ribs. As he slowly gets up, Benjy decides one thing;

It’s time to make it personal.

~

It starts out innocent enough, a couple cans on spray paint that he finds on clearance at the hardware store. Finding Asshole Trent’s car is easy too, he’s got a racing stripe on a fucking Jeep. He’s a surfer instead of a skater if the stupid board on the top of his stupid car is any stupid indication. Benjy doesn’t stalk them per se, just follows them to the beach. And waits in his own car until they run off into the waves. And pulls his sweatshirt tight around his face when he runs out of his car, low to the ground, doing a somersault partially to cover more distance but also cause it’s fun. He stands out wildly at the beach, and when he glances around, he sees a mother start to pull her two children in the opposite direction, glaring at him. Benjy snorts out his first laugh in two days and shakes the spray paint can, spraying the day-glo orange over the white Jeep with its stupid green racing stripe;

“Nothing personal.”

~

Trent’s stupid car, now complete with Benjy’s new tag, was the talk of the school. Most people were able to figure out it was him, but no one beyond Lisa and her new surfer girl aesthetic seemed to care. Benjy had a new hobby. The nothing personal tag started showing up all over his high school campus and around town, usually in whatever color was on clearance that week.

Suki was taking on extra kids during the day as a pseudo daycare so she didn’t have the time to notice that Benjy was late nearly every day thanks to either detention or running around, tagging the town. She didn’t notice, not at all, until he got a ride home in the back of a police cruiser.

All he was trying to do was to tag “nothing personal” on a wall on the side of an alley, when he’d gotten spotted. He’d stopped wearing the hoodie, mostly cause it was warming up but also cause it kept fucking with his hair-naturally that would be his downfall. Benjy’d been so good at out running the cops, so good at climbing trees and dirt mounds and sides of buildings to get away, but the bane of his existence, of course, was a chain link fence. The cop had basically picked him off the links like an apple and had detained him easily, pushing Benjy up against the fence after he’d pulled him down in a way he didn’t totally hate after he’d noticed how built the cop’s arms were. Pissed at himself for getting caught and at this strangely hot cop for catching him, Benjy refused to tell him anything, which resulted in a very confusing search for his wallet after he’d been handcuffed. The cop marched Benjy back to his squad car and all but thrown him inside. He hears the cop call in his name to the radio, reading it off of his driver’s license. He hears something he can’t quite make out and from his spot in the backseat through the bars, he sees hot cop balk.

“Are you sure?”

“Affirmative.”

The car’s engine flips over.

“Where do you live, kid?”

“Get fucked.”

Hot Cop mumbles something and his car squawks once as he starts to back up. And now Benjy still sat there, in the backseat with the bracelets digging into his wrists as the cop talks to his mom. Benjy hears the sound of another car pull up behind them and he twists around just in time to see the person get out of the car. And when Benjy sees who it is, fear shoots through him for the first time that afternoon.

It’s Alastor Moody, his dad’s old partner. He’s not in uniform like the hot cop, instead he’s in a pretty nice suit. When Al looks into the window, Benjy shrinks back into the seat. He watches him as he speaks to the other officer, who then nods and gets into the car Moody showed up in. He twists back around and something tugs at his chest when he watches his mom wipe at her face, obviously upset. He didn’t get why this had to be a big deal, it was just a stupid wall. He wasn’t hurting anyone, if anything he was making a boring thing look better. He sits up straighter now, his argument formed, but it dies in his throat when Al opens the driver side door and wordlessly starts the car. Benjy waits for him to say something, anything. For him to start yelling at him, tell him he’s a disappointment, a delinquent, anything. But nothing. Just silence. Especially when Moody punches off the radio.

“Are you going to read me my rights or what, old man?”

He’s trying to goad him, and it works. Kind of. Moody quietly rolls into a stop and glances up at him in the review mirror.

“You’re not under arrest.”

Somehow this makes Benjy more uneasy. He tugs at the handcuffs, making them clink.

“Then can you take these off?”

“Nope.”

Benjy grunts and props himself up against the door, chin on the windowsill, as much as he can be to be out of view of Al.

They drive for what feels like half an hour, but is probably ten more minutes, getting further out of the middle of town.

“Al?”

“So it’s Al now, not old man?”

“....are you going to kill me?”

Alastor chuckles darkly.

“Probably not.”

“Do you have your gun on you?”

“Do you need me to answer that?”

“Shit.”

He hears Moody chuckle again, and before Benjy knows it, they’re on the Golden Gate Bridge, driving out of the city completely.

“Are you taking me to military school?”

“Shut up, Benjy.”

He does, the events of the past few weeks playing in his head. Lisa. The tag. “You’re a little uh...gay.” Nothing personal. His mom crying. His spray paint covered hands forced behind his back right this moment.

“Al?”

“You’re really bad at following directions.”

“Do I seem too gay to you?”

The eyes that flick back towards him at the next stop light are confused now.

“Are you gay?”

“No.”

“But you....”

“You can be with guys and not be gay.”

“Okay okay, bite my head off. I’m trying to learn. So what’s seeming ‘too gay?’”

Benjy shrugs as best as he can.

“I dunno. Like I’m not masculine enough or something. Fucked up and wrong. Weird or girly or something-“

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Al says forcibly, before hitting his turn signal and exiting the freeway they were now on. “Well I mean, you’re a degenerate-“

“And artist-“

“-but other than that. Nothing. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Benjy sits up properly now, not totally believing him. They’re quiet again, but it’s not the scary quiet from before, it’s different. Loaded. Benjy waits a few more minutes before he breaks it.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“....did I uh, say sorry about that yet?”

Moody pulls over, getting out of the car and sliding into the backseat beside Benjy. He undoes the handcuffs and clips them to his belt.

“I’m not the one you need to be sorry to, Benj.”

“Well is someone else gonna come and kidnap me so I can apologize to them-I’ll shut up now.” He cuts himself off based on Moody’s look. “Who do I need to be sorry to? My mom?���

Moody sighs and gets out of the car, walking around the front to open the other door.

“Get out. Do you know where we are?”

“Uh...” He looks around, seeing older kids with backpacks, some on bikes and skateboards. Someone’s playing guitar on a bench. “Somewhere with hippies?”

Moody chuckles, ushering Benjy to the sidewalk.

“You’re not wrong. This is UC Berkeley, Benj. Your art teacher thinks you’re good enough to get in here if you keep going in the way you’ve been. And I mean, I don’t know nothing about nothing but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think you’re too shabby either . But you know who they don’t let in?”

It clicks as Moody stares him down.

“.....I’m guessing people with arrest records?”

Moody claps him on the shoulder.

“Bingo. I’m not ever gonna bail you out like this again, kid. I did this for your mom and your dad, yeah, but uh...I mostly did it for you. This looks a lot better to me than prison but...”

Moody shrugs.

“If you wanna throw away something great, that’s your choice. But if you do, the only person you’ll need to say sorry to is yourself.”

Moody lets go of his shoulder and gets in the car. Benjy stares at campus, the ideas Moody planted wiggling around in his brain. He could get in here? People thought he was good enough? He looks a little closer at the people sitting on the grass. They’re dressed a little strange, loose clothes and long hair and just...different. Like him.

He turns to the police cruiser window, hitting it with his knuckles until Moody cracks it.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with me?”

“Other than too much energy and a bad haircut? No.”

“Rude.” Benjy fails to hide his smile in a scowl. His smile grows as he looks at campus. It looks a lot more fun than prison; or even just regular old high school. A strange thrill shoots through him when he notices one of the students on the grass is laying on the lap of another boy. They’re talking about something and the boy laying down laughs before reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his boyfriend’s ear. Someone whizzes past him on roller skates and breaks the moment. Benjy turns back to the car window.

“Can I get a ride home?”

Moody takes a sip from his travel mug.

“Only if it’s in the back seat.”

Benjy groans.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Oh, and your mom told me to tell you you’re super grounded.”

“I figured.” Benj says with a shrug of his own as he casually opens the back door of the cop car and throws the few people across the street giving him strange looks a grin and a wave as he hops in.

“You keep the meter running?”

“I can still arrest you.”

Benjy laughs, suddenly a lot lighter. He sits on the side closest to campus so he can look at for as long as possible as Moody drives away.

“Al?”

“Yeah?”

Benjy leans forward as close to him as he can, face pressed up against the bars.

“Thanks.”

Al just nods, turning on FM radio.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

Benjy settles back in his seat, fingers twitching as he already wants to get home and sketch, suddenly much more motivated. He’s hoping he’s not grounded from that. He wants to get home and apologize, maybe even grovel and try to make it up to his mom. Unfortunately, right before they get to the bridge, they hit rush hour traffic. Benjy shifts in his seat, pressing his face against the bars again.

“Can you turn on the siren?”

“Nope.”

“Pussy.”

It might be a trick of the light, but he swears he sees Moody smile.

[searchforthescars]

Litany - Chapter 9/?

I told @bombshellsandbluebells that this was between a 6-8 on the angst scale. Hopefully that was right haha

I must also thank @sarcasticdebate for her headcannon for my fic, which wormed its way into this chapter (see: the end)

Thanks for reading!

Start from the beginning:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Leave me a review on Ao3

Here is the part where everyone was happy all the time and we were all forgiven, even though we didn’t deserve it. Inside your head you hear a phone ringing, and when you open your eyes you’re washing up in a stranger’s bathroom, standing by the window in a yellow towel, only twenty minutes away from the dirtiest thing you know.

Then

“I got arrested once,” John tells her, taking a swig from the bottle of crappy vodka they’re sharing.

Something between a laugh and a cough catches in her throat. “You? For what?”

He grins, sharp, proud and self-deprecating all at once. “Arson.”

Emori chokes on a laugh. “What the hell?”

John passes her the bottle. She takes it in her bad hand. His eyes follow the motion. “I lit a guy’s bed on fire. It spread to the curtains, then up to the ceiling, and the whole place lit up like a fucking tinder box.”

Emori swallows hard around the lump in her throat and the vodka in her mouth. “Why’d you do it?”

He reaches for her hand. He takes her wrist, the scarred one attached to the worst part of her, puts the bottle down and presses a kiss there. “He talked shit about Raven.” Emori snorts. “I know. I was really well-adjusted, clearly. But,” he trails off. His eyes cloud with memories. Emori rubs her good hand over his arm to bring him back. “He killed my dad, too. So fair’s fair.”

“But you got away with it,” she says softly, the alcohol going to her head, making her brave enough to inch closer, rest her legs atop his, press a kiss to the underside of his sharp jaw.

He looks down at her. “I get away with a lot of things.”

The sound of the front door closing wakes Emori up.

“John?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. “John?” She reaches behind her, her hand searching for his body. He might hate her for asking him to leave - it’s for his own safety, she tells herself, as if that makes it hurt any less - but surely he wouldn’t have left her.

The bed is empty. A cold shiver runs down her spine.

“He left,” Otan says from the couch. He switches on the dim lamp near his head and looks at her over the cushions. “Just now.”

She doesn’t think; she springs from the bed, sprints across the apartment, flings the door open and races down three flights of steep, metal stairs, barely brushing the floor with her feet before bursting out the fire door and looking around frantically. He’s crossing the street, his figure barely illuminated by the one flickering streetlight on the block.

“John!” she gasps, chest heaving. “John!”

She runs to him, grabs his wrist and pulls. He stops and doesn’t turn.

“What, Emori?” he snaps.

“You could have stayed the night,” she whispers. Her words catch in her throat. She feels her bare feet tremble against the concrete.

“What?”

He turns around to face her. She feels herself exhale sharply. “You could’ve stayed,” she says again, a little louder. “At least until the morning.”

“It is the morning.” She can’t tell if that’s his excuse to leave, or just a casual observation. “You told me I shouldn’t.”

“That’s not- I didn’t mean you had to go right now.”

He sighs. The hurt in his eyes burns so intensely she feels it may incinerate her. “Make up your mind, then.”

She has to stop herself from physically recoiling at his words. “Fine,” she snaps. “Then go. I’m not stopping you.”

She realizes suddenly how pathetic she must look, standing in the cold, barefoot on the sidewalk, clutching the wrist of a boy she barely knows but somehow loves.

“Go,” she says again, softer this time. She drops his wrist and looks up at him. His eyes are half-shut as he looks down at her, as if he wants to kiss her or kill her, but can’t decide which.

He inhales as if he’s about to say something, then turns and walks away. She wraps her arms around herself, curls inwards as if shielding herself from a blow, and watches him go.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been outside. She doesn’t realize she’s shivering or remember where she is until she feels her brother’s warm hand on her shoulder.

“Em?” He sounds worried. He wraps his old leather jacket around her shoulders. She turns her face to the collar of it; it smells like grease and dry air. “What happened?”

She looks up at him and smiles softly, partially to reassure him that she’s okay, partially to keep the tears welling in her eyes from falling. “He left.”

Otan’s brow furrows. She can see the concern in his eyes. The sky is the darkest it will ever be this side of morning. Emori wants to take that darkness and swallow it, make it part of who she is, make herself into something brittle and broken enough to never be hurt like this again.

“What happened?” Otan asks.

She doesn’t have the energy to pick apart Otan’s concern for her, to wonder if it’s real or just an act born of contrition, so she makes the cautious assumption that it’s genuine.

“He-” The tears in her eyes have trickled down to her throat. They threaten to choke her, so she clears her throat and tries again. “He wouldn’t have been safe here. Not with what I have to do. And he was angry that I didn’t want him to stay.”

“But you’re right,” Otan says slowly, brow furrowed. “It’s not safe, so why-”

“Because I did want him to stay!” Emori shouts, not mindful of the late hour or the possible noise complaint from the neighbors. “I wanted him here, but I told him to go home so he wouldn’t get hurt! And now he thinks I don’t want him at all!”

