#or even have both of them stranded and unable to use the replica

[marfian]

I feel so dumb for expecting gays in space when literally Aaron Paul plays a character in the episode. SPOILERS! Of course his wife will die, of course he'll be miserable, of course he'll cry. Fucking hell.

[yandere-daydreams]

requests are open!!! what about a soft yandere fairy with a darling that accidentally wanders into their forest and won't let them leave? thank u sm!

I’ve never been able to resist a classic Yandere!Fae who can’t seem to understand why their lovely little Darling won’t give them a name and volunteer their free will without a struggle. It’s nice to be soft for a change, too, if only for the dialogue.

Title: Creation and Control.

TW: Imprisonment and Mind-Control.

~

You chose not to dance, tonight.

It wasn’t because you had anything better to do. The fae could hunt, they could harvest and maintain their make-shift homes and do whatever they wished once the sun slipped low in the sky, but as a human, a guest who’d been forced to overstay their welcome, you could only choose between joining one of the swirling, ever-growing circles or not doing so. For whatever reason, you’d picked the latter, taking a seat on a fallen tree-trunk and watching as strangers without names laughed and smiled and sobbed, some of them unfamiliar, and others prisoners like yourself, unable to leave because of magic or fate or in your case, a golden elixir you hadn’t known better than to drink. A goblet of it sat at your feet, now, but you didn’t pay it any mind. If only for the sake of protecting your pride.

Despite this, your attention dropped to the grail as a familiar figure started to approach, heavy footsteps muffled by the soft glass of the clearing. You didn’t have to greet him or be greeted in return, not when there was only one person who dared to speak to you.  Who bothered to speak to you, really. It wasn’t like a conversation with someone else’s personal pet would draw much interest, not from a group that had already seen so many of your kind come and go.

You only looked up when a long, lean hand came to rest on your shoulder, pressing down for a moment before you gave in, tilting your head back and letting your eyes meet the swirls of green and gold just beginning to pry into you. Durin, although that was more of a title than a name. The warden to your prison of trees and mushrooms and enchanting, unnerving smiles.

He spoke first. He always did. You were an object to be addressed, here, rather than one expected to speak out of turn. “My dear,” He started, already sliding a thin wooden comb in your waiting hand. “Indulge me and I promise, you won’t be pestered again until sunrise.”

You didn’t need further instruction. You pulled your legs onto the trunk and Durin lowered himself into the space they’d once occupied, soon sitting outstretched in front of you. It was a mind-numbing activity, braiding a head of long, pale hair into whatever dizzying pattern its owner requested, but you had plenty of practice, both from the task you were currently performing and the less patient stallions you used to care for on your family’s farm. You wondered if anyone took up to responsibility, now that you weren’t there to carry it out. You wondered if anyone even noticed you were gone. “It’s not difficult,” You mumbled, running your comb through a series of non-existent knots. “You could learn to do this yourself, if you wanted to. It’d be faster than coming to me.”

“I could, hypothetically, but I’m afraid we monsters don’t share your talents.” He paused, letting out a pleased hum as your blunt nails scraped idly against his scalp. “Hunting braids, perhaps, but nothing so…” He trailed off, rolling two fingers in a vague, arbitrary gesture. “Nothing so pointless. The Gods blessed us with many things, but alas, no one thought to add ‘creation’ to that list.”

Your response was delayed. You’d heard of their curse before, in tales of the suffering that was said to accompany any slight endeavor into turning one thing into another, but you’d never quite believed it. You supposed it was fitting, though. Durin didn’t seem like the kind of refined soul who would dwell in the sparsely decorated cave he called a home for any reason less than necessity. “I hardly think brushing your own hair would incur divine wrath.”

“If you can break one rule, you’re bound to break the rest. I wouldn’t be reduced to a pile of smoldering ash, but I doubt the consequences would be pleasant,” He explained, twisting to his side just enough to see you without disturbing the three tangled trails you were desperately trying to guide to an agreeable meeting point. “Are you trying to say you don’t enjoy my company, love?”

You didn’t answer him. With a particularly harsh tug to the strand you were holding, you forced him to wince, freeing you from his gaze with minimal effort. “And that’s why I’m here?” You asked, the words more a declaration of grudging recognition than a real question. “To braid your hair and tend to your every need, because you’re so tragically unable to?”

At that, he seemed to take offense, leaning back and into your lap, spoiling your progress as carelessly as he’d demanded it. You could see his face, like this, an expression of defined lines and pointed ears and traits that weren’t quite not uncanny. You might’ve said there was a hint of a collar bone beneath his loose tunic, but there could be no hints, not with Durin. He was the romantic interpretation of a man, something that got so close to being a perfect replica, but whose creator was too fond of embellishments to truly design something real. You could accept that you’d once thought of him as human, but you couldn’t forgive yourself for holding onto that belief for so long. Others in his entourage their otherness more obvious, decorating themselves with horns and hooves and whatever they liked, and while Durin was less apparent, he made no attempt to hide his wrongness. His grin, suddenly full of pointed, predatory teeth, was enough to prove that.

“You’re here because I want you to be.” He never looked away, never blinked, and abruptly, it occurred to you that he might not have to. “You’re here because I saw a young, vulnerable human wandering through my territory, following the calls of members of my court, and I decided to take pity on what should’ve been the main course of our next feast. And, because I’ve come to care for you despite your doubt, you will remain here. Allowing you to dote on me is just another privilege I’m kind enough to provide.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, and you knew that. As well as you knew the color of the sky and the time of day, you knew that. You knew it, and yet, you found yourself frowning, stiffening, gritting your teeth as you resisted the urge to shove him away. “If you were kind, you would let me go. You know I don’t want to be here.”

His smile wavered, then dropped. “I don’t think I like your tone.”

“I don’t think I like being a hostage.” You didn’t try to stop yourself, pushing him off of your lap and fleeing from your informal, ruined haven. You had to force yourself to breathe, to inahle and exhale and make yourself calm down, but even that did little to calm your temper, only making you feel more like a child attempting to express their discontent. “You trapped me here. You took me someplace I don’t wish to be, and now, I can’t leave. How is that kind? How are you guiltless--”

“(Y/n).”

It was a silent command. You could feel it, something vile forcing its way into your veins and solidifying, rendering you speechless and paralyzed as Durin shook his head, letting out a ragged sigh before he bothered to raise a hand, gesturing for you to come to him. You didn’t have a choice, your movements rigid and your thoughts barely your own, but your body was quick to obey him, to stumble its way to its captor and fall into his lap the moment he expressed his desire for you to do so. His control faded as his arms wrapped around you, but Durin didn’t act to reinstate it, only reaching behind him and pushing something small and solid into your palm.

The comb. Sleek and wooden and so, so awful. You were tempted to cry, if only in frustration.

But, you didn’t try to resist.

Instead, you choked down your complaints and began working where you left off, attempting to ignore the contented, toothy smile now pressing into your skin.

[westallenfun]

Two's Company (2/3)

Westallen secret santa gift

For: Lauren (@backtothestart02) (Happy holidays! I hope you like this fic!)

From: Lina (@cheryls-blossomed)

A/N: A special thank you to my beta, Caroline (@ginandweas).

Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma and the blissfulness and hardship of tumbling into true love.  On the eve of publication of the most important article of her professional career thus far, Iris West realizes that she is head over heels in love with her best friend Barry, but she grapples with revealing her feelings, for fear of ruining their friendship. But a weekend trip to Metropolis sets in motion a series of events, romantic mishaps and conundrums abound, that may force Barry and Iris to face some long-awaited, romantic truths.

Rating T (Warnings: Mild Language)

The mirror in the bathroom is foggy from the steam of the shower, and as Iris traces circles on its surface to clear the mistiness, she feels more relaxed than she has in days. The hot shower was exactly what she needed, and perhaps this impromptu vacation is a blessing in disguise, for she knows she had been overworked and overtired the past few weeks as she agonized over the research for the McCulloch Tech exposé. Even now, the article is not far from her mind, and the last few days have been hectic: Carver had immediately filed a defamation lawsuit on Tuesday, and Iris had had Cynthia file a response on Wednesday. Meanwhile, the public response to the exposé had been overwhelmingly positive, with Iris and Kamilla already being praised for their meticulousness in investigative reporting, and the news world is currently buzzing with anticipation about the long-term ramifications of the piece. Iris hopes that truth will ensure that justice will be done. 

As Iris contemplates truth and justice, she steps out of the bathroom and sees the two cocktail dresses that she had laid out for tonight: a red, shimmery number and a lacy, black fitted dress that comes half-way down her thighs. The fact that she is attending a party tonight comes as a bit of a surprise.

            When Iris, Barry, Cisco, and Cynthia had arrived at The Time Metropolis, they had been checked in rapidly and told that Eddie Thawne had invited them to a cabaret performance that night.

            “Mr. Thawne is sorry to have missed you, as he is in meetings this afternoon, but he has asked us to invite you to our Friday night cabaret at the Trajectory Club on our terrace. He has told us that he will meet you there and hopes that you will join, even though the invitation is last minute,” a lady at the concierge informed them

            “Sweet!” Cisco had exclaimed, but Barry and Cynthia had seemed far less enthused at the prospect of having to attend a cabaret and socialize that very night. While Iris had been somewhat surprised at the invitation, especially because her father and Cecile are only arriving tomorrow for the gala, the concierge had confirmed that this was a night for the young people invited to tomorrow’s gala. Iris found this odd, given the fact that this weekend was meant to celebrate her dad and Cecile. Still, not wanting to be rude, given the effort Eddie seemed to be putting into this weekend, Iris had accepted. She had privately told Barry, Cynthia, and Cisco that if they did not want to attend, they didn’t have to.

            “It’s fine,” Cynthia had responded. “While I would have been perfectly fine binge-watching Netflix, I’m not going to leave you without a wing-woman.” 

            “I need no convincing,” Cisco had said. Barry, who had gone very quiet up until that point, agreed to come, albeit very reluctantly,

            “I have no idea why this guy would plan an event tonight when Joe and Cecile won’t even be here to attend. But since we’re invited, I guess we should go.”

            Thus, Iris finds herself having to prepare for an unexpected night at the hotel’s terrace club. The red, shimmery dress is a favorite, but it’s for very specific occasions, and unsure what the atmosphere will be tonight, Iris figures that the lacy, black dress is the safer option, and she picks out the eye shadow and earrings that would best suit the dress. As she adorns herself with her garnet, dangling earrings, she hears a knock at her hotel room door. 

            “Just a minute!” she calls, as she adds the soft backs to her earrings. Upon opening her door, she is greeted by the sight of Barry in a dark shirt and jeans, holding a small, red bag. “Bear,” she smiles, just as he says,

            “Iris.” And he’s looking at her, wide-eyed and apparently speechless, and Iris feels both stunning and powerful under his gaze. They’re staring at each other, neither saying a word, and Iris wonders who might speak first, but she does not have to wait long, because Barry shakes his head quickly, relieving some of the intensity, and smiles, “You look absolutely beautiful.” (And when he says that to her, so unassumingly, Iris is absolutely sure that she would love to run through a field of daisies and into Barry’s arms right about now, but she manages to compose herself.) 

            “Thanks, Barry. You look good, yourself.” She lets him into her room and shuts the door. “You’re early. I thought we were meeting by the elevator at ten to eight.” 

            “Yeah, we are… we were, but I have something for you,” he says, holding up the red bag. “I wasn’t able to give this to you on Tuesday, and then there was all the craziness of this last minute trip, and I know you’ve noticed that I’ve been preoccupied lately, which I am sorry about, by the way, and I know you definitely deserve an explanation.”