She lets out one small sob, and Otan wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. “I didn’t want him to go,” she whispers. “Why didn’t I want him to go?”

“You loved him,” Otan murmurs, and something inside her twists painfully at the past-tense verb.

Emori shakes her head. “I can’t have. I only knew him for-” she breaks off to count from August to November. “Three months.”

Otan sighs. The sound against her ear brings back a flood of memories, small moments from before she knew she couldn’t trust him. “We’ve always been like that, you and me. Love who you have, and love them as quick as you can, because nothing good lasts.”

He’s right. Her gut twists again. “I missed you,” she whispers. Her feet are going numb. Her teeth are still chattering. “Why did you leave me?”

“I’m sorry, Em,” he whispers against her hair. “I’m sorry.”

Eventually, she swallows her tears and becomes aware of Otan’s shaking arms around her. “You’re cold,” she mumbles. “We should get back inside.”

They clatter up the metal stairs, which are freezing against Emori’s numb feet, and collapse on the bed. She doesn’t bother to clean off her feet or take off Otan’s jacket; she just burrows under the covers that feel as cold as the air outside. Otan lets her hide her head against his shoulder and pretends along with her that she’s not crying.

They curl together like they used to, back when they were young in their mother’s shitty apartment that never had heat, back when they were newly-minted criminals in the basement out in the country that leaked when it rained and spit roaches when it was hot, back when they were the best team in the illegal tech trade and lived out of alleys and cars.

“I was an idiot,” Otan says softly. It’s an apology. Emori knows that for sure.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, sniffing back a few tears. She hears John’s voice in her head telling her that she should drink some water, that she’s been crying too much.

She has been. She has been crying too much, over her brother and John and everyone in that house and everything that she is.

She’s going to change that, she decides. Starting now. No more apologies, no more crises of conscience. It’s her and Otan against the world, just like it always was. She shouldn’t want to be anything else. She won’t want to be anything else.

“Love you, O,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. I’ll fix it.”

“You’d better,” Otan says with a laugh. Emori was talking about his current predicament with Gideon, but she has a feeling he’s talking about John. “I’ve never seen someone look at you like that.”

Her brother’s observance is really not helping her resolve. “So?”

“Don’t tell me you really want to let that go.”

Emori rolls onto her back and crosses her arms over her middle. “I don’t know, Otan.” She hears her voice take on a bitter bite and gnaws on her lower lip until the anger subsides. “It doesn’t matter. He hates me now.”

“Because you told him to leave?”

Emori laughs. “You’re so innocent sometimes, you know that?”

Otan looks offended. “Hey! I have a longer rap sheet than you; I’m way beyond innocent.”

“Not with this.” She looks over at him. “Have you ever been in love?”

Otan studies the comforter. Distantly, Emori wonders about the people who lived here before. Why did they leave so much behind? Who were they? Who made those drawings on the kitchen wall, and who taped the bedroom window shut?

“I might have been, once,” he says softly. Emori’s head snaps to look at him. “It was a long time ago, though.”

“You’re not that old,” she says, partially to tease and partially to get more of the story out of him.

“You were probably...ten?” he guesses, studying the ceiling with intent eyes. “She moved into the apartment across from us - this was when we were squatting in that housing development - and she came over once to see if we had any tools so she could put together a desk. She was tough and arrogant and a total bitch, and I was totally gone for her from the second I saw her.”

Emori frowns. She doesn’t remember this story at all. “What happened?”

“I got arrested, and she looked after you for a couple days.”

Now Emori remembers. “Her? Really?”

Otan nods. “When I got back, I took her out. We kissed, made out a little at her place. But she shut herself off from me after that. And we moved away, and I tried to forget about her.”

“How long did it take you?” She turns her head back to the ceiling so he can’t read the hope in her eyes. “Before you forgot.”

“I never forgot about her,” he laughs sarcastically. “Obviously. And I think if I saw her again that I’d feel the same way I did then. But I stopped missing her about a year after we left.”

A year. A year of feeling like this. Emori feels her heart drop. “Oh.”

Otan starts running his fingers through her tangled hair like he did when she was a kid. “I don’t think your story with him is over, kid. Give it time.”

“Don’t call me kid,” she grumbles, not willing to let on how his words soothed the ache in her gut. She falls into a doze soon after, waking only to nuzzle into the pillow when Otan tells her he loves her.

Arranging a meeting with Gideon has never been the easiest thing, but now it’s damn near impossible without going through his boss, the one guy Emori really doesn’t want to talk to.

“Are you joking?” Emori growls when she reads the coded email sent to Otan’s alias inbox. “Jaha? Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Otan asks.

“He’s a fucking hippie, that’s what,” she snaps. “What kind of name is Thelonious, anyway?”

Otan grins, probably because Emori’s right. He looks like a boy when he smiles, despite the scars stretching over his face. “Well, he’s Gideon’s boss, so you’re going to have to deal with him.”

Emori groans. “He’s better than Baylis, at least.”

Otan’s face darkens suddenly. “Anyone is better than Baylis.”

He wanders around the kitchen a little bit while Emori reluctantly replies to the email with a time and place to meet. Then, once she’s confident Otan won’t look over her shoulder and - despite what she knows is best - she opens her school email.

There’s only two messages there that she actually cares about. Her heart pounds as she opens the first one.

 From: RReyes

Subject: where are you?

Your phone’s off and J won’t tell me a damn thing. This address is still active, which must mean you haven’t disenrolled. I’m worried about you. I don’t care about the rent or all your stuff - your room is staying as-is - but I’m worried about you. If you’re into something bad, we can help you. We’ll find a way. Call me or Bellamy or J - just call someone. You’re scaring me.

-Raven

She hovers the mouse over the reply button, then hits the delete key instead. She contemplates not reading the second email at all, but before she can stop herself, she opens it.

From: JMurphy

Subject: sorry

I shouldn’t have left like that. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back. We miss you. Monty’s started taping kitchen knives to the top of his roomba to imitate those fighting robot videos he and Jasper like. One of them stabbed Bellamy’s new girlfriend in the ankle. That’s another long story, believe me. Anyway, it’s not the same without you. We cooked out at the lake again but it was too cold so we ended up going home and watching action movies. I think you would’ve liked one of them.

Come home. I miss you.

She doesn’t realize she’s making strange choking noises until Otan appears at her side, face full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” She slams the laptop shut.

“Em.”

She hides her face in her hands and dries her eyes on her glove before any tears can fall. “I’m fine.”

Otan makes a discontented noise, but moves away. Emori deletes John’s email, too.

“Stop fidgeting,” Emori hisses at Otan, who shifts from foot to foot at the mouth of the alley. “You are so not helping.”

“He’s late,” Otan grumbles, kicking a pebble in Emori’s direction. The setting sun paints the broken brick wall behind him a myriad of colors.

Emori tucks her chin into the collar of her jacket and kicks the pebble back at her brother. “Stop,” she says again, leveling him with a stare. “This is why I never let you be the bait in our cons.”

Otan snorts, then shifts so he’s obscured by shadows when two figures appear down the street. Emori peeks around the corner, then swears out loud. “ Shit.”

“What?” Otan leans out again to peer at them. “Do you know them.”

“Emori?” Raven calls, jogging toward her. Bellamy follows, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Emori, what the hell are you doing here?”

Raven looks like she wants to hug Emori, but stops just shy of it. She regards Otan with pursed lips, as if he’s an unfamiliar math problem she despises having to solve. “You.”

Otan gives Raven a small, sarcastic wave. Emori fights the urge to smack him upside the head.

Bellamy catches up. He unwinds his scarf from around his neck and drapes it over Raven’s shoulders when she’s too caught up in inspecting Emori’s face to notice.

“Where have you been?” he asks Emori, his voice worried. From the way Raven is looking at Otan, Emori knows Raven thinks he had something to do with her sudden disappearance.

She remembers Raven’s email. She wonders why John didn’t tell her, or anyone, what had happened.

“She had to help me,” Otan says carefully. Everyone’s eyes turn to Emori. She wants to do something in defiance of their worry and concern, but she can’t think of anything that won’t make this whole thing worse.

“So you’re dragging her down with you, huh?” Raven snaps at him.

Otan looks stung. “Hey, no one asked-”

“Yeah,” Bellamy snaps. “No one asked. You’re older than her, correct?” Otan nods. “Then you are not her responsibility. She is yours.” He scoffs. “You’re the shittiest older brother I’ve ever seen.”

Otan takes two sharp steps forward, as if he’s going to take a swing at Bellamy, and Emori steps in with a loud, “HEY!”

Both men look at her. “Back off, Otan,” she snaps. She looks over her shoulder at Bellamy, feeling her stomach twist into a knot at the look of brotherly concern in his eyes. “Bellamy, you too.”

Bellamy takes a couple steps back. “I let it go when you showed up at the lake,” he tells Otan. “But you took her away from a good life back home, and that’s not what a brother does.”

“You don’t know shit about us,” Otan snaps. At this point, Emori’s tempted to step aside and let them have at each other. She locks eyes with Raven, then nearly laughs when they both roll their eyes in synch.

“No, but I know plenty about being an older brother,” Bellamy counters.

“I fucking hate privileged brats,” Otan grumbles, just loud enough for Bellamy to hear, and Raven lets out a surprised shout when Bellamy skirts around Emori to pin her brother against the brick wall, his hands on Otan’s shoulders.

“Bellamy!” Emori yelps, rushing forward to pull on his arm. “Let him go!”

“I raised my sister from the time she was ten years old,” Bellamy hisses in Otan’s face. “I never once made her feel guilty or beholden to me for it. I gave up countless things to make sure she was provided for and felt safe and loved. I did my damndest to make sure my mistakes never affected her.” He shakes Otan’s shoulders. “You are doing none of that. She doesn’t deserve you, and you sure as hell do not deserve her. So don’t fucking stand here and belittle me for worrying about your sister’s happiness and safety, because it’s more than I’ve ever seen you do.”

“You don’t know a damn thing,” Otan snarls.

“Otan.” Emori’s voice is loud and clear. Above them, the street lamps flicker on. “Stop.”

Footsteps echo in the alley. Emori and Otan’s heads whip toward the noise almost in synch. “You two have to go,” Emori murmurs to Raven, a spike of fear driving through her heart. “Now. Go now.”

“Why?” Bellamy asks, even as he releases Otan.

“Trust me,” Emori whispers.

Raven takes Bellamy’s scarf off her shoulders and throws it at him, turning to face Emori. “Emori, what’s going on?”

Emori steps closer. For some reason, she doesn’t want Otan to know this small thing. “Meet me downtown. The coffee shop on Third Street. Give me an hour.”

Raven nods, then yanks on Bellamy’s arm until he follows her back out into the street. No sooner do they disappear than Gideon appears from the shadows.

“You brought your brother,” he says, his deep voice void of emotion.

Emori squares her shoulders. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Gideon says nothing. Emori takes a deep breath. She feels herself settling into her old self again, into a skin made of lies and disguises and stories that hold only a small grain of truth. “That’s what I thought. Now,” she takes a step forward, “let’s talk.”

This time, Bellamy is the one who looks like he wants to hug Emori as she enters the coffee shop and approaches his and Raven’s table. From the look on both of their faces, she had recently been the topic of discussion. That thought leaves an unpleasant burn in her throat.

“Okay, talk,” Raven says the moment Emori sits down.

Emori blinks at Raven. Adrenaline is still singing in her veins, but she can’t find it in herself to harness it into crafting a believable lie.

So she does the unthinkable. She tells the truth. Well, most of it; she tells them about Otan’s call, the fear in his voice when he asked her for help, and her short-lived homecoming. At Raven’s insistence, she adds sparse details about her half-minded call to John, mostly to explain why Bellamy had to drive him to the train station, but also to purge the lingering ache and fear that haunted her at that moment. She needed someone, and she chose him.

He didn’t choose me, she thinks, unbidden. He could have spent the night and left on good terms.

And just like that, the ache that makes her stomach shiver is back. Her heart crashes against her ribs; the space where it beats aches so badly she fights the urge to press her hand against her breastbone.

Raven has said something. Emori didn’t catch it. “What?”

“Why haven’t you emailed J back?” Raven asks again.

Emori feels her forehead crease. Her good hand flies to her neck. She touches the spot below her ear that always tingled when John kissed her neck. “Is he worried?”

“He’s…” Raven is obviously gauging what will make Emori feel the least guilty, searching for something that is enough to be true but not enough to make her hurt.

“He’s not sure how to handle it,” Bellamy interjects diplomatically. “I don’t think he understands what he’s feeling.”

“Do you?” Emori asks, half combative, half exhausted. She feels the ghost of John’s warm body pressed against her back, sees the hatred in his eyes when he walked away. She feels how John used to describe: detached from the world, hovering near the periphery of reality.

“I think you both are dealing with a lot,” Bellamy says, careful, measured. “He’s still dealing with the trauma from Ontari and his mother, and you’re dealing with your brother.”

Emori can’t help but bristle at the disdain on Bellamy’s face when he thinks of Otan even though, when she thinks of what Bellamy said, she knows he’s right.

Damn it.

“Otan’s my family. He’s my responsibility.”

She’s gripping the edge of the table, she realizes. When she lets go, Raven reaches for her hand. “You’re shaking,” she murmurs.

Emori bites on her lower lip so hard she tastes blood. “I’m fine,” she mutters, trying to pull her hand back. Raven doesn’t let go.

“Emori.” Raven leans forward to look Emori in the eye. Her gaze is steady but her words fail her. Emori looks back, unwavering, hoping her own eyes say, see? There is nothing for me now. I will always be trapped here. You should let me go. You should all just let me go.

Bellamy touches Raven’s elbow after that and tells her they need to go, they’ll miss their train. Nothing is settled and not everything has been said, but Emori watches them walk away nonetheless before wandering deeper into the rich part of the city, past the government buildings and the steel and wood apartment facades and all the shiny, ugly things about this city that she used to fantasize about burning to the ground.

The minutes pass by, littered with stoplights and tears on her cheeks, but she barely notices. She only stops when she reaches the very limits of downtown, and then she sits on the curb and watches the sun go down.

“Emori.”

Emori looks up from the gutter she’s been carefully studying for the past 45 minutes, but doesn’t turn around. “Jaha.”

The older man sits down next to her, extending his legs into the street and crossing them at the ankles. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin there, avoiding his eyes.

“Gideon told me your meeting went well.”

“Yes.” Emori stands. She looks down at Jaha and sighs. Somewhere beyond this street, cicadas are screaming. A firefly flashes before her eyes.

She hates this man. He’s too placid, too delusional, and, worst of all, he took her brother from her long before any of this ever happened.

“Will your brother be returning to us?” Jaha asks carefully.

The question is a punch to the gut, a twist of a knife. “What?”

“You knew Otan was with me,” Jaha says evenly, looking up at her. She knows; she remembers Otan’s knife to her neck, her shaking voice telling him he has a choice: slit her throat and walk away, or come back to her.

Just thinking this, she wants nothing more than to put her fist through Jaha’s face.

“I didn’t know he still worked for you.” She didn’t, truly; the shock in her voice is real. There has been no evidence, no signs of tech with infinity symbols on them anywhere in the apartment.

“He’s been in and out of our ranks, yes, but he’s still one of us.” Jaha regards her placidly. “That was very brave, what you did for him.”

Rage rises up in Emori, threatening to choke her. “Fuck you,” she says, succinctly, and sprints home without a second thought.

The whole way there, her heart is beating out of her chest. She feels like either throwing up or screaming. She makes up her mind when she barges through the apartment door and slams straight into her brother.

“Otan!” she shouts, springing back from him as if he’s burned her. “You’re still working with Jaha?! On the ALIE project?!”

“You knew that!” He’s immediately on guard. He knew this was coming. “What the hell, Emori?”

“I knew you were working with him on the side, but you never said a damn thing about the ALIE project,” she hisses. “You know how dangerous that is! That almost got you killed!” You almost killed me. “Why would you do that?”

“I had no choice,” he hisses. “We pissed Baylis’ crew off, and Jaha would keep me safe.”

“You left me for him ?”

“You were in prison,” Otan argues. “You were safe! I was the one left to the fucking dogs!”

“I thought you left me for good!” Emori screams. “You stopped coming to visit! You stopped answering my calls and emails! You abandoned me!”

“Because Jaha said it was what was best!”

“Fuck you,” Emori seethes. She pushes past her brother, towards the bathroom, eager for a shower and a door that locks. “You chose him over me. That’s all there is to it.”

“Emori-” she hears Otan say, but the slam and lock of the door drowns out any more excuses.

She braces her hands on either side of the sink and regards her reflection in the mirror. She remembers another bathroom, two doors away from-

No. She won’t think about him.

She remembers shaking, spitting bile into a sink, crying into his-

No!

“I’m going to bed, Em,” Otan says through the door. Emori can feel his hesitation, can hear his intake of breath, and breathes out a soft breath when he pads away.

She stays in there for a long while, staring into her own eyes, tracing her cheeks, her tattoo, her jawline, through the stains on the mirror. Eventually, she showers, wrapping herself in a ratty yellow towel she finds under the sink and inspecting her reflection, then what of her body she can see with her own eyes. Through the steam, she notes with interest, her bad hand looks like a root in a foggy forest.

When she was younger, she hated the sight of herself. Now, she’s resigned: resigned to the sadness in her eyes, resigned to the horrible things she’s done, resigned to the darkness forever tugging on the edges of her consciousness, hovering on the periphery of her brain.

She hates it. She can live like this, with her hand and her crimes and the horrible things she’s done, but she doesn’t want to.

The longer she stands still, the more restless she feels. She paces back and forth, walking the length of the bathroom, stopping at the small window across from the door that faces the train tracks and overlooks more apartment buildings, more broken homes, more jagged streets cutting through the city.

She remembers climbing the stairs to the train station, the stone in her stomach that disappeared when she saw him, remembers the sharp and sweet ache that settled in her bones every time she looked at those eyes, that sharp mouth, those desperate hands.

She bursts from the bathroom before she even realizes she’s moving and races to the side of the bed, where her backpack and a small pile of dirty clothes.

She finds it: John’s thermal sweatshirt. She’d forgotten she was wearing it when she left the house, and she clings to it now, despite the rapidly-deteriorating rational part of her brain that screams at her to get rid of it, to forget, to let go, damn it.

As she retreats back to the bathroom, she grabs her phone and types in a number with shaky fingers. The small screen tells her that it’s nearly two in the morning. How long can she keep doing this: living in these disjointed, early hours, processing the things that hurt with an exhausted mind?

“Hello?”

She holds John’s shirt to her chest. The fabric is soft. It smells like Raven’s house, like John’s blankets, like a cold fall night. “I did my part,” she says softly. Her voice sounds like gravel. “He’s...I...” She takes a shuddering breath. “I want to come home.”

“You can.” John’s voice is unreadable. “I’m not stopping you.”

“I won’t do it unless you want me to.”

She can’t see him, but she can tell that something inside him is breaking. “Can I come get you?”

In the mirror, Emori sees herself smile. “Tomorrow. Just so I can say goodbye.”

[thecitrinefox]

Well it’s no sexy Marie Curie but...

(sterekweek day 3, meet cute with a side of halloween and scenestealer I guess, since it’s inspired by a buffy episode. 2.7k, brief language. also imagine stiles’ outfit like hoechin’s from everybody wants some, basically)

Derek is pissed.

“Somebody has to go check on the Nemeton, Derek. Don’t worry Beacon Hills has been quiet lately anyways, Derek,” Derek snarks as he stomps to his car. “No self respecting supernatural creature would start shit on Halloween anyways, Derek. What bullshit.”

The thing is, Derek loves Halloween. Usually. He has a not so secret sweet tooth and an excuse to eat all the candy he likes. He can let his fangs drop and flash his eyes all night and all anyone does is ask where he got his special contact lenses. He can be truly himself and not get treated like a freak, and he loves it. The problem is that even though the Hales moved out of Beacon Hills years ago after Kate Argent had burned their house down, they’re still responsible for the territory. Which means checking in on the dreaded Nemeton every so often, to make sure it hasn’t awoken, and also see if any unauthorized supernatural nasties have moved in while they weren’t looking. This year, Derek drew the short straw, and this year his mom had insisted he do the Beacon Hills check-in on Halloween.

Things had been going okay for most of the day. Derek had run the town’s perimeter in the morning and smelled nothing out of the ordinary, even in the preserve. He’d visited the Nemeton, and there had been a few leaves sprouting out of it, which he’d thought was a bit odd, but he didn’t feel anything unusual from it when he’d pressed his hand to its trunk, so he’d just snapped a few pics with his phone and texted them to his mother and moved on. He’d spent the afternoon criss-crossing the town proper. He’d driven past the high school, walked around downtown. He ate lunch at the local diner that he was pleased to see was still there, and grinned at kids of varying ages he’d started to see out and about in costumes. He forced himself to go stop by the old Hale House, and it’d been sad to see the house he’d grown up in in ashes, but even that wasn’t enough to ruin his day.

When the sun has gone down and Halloween revelers start showing up around town he lets himself shift. Not fully, just fangs and eyes. He’d discovered if he does a full beta shift people have a tendency to just reach out and touch his face, wanting to feel the ‘prosthetics’, and considering the amount of people who squeeze his biceps or pat his chest without permission these days he doesn’t like giving them extra reason to touch. But it feels good to let his eyes glow and let his fangs out as he goes about his evening and have nobody even bat an eye. He hands some candy out to kids as he passes them, even scares a couple by letting his beta shift through, although their heartbeats tell him they’re more thrilled by the change than actually terrified, and he’s heading back to his car trying to decide if he wants to do one last sweep of the town or just drive back to the new Hale estate early when things change.

It’s nine pm on the dot when a breeze rolls through the town and Derek feels all of his hair stand on end. If he wasn’t partially shifted already he thinks he would have done so automatically and he stops in the middle of the sidewalk, looking around. He doesn’t see anything at first, just trick or treaters walking around, some older kids and adults in costumes clearly headed to or from parties, but then suddenly it seems like the crowds start getting a little chaotic.

At first Derek thinks maybe people are getting rowdier now that it’s later. There aren’t so many little kids out and about anymore and people have probably started drinking, but then he notices people are acting...odd. A guy dressed in a pirate costume talking like a pirate to him is regular Halloween behavior. A woman covered in what looks and smells like real cat fur with real cat ears running past him on all fours is weird, but it could be weirder, Derek guesses. But then he sees a couple people up ahead dressed as a Waterbender and a Firebender, and they seem to actually be manipulating water and fire in the air between their hands, no practical tricks as far as Derek can see, hear or smell, and well, it’s beginning to feel like something is truly up. But it’s when a girl dressed up as Supergirl literally flies by overhead that Derek begins to panic a little.

It’s a spell, it must be, he thinks, as he hurries back to his car, muttering to himself irritably and cursing his mom for picking him this year. People seem to universally be turning into their costumes, and the firefighters he passed were clearly harmless, he can’t resist a shudder when he sees an actual Minion run down the street. Derek gets into his car and carefully maneuvers down the street, trying to avoid hitting any confused pedestrians. He thinks about calling his Alpha, but his mom will want to come down, and if it’s something he can fix on his own, he thinks he should. Laura already teases him enough for constantly checking in with Talia about decisions he makes. He’ll start with the Nemeton, he decides, turning off main street and heading towards the Preserve.

He almost misses it when he’s just turned around a curve and a college aged guy in short shorts and a crop top darts out into the road, the reflectors on his blue and orange striped running shoes giving Derek just enough of a warning to slam on the brakes.

“Hey, I’m walking here,” the guy shouts, flipping Derek off.

“Well maybe you should walk somewhere that’s not right in front of a speeding car,” Derek shouts back at him out the window.

“Jackass,” the kid mutters under his breath, probably unaware Derek can hear him. The guy keeps walking across the street, then stops dead, turning back towards Derek’s car.

“Wait, you can see me?” the guy asks incredulously.

“Uh, yeah,” Derek scoffs.

“Damn, finally,” the guy says. “I wonder if it’s a werewolf thing.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Derek says, jerking back. He forces himself not to shift fully human. It’s supposed to be a costume, he reminds himself.

“Being able to see me,” the guy clarifies. He reaches out, and Derek can’t duck back fast enough before the guy’s hand is waving right through his face. It feels strange, although weirdly it feels slightly warm, not cold like he might’ve anticipated. “I’m a fucking ghost, and you’re the first person to be able to see me all night.”

“I can’t normally see ghosts,” Derek says.

“Well I’m not a real ghost,” the guy says, rolling his eyes. “I was wearing a ghost costume so…”

“You turned into what you were wearing, just like everyone else,” Derek finishes. He eyes the guy’s clothing somewhat dubiously. Up close there is a lot of pale skin on display, dotted with beauty marks, the guy’s arms and stomach practically glowing in the moonlight. “Sorry, what kind of ghost are you supposed to be?”

“How about you pull over into a parking spot before someone gets mad at you for clogging up the road,” the guy says, gesturing toward a spot just up the street. “Also I know he won’t be able to see me but I half feel like my dad is about to show up in his cruiser and bust me for solicitation dressed like this and leaning in your car window.”

“What,” Derek says dumbly.

“My dad’s the Sheriff,” the guy says. “Thankfully he was just wearing his uniform tonight. I stopped by the station to check, so it seems like he and all his deputies are all still just cops. Go on, go park, I’ll follow you.”

Derek doesn’t have any better idea, so he pulls up into one of the metered spots ahead, turning the Camaro off and getting out of it. The guy jogs up behind him, and very carefully leans against Derek’s car next to him, seeming very pleased with himself when he doesn’t just fall through it. He’s got soft brown hair, and an upturned nose and Derek doesn’t know what’s more obscene, the outfit he’s wearing or the way he licks his pouty lips nervously.

“It was kind of a dare,” the guy says, looking vaguely embarrassed, gesturing down towards his outfit. “I accidentally got suckered into a conversation with my friend Lydia about ‘sexy’ Halloween costumes and gender equality. Anyways long story short, I briefly blacked out and agreed to wear something as revealing as whatever Lydia was planning on wearing in the name of feminism. Lydia gave me this, like, seventies exercise outfit including booty shorts, a crop top and knee high socks, and I was like ‘hell yeah’, but then when I put it on I panicked, and cut some eye holes in sheet and put that over my costume, because being a ghost is way less terrifyingly revealing, and uh, ta da. Now I’m a slutty ghost from the seventies. Not that being slutty is a bad thing, as Lydia would probably say. God, she’s out there somewhere dressed as sexy Marie Curie, I wonder what that’s like. I’m Stiles by the way. Stilinski. I’d shake your hand but well...”

“Right,” Derek says, feeling overwhelmed.

“Anyways, you’re like, a real werewolf, right,” Stiles says. “It doesn’t just look like you turned into a werewolf costume’s idea of werewolf, those eyes are the real deal. Oh shit, you’re a Hale. Too gorgeous to exist, dark hair, sexy car, you’re here on one of your family’s semi-annual ‘I’m sure Beacon Hills is fine without us’ trips.”

“Who are you?” Derek asks.

“I’m Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles says, slowly and looking at Derek like he might be dumb. “I told you like a minute ago. The Sheriff’s son?”