            “Bear, you don’t need to apologize. Or explain.”

            “No, I really do. And I want you to know that I’m glad we’re here. I really am. I kept telling you you needed a vacation, and I stand by that, and I want this weekend to be absolutely great for you.”

            “Well,” Iris says. “You’re with me, aren’t you? So it’s bound to be a pretty great weekend, no matter what else happens.” Barry chuckles, but there’s a forlornness to his laugh.

            “So, I got this for you. For your incredible journalistic achievements and for all your successes that I know you’re going to have in the future as the greatest journalist this world has ever known.”

            “Barry, you shouldn’t have,” Iris whispers, overcome with emotion, as she takes the bag from Barry and finds a small black, velvet box, which she removes from the bag, carefully. Setting the bag on the bed, she opens the box, revealing a white gold wedding band set on a delicate chain. Iris takes a deep breath as she realizes what she is looking at: the wedding band is the same as her mother, Francine’s, wedding band. Or rather it’s a perfect replica, for her mother’s wedding band was misplaced when her father sold their old home after Francine had passed away, and Iris had been distraught then. But here, in her hands, is a stunning replica of the wedding band, and she cannot imagine the trouble Barry must have taken to have the band replicated perfectly, especially because he did not have the original. “Mama’s wedding band,” Iris starts, but is unable to continue, tears spilling from her eyes. She feels Barry’s thumbs underneath her eyes, brushing away her tears, and Iris looks up and sees him watching her with such ineffable tenderness that she is unable to hold his gaze for too long, bashfully looking down at her toes.

            “I remember when this wedding band was misplaced in the move between houses, and I remember how devastated you were, because that was one of the few tangible things you had of your mom. I asked Joe if he had a photo that clearly shows your mom’s wedding band, and luckily he had one, and so I took it to the jewelers, and they were able to replicate it perfectly. I know it can’t compare to the original but…”

            “It’s perfect, Barry. I don’t even know what to say. That you remembered, that you took so much time to give this to me… I… I can’t even tell you what this means to me. I’ve waited so many years to have some closure, and I just…” Iris’s voice breaks, and Barry pulls her to him, cradling her head against his chest. “…Thank you, Bear,” she says, softly. Silence descends upon them, and Iris feels Barry’s hands slip to her waist, and she shivers, lifting her head slightly to look up at him, and his gaze is… so loving, so reverent. One hand remaining on her waist, he reaches his other hand down to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and his touch lingers on her cheek, caressing the skin just below her earlobe. And she’s not sure which one of them moves first, but she feels this invisible pull, pushing her up to her tip-toes as Barry bends his head towards hers, his hand gently tilting her chin upward, and their lips are just inches apart, and Iris cannot possibly rationalize what is about to happen, but her heart is racing, and all she feels is longing and desire and love.

But there’s a loud knock on her door, and Cynthia is yelling,

            “Iris, where are you? We need to get going.”

The moment evaporates, and Iris is flooded with disappointment, as Barry’s hands fall to his side. She can’t quite gauge his expression, as he’s not looking at her, but towards the door, rather pensively. It frustrates her that she is unable to determine what he’s thinking now, when usually he’s an open book to her. 

            “We should go, yeah?” Iris asks, as she puts the necklace on, and Barry nods, still not meeting her eye.

            “Yeah,” he whispers, hoarsely, following her to the door. Cynthia is impatient when Iris opens the door, but when she sees Barry, her eyes widen, and she gives Iris a desperate look, which Iris figures is meant to be apologetic. As they head to the elevators, where Cisco is waiting, Iris in any other situation may have been left to wonder if yet another person to whom she is close is aware of how she feels about Barry, but instead she cannot quite believe that she and Barry had been about to kiss and what this could possibly mean. Did Barry feel the same way she did? He had to, right? People don’t nearly kiss people they don’t have feelings for. Iris’s mind is reeling with the possibilities of Barry reciprocating her feelings, but a betraying voice in her head reminds her: What if this is all too good to be true? And just like that, she feels sick to her stomach.

*

The Trajectory Club on the rooftop terrace of the Time Metropolis is a sight to behold, with its sleek architectural finish of black marble and its incredible views of Metropolis. High tables of black marble and ivory cushioned stools circle the perimeter of the club, and a dance floor is at the center of the terrace, although nobody is currently occupying it. There are several microphones, however, no doubt for the upcoming cabaret performance, and servers are providing beverages and finger foods to customers. 

“This is noice,” Cisco remarks. “It’s a good thing you invited me to this shindig, Barry.”

“Anytime, man, although you should be thanking Iris,” Barry chuckles. 

“Thanks, Iris.” Iris nods at Cisco with a smile, but she’s so preoccupied that she can barely concentrate on the conversation; indeed, it’s certainly atmospherically a very nice club, but Iris finds herself hardly enjoying that fact, and unlike Cisco, she’s dreading the night out. Cynthia nudges her side and asks in a low voice,

“What’s wrong?” Iris opens her mouth to answer, but sees Eddie Thawne headed in their direction with a suspiciously familiar woman and mouths, 

“Later,” to Cynthia, who, in response, fixates Iris with a look that conveys that this is a conversation that they absolutely will be having at some point in the near future.

“Iris West,” Eddie exclaims when he is close enough, wrapping Iris in a hug, which startles Iris, as she and Eddie are acquaintances at best. She returns his hug, politely, but from the corner of her eye, she sees Barry tense and that agitated energy that he’d been carrying with him for days is now particularly palpable. “Good to see you again. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Eddie, hi. Thanks for inviting us. I’m sorry that Wally and Linda couldn’t make it,” Iris responds, quickly extricating herself from Eddie’s embrace and crossing her arms over her chest. “These are my friends: Barry, whom you’ve met before, and Cynthia, and Cisco.” 

“Nice to meet all of you. Good to see you again, Barry.” 

“Likewise,” Barry responds tightly, and when they shake hands, it feels distinctly unfriendly, which confuses Iris, because she’s sure Barry and Eddie have met only once before, and they had been cordial with one another at the time. 

“Thanks for inviting us all out here,” Cisco then interjects, and the tension seemingly dissipates, as Eddie and Cisco shake hands, and then Cynthia and Eddie exchange pleasantries.

The woman accompanying Eddie steps out from behind him, and Iris is shocked, for she has met her before, which would, she figures, explain why the woman had looked so familiar from a distance.

“Patty?” Iris queries, and Patty smiles brightly,

“Hi, Iris! Wow, I didn’t realize you and Barry were Eddie’s friends. Small world.”

“You two know each other?” Eddie asks, although his tone suggests that he’s not actually interested in the story behind that, more that he’s inquiring perfunctorily. 

“Not exactly, but I ran into Iris and Barry on a line at a coffee shop in Central City. Iris was nice enough to entertain my rambling.”

“Not at all. I enjoyed our brief, random conversation. Strangers on a queue waiting for morning coffee? There are always good stories to be had there,” Iris responds, and Patty smiles gratefully at her. 

“So how do you two know each other?” Barry asks.

“Oh, Patty and I are old friends. We went to MetU together. Figured she could use a break from studying for her masters, so I invited her here for the weekend,” Eddie explains quickly. “Anyways, shall we? I have a table for six back there.” The group moves away from the entrance, and Iris sees that the table in question is a bit larger than the rest. Like all the tables in the club, it is made completely of black marble with a sun-burst design adorning the center. 

As they take their seats, Iris finds herself sitting in between Barry and Patty, with Eddie on Patty’s right, Cisco on Barry’s left, and Cynthia between Cisco and Eddie. Cisco and Cynthia start chatting the moment they get settled, still arguing (rather flirtatiously… and Iris is impressed at how flirtatious they have managed to make patents) about whether or not Cisco should strengthen his future patent, and while Iris is unsure how long they can keep discussing that, they also seem very engrossed in this conversation. Barry nudges Iris’s elbow with his own gently, and she turns to him, and upon seeing his rather conspiratorial grin, she smiles back immediately. Simultaneously, though, Iris can’t help but wonder if Barry hopes to return to the status quo with her.

Would he pretend they hadn’t just nearly kissed? The trouble is, if he planned on not acknowledging the elephant in the room, Iris is unsure if she too can just pretend it didn’t happen. Still, she is aware that they are in public, and this is hardly the place to discuss almost kisses.

“We knew they’d hit it off,” Barry says. “But I don’t think we realized just how well they’d hit it off, especially considering their topic of choice is patents.” 

“They’ve made patents flirty, which I think is a feat that we can’t take credit for. Or maybe we can, tangentially,” Iris teases. “But we definitely can take credit for the secret ingenuity of getting them to meet.”

“You know, I think Linda might have been onto something about that match-making side hustle, after all.” Iris raises her eyebrows, jestingly,

“Change of heart, already? Because I have this distinct memory of you saying that you thought match-making was a bad business to get into.”

“Well, that was when Linda was suggesting it as a solo side hustle for you. But I think if you and I went into business together, this could be quite fun.”

“Perhaps. But what would we call our match-making company?” 

“Hmmm, how about West-Allen Matchmakers, Incorporated? Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“If this were truly a thing, I would reluctantly acquiesce, only because you and I are kind of a dream team.”

“You and I are the dream team,” Barry corrects emphatically, and he’s smiling widely at her and refusing to break their gaze, and she thinks…. she thinks he too must be feeling this intensity that has persistently lingered between them since their almost kiss, and she wonders for just a moment that maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way. Her hand comes to rest on the wedding band, just above the bodice of her cocktail dress, and his eyes track the movement, first tracking her neck, then her collar bones, and then the dip of her cleavage which disappears beneath her dress. She thinks she sees his tongue dart out momentarily over his lips, and she feels hot, suddenly, and she’s sure it has nothing to do with the warm, summer night. 

In the end, it’s Patty who interrupts, when she says,

“You know, when I first saw the two of you, despite you saying, Iris, that that gift basket which I presume was for Barry was just for a friend, I could have sworn you two were together.” Barry and Iris are both startled by the reminder that they are not alone, and Iris recovers more quickly and replies with a smile,

“We’ve been best friends for ages.”

“I guess that explains it, then,” Patty observes, although she doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Explains what?”

“How the two of you are in your own world together. You didn’t notice, because you were so focused on each other just now, but it’s like it was just the two of you in this world and no one else exists.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Sometimes we get so carried away in our conversations.”

“Yeah,” Barry adds quickly. “You’ll have to forgive us. It’s easy to just get caught up…”

“No, no, please don’t apologize,” Patty laughs, waving off their apologies. “It’s nice, is what I’m trying to say, but as usual, I’m having trouble putting it to words. You both clearly have such a deep connection, and it’s rare to see that. Rare, but nice.” Iris is unsure of how to respond to that, and it seems Barry is equally at a loss for words, but it doesn’t seem to faze Patty, as she continues on, “You know, it’s funny, because Eddie’s family and my family really want us to get married, and we’ve been friends for so, so long, and you know, I joke…,” and here Patty seems slightly less chipper, so Iris wonders if she actually is joking… “That maybe we should just bite the bullet and get hitched, but Eddie thinks it’s a terrible idea.”

“I don’t know if it’s a terrible idea, but I do know that we don’t have feelings for each other,” Eddie responds gruffly, clearly taking offense to what Iris thinks is a rather innocuous conversation. “Our families do want us to get married, and it’s complicated, because we want to oblige our parents, so we often show up to things, like tomorrow’s gala, together for show.” Iris ponders Eddie’s bitter tone, observing that it never ends well when families try to pressure their children into romantic entanglements that are good for business and image. And while she cannot blame Eddie for his anger, she also notices Patty’s expression, and it’s wistfully sad, and Iris realizes then that while Eddie may not have any romantic inclinations towards Patty, Patty does towards him.

So, evidently, she is not the only one dealing with romantic conundrums.

“Barry, Iris, you both know Katie Rogers, right?” Eddie asks, abruptly changing course, and Iris is now completely perplexed, because how in the world did Eddie Thawne know Katie Rogers, who was an old school friend of both Barry and Iris’s, and why was he even asking about her in the first place? Iris had mostly lost touch with Katie after she’d left Central City to join the Gotham City Ballet as a principal ballerina, but Barry had mentioned a couple of weeks ago that he and Katie had recently reconnected.

“We do. We used to go to school together,” Barry replies. “I actually tutor her cousin in organic chemistry, and we know her grandmother, Annette Rogers, quite well.”

“Yes, Katie mentioned to me that she had met you again recently, Barry, at her grandmother’s. She was in town not long ago visiting her family.” Barry nods, but Iris notices Eddie appraising Barry carefully, which is yet another mystery she is itching to solve, because these two seem to really dislike each other, and their sheer distaste for one another makes no sense at all, really, given that they hardly know each other.

“And how do you know Katie?” Iris inquires, immediately in reporter mode, for if she can’t deal with her feelings right now, she can surely get to the bottom of this rather puzzling interpersonal revelation.

“Katie and I met when she danced for the Gotham City Ballet, before she left for the Metropolis Ballet Theater. I was attending the Swan Lake, and she was dancing as Odette and Odile, and I was enchanted, so I waited by her exit point… perks of knowing the theater owner, and I introduced myself. Now, we’re good friends. She actually now performs at the cabaret here.”

“Excuse me?” Barry says, his brow furrowing, just as Iris seeks clarification by asking, 

“Katie dances at the club at your hotel?”

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly in response, as if what he’d just proclaimed made perfect sense, before replying,

“Once in a while, when I beg her. She’s such an exquisite dancer, and we’re old friends, plus she lives in Metropolis now, so every now and then I ask her if she’ll perform at Trajectory.” Iris takes note of Eddie’s emotional tone when he claims that he has to beg Katie to dance at the club, which is so different from his usual mild-mannered disposition; indeed, there is just something about this whole situation that simply does not add up. Maybe it’s the sheer coincidence of it all (and this is the second massive coincidence, the first one being Patty showing up here after Iris’s chance meeting with her on the line at Jitters), but there is something rather unusual about Eddie and Katie’s acquaintanceship. “In fact,” Eddie continues, as Iris scrutinizes him carefully. “She’s dancing here tonight. That’s why I asked about her. In fact, she should be on any minute now.”

“What?” Iris asks sharply, and she notices Barry’s whole demeanor shift from semi-relaxed to overtly alert beside her, but before she can press Eddie about this particular revelation, the lights on the terrace dim, and sultry musical instrumentals fill the speakers of the club. The dance floor lights up, and five dancers appear, performing a rather unexciting number, Iris notes, but despite the choreography, the dancers are still very talented. The principal performer is taller than the rest, and her hair is in a Dutch braid, unlike the high buns on the other dancers, and Iris recognizes her, for she is Katie Rogers. Given how dull the choreography is, Iris is surprised Katie had agreed to perform at Trajectory, because she is clearly quite an impressive dancer, and this cabaret performance seems to be an inadequate display of her skills. The dancers are soon joined by singers, whose styles range from operatic to pop, and the spectacle is most certainly haphazard, but enjoyable enough.

At the end of the cabaret, Iris joins her fellow audience members in polite applause, although some people are emphatically cheering and whistling, and she wonders if they too are putting on a performance. Beside her, Barry seems guarded, his applause perfunctory, and he’s keeping an eye on Eddie instead of the performers, while Eddie is smiling widely at Katie, as the lights return to the rooftop terrace. As Iris’s eyes adjust to the new lighting, she notices that Katie is resolutely avoiding Eddie’s gaze (or perhaps she has not noticed him grinning like he just won the lottery, although that seems unlikely), and instead she’s focusing her attention elsewhere, just a few feet away from Eddie, and in Barry and Iris’s vicinity.

“Barry!” Katie suddenly shrieks, and before Iris can turn questioningly to her best friend, Katie brushes past her, and flings herself into Barry’s arms, before he is even fully off of his feet. Already unbalanced, therefore, with the force of Katie against him, Barry topples backwards slightly, grabbing the edge of the table in an attempt to steady himself, while holding her with one arm. Not quite able to catch his balance, though, he nearly falls backwards onto Cisco, who steadies him with both hands.

“Careful, man,” Cisco warns with a bemused grin, before glancing at Iris questioningly, but Iris simply shrugs, as she, herself, is equally confused. The night, it would seem, keeps getting progressively more bizarre.

Though, Cynthia, for her part, is staring daggers at Katie.

“Sorry,” Barry says, hastily, over his shoulder towards Cisco, before he turns his attention to Katie. “Katie, hi.”

“Barry, it’s so good to see you,” Katie laughs, backing away slightly, her hands lingering on his chest. “I was told you were going to be here, and I had been meaning to call you, because we had had such a good time at dinner two weeks ago… thanks for that amazing dinner at Marano’s, by the way, I definitely needed that, but when I heard you’d be here, I thought what a funny coincidence.”

“Yeah… great to see you too… your performance out there was great,” Barry replies, haltingly, still evidently reeling from Katie’s exuberant greeting, before nodding towards Iris, “Iris is here as well.” Katie swivels around and smiles tightly at Iris,

“Hi, Iris. Gosh, it’s been how long? How are you?”

“It has been a very long time. I’m doing well, Katie, how are you?” Iris responds, warmly, although her mind is working in overdrive, after having witnessed both Katie’s reaction to seeing Barry and the confession that they had had dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant two weeks ago.

It couldn’t possibly be, could it?

            “I’m great. Thank you for coming. Eddie mentioned that your father got married to his godmother, recently. And that Wally has a baby on the way. Time flies.” At the mention of his name, Eddie’s gaze darkens, and he’s regarding Katie almost angrily, at this point, but she still refuses to even look at him.

            What the hell is going on here?

On the one hand, Iris is sure that she does not want to know anything more than she absolutely has to about Katie Rogers or about Eddie Thawne, for that matter, but on the other hand, her investigative reporter instincts were getting the better of her. Or, as Barry frequently says when she gets excited about a potential story, her ‘Spidey’ senses were tingling.

            “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think I know the rest of the you. I’m Katie Rogers,” Katie carries on, oblivious to Eddie’s haughty gaze, and Cisco introduces himself, cordially, while Cynthia is curt and makes it a point not to shake Katie’s hand. Patty and Katie, who have met before, do not seem particularly friendly with one another, but they exchange perfunctory greetings nonetheless. Notably, Katie fails to acknowledge Eddie at all, which seems to confuse everyone, but nobody is willing to pry. “Anyways, Barry,” Katie continues, turning back to Barry. “It’s wonderful to see you. I really had a great time at dinner and was hoping we would see each other soon. There’s so much we have to catch up on, and hopefully I can wrangle one or maybe more dinners out of you.”

            “Right,” Barry replies, and he is distinctly uncomfortable, but then Katie reaches up and cups his face, and the atmosphere amongst the group shifts immediately. Barry immediately extricates himself from her grasp, removing her hands from his face, and taking a step back, and somehow manages to make the whole act look polite, but Eddie is seething at this point, Patty looks utterly confused, and Cynthia appears to be about one step away from bringing litigious action against Katie Rogers. But Iris can barely concentrate on anyone else, for her heart is pounding in her chest. 

“Sometimes something incredible is right in front of you, and you just have to tell yourself it’s time to throw caution to the wind. A matchmaker can’t tell you that, only you can know that.”

Because Iris remembers, clear as day, what Barry had said at her dad and Cecile’s wedding reception almost a week ago. And ever since, she has been forced to contend with the fact that Barry might potentially be in love with someone, just as she was simultaneously realizing the extent of how deeply in love she is with him. To receive confirmation that Barry’s heart is with another, though, is what she had been absolutely dreading, but nothing could prepare her for the feeling of gut-wrenching heartbreak. It is as if her heart is made of glass that shatters all at once at the realization that Barry and Katie must have gone on a date (because Marano’s is surely not a place that friends who just met up again after many years go to for dinner), and Katie must have been the person Barry was thinking of on Saturday. The timeline makes sense.

            Barry’s reaction to seeing Katie is, however, confusing, for he seems very unenthused at the moment, but Iris is also aware that Barry is extremely polite and dislikes undue attention, so he merely could be uncomfortable by how exuberant Katie is around him, and furthermore, he likely wanted to tell Iris, himself. Barry would not have wanted her to find out he’s dating someone randomly by chance at a club, of that Iris is sure.

            The only piece of the puzzle that does not fit with the rest is the fact that Barry had been about to kiss her just a few hours ago. That seems so far removed from anything that Barry would ever do, when he is in love with someone else, especially because Iris knows how caring and respectful Barry is, but maybe she had misread the situation. After all, they had not actually kissed, as Cynthia had interrupted them, and perhaps, Barry was going to hug her instead. But at the same time, she could have sworn he was staring at her lips in the moments leading up to their near kiss.

            Iris closes her eyes, momentarily, attempting to find some equilibrium in order to carry on for the rest of the evening, but a wave of exhaustion washes over her, and she knows she has to leave. She cannot continue to dignify this ridiculous night with a plastered smile and false cordiality, but she also refuses to ruin Barry’s night or anyone else’s.

            “Iris? Iris?” a soft voice calls out, accompanied by two gentle hands on her bare arms, and Iris knows that voice as well as she knows her own, and of course Barry is already worrying about her, but she also cannot stand to see his concern. Nonetheless, this is a hurdle she must overcome, so she blinks open her eyes to meet his concerned gaze. “Are you alright?” From her periphery, she can see everyone else watching her as well, so she musters up her remaining strength and smiles,

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Look, guys, I’m sorry, I’m just feeling a bit tired, so I’m going to head back to my room, if that’s okay?” Eddie and Patty mention that they hope that she feels better, asking if she needs anything, a query that she politely waves off, while Cisco and Cynthia appear very worried, moving closer towards her, but it’s Barry who is going to be the most difficult to shake off, for he pointedly refuses to leave her side.

            “I’ll come with you,” he says, reaching for her hand, but she moves away from him slightly, and when she sees his confusion, she feels terrible, because the last thing she wants to do is give him the impression that she is mad at him, but truthfully she is as angry as she is heartbroken (because she knows they were having a moment earlier in her hotel room, no matter how much she tries to rationalize otherwise… he gifted her a wedding band, for god’s sake), and regardless, she needs space from him, because every time she looks at him, she is reminded of her shattered heart.

            “No, Bear, you should stay. Don’t leave on my account, besides don’t you want to catch up with Katie?” That last part comes out with more acidity than she intended, and Barry’s eyes widen,

            “Iris, no, you’ve—”

            “I’m sorry, Barry. Honestly, all the traveling today is probably just catching up with me. Anyways, I want to give Kamilla a call to make sure there are no new developments from Carver’s end, and I don’t want to be calling her too late, you know? I’ll be fine.”