“I know that much, yes,” Derek says. “But how do you know this stuff?”

“Dude, you think things in Beacon Hills have just been naturally quiet for the past few years? Beacon Hills? I mean, you did grow up here, right, you remember what that was like? You think having less peace-keeping werewolves about just magically made the town less nuts?” Stiles scoffs. “Look, things were maybe semi-normal for a year or two after the Hales booked it, after that hunter tried to fry you guys, but then word got around that Beacon Hills was up for grabs and things went sideways. You guys weren’t around and so the rest of us had to get with it real quick to keep Beacon Hills from getting completely overrun.”

“Who’s the ‘rest of us’ and why didn’t anybody contact my family if you knew what we were and things were happening here?” Derek asks.

“Um, I mean it took me a while to figure out you guys were werewolves, and honestly we weren’t exactly sure how your mom, the uh, Alpha right, would react to what was going on,” Stiles says, scratching at his chin nervously. There are beauty marks on the side of his face and down his long slender neck as well and Derek can’t help but stare. “I’m a spark, my friend Scott got bit by this total asshole Alpha, so he’s a werewolf. Lydia is a banshee...hey do you think she screamed when I ‘died’ tonight?”

“How did we not know about any of this?” Derek asks.

“Well we’ve had things pretty well under control for a while now,” Stiles says. “And my dad put an APB out on your whole family, so generally we lie low when any Hales roll into town. Like I said, we know it’s technically your territory so we were a little worried you guys might try to kick our merry band of misfit supernaturals out if you knew what we were up to. I think your uncle Peter knows, but he’s kind of an asshole, so I’m not surprised he didn’t tell your mom.”

“Jesus,” Derek mutters. He’s trying to wrap his brain around the revelations of the night, but honestly he can freak out about it later, they have a more immediate problem on hand. “So do you have any idea what’s going on tonight? Halloween is traditionally pretty quiet, supernatural-wise.”

“Oh, that ummmmmmmm,” Stiles says sheepishly. “So a couple of months ago I may have pissed off this witch? A little? I tend not to notice when people are hitting on me, and I may have been a little rude about her behavior because I thought she was trying to get some kind of magical favor out of me.”

“Stiles,” Derek huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“To be fair though, the last couple spells she threw at us weren’t exactly harmful,” Stiles says. “It’s more along the lines of pranks than anything, so I’m guessing while it’s kinda weird everyone has turned into their costumes, I don’t think anyone will get hurt as a result of it. It’ll probably wear off by midnight. Like we could try to find her and make her reverse it, but by the time we do it’ll probably all be over anyways.”

“Well I guess it’s true I haven’t seen anyone get hurt or heard any real screaming,” Derek admits. Stiles raises an eyebrow smugly and Derek just rolls his eyes in response. “Okay I’ll let it drop, but one scent of blood and we’re tracking down that witch. And tomorrow you’ll make nice with her so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Deal,” Stiles says. “So I suppose that means you’ll be leaving Beacon Hills again?”

“I was only supposed to be here for a day,” Derek says. “But at the very least I should stick around long enough to meet the rest of your pack, and make sure things get settled with that witch.”

“Yeah and we have a few hours to kill before the spell probably ends,” Stiles says with a grin. “I’d invite you to my favorite burger joint for some boozy milkshakes but god only knows what the waitstaff was dressed up as, better not risk it. And it’s not like I could drink it right now anyways.”

“We may not have a house here any more but we still have a pretty nice loft downtown,” Derek says. “It’s stocked with a decent bar, if you’re really after a drink and willing to wait for it.”

“Why Mr Hale,” Stiles says, stretching one arm behind his head as he leans back against Derek’s car. “Are you inviting me home with you?”

“If that’s something you’d be interested in,” Derek says. He lets his gaze wander up Stiles’ bare legs, pausing heatedly at the wide swathe of bare skin between his shorts and the crop top above it, dark hair leading from Stiles’ bellybutton down under his waistband. Movement catches Derek’s eye and he looks up in time to see Stiles slowly lick his lips, a blush crossing his face.

“I suppose spending some time at your place wouldn’t be so bad, if I have to wait a few more hours until I can...touch things again,” Stiles says finally. “Let’s go.”

It’s merely the logistics of Stiles being unable to open the door himself that has Derek darting over to open the passenger side door of his camaro for Stiles, but Stiles still smirks at him anyways. He slips past Derek, their faces only inches away, and it’s some kind of torture, Derek thinks to be this close and literally unable to bridge the distance and just touch Stiles, but he closes the car door behind Stiles and gets into the driver’s seat to drive them both over to the loft. A few hours, he thinks, trying to ignore how Stiles is luxuriously sprawled out in the seat beside him. Stiles is smirking. Of course he is.

When he hits a red light, Derek quickly pulls his phone out and shoots a quick text to his mother.

Need to follow up on a few things here in BH.

May be here a while.

[anactualcaseofthetruth]

Call Me A Safe Bet, I’m Betting I’m Not - Chapter 5

(AO3 Link- Chapter Five)

Even though scientists are still quite baffled after multiple millennia of medical and technological advances of exactly how the soulmarks work, there has been enough research and study that we now know when and how to expect them… There has yet to be one soulmate coupling occur before the female has experienced a menstrual cycle and the male to begin producing sperm. In short, soulmarks have never appeared before entering puberty…

There are many, many more cases in which two people have insisted they are soulmates only to not mark with one another. All in all, only about 3% of couplings are correct in predicting they are soulmates before marks form.”

***

Betty Cooper is four years old when she meets Jughead Jones. She knows he is her soulmate, he’s not so sure.

Chapter Five

“The rising percentage of divorces among those who have soulmarks has steadily become cause for concern to those researching the phenomenon. While previously, the statistic was as low as less than one percent, in recent years scholars place that number closer to four percent annually… While it is unknown whether this spike is due to extraneous circumstances, researchers hypothesize that it may simply be partially because of recent increased availability of resources and somewhat lifting of the social taboo that is divorce.

Do we put too much confidence in the very act of soulmarking and forget that even though soulmate relationships may be ‘meant to be,’ they still require work and may not be as ‘certain’ as we once thought?”

From The Evolution of Understanding Soulmarks, 2014

*

“Juggie,” Betty says as a warning, but it comes out more like a moan. “We’re supposed to be studying,” she reminds him as his kisses continue travelling down her neck like a whisper.

“Technically, we’re supposed to be studying with Archie, and he’s not here yet,” he murmers, his lips hovering over their mark as the strain on her white button-up blouse makes it pop open.

Betty sighs with a hum and drops the book, Jughead’s not wrong. She threads her fingers through his hair, giving in all too easily.

Making out has become her favorite pastime, and she’s not sure she’ll ever get tired of it. In the beginning, it was just so new. It was exciting to learn what she liked, what he liked, the noises they could make; it was like unwrapping a present.

Now it’s overwhelming in an entirely different way.

Betty never gets tired of it, never.

It doesn’t matter how many times he rakes his teeth down the sensitive spot behind her ear, she always forgets how to breathe. Her organs always turn to goo when he pulls her close and cups her jawline, his thumbs sweeping over her cheeks as he says something sweet low and slow before pressing his lips to hers in a ghost of a kiss, so soft and innocent. When his arms wrap around her, his hands low on her waist, and his face buried in her neck she feels safe, yet alive at the same time.

It didn’t take a mark to make her feel this way, Betty knows, but it took the mark for Jughead to finally allow himself to be with her this way. He doesn’t have as much tension in his shoulders, he walks with ease now- it’s more of saunter, actually. Smiles reach his eyes and they happen more often.

Since they’ve marked, Jughead always has his hands on her in some way and she loves it. When they are alone it’s more risqué, but in public it might just be a hand on her lower back, or him squeezing her knee under the lunch table, but usually it’s a hand on the back of her neck or around her shoulders. His hands are rough, but soft with her, his hold firm, but never harsh, and sometimes the way he looks at her, like she’s the reason for everything good in his life, makes her feel weightless.

What they’ve found recently is that kissing each other’s mark, or in Jughead’s case teasing her mark, is… wonderful. Betty thinks of it as kind of a soul-gasm, or at least that is the best way she can describe it. She’s never had an orgasm, but if it’s anything like what Jughead’s teeth feel like against their mark then her first real one is going to be amazing.

They are only fourteen and fifteen, so she knows statistically people her age are having sex, marks or no marks, but she’s just still so overwhelmed by his hands and mouth on her extremities that she not rushing to go much farther just yet. Jughead has never pushed for anything, but she knows he feels undone when her lips touch his mark too.

They don’t need to do too much too soon. They have forever after all.

“Jug,” Betty murmurs like a plea and sucks a lip into her mouth to quiet herself. When Jughead literally sinks his teeth into the center of the mark Betty sees stars, making her entire body shudder and quake.

Then, Jughead’s lips are on hers and they’re kissing as her body shakes. Betty is gasping for air, but can’t stop kissing him. She needs the feel of his skin against hers, their lips pressed together, his hands grasping at her back.

Betty doesn’t realize that they are horizontal on Archie’s old couch in the garage until she opens her legs for him to nestle himself in between her knees.

They’ve kissed for hours before, she’s had Jughead’s hands roam all over her, his fingers even slipping under her shirt recently and touching places that aren’t their mark, but this is different. Whenever they’d kissed lying down before, it’s been on their sides, even when in her bed, or Jughead’s chest on hers as he leans over her.

This felt very unfamiliar, but in the best way.

Betty lets herself get lost in the sensations as she usually does, because Jughead has the ability to help her turn her mind off, and she loves him for it. Her own hands slip beneath this gray Henley, and she smiles against his mouth when his muscles jump under her fingertips.

“Shut up,” he murmured between kisses, making her giggle, but she doesn’t back down. His reactions make her feel powerful, sexy even, and not at all just fourteen.

Just as her nails are lightly scratching down his abdomen with Jughead moaning into her neck the door opens and instantly Jughead is off of her, a dazed look on his face.

“Oh, shit, I—” Archie immediately turns and Betty realizes her blouse is even more unbuttoned than before. “Sorry, I thought we were studying together.”

“We are! We were, uh, waiting for you,” Betty replies while fixing herself. She looks up to see Jughead shaking his head and running hands through his hair, his lost to the couch cushions long ago. She gives him a look that says ‘are you good?’ because she knows he has more of a physical aspect to calm down from.

“Well, uh, do you want me to leave or—”

“No,” Jughead cuts in and puts a book in his lap and Betty can’t help but grin to herself. He must have seen her because he shakes his head at her, a small smile on his lips too. “You can turn around, Arch, we weren’t even undressed or anything.”

“I was going to say sorry I’m late, but I think you should be thanking me,” Archie jokes while making his way over to the couch. “After all, I am your excuse to be alone without your mom hovering.”

“You’re not just an excuse, Arch, you’re our best friend,” Betty insists and fixes her ponytail out of habit.

“Yeah, um, so Algebra,” Archie starts and drops his book on the coffee table loudly. “I hate when they add letters to math. The definition of math is numbers, right?”

Betty and Jughead share a look. “You're actually trying to study and not just goofing around with me, pissing off Betty in the process? Arch, are you alright?” Jughead asks.

“Is it because you walked in on us? We’ll be better, Arch. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—”

“It’s not you guys, Betty,” Archie quickly tells her. “I’m used to walking in on you one way or another, now I’m just averting my eyes instead of rolling them.”

“So, what’s going on, dude?” Jughead asks.

“Nothing. We should get to work. That test tomorrow is going to kill me, especially if my mom sees another D with my name on it,” Archie goes on, already getting his notebook out.

“Archie, one of the things that makes you so loveable is your utter lack of a poker face,” Jughead reminds him. “Are you alright? Why were you late? This wasn’t a couple minutes, it was like half an hour.”

“I lost track of time,” the redhead insists, shucking his letterman jacket off and throwing it over the back of the couch.

“Don’t make us beat this out of you, I’ll do it, I’m scrappy,” Betty warns, then smacks Jughead in the back of the head as he snorts. “Shut up.”

“I walked in on my parents were fighting, I guess,” Archie starts and clears his throat. “My mom got a job offer in Chicago.”

“What? You’re moving?” Betty eyes widen, her voice high.

“Betty,” Jughead grabs her hand and squeezes lightly. “Let Archie talk.”

“She did some work for this firm over the summer when she was there helping my grandma. It was a case by case thing, and my dad knew, he was fine with it, like it wasn’t a big deal. I guess it turns out that my grandma was healthy most of the summer and my mom just stayed there because of this job and they offered her a permanent position she wants to take.”

Betty feels her stomach coil. Archie couldn’t move. He is her next-door neighbor, the constant presence in the window across from hers, her best friend. She and Jughead may have been wrapped up in each other lately, but it didn’t mean Archie wasn’t any less their best friend than before. And she didn’t want him to think he wasn’t either.

“My dad is mad because his business is here, they grew up here, and he doesn’t want me uprooted right in the beginning of high school when I just made the football team, even if it is second string. He said Riverdale is safe, Chicago is a big city and his business wouldn’t survive there. My mom said he wasn’t thinking of her point of view, he wasn’t thinking of everything she’s given up, and that,” he stops and starts shaking his head.

Betty lets go of Jughead’s hand and scoots closer to Archie, an arm around his back for comfort. Jughead moves so he can do the same on the other side, only he leans forward and mimics Archie’s position.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Arch,” Jughead says quietly. “All parents are crazy in their own way, yours included, okay?” he tries to joke and bumps shoulders with the redhead.

“She said that marking with him derailed all her dreams and made her get stuck here because he’s stuck here,” Archie tells them, his eyes trained on the ground as his hands tighten together. “That’s when I let them know I was there, and the look on my dad’s face was, fuck, it was heartbreaking. What’s even the point of having a mark if it doesn’t—” he stops and stands. “I’m sorry, guys, this is the last thing you want to hear after everything you’ve been through.”