            “Iris, please let me come with you. We need to talk,” Barry sounds desperate at this point, and Iris just cannot take it anymore, for she absolutely cannot stand the thought of listening to him tell her about why he didn’t mention the extent that he had reconnected with Katie before, and so she shakes her head firmly,

            “No, really, Barry…”

            “I’m coming with you,” Cynthia interjects, for she clearly has no remaining patience listening to this back and forth, and before Iris can protest, Cynthia steers her away from everyone else. When Iris glances over her shoulder, a few moments later, Barry and Cisco have already drifted away from the group, heads bowed closely, and appear to be engaging in a very serious discussion, judging by their solemn expressions.

            “Hey, Iris, wait up!” Eddie calls out, and Iris reluctantly turns around, forcing a polite smile on her face, when all she wants to do is scream that she would like to be left alone. “Sorry, I won’t keep you long, but I just wanted to say thank you for coming.”

            “Of course. Thank you for planning such a lovely night,” Iris lies, for she had had a, quite frankly, terrible night, but that was hardly Eddie’s fault, and he had gone to all this trouble to invite them for what he’d planned to be a nice outing. Before she can turn back, though, he wraps her in a quick, unexpected hug, which she awkwardly returns, patting his back uncertainly.

            “Really, Iris. I truly appreciate you attending,” he says, with a smile, and she nods, trying her best to maintain a façade of politeness,

            “Thank you for inviting me. All of us, for that matter.” They exchange goodbyes, and as Eddie heads back to the group, Iris sees Barry watching her, looking utterly forlorn and dejected and like his whole world has come crashing down around him, and she thinks… god why is he looking at me like that… for surely he can see the heartbreak in her eyes, but then Cisco nudges him, forcefully, and shakes his head firmly when Barry turns to him.

            Cynthia then takes Iris’s hand in her own, before motioning towards the doorway back into the hotel, and Iris nods, and the two make their way out of the club together. In that moment, Iris thinks that the best decision she made was inviting Cynthia to Metropolis, because she cannot imagine surviving this nightmarish weekend without her.

*

            For a few blissful moments when Iris awakes the next morning, the debacle that was last night, culminating in the sort of agonizing heartbreak that she had only previously believed existed in romantic literature, is simply a hazy, improbable dream, but as soon as she becomes aware of where she is, namely in her hotel room at the Time Metropolis, the events of last night come crashing back, like wave after wave upon a shore. Iris groans, tugging a pillow over her face, her head pounding from the onslaught of emotions, and even though she had had one Martini last night, she now figures that having just one was a mistake, and she ought to have taken full advantage of the fact that she was at a club, given how the night turned out.

            She reaches for her phone and sees that the time is just after 6:30 AM, which means that she has a couple of hours before she has to decide whether she can make the trudge down to the dreaded breakfast hall. The thought of having to plaster a smile on her face, in order to curate a false sense of normalcy, and converse with people is utterly nauseating. Plus, she knows full well that Barry might be waiting anxiously to speak with her, and she just cannot face him, not when seeing him would surely reinforce both her heartbreak and anger tenfold. And yet, she also cannot shake how profoundly she loves him. Even just thinking about potentially seeing Barry at the breakfast hall, Iris is reminded of how deeply he is and always has been intertwined with her very soul; there are very few moments in her life that she can recall that do not involve Barry in some capacity. For in her most pivotal memories, Barry has always played a role, at least tangentially, and she realizes then that their relationship has been complicated for years, the two of them constantly hovering on the precipice of romantic love and walking, hand in hand, on a precarious tightrope between the safety of friendship and the unknown expanse of unexplored feelings.

            She recalls nights spent at bowling alleys, where they were playfully competitive, but still never failing to cheer loudly when the other got a strike or a spare. She remembers wiping remnants of ketchup from Barry’s lips, after he’d eaten more than three-quarters of the fries that they would order at Big Belly Burger, the local Central City burger joint, with her fingers. Then, there were those times when he was stressing over his application for the Wells Scholarship for Excellence in Science to fund his DSc, and she would bring over an inordinate amount of baked goods and cheesy films. He’d mumble, sleepily, after they’d worked through all of the sweets and watched at least three movies, about how absolutely amazing she is.

            One of her most telling memories is from her twenty-fifth birthday party, which had been an elaborate surprise that Barry had shockingly manage to pull off, even despite Linda’s usual tendency to tell Iris literally everything, surprise birthday parties notwithstanding. Barry had hosted the party in his old one-bedroom apartment, and there were some thirty people who attended, but lack of square footage aside, he had managed somehow to get Bette Sans Souci, a former high school classmate of theirs, now celebrity chef extraordinaire, to cater for the party. Bette had allegedly told him, “Only because it’s for Iris,” when she’d agreed to cater the event, although Iris still suspects Barry is exaggerating a bit whenever he retells this story, but she appreciates the sentiment all the same. When Iris had arrived at Barry’s, fully expecting to enjoy a quiet night comprising of takeout and a movie, she had been genuinely shocked when she was instead greeted by thirty of her friends screaming, “Happy Birthday!” Barry had snapped a photo of her face, claiming that her look of sheer joy was beautifully priceless. Towards the end of the party, Iris had managed to steal a moment alone with Barry, when she’d found him standing by himself, gazing out of his kitchen window.

            “What are you thinking about?” Iris asks, approaching him slowly. Barry smiles when he sees her, holding out his hand to her, which she takes. He interlaces their fingers.

            “You,” he says, simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “More specifically, I’m hoping that you had a good night, because nobody is more deserving of the world’s best party than you, Iris. Not that this is the world’s best party, because honestly, I mean, this small apartment? I think it’s too crammed for the number of people I invited, right? And I’m pretty sure the paint’s coming off the walls in a couple of these rooms, no… I know it is, but I’m glad Bette was able to cater, because that might be the saving grace here, and honestly I’m starting to think I should have hosted it somewhere else…”

            “Barry,” Iris interrupts, placing a hand on his cheek. At the feel of her hand against his cheek, he immediately ceases talking and swallows very slowly. “This is the world’s best party. I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have a best friend who plans this for her. I couldn’t have asked for a better night, and the party is amazing, but it’s not the party that I’m lucky to have, Bear. It’s you.” He looks down for a moment, before surging forward, leaning his forehead gently against hers, and she gasps at the sudden movement, but quickly relaxes, savoring the intimacy of their embrace.

“Iris,” Barry whispers. “Do you even know how much I…,” he pauses, for a moment, measuring, perhaps, the magnitude of his words carefully, “…how much I care about you?”

“I think so,” she laughs softly, hoping to diffuse some of the tension that has built up between them. “I hope so.”

“No…,” he sighs. “No, I don’t know if you do, and I don’t… god, it’s my fault, because if I had just… I don’t even know where to begin now.”

“Hey,” Iris says soothingly, framing his face with her hands. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, Bear.” He nods against her forehead, closing his eyes, and they stay like that for a few moments, before Wally races over, seemingly oblivious to Barry and Iris being wrapped up in their own world and apparently in need of Iris’s advice about asking Linda out on a second date.

This memory is particularly painful for Iris, as she wonders what Barry was struggling to tell her that night by the window. She dares not hope that he was attempting to convey that his feelings for her were something more than just friendship, because hope is a most dangerous thing when it came to matters of the heart. If she was not so utterly sure that if she spoke to him now, Barry would simply inform her about whatever it was that was going on between him and Katie (albeit tactfully), Iris might have agreed to speak with him, for (against her better judgment) there was still an ember of hope that burned within her. But for the sake of protecting herself from further heartbreak and humiliation, she could not entertain any remaining hope that she may have, and thus she arrived at the only possible course of action: Avoid Barry Allen. That was really the only option here. Avoiding him during the day would not be particularly challenging, for she would just stay in her room and stealthily sneak out to meet her father and Cecile when they arrive later this morning, but it was the gala that could be cause for some serious trouble, because Barry would be there, and Iris could not possibly dodge him at every turn without it becoming extremely obvious. There is also the likelihood that she might very well lose her resolve completely the moment he looks at her again the way he had last night, like a lost, sad puppy.

Her phone buzzes, and she glances over at the screen, where she is alerted to the fact that she has one unread message from Cynthia (and none from Barry, which disappoints Iris more than she expects, and the ember of hope dims considerably). The message from Cynthia reads:

“You promised we’d chat this morning, so consider this your reminder. I know you’re going to hide out in your room, which is totally fair, but I’m coming over right now.”

Iris is unsurprised by Cynthia’s adamancy, especially because she had indeed promised that they would have a long talk this morning. When Iris had returned to her room last night, she had managed to avoid having to admit to Cynthia that she was in love with Barry and that she was absolutely devastated by what she’d just learned, by citing exhaustion. Cynthia had reluctantly acquiesced, but only after Iris had promised her that they would talk tomorrow morning, and it would be typical of Cynthia to show up before 7AM.

            Sure enough, there is a knock at the door, and Iris opens it and sees her friend standing before the threshold.

“Hey,” Iris says, tiredly.

“Hey, you okay?” Cynthia asks, concerned, and Iris is not sure what comes over her in that moment, but perhaps it’s the realization that she is absolutely not okay that overwhelms her right then. And now, having to face the reality of finally vocalizing how she’s been feeling, while trying to protect the shattered remnants of her heart, the notion that she truly is not okay is the catalyst. She had not cried last night, but now tears spill over her cheeks, a sob escapes her, and soon she is weeping, her hands covering her face, and Cynthia murmurs, while closing the door behind her,

“Oh, Iris.” And then Iris feels Cynthia’s arms come around her, holding her, soothing her, and finally, she allows herself to be comforted.

*

“You know,” Cynthia remarks, while clasping a crystal encrusted barrette onto her hair, slightly left of her parting. “I can always sue Katie Rogers, Eddie Thawne, and Barry for NIED. Say the word, and I’ll do it.” They are currently readying themselves for the gala, which officially begins in one hour, and Cynthia is positively stunning in a floor length, backless forest green gown, adorned with a myriad of sequins.

“And who would the plaintiff be, exactly?” Iris asks, still not dressed for the night yet, as she is trying to figure out what jewelry she is going to wear to accompany her red, floor length gown, a feat that was proving difficult, because she keeps eyeing the velvet box which contained the replica of her mother’s wedding band, which makes it nearly impossible to pick out a different necklace.

“Honestly? Me. Because I found what happened last night to be extremely, negligently harmful no matter how forcefully Barry will likely argue that he was unwittingly involved. Thawne is getting sued, specifically for inviting us to that crap show, which, just by being present at, mind you, had a dire effect on my psychological state.”

“We don’t even know what happened last night or what’s really going on, and even if we did know, your argument is a non-starter, especially because you typically find the vast majority of people that you meet to be annoying and claim that they are somehow guilty of NIED.”

“True, but I can spin a legal argument from nothing,” Cynthia smirks, and Iris rolls her eyes, but chuckles nonetheless. She is unsure of how Cynthia manages to come up with the most ridiculous and unsubstantiated legal arguments when not in a courtroom, but then again, she supposes that as a top litigator, Cynthia’s occasional legal theatrics are most definitely forgivable.

But then, Cynthia says, “I got you to smile and that was the ultimate goal.” Iris looks up at Cynthia, who has a soft smile on her face, and she smiles back, once again reflecting on how very glad she is that her friend is here with her. She knows Cynthia wants to properly converse about what happened last night, but she isn’t rushing Iris into the conversation, despite the fact that they did spend the entire day together and still had not really talked about last night.

To be sure, they had not spoken much about anything, though, because they frankly had not had the chance to. Cynthia had stayed with Iris that morning, first comforting her, as she had cried for a good half hour, and subsequently they had ordered room service and flipped through the channels available via the hotel’s cable service for a couple of hours, until Iris’s father called her to inform her that he and Cecile were roughly fifteen minutes away from the Time Metropolis. As Iris had gotten ready to meet her family outside the hotel, Cynthia had offered to join Iris, a request for which Iris had been eternally grateful, because she knew her dad would notice immediately that she was not herself, and so she could use the additional moral support. Upon meeting her father and Cecile, Joe had indeed commented that Iris appeared very tired, and she had shrugged it off, citing the cabaret the previous night as the obvious reason for her exhaustion, but Joe hadn’t been convinced.

“No, you look like somebody crushed your world,” he had commented, concern evident in his voice. She had laughed at that, because it sounded so dramatically absurd, and yet it was also truer than her father even realized.

“Dad, come on. I’m fine,” she had replied, quickly ushering her father and Cecile into the hotel lobby, as a couple of staff members took their luggage. Hoping to sway her father away from his suspicions, she had asked, “How was your flight?” Joe did not answer, instead watching her closely, but Cecile started chatting about their journey, which was a most welcome distraction for Iris. At the time, she knew her father was not going to let up so easily, for the mere fact that she was trying her hardest to appear nonchalant was enough to cause him concern, but he was unlikely to press the issue right at that moment.

Now, Iris knows that the longer that she stalls, the more likely it becomes that she will have to confront her heartbreak in her father’s presence, so she gathers her gown and makeup and heads to the bathroom to get ready, for there is only one mirror in the room, which Cynthia is currently utilizing. After laying her gown out on the edge of the marble counter, Iris stares at herself in the mirror and takes a few deep breaths. I can get through this. I need to get through this. Barry had not called her the entire day, nor had he messaged her, and in a way, this made Mission Avoid Barry Allen considerably easier, but she cannot help but feel a pang of sadness, because if Barry was not making the effort to speak with her now, then her original understanding of what had been revealed last night must be accurate. The shattering pain of heartbreak only worsens at this realization, but she refuses to allow this to dictate her night.

Instead, she busies herself by getting ready, first applying her makeup and then turning to her outfit for the night. Her red gown is a sight to behold, and she is aware of this, as she puts it on; the bodice hugs her figure like a glove, while the skirt tumbles elegantly over her legs and down to her feet. When she glances back up at the mirror to put on her dangling earrings, she makes a decision: as difficult as this night would most certainly be, she is going to make the most of it and ensure that her father and Cecile have a memorable soirée.

As she contemplates this, she hears a knock at the hotel room door outside, and subsequently, the door opening.

“Hi, Joe.” She hears Cynthia greet her father, and Iris is aware that her father has decided to come by, no doubt, to speak with her. So much for making it through the night.

“Hi Cynthia, I just wanted to stop by and see if Iris is around to speak for a few minutes,” Joe replies.

“Of course. Iris, your dad’s here!” And then Iris can here some shuffling around, before Cynthia announces, “Got my shoes. I’ll give you some time to speak with Iris privately. Anyways, I told Cisco that I would meet up with him before the party starts.”

“Thank you. I will see you at the gala.” Iris hears the door close, and she presumes that Cynthia has left. Upon hearing that Cisco and Cynthia are meeting up early, Iris smiles. At least they seem to be enjoying each other’s company very much, so perhaps there is a silver lining to this weekend, after all.

But, Iris is also acutely aware that her father is waiting for her and that she cannot put off this conversation any longer, so she looks into the mirror one last time, releasing a final deep breath, before exiting the bathroom. Upon her reentrance into the main area of the hotel room, her father looks up and smiles. “There you are,” he says. “You look beautiful, baby girl.”

“Thanks dad,” Iris replies, returning his smile, just as Joe walks over and envelopes her in a hug.

“What’s going on, Iris? And don’t say nothing,” he interrupts, just as she opens her mouth to protest. “I know there’s something wrong. I knew it from the moment I saw you this morning, but I wasn’t going to press you then. But clearly something happened this weekend.”

“Dad, please. It’s not a big deal. I’m just stressed from work and Carver suing the Citizen, and I don’t know… I guess the exhaustion from the last few weeks has caught up with me finally.” To be fair, that is not wholly untruthful. She is feeling the aftereffects of stress from the amount of work that had gone into the exposé.

“Iris, if I thought that was all this is about, I wouldn’t ask. I know you can handle pretty much anything, but this is different. And I know you’re grown and can deal with whatever it is going on, but I don’t want you to pretend you’re fine, because that solves nothing.”

“Yeah,” Iris murmurs, closing her eyes momentarily, and when she opens them, her father is regarding her earnestly. Taking a deep breath, she continues, “You’re right, it’s just… it’s Barry.” Joe’s lips quirk up slightly, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I don’t know, dad. Barry and I have been fine, you know. I mean, we’re always fine. Until I… I’m not even sure how it happened, because one minute we’re friends. As we always have been. Seeing each other almost every day and catching up. And I don’t know when I realized it, but I… I love him, dad.” Her voice breaks slightly on love, for it is such an overwhelming feeling, being able to vocalize that she’s in love with Barry. She immediately feels her dad’s arm come around her shoulders as he hugs her to him.

“This might come as a surprise to you, but I’ve known you’ve been in love with that boy for many years,” Joe says, and Iris looks up at her dad, startled. Had her feelings been that obvious that her father knew she loved Barry before even she had realized it?

“How…”

“I know you, Iris. You’re so kind and so good, and you’re always trying to help everyone. But when you and Barry first met as children in the playground, and you ran over and reached out a hand to help him up when he tumbled off the swing and into the dirt, there was this different energy between the both of you, and it only became stronger over the years. You don’t know the way you look at him, but I see it. You probably don’t realize the way he looks at you either. But I know Barry too; he grew up just two doors down, and he looks at you like you are the sun and he has since the moment he first saw you.” At that, Iris is further surprised and confused, shaking her head,

“Dad, no, that’s impossible. Barry isn’t in love with me; he’s in love with someone else.”

“And you know that how?” Joe asks, raising his eyebrows, completely and utterly unconvinced at the implication that Barry Allen is in love with someone other than Iris West.

“Because it all came out last night. It’s not… it doesn’t matter.”

“Did Barry tell you he was in love with someone else?”

“Well, he didn’t say it in so many words,” Iris begins, just as Joe asks,

“Did he say it any words at all?” This gives Iris pause, for Barry had not said specifically that he was dating Katie, for that matter, but surely that was what he had been attempting to explain to her, before she had left. Katie revealed that they had gone out to dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant, and it is not as if Barry disputed the fact, although he had been distinctly put off by her exuberance. But that might have simply indicated that he was uncomfortable by the level of scrutiny directed his way, thanks to Katie’s apparent inability to keep anything private. And yet, Iris can’t get that look he had given her, like his world had just been completely shattered, as she was leaving the club, out of her head.

Because if she is being wholly honest with herself, Iris knows that part of the impetus behind Mission Avoid Barry Allen is the fear that in whatever conversation she has with Barry, she would have no choice but to tell him the truth, and their equilibrium will be completely altered forever.

“No,” she finally replies. “I left before he could say anything. And honestly, dad, part of the reason why I ran away before speaking with him is just that… I guess, our friendship has been a safe harbor. We’ve always sought solace in one another, but the moment I tell him, everything changes, and I risk losing that safe harbor.”

“It seems,” Joe says with a knowing smile. “The two of you have a lot to talk about.” Iris nods, silently, as her father continues, “Iris, the most important thing you can do is be honest with yourself and with him. Sometimes, change is inevitable, and it is often a good thing, because you may not necessarily be risking anything. Talk to him and see what happens.”

“Yeah, I suppose that I can’t keep avoiding the inevitable,” Iris replies, before smiling gratefully at her father. “Thanks, dad.”

“Anytime, baby girl. Remember, I am so, so proud of you. Of the woman you have grown to be and of all that you have accomplished. And I always will be.” A wave of emotion washes over Iris, and she looks up at her father, who appears equally emotional.

“I love you, dad,” she says.

“I love you too, Iris.” Joe then mentions that they can head down to the gala whenever Iris is comfortable, but as grateful as she is for her dad’s concern and support, she knows they ought to not keep Cecile waiting, so she tells him she’ll meet them by the elevator.

“Are you sure?” Joe queries, but Iris is certain in her convictions now, which is a most welcome change from the lack of clarity she had been grappling with all weekend.

“Absolutely, dad. I’m okay. I’ll be right out.” Her father nods, kissing the side of her head, before exiting her hotel room. Now, there is just one thing left to do; she walks over to the small bedside table and picks up the velvet box containing the replica of her mother’s wedding band. Upon opening the box, she carefully removes the necklace, unclasps the hook, and puts it on.

Now, come what may, she is ready to face the world.

[ee-furoido]

TwstOBer Day 11

For TwstOBer Day 11 prompt: MIRROR, from @raven-at-the-writing-desk‘s prompts found here. What a pity it is that despite our differences, there are some people who still cannot tell us apart. Fufufu, perhaps we can use that to our advantage. All Prompts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

They were never the same. And yet they were always treated as such. It shouldn’t matter that they chose each other. It shouldn’t matter that they enjoy each other’s company. They were two separate entities. The face that Jade saw in the mirror was a distorted version of himself, an odd replica of his brother. Their differences were enough, and yet at the same time not.

So why not take advantage of the poor students who are too blind to care to tell them apart?

“Floyd, please sit still.” Jade chides to his brother sitting in the chair in front of him in front of the mirror. Floyd gives a small pout.

“You’re taking too long, we can just fix this with magic~” he whines. He reaches up to pat down one of his many cowlicks, scowling as how it springs back up. Jade chuckles at Floyd’s impatience.

“Magic is impermanent, I would rather do at least the hair correctly, Floyd. If we use too many glamour spells, it may be easier to figure out. We don’t want that, do we?”

Grumbling, Floyd leans back in the chair and allows his brother to continue to set his hair. The lightest bit of hair mousse to shape the stray strands and soon the visage in the mirror looks identical, save the black strand and their eyes.

“Last touches. Just a few more moments.”

It doesn’t take much make-up and magic to finish sprucing the two up. Suddenly, there are two identical Jades in the Mostro Lounge, innocently smiling and waiting the tables. The two were identical, down to the heterochromia in their eyes, and the black strand on the left side of their face. Floyd’s mimicry of his brother was top notch- as long as he was in the mood to continue the façade.

“Oya, will you be able to guess who is Jade and who is Floyd?” “Fufufu, I do hope you guess correctly; we will be quite bereft if you are mistaken.”

Today’s menu came with a special deal. Correctly tell the twins apart, and not only will your meal be half price, but the winner would get twice the number of points for their point card. An enticing deal. Many special food and drink sets were ordered that day, the Octavinelle waitstaff running double time to fulfill the orders.

Jade and Floyd would appear to those who ordered the specials, both with a twinkle in their eye and a sharp grin; mocking the fool who thought they would be able to guess correctly. So far, none have been so lucky.

A table of first year Savannaclaw students were arguing with each other, determined to win or lose as a group. They pointed at the Jade on the right, calling him out as the real one.

“Fufu, I’m so sorry, but you’re incorrect.” Said the Jade on the left. “Oya, Oya, it’s so troublesome that they are unable to see through us, isn’t it, Jade?” said the Jade on the right. “It is quite unfortunate, yes, Jade.”