“Stop,” Jughead says in a hard tone. “Everyone is different, just because we’re happy about ours doesn’t mean we don’t realize other people’s relationships, even with marks, can be fucked up.”

“Yeah, Arch you don’t have to keep things from us just because we’re happy. We still care about you, you’re still our best friend, and we want to know what’s going on with you. We want to try to help."

“What happened after they knew you heard?” Jughead asks him.

Archie turns to sit on the coffee table to face them. “My mom said she didn’t mean it the way it sounded, that she loves my dad, and me, and wouldn’t change their life together, but she had dreams and she pushed them off for so long that this opportunity is too great to pass up.”

“But what about your dad and his business and—” Betty stops at Jughead’s look. “I know, I know, let him talk, sorry,” she mumbles and Jughead runs a hand up and down her back to keep her calm.

“She’s going to take the job and stay with my grandma, my dad is going to stay here and run the business, and during football season she’ll make it down as many weekends as she can. After that I’ll be going to Chicago most weekends, my dad will too if he’s not too busy, and we’ll see how it goes, I guess?”

“We’re here for you, Arch, anything you need,” Betty tells him softly and gives him a small smile.

“I know, Betty, but this just feels like giant Band-Aid on something that needs surgery, you know? I don’t want to move to Chicago, but I don’t want to feel like I’m losing my mom or holding her back either. She should be able to follow her dreams, she’s a great lawyer, this is awesome for her, I just—”

“You’re just a kid, it shouldn’t be this hard to just grow up,” Jughead says after Archie stops suddenly. “Parents are supposed to stay in one place, and be happy, and be there for you. It feels like this is your time, but it’s unfair because you know your parents have lives too. You might be the center of their universe, but you’re not the whole world.”

“What you said,” Archie agrees and they all laugh. “I’m sorry, Jug, this is small compared to what you went through, still go through—”

“Archie, stop,” Betty chides. “We all have our issues, just because it might not seem bigger than someone else’s doesn’t mean it’s not a big deal to you. You’re allowed to feel pain even if someone else is feeling another kind.”

“Jesus, you two should start some kind of therapy, I swear,” Archie says and wipes his eyes. “I guess we are just going to have to wait and see how everything goes, what works and what doesn’t. It just seems like…” he trails off and sighs while rubbing his eyes. “I’ve watched my two best friends’ hearts break over soulmarks time and time again, and it seems like my parents might just be throwing theirs away. How can something so important bring two people so close together, and two other people can just toss it aside like it doesn’t matter?”

“Jughead and I are weird,” Betty tells him. “Our relationship hasn’t been normal since the beginning, and you shouldn’t compare anyone’s relationship because everyone is different and needs different things.”

“And I don’t think they are giving up on their relationship at all either,” Jughead agrees. “I think they are just trying to find a solution that works for everyone.”

“But I don’t think this is going to work for everyone. They are trying to make it work for me when they should be thinking what works for them.”

“You are their priority, Arch,” Betty reminds him. “You may be fifteen and mostly raised, but you’re still their child and you are what matters most.”

“Try and do what they are doing. See what works with the plan they came up with and adjust from there. When or if that stops working, and only then, start to worry. But you do have us, Arch, and with our combined family drama I think you have a pretty good support system.”

“Definitely,” Betty seconds and gives her best Cooper smile. “I don’t ever want you to feel like that just because we’re together now and having fun with that ourselves, that we don’t have time for you or still care about you as much as we did before.”

“I’m not a stray dog, Betty, you don’t have to shower me with love until I trust you to stick around. I know you’re here, and I don’t care that you and Jug have been spending so much time together. I have my own stuff going on with football and guitar lessons that having Jughead off my back is a relief,” Archie teases, finally sounding a bit like himself again.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Jughead says and leans back on the couch. “Moment over, you’re a dick.”

“Alright, before you two get into a fight over who has the bigger insult, how about we forget about studying and go to Pop’s?” Betty suggests and is already standing.

“You want to skip studying for food?” Archie asks, surprise apparent in his voice.

“Don’t question it, let’s go,” Jughead says in a rush while reaching for their coats and when it makes Archie laugh, it’s full and hearty.

Betty tries to take her jacket from Jughead, but he holds it open for her and she turns around to put her arms through the sleeves. “He’s going to okay, we’ll make sure of it,” he promises lowly in her ear and Betty nods while taking his arm to go towards the door where Archie is already waiting.

“I think I’m going to get two cheeseburgers, double fist it, you know?” Archie says as they walk out and Jughead pats him on the back with his fingerless gloved hand.

“These are the kind of decisions I’ll always support, for anything harder than this please direct your problems to Betty,” Jughead jokes and Archie laughs again.

Betty smiles against Jughead’s arm, where she’s leaned her head in an attempt to keep some body heat. She knows Jughead is trying to make Archie laugh on purpose and she appreciates it because all she can think about is how she didn’t notice Archie was struggling before.

He is their best friend. She should have known. She should be better than this.

…

Ever since Betty marked with Jughead, she’d been sleeping better than she ever had before.

It helps that Jughead sneaks into her room significantly more often because now they know it’s something theywill never have to give up, along with the fact that he doesn’t live with Jellybean anymore to worry about what happens if she wakes up and needs him.

But she also knows the reason she is sleeping better is because her biggest problem is now a non-issue.

Logically, she knows soulmate couplings are not the end all, be all statistically. After all, she had planned on fighting to be with Jughead without a mark, so she isn’t going to judge someone for wanting to be with someone they haven’t marked with, or judge them for not wanting to be with the person they did.

She supports her sister being with Jason without a mark, even if Polly still does have hard feelings about her making with Jughead. She supports Jughead’s mom being with the person she marked with, but is not okay with how she went about being with him, and how she did what she wanted—how she always does what she wants—without thinking of her children first.

Because of this, she even has to support Fred and Mary because Archie’s mom does deserve to follow her dreams in some respect, and she knows that Mary does love Archie and has always put him first as a mother should do. Betty hopes this plan they’ve thought up will work, that Archie will adjust as painlessly as possible to his mother not being in the house, that Fred too will be okay with Mary being gone, and that Mary is making the right choice.

Betty just wishes this wasn’t hurting her best friend. She wishes she had seen this coming and could have done something to help or make it easier on Archie.

Archie’s parents broke the news after their last day of school for Christmas vacation that Mary’s plan to move wouldn’t happen until the new year, so they would still have the holidays to be together.

She’s been having trouble sleeping ever since finding all of this out.

Now that they were a few days into their vacation, her red-haired friend has been trying to keep his spirits up, but it’s easy to see he’s struggling. His mom is being overly-cheerful, feeling guilty for moving away from her only son and leaving her husband behind too. She’s been baking some kind of goodie for him every day in some sort of peace offering. While Jughead has certainly been reaping the benefits of all the extra baking, Betty can see the strain in Archie’s eyes, the way his smile isn’t as genuine.

It’s not just Archie, either.

This is Jughead’s first holiday season with his parents in different households, with his sister not jumping on him at 6am to open presents. He’s thinking of sleeping over Billy’s to be with Jellybean and his mom Christmas morning, but doesn’t want to leave his dad alone either. They’d agreed to do Christmas for his dad on Christmas Eve, and then Christmas with his mom on the actual day, but Jughead worries what his dad will do all day alone on the holiday. He’s confided this to her in bed late at night, his lips scratching at her neck, chapped and swollen from their kisses.

It’s Kevin’s first Christmas without his mom too. Last year, his mom had been sick, terminal even, but it still isn’t the same with her being gone now. It had been hard on Kevin last year too, but he had been strong for his mom and had tried to make the best of things for her. Betty’s heart clenches thinking of Kevin and his dad sitting at their table with TV dinners in front of them. Neither of them are the best cooks—that was all Kevin’s mom, and last year she’d been propped up in the kitchen giving orders to the boys. This year it’s just them. Kevin told her he doesn’t know if he has it in him to pretend this year or whether making the dinner with his dad will be soothing or torture.

And here’s Betty, her parents still together, mostly happy, planning for their always amazing Christmas feast, and secretly wrapping the mountains of presents her and Polly always receive. Betty knows she’s so, so lucky, for multiple reasons, but feels so guilty when it just seems like her friends’ lives are falling apart around her and there is nothing she can do about it.

Sure, her mom is particularly hard on her when it comes to school, her parents care too much about their familial image, her sister still has ill-feelings towards her about her soulmark, and she feels general pressure about being the perfect picture everyone sees when they look at her, but compared to what her friends are going through, Betty couldn’t help but feel like a fraud.

Betty doesn’t have real problems, not like them anyway, and sometimes late at night she finds herself making a fist out of her comforter to resist the urge to curl her nails in on her palms, asking the universe why the people she loves never seem to catch a break, why she can’t take away their pain because they don’t deserve any of it.

She sits up in bed, her eyes squeezed shut as she breathes in and out evenly, counting the heartbeats reverberating in her chest, trying to calm herself down as the comforter bunches in her hand.

The familiar feeling of dread trickles down her spine and Betty sucks her bottom lip in to bite.

She hasn’t had a panic attack in a while and was proud of herself because of that, but her streak is over.

With shaky hands that she’s consciously keeping from curling, Betty grips her phone and dials the number she’s known by heart since he got it, the jingle of numbers giving her some comfort because it’s a connection to her soulmate.

“Hm—ello,” Jughead answers hoarsely and immediately she feels bad because he was sleeping, of course he was, it’s 2am.

“I’m sorry,” Betty says instantly, her voice only a tad higher than a whisper.

“Shh, what’s up, baby?” he asks, ignoring her apology, his way of saying it wasn’t even necessary.

“I—Juggie,” is all she says before her voice cuts out. She hates that she’s asking him for help when it should be the other way around.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? I’m already getting dressed,” he tells her, and she can hear the clothes rustling on his end.

“You don’t—it’s freezing, I don’t want you to—”

“Betty, you’re not convincing me otherwise, I’m walking out the door in a second. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you? I can, it just might take me longer to get there only having one hand to balance.”

“No, I—be safe, please,” she whispers, already blinking to keep the tears at bay.

“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can, just hold on for me, can you do that?”

“Yes,” she answers, nodding her head frantically despite the fact that he can’t see her, and trying to sound strong for him.

“I love you, but I gotta go, I’m already on my bike, okay?”

“Love you too,” Betty whispers and waits for the line to go dead before lowering the phone.

She goes to the window seat to wait and tries to keep breathing normally, makes sure to keep a blanket between her fingers, and counts the seconds in her head to pass the time.

Betty does her best to ignore the guilt eating at her thinking of Jughead out in the freezing cold on his way to her house. Then she starts to worry about him biking over in the dark, with ice on the streets, cars going by, and about how he starts out in the Southside—not the safest place to be wandering out about late at night.

She's chewing on her lip, the pain of chapped lips keeping her grounded as she stares out the window, anxiously darting her eyes back and forth, looking for Jughead on the street, and listening for the familiar thump of him on the porch.

Betty doesn’t see him coming, or hear is ascent, but is ready when he appears outside the glass all the same. “Juggie, you’re okay,” she breathes and pulls him into her room none too gently.

“What? Of course, I’m okay, are you okay?” he questions as she burrows into his Sherpa jacket. “Betts, I’m freezing, I don’t want to get you cold, you should let me warm up a little,” he mentions while nudging her away.

Betty just pushes his jacket off and presses her body into his, wanting both comfort and to warm him up. “I don’t care, I just—want you,” she admits, her face buried against their mark.

“I’m right here, baby,” he murmurs into her neck and picks her up underneath her bum to carry her to the bed. Betty’s legs wrap around his waist and locks her arms along his shoulders. He sits down, her in his lap and pulls away just enough to look her in the eye. “What’s going on, Betts?”

Betty rubs her nose against his, the tip of hers a contrast to the cool of his. “I couldn’t sleep, started overthinking. I’m sorry you had to come all the way here—”

“Shhh,” he interrupts and brings her hands from behind his neck to between them, and opens them up to inspect.

“I didn’t,” she tells him as he grazes his fingertips over her scars, and she is telling the truth. “I wanted to, but…” she trails off and sighs. “I wanted you more.”

As he always does when they are talking about her hands, Jughead brings her palms to his mouth and kisses each mark with a gentleness, yet intensity that makes Betty’s heart swell. “I’m proud of you.”

“What?” Betty asks, astonishment apparent in her voice.

Jughead brings her hands together in one of his and rests them on his heart. “I’m proud of you, Betty,” he repeats. “I’m not naïve enough to think that just because we marked all your anxiety and worries go away, but I do hope that I help manage them with you,” he goes on, to which she nods. “But you haven’t had a full-on panic attack in a while, at least that I know of, and when you felt one coming you called me. That takes a lot of strength, and I’m proud of you.”

“You think it makes me strong?” Betty asks quietly, so low it’s barely audible, her head tilted down as to not look him in the eye.

“I think you’re unbelievably strong, Betty,” Jughead insists and uses his free hand to tilt her face up towards his. “Having panic attacks doesn’t make you weak, please don’t think it does.”

Betty sniffles and presses her lips together to keep from letting out a sob.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” Jughead urges, and brings Betty to lie down with him, kicking his shoes off as he went. She stays on top of him, burrowed into his chest, and tries to keep the tears down. “Tell me what’s going through your mind.”

“It’s almost Christmas and Archie’s family is falling apart. He’s trying to hide that it’s hurting him, but I can see that it is, and I can’t do anything about it,” she tells him. “Kevin’s dreading Christmas because it’s the first one without his mom. He’s struggling with it so much, but hates talking about it because it just makes him even sadder. It’s your first Christmas with your parents divorced, with Jellybean not in the same house as you, and I know you’re coping well, because honestly, you’ve dealt with worse, but I hate it. I hate that you have to deal with this, I hate that it’s not the worst thing you’ve been through. I hate that I can’t help any of you. I hate that Polly can’t stand to see our mark, that if I’m wearing a shirt that shows it when I’m at home she won’t even stay in the same room as me. I hate that Polly is my biggest problem, because it’s so small compared to what you guys are going through. It’s not fair—”

“Hey,” Jughead murmurs and shifts so he’s leaning against her headboard a bit, and keeps his hands moving up and down her spine soothingly.

Betty keeps her face buried in his neck, tears trickling from her eyes.

“Betty, you are the kindest, best, most thoughtful person I know,” he says against the crown of her head. “And I think because of that you take on everyone’s problems on as your own. You care so much, and that’s amazing. You always want to be there for anyone in need, you would do anything for someone you love, and these are things about you I love, I really do, but Betty, it’s not your job to save anyone besides yourself.”

“But I want to help, I want to—”

“When have you ever not helped? When Archie broke his arm when we were kids you did everything for him. You opened things for him, made sure no one bumped into his cast on accident, helped him write with his other hand, and fuck that was a disaster,” Jughead goes on and Betty hides her smile against his collarbone. “The guy has chicken scratch with the hand he is supposed to write with, but with the other one? I still think half the reason he passed that year is because our teacher just gave up trying to decipher what he was writing.”

“Jughead,” Betty chides.

“I remember the first time a girl Archie had a crush on told him to buzz off, we were like seven, and he kept giving her weird gifts. Dandelions he picked at recess, the cookies his mom packed in his lunch, a creepy picture he drew of them hugging but it looked like he was choking her,” Jughead stopped to chuckle. “I think her name was Tiffany, and she balled up that picture and threw it at him during free time in class, and he almost cried. You marched right up to her, pigtails bobbing, and asked what made her so perfect, told her it wasn’t nice to be rude to people trying so hard to get her attention, and ripped the bag of cookies from her hand and gave them back to Archie to make him feel better.”

“I remember she moved away shortly after that, and you and Archie teased me saying that she was so scared of me that she went into the witness protection program,” Betty mumbles, and enjoys the feeling of Jughead’s chest rumbling beneath her own.

“You almost cried, I felt so bad.”

“I know, you instantly started wanting to do everything for me, trying to make it up to me, and even said you’d give me your beanie.”

“My first act of true love,” he sighs dramatically, making Betty hide another smile. “You’ve always stuck up for other people, Betty, Archie, Kevin, and me especially. Kevin’s always been teased for being so, well, Kevin, but when Reggie started really picking on him in middle school, I remember you getting into bickering matches with him every day. You did everything you could to keep Reggie’s attention off Kevin, even if it meant Reggie started teasing you instead. When Kevin’s mom died you made him and his dad dinner for over two weeks, preparing lasagnas and casseroles and whatever else you could freeze for a couple days. During the funeral you barely left Kevin’s side, you stayed after the wake to help clean up and even slept over whenever possible. It wasn’t until Kevin literally kicked you out that you let yourself relax.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Do you remember the time Jellybean came home from school upset because some girl made fun of her clothes ‘cause all my parents could afford was the second-hand store and even altered my old clothes to fit her? You had her come over your house, go through all of your and Polly’s old clothes, did some girly makeover, even convinced her to cut her hair, and gave her some talk about how material things aren’t what matters, it’s how she feels about herself, and that she’s comfortable in her own skin. She came home and told me how much she loved you, how thankful she is to have you in her life. You have no idea how much that meant to her, Betts, how much it meant to me that you did it for her, without even a second thought.”

“Anyone would have done it,” Betty insists.

“No, Betty, that isn’t what anyone would have done,” Jughead assures her, nosing her forehead so she looks up at him. “You do whatever you can to make things easier on other people, not everyone has that trait. I won’t even start in on everything you’ve done for me, because you know exactly how much you do, and you never stop. You never stop telling me how much I’m worth, how much better you think I deserve. You’ve done more for me than anyone in the world, Betty. You’re probably the reason I’m not getting into trouble on the Southside, acting out against my parents and society. I don’t even want to think where I would be without you, because I know I wouldn’t be in this bedroom, holding the girl I love, and fuck, I don’t ever want the thought of that life in my head.”

“Me neither,” she sniffles and kisses at his jawline.

“I told you, Betts, it’s not your job to save everyone, not even me, even though I’ll never be able to convince you otherwise. All you have to do is be you, be the amazing person and friend you are, and that’s enough, trust me. You have no idea how much the little things you do mean to the people you love. You help, you do more than anyone, never think differently.”

Betty shuffles to sit up a bit more and slips her fingers under Jughead’s shirt to feel the skin underneath. “It all just feels so unfair, that all these things are happening to you guys and my life—”

“You have your own struggles, Betty, case in point what is going on right now,” Jughead interrupts. “No one knows you deal with panic attacks or what was going on with your hands besides me, and this is a big thing, it’s not small. Do you think me coming over here, and talking to you, holding you, helps?”

“Yes,” Betty says quickly with her head nodding. “It does, so much, Juggie. I didn’t even have a full-on panic attack tonight because I called you and was able to focus on something else. I was able to focus on you coming over, knowing I would be in your arms soon.”

“Exactly. You think I don’t feel helpless when this happens to you? I wish I could get inside your head and make you see how wonderful you are, and how big the small things feel, just like this does to you.”

“I never… saw it that way,�� Betty admits, her nails lightly scratching up and down his abdomen. “That the small things can seem big, like how much you coming here means to me, but could seem small to you.”

“I never want you to feel like you don’t help, you’re the best friend anyone could ask for,” he says while running fingers through her hair.

“So are you,” she murmurs.

“We’re talking about you,” Jughead counters as Betty sits up more so they are at the same level.

“I’m talking about you,” she whispers and grazes her lips along his before kissing him softly. “Thank you for… everything you do.”

“I want you to remember what it was you said to Archie the other day when he told us about his parents. He said sorry for making an off-hand comment about my parents and you told him that we all have our problems, and that we’d be there for him. The same sentiment goes for you. We all have our issues, babe, yourself included. The only one telling you that your problems aren’t worth it is you, and it’s not true.”

“I love you,” Betty murmurs in response and kisses him again.

“Okay, I’m feeling ignored,” Jughead states and smiles when he makes her giggle a little.

“You? I said thank you and I love you with no acknowledgement,” she counters.

“I was in the middle of a pep talk, I didn’t want to break character, it’s usually you giving me these. I was a little worried about the execution, especially with you blatantly ignoring me and trying to seduce me there at the end,” Jughead insists.

“Blatantly ignoring you? I was appreciating you,” Betty tells him. “And I know what you’re doing,” she adds on with eyes in slits.

“You do, do you?”

“Mhm, trying to turn the serious into flirty banter to improve my mood and keep my mind off, you know, before,” she says.

“Is it working?”

“Definitely, but I don’t think I have the ability to seduce anyone,” she tells him honestly.

“I don’t want you to seduce anyone ever, just me, and trust me, babe, you have the ability,” he replies with a knowing look.

“Sorry,” she says and stills her hand.

“No, don’t stop,” he whispers and leans his forehead on hers. “But we should get some sleep.”

At that, Betty suddenly feels how heavy her eyes are, how lethargic her body has become. “We have to get rest for our special 'kids' Christmas party tonight,” she says in a yawn.

Jughead shuffles down so they are lying on the bed and wraps his arms around her before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Oh yeah, a party in Archie's garage, decorated with too much tinsel and glitter by you and Kevin," he mutters.

"Shush, or I will keep a small pile of glitter to throw on you," Betty warns and Jughead simply kisses her hair in defeat. “Juggie, take your jeans off, they’re scratchy,” she insists in a groan, rolling off him so he can do so. They’d slept together plenty times before, and she’s made the same complaint time and time again.

“So bossy,” Jughead mutters as he kicks them off and sets his phone her nightstand, making sure to set an alarm so he can sneak out before her parents wake up.

“Assertive,” Betty corrects and smiles a little as he drops his hat on top of his phone. “Juggie,” she starts as he settles next to her, one arm underneath her pillow, the other draped over her waist.

“Yeah, baby?” he murmurs, the hand poking out from under the pillow playing with the ends of her hair.

“You know how good it feels when we touch each other’s marks? Like, intimately?”

“I recall some noises you made the other day,” he answers with a sly grin.

“Shush, do you ever wonder what it would feel like if our marks touched?” she questions, her voice low and slow.

“You mean… chest to chest?”

“Mhm,” Betty whispers, licking her lips without realizing it.

“Betty, I,” Jughead starts and sits up on an elbow. “I don’t think that I would be able to not…” he trails off and she sees red climbing up his neck.

“I know you’d get excited, Jug, but it is something I want to try if and when you want to,” she admits.

“If? Betty, of course I want to touch you… like that, in more ways than that, but—”

“I know you’re not pushing for anything, Jug, but we’ve been just making out for four months, I think we can explore a little, you know?” she says, then speaks up again when he answers with silence. “I think this would be a nice… introduction to it, something innocent, yet not.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m not respectful if I look, or stare. I’m definitely going to have the urge to stare, then touch, and,” he stops to gulp, then scoots his hips away from her.

“No, Jug,” Betty hooks a leg around his to keep him close. “I don’t want us to be shy about this. You don’t have to hide anything from me, I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to. I just don’t want to hurt you if we do this,” she admits.

“Uh, Betts, it doesn’t really work like that,” he tells her, trying not to chuckle.

“Shut up, I don’t expect you to know the in’s and outs of a vagina, so don’t think I read up on the do’s and don’ts of boners either,” Betty says and they both burst out laughing, but try to keep it quiet. Thankfully, her parent’s bedroom is on the other end of the house.

“It really shouldn’t hurt unless you have one for hours,” Jughead explains.

“Have you?” Betty questions, her eyes wide and her smile matching.

“Back when I first started getting them and didn’t know exactly what to do, now I’ve got it under control, for the most part,” he answers honestly. “Around you it tends to act up, literally.”

“So, do you want to?” Betty asks, and Jughead simply stares. “Touch marks? And go to sleep like that?”

“Of course I want to, but if you get uncomfortable or—”

“I know, I’m not afraid to speak up around you, Juggie, I swear.”

In response Jughead simply sits up and shrugs his shirt off, only to reveal a wife beater underneath, but he quickly rids himself of that too.

Betty has seen him shirtless before, of course, but every time she sees their mark on his naked chest it takes her breath away. She leans forward and kisses the crown over his heart, and his hand threads through her hair.

“You don’t have to, Betts, it can be just me—”

“Shush, Jug, it was my idea,” she cuts him off, and even though she’s nervous, even though there’s a voice in the back of her head that sounds like her mother saying she’s too young, and another voice that has the cackle of Cheryl Blossom teasing her for being ‘small’, Betty pushes it all aside and lifts her shirt over her head.

Her eyes avoid Jughead’s, her face in flames, and resists the urge to cover herself.

After a long minute Jughead hooks a finger under her chin to make her look at him. He looks at her with soft eyes and leans forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “You’re beautiful, Betts, fucking incredible,” he whispers.

“I—I want to feel your mark on mine,” she almost pleads, to which he nods and lays back down, his eyes flicking between hers, their mark, and a little further south, but Betty doesn’t mind.

Betty gets on her knees and swings a leg over his hips so she’s straddling him, and feels his length against her bum, but welcomes the feeling rather than be embarrassed by it. If he’s okay, then she’s okay.

Jughead’s hands tighten on her thighs, and she’s reminded all that is between them is her short-shorts, and their underwear. “Take your hair down,” he lets out in a low, guttural tone that makes her stomach coil.

Betty does as he asks without hesitation, and her hair fans out around her, the ends tickling her shoulders. She sees Jughead’s quick intake of breath and begins her descent down to him, a hand on either side of his head.

“I love you,” Better whispers with a kiss so soft it’s barely there and Jughead’s hands travel up her spine, pushing her chest down to his, and Betty lets out a gasp into his neck.

Betty doesn’t know how to describe the feeling. It’s like her mark is the epicenter of an earthquake, pulsating pleasure through her body with each beat. She knows she’s making noises, quiet squeaky pants, and Jughead is breathing heavy in her ear, but saying nothing all the same.

They don’t do much besides lay there together, marks touching, chests heaving, and hands doing whatever possible to sooth the other.

And this, Betty thinks, this has to be what an orgasm feels like.

To be continued….

Notes: A bit of a filler, but I'm planting seeds for stuff later, so pay attention, kids ;) and who doesn't like fluff? I sure do! As always, a big thank you to @jandjsalmon, aka Jandy, for beta-ing, making the aesthetic, listening to my ideas, and just being an all around great friend. You da bomb.com gurl.

[speedygal]

Not a logical intervention - part 41

A/N this is a LONG. LOOOOONG post. Which is why there is a read more.

Kirk was filing out the medical padd regarding his husband's history. Spock was listed under the name 'Selek Miller' with his parents listed as 'unknown'. Kirk was in his admiral uniform while Spock was in his colorful, loud sweater and long pants that ended in a way strikingly resembling the trousers used in the historic five year mission. Kirk wore his antique glasses staring down at the screen. Spock was holding Italian in his arms gently stroking the cat's head. The cat was purring, happily, wearing a harness around his torso. Kirk stood up then briefly left his bondmate going over to the reception desk.

"Doctor T'Hell will attend to you shortly," the receptionist said.

Spock's eyebrows perked up and his head raised up.

"What kind of name is T'Hell?" Spock said, as his bondmate returned. "Who would name their child after a place that does not have any positive meanings?"