A chorus of chortles from the two as they begin to turn away from the table, another defeated group resorting to sadly eating their pricy meal without the boon.

“Oi.” Jack’s voice rang out from the table as he watched the twins’ retreating backs. The two Jades turn back around and glance at him, the warmth of their impeccable customer service smile not reaching their eyes. “How do we know you’re not just saying that they’re wrong? I don’t trust this game.”

He growls at the two of them. Normally, he’d be able to tell them apart by scent, but it seems they’ve successfully masked that too. They were pulling all of the stops to try to stop all manner of correct guesses. And Jack was sure there was some foul play happening.

“Oh, it seems like Jack-kun doesn’t trust us, Jade.” “How sad, Jade… And we haven’t even done anything to him to warrant such suspicion.”

The Jade on the left leaned onto the shoulder of the Jade on the right, their identical shit-eating grins looming in the dimly lit restaurant. There’s a hint of a lilt in one of their chuckles, and Jack’s sharp ears picks it up.

“Floyd-sempai is the one on the left.” He says, definitively. He narrows his eyes. “My friends here were right, give them their prize.”

The two Jades blink, mostly containing their surprise. Floyd leans off of his brother and laughs. “Ehehe~ Uni-chan is so perceptive~” He runs his hand through his hair and musses it up, trying to remove the excess hair product in it. His black strand falls onto the right side of his face. It looks odd, his eyes still shaped and colored like Jade’s by magic. “I guess the game is over, Jade~”

Yes, it seems so, Floyd, if only because you haphazardly destroyed my hard work.” Jade sighs, glancing at Floyd’s now messy hair. He gives another polite chuckle, turning his gaze onto Jack. “Congratulations, Jack-kun.”

Jack growled again. “I don’t want the prize, don’t want a contract with any of you. Give it to my friends.”

A nod from the twins as they walk off to complete the transaction, Floyd dissolving the magic cast onto his looks. Jade glances over at him, distracted by seeing Floyd back to his usual self. His droopy eyes, his lopsided grin, his haphazard hair sticking up everywhere.

A strange mirror image once more.

[kingdomsaurushearts]

Hnnng... Some Self Indulgent Vanitas drabble.

I'll probably go over it later and add some more actual story , but I needed to get out the main idea~ (I wanted to add Roxas to this too, so consider this a rough draft lmao)

--

It's barely been a full day since their return, but his suit was already chafing. Vanitas huffed as he discreetly scratched under his tricep where the dark material seemed to be mercilessly pinching him. He'd be loath to admit it aloud, but he really wanted out of the confine of these damned garments.

But there was just three things holding him back from stripping into the nude.

 For one, unfamiliar territory. Dragged to Density Islands into the Hero of Light's home, where he was almost assaulted with what Sora claims was a hug by his mother. 

Two, Ven and Sora were probably trying to pick out what he was going to wear right now, and that's punishment in itself.

 And then, there was his skin. He wasn't ready to see it.

A replica body, they gave him. It was to reflect the heart inhabiting it, and with all the baggage that came with it. At least he assumed so.

Xion assured him that the body will be what it's supposed to, her smile was so genuine and something in her eyes sparkled as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

He huffed in frustration, silently dreading the moment to come, but also willing it to come faster. Wanting to be rid of the fabric he was born in… the one that man-

"Here you go Vani!" Sora's bright, cheerful voice eliminating whatever dark thoughts were to cross his mind. "We decided to grab on of Riku's shirts for you. Funnily enough, you're bigger than both Ven and I! So our clothes might be a bit tight on you. But I still brought a pair of pants I never wear, I hope that's ok!"

"And, we'll go shopping for clothes of your own, once we get you settled in." Ventus added timidly. He's still a little wary around his darker half, but he's making an effort.

Taking the clothes from Sora's hands, grumbling what could be mistaken as a 'thank you,' and headed to the restroom where a hot bath had been drawn, by his mother no doubt. 

His senses are stimulated by steam humidifying the small room, the relaxing scent of whatever oils were used, and the warm light of the fixture on the ceiling. 

Placing the borrowed clothing on the counter, he looked up. And for the first time he can recall in recent memory, he saw his own reflection. He didn't appear as bad as he felt. Which was only a bit surprising. 

He was good at fooling everyone, even himself, into thinking that he was perfectly fine on the surface, when underneath was screaming and burning. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he leaned in closer to the mirror to investigate himself. He had hardly believed his brothers when they said his eyes were the shade of rubies. 

Yet, there they were, staring back at him. He'd rather call it 'Unversed Red' since now he matched his inner demon's aesthetics. 

His stare scanned the edges of his hairline, the bridge of his nose, chapping lips, along his jaw and landed on the edges where suit met skin. 

"Now or never…" tugging his fingers along the crease, he began pulling it away from his neck. It fell apart, coming undone in a sickening unnatural way. Black threads snapping and slipping away, fading into hairline wisps of smoke. 

He turned away from the mirror and made headway for the tub, the suit taking its own initiative into dispersing. Until down to his waist. 

Kneeling down, he reached into the water to feel the temperature with his now bare hand only to immediately pull it back, his heart in his throat as he stares dumbfounded at his own appendage. 

Clear. Unmarked. Smooth, clean skin. 

His entire arm tenses and his fingers shake as he brings his other hand to trace up from his knuckles, wrists, forearm- he glanced down at his chest. 

Nothing. There wasn't a single, ugly, carved scar in sight. Not even the first one, from the day he was ripped from his light. 

He covered his mouth as a sob threatened to hiccup from his throat. But that didn't stop the tears he had been trying to hold onto all day. 

They poured freely from his eyes, his cries seeping out, unable to hold them back.

 He didn't notice the door opening and closing, and the two bodies that had joined him on the floor until one touched his shoulder. Sora gave a knowing and gentle look, and from the corner of his eye, Ventus holding a small Flood that undoubtedly formed and alerted them.

They didn't say a word. Only sat in silence, in an odd comforting kind of way, until Vanitas was able to find his voice.

"They're gone… all of them. Every mark He ever left on me, every nick, and cut. Every slice and stab from His damned keyblade…" hiccups and hard breathing breaking up his words.

"He… He's gone… He doesn't have me anymore… no longer controls me… I'm… I'm free." 

Unable to hold himself up, he keels over and grips the side of the basin while releasing everything his uncompleted heart held onto for all those years. Years of abuse, torment, slavery, lies and broken promises. 

The constant coldness encapsulating him melting away, feeling the warmth he yearned for every night on the frigid grounds of the graveyard.

His hands grip harder, finding fabric instead of ceramic. Arms held firmly, but gently around him. Holding him close. He can hear a familiar heart beat against his ear. 

Breathing coming to a calm, he glances to see Ventus. His light, his other half, his brother, gently gazing down at him. A reassuring smile as a hand gently caresses the strands of hair at his nape. 

Sora tending the frazzled Flood in turn, and rubbing small circles on its back. A welcome comfort, albeit indirectly, but Vanitas felt it all the same.

His eyes shut briefly and the next hour or so is hazy. He recalls enjoying his bath, but was too tired to recollect everything that had transpired after crying himself empty. 

A shirt that swallowed him. Conversations that he won't remember until the morning, a goodnight kiss on his head from someone he might as well start calling mother. 

Being dragged onto a pile of blankets and pillows in a blanket fort haphazardly thrown together in an impromptu "slumber party,"  Sora's words.

He chuckles quietly as his two brothers debate over who should sleep in the middle, while he decides to just plop himself between the two, grumbling at them to just go to sleep.

They finally settled in, a large comforter spread across the three of them. Chatting and bickering in hushed voices, "sleepover etiquette," Ven's words. 

While he won't really remember what they talked about that night, he'll remember that feeling swelling in his chest as sleep took him over. 

The remnants of his consciousness just barely catching the gestures of two arms draping over him, and even quieter voices. One of many genuine smiles to come graced his features. 

"Goodnight, Vanitas."

[jungshookz]

hi h-how about a scenario where y/n is doing some holiday shopping and meets cute cashier jungkook hehe

🎄 pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

🎄 genre: cashier!kook, fluff!!!!!!!!, u and kook are both kinda awkward but it’s adorable  

🎄 wordcount: 2.6k

the one thing you hate about christmas has to be christmas shopping

frankly you think that the most important part of christmas is spending time with your loved ones!!!

okay that’s a little white lie because you do really like getting presents

and it’s not like you don’t like giving presents

because it’s totally worth it to see the look on someone’s face when you present them with an amaZing gift

but it’s just

shopping takes sO much effort

and it drains all the energy out of you

and it drains all the money out of your bank account

and also the malls are always so hectic at this time of the year

and you have to fight people off to get the perfect present

last year you squared up with an old lady over a crock pot that your mom really really wanted

obviously you ended up with the crock pot because u ain’t no lil bitch

(no old ladies were harmed in the process of getting the crock pot)

anyways you usually only get presents for your mom and your dad and some of your cousins and obviously you get a present for tae (and you get one or two presents for yourself and label them from santa so you feel less guilty about it hehe)

but this year not only do you have to get a present for tae

you have to get a present for tae and jin and jimin and namjoon aND yoongi AND hoseok because you’ve made quite a lot of new friends this year young lady good for u!!!

anyways

you’ve been at the mall for nearly six hours and you’re pretty sure your feet are bleeding in your shoes from how much walking you’ve done

you’re pretty sure you’re one more purchase away from maxing out your credit card

every time you tap it against the machine you make a face because every purchase is a RISK

you have all your gifts ready for the boys

yoongi gets a new microphone for his studio

namjoon gets a new pair of sunglasses

jin gets a customised apron

hobi gets a new pair of nike air force 1s

and sweet angel baby jimin gets a customised shampoo and conditioner set with a frEE loofah!!

all you have to do now is find a gift for tae which is always the hardest task because he says he doesn’t care what you get him but he totally cares about what you get for him

one year you gave him a single pair of socks and he was like???? SOCKS/?????? sweetie SOCKS??????? i gave you a fuLL set of rose gold CUTLERY and you give me SoCks with- what are these- socks with hoT DOGS ON THEM

and you were like you saiD you didn’t care about what your gift was and these warm fuzzy socks were on sale-

“SALE???? YOU GOT ME DISCOUNT SOCKS FOR CHRISTMAS-”

as much as you love tae he’s very much a diva and he’s shameless about it

but you’ve learned your lesson so since the sock incident you’ve gotten him very nice gifts

so even though your organs are shutting down one by one and your body is telling you that it’s unable to go on and you need to head home noW and collapse in bed

you’re soldiering on because you have to find tae the perfect present

but you don’t think you’re going to find tae’s gift at the mall

you’ll have to go somewhere else

you adjust all the shopping bags in your arms and use your shoulder to push the door open and you’re immediately met with the crisp winter air

the sun’s starting to set and the number of people on the street is starting to dwindle down

you end up wandering around the streets for about half an hour

and you’re [this] close to giving up because

a) it’s freezing out and your nose is going to fall off

b) your arms are about to fall off because of how heavy the bags are buT the cold has made your body entirely numb so it’s counteracting the whole arms falling off thing

c) maybe you should just face the wrath of tae this year you’re a big girl you can handle it

and then

you see it

van gogh’s starry night

it’s obviously a replica of van gogh’s starry night but you know for a faCt tae would love to hang that up in his hallway or something

you look like a kid with your face pressed up against the glass because this gift is PERFEcT

it even comes with a fancy gold frame and everything anD it’s decently priced so you don’t have to worry about making more of a dent in your wallet

you take a step back and look up at the name of the store

“troves and treasures” you murmur to yourself

huh

cute name

the little bell rings above you as you enter the store and you let out a content sigh at the warmth that welcomes you and you see an apple-pie scented candle burning away

this store is adorable!!

it’s a little cramped because there’s just sO much stuff in here but it’s still adorable

miraculously you make your way to the back of the store without knocking shit over with your bags

you feel like a bulldozer when you walk in between the narrow shelves

now where is that damn painting

“excuse me, miss? would you like to put your bags down by the front? they look kinda heavy” you turn around and nearly knoCk a lamp off the display counter

whoops

“oh no it’s okay i think i can-“  

oh wow

he’s awfully pretty isn’t he

his lips tug up in a sweet smile and he blinks at you with his warm, round eyes before reaching up to flick a couple strands of jet-black hair away from his eyes

“uhhhhh actually yeAh maybe you should take these before i accidentally destroy the entire store” you chuckle awkwardly and he immediately reaches out and takes the bags off your arms

“how have your arms not fallen off already?? it feels like you have bricks in here” he jokes before heading over to the counter and setting them down gently on the floor

“it’s because it’s so cold outside that my arms have gone completely numb” you snort and rub your sore arms before reaching down to brush your fingers over an antique clock

“good thing you came in here! i always like keeping it nice and toasty” he hums and adjusts the little apron around his waist “so are you looking for something in particular or just browsing?”

okay

don’t let pretty boy distract you from the task at hand y/n

do nOt

but he’s just

he’s sO pretty

“um, i-“ you pause to collect your thoughts and shake your head quickly “painting.”