"The name itself sounds unique," Kirk said, taking Spock's hand. "You know, a name like Spock doesn't sound too bad itself." he wiggled his grayed eyebrows back at his partner.

"That is different, Jim," Spock said. "I was named after the Vulcan who was of Vulcan's early society builders."

Kirk lowered his eyebrows with a "Oh."

"Maybe they like colorful metaphors," Kirk said. "This is a different timeline."

"Poor Vulcan," Spock said, in pity. "Not aware what it means."

"Spock . . . remember the time we came across a Vulcan scientist with the name T'Heli?" Kirk asked.

"Yes," Spock said.

"That was awfully close to the pronunciation of hell," Kirk said.

Spock paused.

"Yes," then Spock added. "It does."

"And perhaps they are aware of what hell means," Kirk said. "They are probably a little bit dark themselves."

Spock nodded then held his two fingers out for his bondmate which was returned

"Selek Miller," came a voice. Kirk looked over to see a Andorian nurse in white uniform. "Right this way."

Kirk helped Spock up to his feet.

Italian fell out of Spock's arms then landed to the floor.

Spock held onto the long black yet soft leash.

Italian guided Spock down toward the door. Spock had already spoken to Kirk about letting the cat do the guiding as it gave him some independence. Kirk understood. Italian enjoyed snoozing while his owners walked around the Kirk property, quietly, enjoying the view that the hills and green scenery made. That also complimented the blue sky littered with clouds. It was different from the walks they had around San Fransisco on their evening strolls. In a way more at home and retired. Kirk only went into Star Fleet Command for only emergencies such as the discussions over the marine life miraculously returning after the whales returned. Kirk could not explain that. Kirk looked over to see a picture of the extinct white rhino. The sad rhino with its downcasted eyes and lowered head, sadly. He looked over to see a picture of two black squirrels burying their nuts. Kirk beamed at the image. A rather hopeful, endearing image. Life goes on with the animals that were too stubborn to go extinct. Kirk and Spock came into the medical room then sat down side by side. Spock sat down with a relieved but audible sigh. Kirk looked over in the direction of his bondmate as the nurse left.

"What is wrong?" Kirk asked.

"My legs are swollen," Spock said, quietly.

Kirk looked down to see the Vulcan's legs were bulging then dragged over a table.

"Put your leg on the table," Kirk requested

Spock obeyed.

"Good, this will help the swelling go down," Kirk said.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"My dad once had swollen legs," Kirk said. Italian was laid in the Vulcan's lap. "He drank a lot of water and exercised. Claimed he was dong it for the sake of science." Spock had a laugh.

"Humans never cease to amuse me," Spock said.

"I hope they don't," Kirk said. "I need you too much. I enjoy hearing your laughter."

Spock guided his hand over placing it onto the human's smaller but still large hand.

"Taluhk nash-veh k'du," Spock said. I cherish thee.

The door opened to the examination room. In came a human like doctor with messy hair then sat into the seat. Kirk saw the name tag read "Mac'ie Koster' seemed neither male or female at first glance with non-distinguishing features. Mac'ie put their hair up into a bun with a scrunchy explaining that their arranged doctor was currently on leave claiming to be very ill for today. Then picked up a padd. They took out their medical kit placing it alongside. They reached out for the pen that was in a cup on the table. Which was across from them. They looked over, blinking, stumbled.

"Sorry about that," Kirk said. "I am Admiral Miller and," he gestured toward the Vulcan. "he who is my husband, Selek Miller."

"It is difficult to walk with swollen legs," Spock said. "Even with the shortness of breath," Kirk turned his head toward the Vulcan as his smile began to fade. "the increased swelling is distressing. I have been unable to properly arrange myself to meditate in the past three days.”

"And?" Mac'ie asked.

"My heart beat has been rapidly beating faster than normal," Spock said. Mac'ie wrote down on the padd. "the swelling was not as bothersome after my return to Earth."

"You should have told me that earlier," Kirk said.

"I did not wish that beginning of a new life with you to start on a sour note," Spock said. Kirk grew a understanding look. It was logical. "I believed it would go away after I performed meditation and drinking lots of tea," The Vulcan grimaced. "It only slowed the growth of the swelling. I believed it would be gone long within the month."

"You realize that you were wrong," Kirk said.

"Very so," Spock said, solemnly.

"When the swelling start?" Mac'ie asked.

"It started after being in Doctor Talron's care on the USS Shran," Spock turned his attention toward the doctor.

Mac'ie looked up from the padd raising an eyebrow.

"Zelese Uka-ito Talron?" Mac'ie asked.

"Yes," Spock said.

Mac'ie lowered the padd then took out a hypspray.

"Any fatigue lately?" Mac'ie asked.

"He has been sleeping more often than usual," Kirk said. "'I thought that was partially because he is so old."

"Mr Miller, please roll up your sleeve." Spock rolled his sleeve up. "And you will need a chest x-ray to be sure."

"Why?" Spock inquired, as the hypospray went in.

"Because I want to be sure what I think you have," Mac'ie said.

Spock looked over toward Kirk, concerned.

Mac'ie turned away from the screen as Spock waited in the machine. She turned off the audio looking grimly in the direction of Kirk. Kirk recognized that look. It only said bad news. They wore the kind of grim look that normally would be seen on a doctor handing the loved one bad news. In that moment, any hope that it was just a curable illness went away. He shifted from civilian to Admiral.

"Lay it down, doctor," Kirk said, in his captainly voice.

"Your husband has congestive heart failure," Mac'ie said. "He has five years."

Kirk turned toward the window then placed a hand on the screen, bitterly.

"If there was a clone of Spock can you transplant his heart to him?" Kirk asked.

"What? Mac'ie said, alarmed. "We are not authorized to do that in this hospital."

"It can be done," Kirk said.

"How are you so sure about this?" Mac'ie asked.

"Because I authorized a mission regarding cloning," Kirk took his hand off the screen. "There is a civilization capable of cloning and Star Fleet has their technology in area 51." he turned toward Mac'ie. "I am allowing you to clone my husband and save his life."

"Admiral, I need that clones consent before the surgery," Mac'ie said. "It is not ethical without it."

"I knew this day would come one day." Kirk said. "I didn't think it would be that it would be so soon. . ." he had a heavy sigh. "I have my old uniform back home. It's in a box. Covered in Spock's DNA before . . before. . ." Kirk was unable to finish that thought. "You need to rapidly age his clone."

"We will do our best," Mac'ie said.

"You can expect the technology to be in here tomorrow morning," Kirk said. He turned toward the window.

"What about your husband?" Mac'ie asked.

"I can imagine that he wouldn't want his clone to see him," Kirk said. "We will figure that part together."

"Alright," Mac'ie said. "How do I tell him. . ."

"Just tell him that we need to clone him to fix a problem the Romulan's made," Kirk said. "After he gets out."

It had to be the Romulans. Those were the only people who had meant harm to Spock. Whatever they did to him. What they had done to him. . . Kirk's fist trembled in anger. The ones who did it got what they deserved. The scars that Spock had received were fading from the light green grayed skin. They were dead. All of them. Every single one who played a part in harming his husband.

Mac'ie turned on the audio.

"Mr Selek, thank you for the cooperation," Mac'ie said.

Kirk went out of the room to join with his husband.

The lift slid back and Spock came up from the bed sensing Kirk's delight.

"Husband, you seem to be a happy camper," Spock said.

"I am happy because I have you," Kirk said, holding his two fingers out.

Spock returned the gesture, touching his husband's two extended fingers.

Kirk stood there, frozen, where he stood. He had one hand out for the Vulcan that missed his shoulder as he had stepped back. The young Vulcan was in Vulcan robes that matched his sudden turn into a dark lane. Dark long pants, pitch black shoes, black dress wear with white Vulcan calligraphy that was ancient. He looked so long. Young enough to have been Kirk's son. He looked young to be fresh off the historic five year mission. The blue eyeliner. His face a mask of someone he once knew.

"I have decided to attend Gol and participate in a ritual known as Kolinahr, admiral," came the rich deep familiar voice. His hands clasped behind his back. "It is unfortunate that our time together is short."

Spock was awakened by the sounds of familiar crying. Crying that Spock recalled from being in McCoy's mind shortly after his death. He leaned forward feeling around in the dark. His hands landed on Italian's head. Maru was on the corner of the bed fast asleep. Spock's hand moved to the human's legs. He continued patting around until his hand was on the human's shoulder.

"Jim," Spock said, in concern. He wiped a tear off the human's face. He cupped the side of the admiral's face. "What is wrong?"

"Nightmare,” Kirk said.

"What was it about?" Spock asked.

"Your clone went to Gol," Kirk said. "I . . I . I am scared, Spock."

"I only considered Gol once," Spock said. "a individual calling themselves Spock but defies his obligations as your mate by purging his emotion is not a Spock at all," Kirk briefly closed his eyes. Thinking, damn he's right. "He is a entirely different person."

Kirk looked at Spock's eyes.

"Are you scared?" Kirk asked.

"No," Spock said. "I am not."

"Why?" Kirk asked, curiously.

"Should anything go wrong during the operation. . . " Spock said. "You shall have a Spock by your side, either way."

Their foreheads were pressed together, lightly. Spock brought his free hand over to the human's shoulder and brought him into a hug. Kirk's head moved resting against his chest. Spock softly sang to the human. It was one of the more sleep inducing music that Kirk enjoyed listening to on the radio. Spock had made it his mission to master the lyrics for a special occasion. May it be when the power went out and share a intimate, close moment together. His right hand holding onto the human's right hand between them. Kirk's eyes fluttered closed as Spock reached to the ending. Spock lightly planted a kiss onto the human's forehead then snuggled into bed holding onto the human. Kirk was never in the mood to kiss when he was upset. Spock's eyes remained focused on his husband.

This, too, shall pass.

Mac'ie stared at the complete set. It was a rounded tube like object with a bed at the center. Kirk's old uniform was laid inside a small box section into the machine. She had stared at it for the past two hours. The machine was quite unmistakenable. Quite new and advanced than any technology they had seen. it was a lot like a tank with a doorway that allowed a body to be slid out. It had a wide window showing the inside of it. Their patient and the admiral were okay with the cloning. They had decided that Spock go into a stasis pod. The admiral had a cat carrier with him. The two elderly men were holding hands grounding each other down. Mac'ie turned their attention back toward the control panel. There were so many options but with the time they had spent studying it, Mac'ie was sure that they could operate it. Spock's swelling had gone down visibly at his legs yet they still looked a little too large to belong to him. Spock's long, grayed thumbs rubbed the sides of Kirk's hands who looked at the Vulcan. They had been silent since their arrival. Italian was not mewing from his carrier. Spock let go of Kirk's hands.

"Promise me that you shall not let him see me in this condition while in stasis," Spock said.

"I give you my word," Kirk said. "That's better than a promise."

Spock planted a kiss on the human's lips, a bit unexpected. His hands cupping the side of the human's face while the other came to the back of his head. Kirk's hands at first were palm opened then slowly grasped onto the Vulcan's shoulders. The admiral squeezed them, tightly. Kirk passionately returned the kiss. They stood there ignored by the younger human like individual with little thorns along the top of Mac'ies fingers. The kiss was drawn out long between the two men. Kirk's hand slackened on the Vulcan's shoulder becoming loose and light. T'hy'la! They stood that way for fifteen minutes. The kiss became slower. . . and slower. Until it was Spock, the one who ended the kiss. The Vulcan cupped the side of Kirk's face.

"Do not grieve, admiral," Spock said.

"Who said I will?" Kirk said. "You will come back to me, Ambassador."

"I shall do my best," Spock said.

"The cloning machine is ready," Mac'ie said.  The two men didn’t turn their attention to her. Then came over to the elder. "Have you been given the stasis shot?"

Spock turned away from Kirk.

"Not yet," Spock said.

"Nurse Tehell will attend to you," Mac'ie said.

"Did hell become a popular name that I was not aware of?" Spock said.

"It's a beautiful name on Gorgon," Mac'ie said.

"Well, that explains it," Kirk said. "Gorgon did have a first contact with Earth roughly thirty years ago."

"Logical," Spock said. A stool was brought over to the side of the stasis pod. Spock walked up the stool then sat down into the stasis pod. The stasis pod was a size large. Nurse Tehell put the hypospray to the side of the Vulcan's neck. Spock laid down. The door began to close on him. Spock placed a hand on the wall in the shape of the ta'al.  I love you. “I have, and always shall be, yours.”

I love you, too, baby. Kirk replied, his hand placed on the glass.

“See you after the operation, Ambassador,” Kirk said.

I love you more than you do, came Spock's reply.

Spock mental shields raised up as the stasis pod began to activate. The stasis pod became foggy. Spock's hand fell from the glass leaving the imprint of his hands behind. Kirk stepped back allowing the nurses to move his pod into a stasis pod wall holder. Directly into a wall with the shape of the pod's back end sticking out. Kirk rubbed his wrist. He closed his eyes shoveling down his rocky threatening to explode emotions. Kirk walked over as he saw the inside of the cloning machine glowing. He came to the side of Mac'ie. The shape of a wailing baby. Before his eyes came into formation that began to morph with age as a toddler, a child, a teenager, and a adult. The machine abruptly stopped mid-way. The blue color faded away. The Vulcan had jet black hair, lines littering his face, large pointy ears that were curled and not as much pointy nose.

"Doctor, what is going on?" Kirk asked.

"We can't go any further," Mac'ie said. "It won't budge."

The screen began to glow a shade of red.

"Get him out, now!" Mac'ie said. "Turn it off, turn it off!"

The nurses began flipping switches. The machine powered down little by little by each flip. They moved to the exit of the machine then opened it up. A very much naked but hairy Vulcan was slid out on the bed. The nurses dressed the Vulcan standing in the way of the admiral. Kirk was escorted out of the room by Mac'ie. He paced back and forth awaiting for word. He rubbed his hands anxiously. Mac'ie returned minutes later, collected, and calm regarding the situation.

"Admiral Miller," Mac'ie said.

"Yes?" Kirk asked.

"Your husband. ." he braced himself. "is alive."

Kirk sat down.

"Which one?" Kirk said, looking up.

"Both," Mac'ie said. "the clone is asleep. He will awaken in three hours."

"Good," Kirk said. "I will be waiting."

"He is in room 307," Mac'ie said, then slid a padd forward. "He will need to sign this."

Kirk looked down toward the padd then handed it back to her.

"You have to add in his alias," Kirk said. "His name is Spock Miller."

Mac'ie took the padd.

"Yes, Admiral Miller," Mac'ie said, then left the room.

Captain Spock's eyes fluttered open. His vision cleared from the darkness to a semi bright scenery. The lights were dim. More dim then the USS Saratoga’s sick bay. One that he found himself arriving not as often as the one on the Enterprise with Kirk in tow. The neutral zone was a place to be observed and protected at all costs.  He sensed Kirk’s presence was nearby. Right beside him. Spock’s brown eyes adjusted.

"Spock," came a familiar but older staccato voice.

Spock looked over.

"Jim," Spock said, in bewilderment. "How did you get so old?" his hands were on his knees. His hand came to the human's broad shoulder with a gentle but caring touch. The human had grayed curly hair. His hair style had changed drastically from the last time that he had seen. The man had laughter lines around his eyes that hadn't been there earlier. Spock could not feel the bond with Kirk. He stared at the human observing him, dumbstruck.

"We're in the past, you're a clone, and you need your heart." Kirk said.

"You need my consent for the operation," Spock said. Kirk smiled in return, brightingly.

"Yes," Kirk said.

"I refuse," Spock said. Kirk's smile began to fade as a puzzled look replaced it.

"Why?" Kirk asked, feeling his heart breaking into pieces.

"I do not wish to outlive you," Spock said.

Oh, it dawned, oh. It hit Kirk harder than it should.

"'That's fair," Kirk said. "What stardate is it?"

"2288," Spock said.

"Captain, it is Stardate 2234," Kirk replied. "We have been in the past together for a month."

"I do not understand, why have you not slingshotted to the future?" Spock inquired.

"We are retired," Kirk said. "we have outlived the rest of the crew."

Spock was silent.

"My parents?" Spock asked.

"We outlived them too," Kirk said. "They're alive and they're raising a four year old Hybrid on Vulcan."

Spock shook his head.

"I shall not intervene," Spock said. "And yourself?"

Kirk looked at the past, the golden days, of what had been reeling in the silence between them with hands linked behind his back.  A affectionate, admiring look. Spock was a physical reminder of a time that had been their glory days. This was a Spock who rather live in San Francisco for his retirement with Kirk in their golden years. Golden years that had passed the Vulcan like a second. Kirk came to an answer.

"I have a timeline to work around, Captain," Kirk said, then he wiggled his index finger. "Don't think of taking the name Selek."

"Really?" Spock inquired.

"Yes," Kirk replied. "Really."

"Then it seems I will have to choose another name," Spock said.

"It's Spock Miller," Kirk said. "We decided that before the operation."

"Your mother's maiden name," Spock said.

"Yes," Kirk said.

"I do not deserve your kindness," Spock said. "After declining to be part of a fatal procedure, heart breaking to humans, you give me a name."

"It's my gift for you," Kirk said. "For everything you’ve done under my command," Kirk held his hand up then performed the ta'al. "Live long and prosper, Mr Miller." Kirk walked around the hybrid lowering his hand to his side. "It would be pointless to follow me home as we're not married." Spock realized that there was no bond between him and Kirk. Kirk turned away from the door. "Starting today, you're a new man."

Kirk picked up the cat carrier on his way out. Spock stood there, feeling numb, and abruptly confused what to do with himself in somewhere he most certainly did not belong. Perhaps he could. . . Spock deeply considered the issue at large to stay out of the timeline's way. It was a little over thirty-three minutes was he given a new exchange of clothes. Spock looked at the history, closely, to find out a new life for himself. Where history had noted nothing alarming happened, looking back at what he did know. It was remarkable how Ji---Kirk had been able to keep himself together in the discussion without bursting into tears. Professional, calm, and---how had he done it? The scene panned to Kirk. Kirk sat down on a bench in front of a water front at a park. There was a flood of feelings coming over him. A feeling of fault and guilt.

He made a promise to Spock. Not to show the clone his aged counterpart. He couldn't kill him as it was morally and ethnically murder. It would also mean damaging the heart. Kirk didn't want to break the heart of the younger Vulcan, again. If they got together, Spock would have outlived Kirk. He would become Spock 2.0 and mourn the loss. Then Spock directly would land himself into trouble, get hurt, and be reunited with him in some manner and then being cloned again. So Kirk had broken the chain by setting the Vulcan free of his obligation as his husband. Kirk didn't have the heart to tell him how old his counterpart was. Some Vulcans were known to live into their hundreds living on to three hundred when it came to being 100% pure. Italian mewed from the small cage. Kirk opened the cage. Italian slid his way out of the cat kennel. Kirk watched the sun set. He stood up and then turned toward the cat, sadly. Kirk walked away with the kennel in tow in the direction of the air car. Kirk opened the door then set into it with the kennel alongside. Italian tailed after the car Kirk drove away in.

[darkcloud-kcalifornia]

Got something a bit different as far as me reacting to stuff this week.  See last time I queued up a Nanoha episode while I was waiting for Paint.net and Word to load I scrolled down the video listings on Amazon and saw something odd.  Apparently sometime in the early 80s somebody thought it would be a good idea to make a spoopy comedy titled “Saturday the 14th”.  I have never heard of this one before, and the title combined with the time it was made makes me think this would likely best be enjoyed with the company of a couple of robot puppets.  But I don’t have those, so I’m going this one alone.  Welcome to an unexpected bad movie night this Saturday the 14th with… Saturday the 14th.

* Credits ain’t even rolled yet and we already have badly a badly animated wolf and bat in front of a rotoscoped house.  Oh yeah, we’re dealing with “quality” here.

* So we open with creepy pedo vampire named Waldemar (don’t know how I’ll ever remember that name) trying to buy a house, and his wife being annoyed that he’s obviously being creepy pedo vampire in front of the real estate agent.

* So apparently there’s a problem with the house, involving some scene with “gags” about a rich person’s will telling various people to go &^%! themselves, and one couple, John and Mary, inherit a cured house.  The lawyer gags and dies before he can mention what the curse is.  Well, can’t fault the curse for efficiency.

* So apparently the naïve couple and their two kids are now moving into the house the vampire couple wants. The real estate agent tries to assure the vampires the family likely won’t stay for long.  Waldemar’s wife agrees, ominously.

* The family dog Rover decides he wants nothing to do with this place.  And the dog was the smartest of all.

* The son Billy disappears, and the couple assure themselves that this is like when they went to Disneyland and he hid inside of Pluto for 2 hours.  Not Pluto’s house, Pluto.  Guys, I think your son might be a furry.

* Of course shortly after entering the house a mirror falls down and breaks and a black cat runs by. This is a subtle movie.

* Ah, apparently Billy is an electrician furry.  He was just off fixing the fuse box.  Also, the daughter Debbie thinks boarding school sounds good right about now.

* Ah, so the vampire couple are after something in particular in that house.  They are of course being dramatically vague about that.

* Huh, that’s a curse side effect I hadn’t thought of, and yet seems oddly appropriate.  Every channel on the TV is playing The Twilight Zone. I’ll give the movie credit for that one.

* Mary seems surprisingly calm about her efforts to dust off the skull in the pantry.

* Uncle Henry left them a note before he died.  In the fridge.  About not opening “the book”.  I can’t help but feel like it would have been better to tie that note to the book in question.

* Billy of course has found the Book of Evil.  And opened it.  Well at least this movie isn’t likely to go for tree rape, it’s only rated PG.

* John and Mary hear the sound of the real estate agent being mauled outside as they prepare for a lovely night together and assume the screams were an owl.  I ain’t never heard no owl like that.

* Ain’t never seen no owl like that either.

* OK, that was a pretty decent exchange between Billy and John when the kid is screaming about a monster. “Act your age.”  “I am acting my age.  You’re just used to me acting like a grownup.  I’m 10 years old and there’s a monster in here.”

* You can tell when Billy has given up all hope when his dad doesn’t notice the monster standing right behind him.

* And Mary got bit by one of the vampires while John was being useless.

* Billy has discovered that monsters don’t like the touch of the Book of Evil.  Time for good old fashion book bashing.

* It’s got to do wonders for a kid’s self esteem to smack a large monster hard enough they go stumbling out the window.

* Waldemar is convinced that whoever controls the book controls the world.  All hail Overlord Billy!

* I wonder which monster did the dishes.

* Why can’t I ever find rubber gloves large enough for my hands? Monsters apparently don’t have this problem.

* Fin pops out of the bubble bath while certain chords play that aren’t in any way similar to a certain shark’s theme.  I’m sure it’s just a dolphin owl.

* OK movie, did we really need to see a barely teenage girl strip down for her bath?  I sure hope the actress was 18 and just happened to look young.  Because that scene ain’t right.

* Rubber ducky scare.

* Look mister, I don’t care if you’re not going to hurt her or don’t have any interest in her species, you don’t go around accosting young teens in the bath.

* Well, at least one policeman is close enough to try and do something.  Advantage of having one as a neighbor I guess.

* Too bad the creature is freakishly durable, that cop nailed him right between the eyes with that gun shot.

* And the cop’s dead. Too bad, put up a surprisingly decent fight for a “caps are useless” point in a horror movie.

* Billy, if your sister dies now it’s all on you.  You don’t stuff unconscious people into a tub with water, and then after having to drag them out to prevent drowning, try to do it again.

* So after Mary is nearly torn apart by bats owls, John calls an exterminator.  And this exterminator has a Van Helsing working for him. I have the feeling that those other addresses mentioned mean something, but I hardly ever watch horror and thus can’t say.

* Helsing comes by to exterminate the bats (look for the book) and expects a guest room.  And dinner.  You don’t get rid of bats overnight.  Doesn’t anybody have work ethic anymore?

* The monsters are outright gaslighting little Debbie at this point.

* Well Rosemary’s Baby got namechecked at least.

* Van Helsing is now completely convinced, the Book is here.  And he’s now ranting about it at the dinner table.  Awkward conversation topics.  But at least it’s being brought out into the open now and Billy is admitting that he had it and opened it.  Heck if he can find anything after his mom cleaned his room though.

* OK, that one was pretty funny.  After Van Helsing asks John if he as any idea what kind of horrors would be in the house on Saturday the 14th (title drop!) after the Book has been opened, John thinks he should restrict the party guests to just the relatives.

* That night Waldemar uses mind control on the now partially-turned Mary to have her retrieve the book from wherever it was she hid the thing when she cleaned Billy’s room.  Which… is actually a pretty good plan on Waldemar’s part. If anybody knows where the thing is now, it’d be her.

* Ah-ha!  The linen closet!  But as she’s now partially monster she can’t touch the thing.  Which… makes me wonder how Waldemar was planning on using it.  It’s not like he can touch it either if even Mary can’t when she’s still somewhat human.

* Waldemar’s wife is the jealous type.  Not that she’s wrong…

* Monsters are so sloppy. Except for Wolfman.  Wolfman seems to be stuck with the job of tidying up after the others.  I do not envy Wolfman.

* I’m honestly surprised Debbie’s bladder held strong considering she was trying to make it to the bathroom before suddenly getting transported to the kitchen.  Never did make it to that bathroom… er, because she just snuck back to her room, not because she got eviscerated or anything.

* Van Helsing: fully willing to take advantage of the fact that people will believe anything is possible from bubbling, smoky beakers.

* The fate of the world is potentially hinging on their ability to throw a good party so as to collect enough positive energy.  We’re doomed.

* Well Debbie might have avoided an accident last night but unfortunately it seemed her mother ended up soiling the bed. (*ba-dum tssh*)

* Only a minute after meeting John’s relatives and Van Helsing is already convinced these people deserve anything that happens to them tonight.

* Who want to play “find the boy before the world ends”?

* Mary was planning on handling the Book… with oven mitts.  And somebody else took it.  Uh oh.

* Nice of the monsters to leave out the cop’s head where his wife could find it.  Of course everybody in this film has blinders on.

* Who wants to bet Billy just went to the bathroom?

* Oh hey, the real estate agent is undead now.

* You know, the phrase “room temperature IQ” gets thrown around a lot these days, but…

* Oh hey, they found Billy! And he’s got the book!  And is with Waldemar… and wearing a cape…

* And Van Helsing was a villain all along, as he too was in the book.

* OK, I think I just need to stae for the record that random sound effects rather than the usual vampiric hissing do not comedy make.  This scene is just cringe-worthy.

* And so Van Helsing gets his hands on the book to destroy it and thus make sure the monsters can’t be imprisoned again, and that just kills the monsters and Van Helsing.

* And so Waldemar and his wife bid them a fond farewell and Rover comes back.  The End.

 Yeah, that was kind of a crappy ending.  As for the rest of the movie, it was… meh?  Certainly not the worst thing I’ve sat through, and there were a couple of decent jokes and lines in there.  But a lot of the humor derived from how oblivious and stupid most of the people were, and that just gets old after a while.  Still, if you want to watch a cheesy movie with bad effects and acting then feel free to give this one a go.  Just be aware that you’d probably have a better time if you have friends to mock it with.