“painting.” he repeats and tilts his head and offers you a smirk “there are many paintings here.”

omg

what’s wrong w u

pull it together

“the van gogh painting! it’s in the display window, that one over there-“ you point to the window “my friend’s a huge art nerd and i think that would make a perfect christmas gift.” you smile and move past him to head to the window

it’s a bit of a tight squeeze since the two of you are standing in between shelves but your hand brushes past his and you feel a little zaP

he gasps in surprise and cradles his hand quickly

but just like you he shakes his thoughts out of his head and remains professional

“ah, starry night! you’re lucky - that’s actually the last one we have in stock.” he bends over and picks the painting up gently before turning and showing it to you “are you interested in purchasing the gold frame?”

“yes, please!” you grin excitedly and keep your eyes glued on the painting because it is literally SO PERFEct you’re so excited to give this to tae “you think you can wrap it up for me too?”

“of course! i’m a great wrapper.” he heads back to the front counter and you trail behind him

“oh yeah? i’d love to hear your stuff on soundcloud.” you joke

he raises his eyebrow and you SEE the question mark floating on top of his head and your face immediately starts burning up because the joke totally just flew past his head

but then

“ooOOOH like soundcloud raPPEr- that was a good one. i’m deducting a point tho because it was lame as hell” he laughs and you let out a small sigh of relief

that was almost mortifying

he places the painting in the frame gently and you can’t help but notice that his hands are also very very pretty but now there’s just this silence between the two of you

is it too late to introduce urself

u don’t really know what to say

god why are you so AWKWArd

“i’m, uh, i’m y/n, by the way.” you clear your throat and lean against the counter

he pauses in the middle of taping and looks up at you with that beautiful fricKin smile “i’m jungkook.” and then he looks back down and smooths over where he just taped

“so are you done with christmas shopping?” he asks as he prepares a pretty red bow

“pretty much! this is my last stop and then i think i’m going to get a hot drink somewhere to unfreeze my insides.” you hum and rummage through your purse for your wallet

“that sounds like a nice plan! i’m closing up shop pretty soon because it’s kind of been a lazy day”

the two of you end up talking a little while longer

you tell him about the sock incident and he tells you about how one time he accidentally dropped a present in the middle of the street and someone on a bike just raN over it

you tell him that your favourite christmas cookie is gingerbread and he argues that sugar cookies are ten times better

you tell him that hot chocolate with marshmallows is the best hot chocolate and he says that hot chocolate with a candy cane in it is the best

jungkook purposely slows down when he’s wrapping the painting just because it’s so nice talking to you :——)

thank god business was slow today because it gives him more time to talk to u

“you must really like your friend to get him a present this nice” jungkook teases as he punches a couple buttons on the cash register

“tell me about it” you snort and pull out your credit card and catch a glimpse of the price on the screen and imMEDIATELy the blood drains from your face

what the FUck

THIS IS A REPLICA WHY IS IT SO EXPENSIVE

your mouth goes dry when jungkook holds his hand out to take your card

o god

you can’t tell him you don’t want the gift anymore because he wrapped it up so nicely and put it in the frame and everything

jungkook must sense your hesitation because it’s been like ten seconds and you’re clutching onto your card for dear life

and he’s technically not supposed to do this but

you seem like a sweet girl (and ur also very pretty but that’s unrelated)

“oh, would you look at that! i, uh, i put in the wrong price.” jungkook points to the screen before shaking his head “sorry, my bad! i’ve only just started working here so i’m not used to all the fancy cash registers and stuff”

that is a blatant lie he’s been working here for like a year and he knowS that your total comes to $250

“that’ll be $125, please.”

he’ll just pay for the other half out of the kindness of his heart

it’s christmas after all!!

“oh thanK god because my card definitely has less than $250” you let out a breath of relief and hand him your card

your receipt comes out of the printer and kook slips it into the bag

and the two of you are kind of dawdling around because you know you don’t really have any other reason to stay in the shop unless you wanna buy another replica of a painting

jungkook helps you with your bags and walks you to the front door

“you’re… you’re closing up for today pretty soon, aren’t you? maybe i can treat you to a hot chocolate or something?” you’re visibly kind of nervous as jungkook slips the bags back onto your arms

he pauses and is pleasantly surprised that you totally just asked him out on a date

“i’ll come if you admit that gingerbread cookies are trash.” he teases and you gape at him “kidding. but not really. give me five minutes!” he disappears into the shop and you can’t fight the goofy smile that’s found its way onto your face

jungkook has to suppress a scream of excitement because yES HE LIKES U SO MUCH AND NOW HE GETS TO GET A HOT COCOA WITH U

anyways

the two of you end up at the café for much longer than expected

somehow you end up with the peppermint hot cocoa and the sugar cookie and kook ends up with the marshmallow hot cocoa and the gingerbread cookie

and jungkook has to admit

maybe gingerbread cookies aren’t all that bad

the two of you stay until the waitress is like ok kids u guys need to get out of here for real

jungkook helps you load all your shopping bags into the trunk of your car which is very gentlemanly of him because you definitely would not have been able to lift all the bags yourself

“you sure you don’t need a lift home?” jungkook shuts the trunk for you and gives it a couple pats

“i’ll be fine. the bus stop’s right over there!” jungkook points to across the street and you nod

“well, um, thank you! for the… wrapping?”

“thank you for the hot cocoa” jungkook smiles shyly and shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie

…

…

“well i guess i-” and before he gets a chance to say anything else you’ve gone up on your tippy toes and given him a soft kiss on the cheek

O O F

jungkook’s face immediately goes beet red and he smiles and scratches the back of his neck and he’s trying sO hard to not scream into the void oh my god that was so cUTE

at the same time you are trying not to scream from the adrenaline because you’ve never done anything so spontaneous before but you are SO proud of yourself

you hop into your car and jungkook shuts the door for you before leaning down and propping his arms up on your open window

“i’ll text you later?”

you smile excitedly and nod 

maybe christmas shopping isn’t all that bad after all

🎄the twelve drabbles of christmas! 🎄 

❄️do you have a special christmas request? ❄️

[raendown]

Pairing: SakumoTobirama Word count: 1464 Soulmate au: The one where soulmates wear identical accessories of some sort and usually swap them when they meet

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI

Chapter 155: Sakumo/Tobirama

Being dead was a strange experience. Sakumo thought he was rather more qualified than most to say that since he had spent just over two decades hovering in limbo, unable to die yet entirely cut off from his living body. Only after he’d had a chance to speak with his son had he been able to move on and reach the long-awaited afterlife.

And it was weird.

Sakumo wasn’t certain what he had been expecting out of being dead but a full reflection of earth with houses and streets and meals wasn’t it. Not that he was in any way disappointed, only confused. He didn’t need to eat, had tested it and gone three full weeks without so much as a hunger pain, but the act of eating three times a day brought a sense of normalcy that made his rest so much easier. Nor did he need to sleep yet still most people enjoyed laying their head down when the ever-golden sun in the sky chose to set for a few hours.

What he found the most odd, however, was the mingling of generations. As soon as he had arrived in the afterlife he’d been greeted by both his mother and a woman who looked younger than himself but was apparently his great-great-great aunt. Two weeks after he had arrived he was surprised to stumble across the now very old third Hokage and then the day after that he was sitting with the sister he had lost as a child, trailing his feet in a pond while she chattered on to him with the speech patterns of an innocent but the vocabulary of an ancient.

He had been dead several months when he was honored to come face to face with the first Hokage himself, Senju Hashirama.

“Shodaime-sama,” he gasped. Then he immediately stood aside and bowed, expecting the god of shinobi to pay no mind to someone like him and carry on with whatever he had chosen to do with his honorable afterlife.  He certainly did not expect a booming friendly laugh or a hand to clap down on the fur he wore around his shoulders.

“Haven’t been called that in a while,” the first Hokage said. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“Oh! Ah…Hatake Sakumo, your honor.”

“No need for that, no need for that. We’re all equal in death are we not?”

Sakumo tilted his head to one side and gave no answer. His own death had been far from a good one. Kakashi’s forgiveness may have given him the peace he needed to move on but he still had a long way to go before he would ever grant himself anything close to that same forgiveness. Taking his own life had seemed like the only proper option left at the time. It hadn’t taken long afterwards for him to realize that it had been nothing but the coward’s way out.

“You know, this fur of yours looks awfully familiar.” Hashirama leaned closer to inspect the pelt he wore around his neck and Sakumo froze, hardly daring to breathe.

“O-oh? I had it all my life but I am sorry to say that we likely never met. You passed while I was still just a pup. Perhaps you knew someone who wore something similar?”

“Right! Yes!”

The next thing he knew he was being pulled down the bustling street like a child on the arm of the man he respected second most in the entire world. After turning several corners he was brought face to face with the man he respected the absolute most.

Senju Tobirama was even more impressive in person than he had been in the grainy photographs taken for the history books, more impressive than even the officially commissioned paintings that always tended to exaggerate their subjects for the generations to come. It was hard to tell whether or not he minded having his eternal afternoon interrupted just to have some unworthy stranger shoved in his face.

“Brother look, he’s wearing your fur!” Hashirama clapped like an excitable child. Sakumo wasn’t sure if he wanted to stare at that unexpected reaction or at the chiseled face staring down at him. Being tall himself, it was always vaguely startling to meet someone who stood taller. Both of the famed Senju siblings towered over him like trees – and they were both built like trees too.

“So he is,” Tobirama rumbled, sharp red eyes dragging up and down Sakumo’s form.

“Ah, my apologies for disturbing you,” he said in as respectful a tone as he could muster. “I did not mean for–”

“Exactly the same fur, in fact.”

Sakumo blinked when the other man cut him off. Then he dropped his eyes to look at the collar wrapped around the Nidaime’s shoulders. It was indeed an exact replica of the pelt he himself had always worn, though his was the item which had been meant to match him to his soulmate.

His eyes widened, face going slack with shock. Tobirama stepped closer to raise one hand and graze his palm along the soft strands with a faint, barely there smile. It was a startling expression from such a stern face, one that transformed him entirely from handsome to drop dead gorgeous. Sakumo would have been ashamed of how weak his knees were if not for the fact that his thoughts were utterly empty. With the man he had always secretly idolized standing so close he was rendered speechless, even more so because of the discovery they had just made.

Who would have thought that one could find one’s soulmate even after death?

“You wouldn’t mind, would you?” Tobirama asked him, gesturing to the silver clasp that held his collar in place. Sakumo hurried to undo it.

“No, no of course not. By all means!” It was off his shoulders a moment later and held out with a bashful smile.

For a man who had married and conceived a child when he was still alive, he was acting oddly shy now that he had finally found the one he was truly meant to be with. Hopefully he would come to his senses soon so that he could have a chance to convince Tobirama that he wasn’t entirely a bumbling buffoon. Or, at least, not all the time.

His breath stuttered in his chest as he watched Tobirama replace his own fur collar with the one that Sakumo had been wearing, offering the other in return.

“May I?”

“S-sure.” He cleared his throat and nodded once decisively. “I mean, yes. Please.”

“Clearly you already know who I am,” Tobirama said as he settled his own fur around Sakumo’s shoulders and clasped it in to place. “I should like to know your name as well.”

When Hashirama piped up beside them Sakumo very nearly leapt out of his own skin. He had entirely forgotten the first Hokage was even there, too wrapped up in the moment between him and his newly discovered soulmate.

“Oh, I know that one! His name is Hatake Sakumo!”

“Yes. Thank you brother. That was clearly a question I meant for you to answer.” Tobirama’s voice was dripping with sarcasm but it was the single eyebrow lifted in judgement that had Hashirama cowering away and raising both hands defensively, his smile fading away in to nervous laughter.

“Ah, I’ll just…let you two have a moment, shall I?”

“Do.”

He was gone a moment later, hurrying off with his eternally regal wife on his arm.

Left alone, Sakumo had little to do but watch Tobirama preen over his new fur, visually identical to the one he had always worn and yet so different at the same time. The sight made him smile and he was still wearing an embarrassingly soft expression when Tobirama looked up and met his eyes.

“Strange that we should be born in different generations and still be matched to each other,” the man noted.

“And lucky that we found each other here in the afterlife.”

“Fascinating, I would say.” There was an unusual gleam in his eye, eerily similar to the look Kakashi used to have when he was little and first learning to mold his chakra “Would you, perhaps, care to join me for the afternoon so that we might discuss it?”

Sakumo wasn’t sure if Tobirama wanted to spend time with him or if he was only interested in experimenting somehow with the bond between them, famous even in the history books for his love of science, but it sounded like a good time either way. He finally had a soulmate; who was he to deny them if they wished him to spend an afternoon at their side?

Kakashi simply wasn’t going to believe this when they met again.

[undermounts]

Pieces Together - The Arcana

Content warnings: mentions of blood

This fic ties into my other posts, Invisible Threads and Blindsided !

100% don’t have to read them, but it would make this piece easier to understand.

For as long as Cassandra could remember—which in truth, was only a handful of years—she’d lived partly in the dark. It was only fitting that the first sign that something was wrong came in the dark as well.

The night Asra had left again, when Julian had broken into her home, she knew she had a connection with the plague doctor from the moment she saw his face. His eyepatch.

It was a silly thing, she thought, to feel connected by something so seemingly trivial, especially to a stranger.

When Julian had dropped his mask and looked up at her, grinning despite the blood staining his brow, Cassandra had wanted to reach out and touch her fingertips to the soft skin beneath the rim of his patch.

Oh, she thought, resisting the urge to lift her hand towards her own face. You’re missing an eye too.

It was beautifully made—craftwork so fine it must have cost a fortune—and nearly an exact replica of her real one. The only difference between glass and real was a sparse gathering of muddy green flecks in a slightly darker shade of gold.

Asra was the only one who knew about it. When Cassandra had woken suddenly, without the slightest idea of who she was, Asra smoothed away the sweat-dampened strands of hair the clung to her skin and used his magic to dispel her rising fear. When Cassandra had confessed one night, as they lay side by side in their shared bed, that she couldn’t see out of her left eye, he had merely nodded, tucked her hair behind her ear, and said, “I know.”

Asra claimed it was because he knew well enough what her eyes looked like—after all the time he apparently spent gazing at them—and he could see the difference. Because she had a nervous tell: whenever someone got too close, she would tilt her head so that her tangled curls fell across her face to partially obscure her eye. Because, I know you, Cassandra.

What he didn’t know, Asra claimed, was anything about where her glass eye had come from and even less about the catastrophe that cost Cassandra her real one.

The second sign came in the firelight.

“I did it. I found the cure.”

Julian’s eyepatch fluttered to the ground.

“This is what happens when you’re infected with the plague.”

Cassandra’s fingertips hummed and she fought the urge to raise her hand to her face. The glass orb suddenly felt heavy in its socket.

“I was...dying.”

Cassandra’s blood ran cold.

After parting with Ilya, the ghost of his breath still warming her cheeks and her heart still pounding, she rushed home to stand before the mirror. Cassandra stood there, panting as she stared at her eye of glass, the lighter one void of muddy green flecks, and cried.

The third sign came in the moonlight, with blood dripping from her fingertips.

With Julian locked away and his execution on the horizon, sleep did not come easy. Reorganizing the shop’s stock was mindless work, and for the most part, it was a good distraction to keep Cassandra’s fears at bay. But then the glass jar in her hand had slipped and shattered on the floor, and in her haste to clean up the mess, the shattered glass had split her palm, and something deep inside and long forgotten had suddenly been awoken.

“Cassandra, what happened?”

Asra had rushed downstairs and into a nightmare as he watched Cassandra retrieve the memories he had feared most.

“As Hasari.”

The blood command rose from the depths of her mind and passed through her lips like the rush of wind over a golden field and the broken glass mended itself.

Cassandra had been furious, hurt, betrayed. Asra had kept an essential piece of her identity from her: her magic—blood magic.

“You can’t just take whatever memories you want!”

Betrayal. Sharp and razor thin, a wound in her chest.

“It’s the only way I knew how to keep everyone safe for sure.”

Asra, always vague, always skating around the tough questions or answering in that roundabout way of his. But this time, it wasn’t enough for her. Why? Why why why why—

“Because it’s what got you killed!”

Her heart stopped.

“You died, Cassandra. You were gone.”

Cassandra lifted her hand to her left eye, an eyelash tickling the pad of her forefinger as Julian’s words echoed back to her. “I was dying.”

Her missing eye—and Julian’s. His plague infection. He was dying from it, she had died. Her blood magic.

It made her sick.

Despite Asra’s attempts to convince her to stay home, to stay safe, Cassandra moved on her memory’s will, pressed her bloody palm to a foreign but familiar sigil hidden on the wall, and disappeared.

As Tascen.

And now she was here, alone on the ash-covered beach of the Lazaret, before the break of dawn and unable to ignore the chilling whispers that told her, This is where you belong.

Fear--or maybe it was dread--crept up the column of her spine, tightening her muscles and veins as it progressed as she listened to the voices and the ominous groan that came from within the crematorium that loomed before her. Being at the Lazaret, it terrified Cassandra more than she was willing to admit, and she wanted desperately to give the blood command that would bring her back home and into Asra’s arms.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say.

I shouldn’t have left like that, she wanted to cry.

Just make this all go away, she wanted to plead.

But nevertheless, she walked away from the blood marking on the wall and towards the voices. She needed answers and she knew in her core that this place held them.

Cassandra tried to imagine Julian here, his auburn locks spilling over his plague doctor mask, but it made her heart twinge painfully, both out of longing and sorrow at the grim thought. At the very least, she wished she could hear his voice again, full of bravado and honey sweet words, but as she looked around, she quickly retracted her wish. The Lazaret was no place for someone as good as Ilya.

It was no place for anyone.

Except me, Cassandra thought, the tone of her own subconscious too dark and cynical for her liking. But as she marched through the arched entrance of the crematorium and the red aura of the island itself disappeared behind walls of stone, she couldn’t help but feel like the inky darkness that lay ahead was waiting to welcome her home.

[growningupgeek]

The White Christmas Case

Masterlist

Word Count-2715

Prompt-White Christmas by BIng Crosby(with a little lot of help from the movie)

Characters-Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader, shifter family

A/N-Written for @d-s-winchester 12 days of Christmas challenge.  I asked for BIng Crosby’s White Christmas because it’s my favroite Christmas song and movie all in one. This was a blast once I got it moving and I enjoyed writing it.  Betaed by the lovely @masksandtruths and @skybinx-blog thank you my dears.  Tags are below the cut.  If you’d like on or off my tag list just drop me an ask or a message.  I promise I don’t bite hard. 

-JediCat

 Please do not repost my work on any other websites without my written permission.  Credit doesn’t count.

           I stared incredulously at Sam when he’d finished outlining the case he’d found for us. “You’re kidding, right?”

           “Never about a case,” he replied seriously. “Why?”

           I shook my head; I tended to forget the simple childhood things that I took for granted were something the Winchesters might not have had.  Things like watching the same holiday movies every Christmas.  Now Sam had found a case in Pine Tree, Vermont at the Columbia Inn and he didn’t even know what it was. But three deaths surrounded by odd coincidences was definitely our kind of thing.  Dean tapped my arm to get my attention.

           “You got an idea, kiddo,” he asked me.

           I shrugged, “Maybe, but you guys aren’t going to like it much.”

           “It wouldn’t be the first time, run it by us,” Dean replied.

           I took a deep breath, even after knowing the guys for a few months I was a little shy around them.”Vic number 1 was found outside in a Santa suit frozen to death at the end of August.  His suit was a replica of the ones worn in the finale of White Christmas.  Vic 2 was found a month later next to a fireplace in the bar area.  Autopsy found she’d drowned in buttermilk when there wasn’t a drop of it in the place.  It’s reaching, but it’s another reference to the movie.  Vic 3 fell down the main stairs in the lobby and a witness swears she saw Danny Kaye push him down the steps.  That one is two clear references to the movie.  I’m not sure what we’re dealing with but it sure likes White Christmas.”

           Both boys stared at me blankly, neither getting where I was going because they hadn’t seen the movie.  I sighed, “Most of White Christmas takes place at the Columbia Inn which is located in Pine Tree, Vermont.”

           I could see the wheels turning and then the lights come on as they figured it out.  Sam grinned and Dean groaned as he leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.  Some kind of monster that has a thing for old Christmas movies?”

             So here we were, pulling up in front of an exact reproduction of the Columbia Inn.  I got out of Baby’s back seat and filled my lungs with the pine scented air as my eyes wandered over the grounds.  The hunter in me was taking notes of possible ambush sites and places where monsters could hide; the rest of me was looking around thinking about scenes from the movie.  Out of the corner of my eye I caught Sam watching me with the oddest look on his face.  I could feel my face heat up as I met his eyes.

           “Take a picture, it lasts longer,” I sassed him.

           He just grinned at me. “You look like a kid turned loose in the world’s best candy store.”

           I stuck my tongue out at him as I grabbed my suitcase, startling a laugh out of both him and Dean.  Sam let me carry it myself, unusual for him, but put his arm around my shoulders as we walked up the front steps into the lobby.  The physical affection was also a bit unusual, but I wasn’t complaining, the warmth he gave off made up for the fact that I’d worn a lighter jacket than I should have.

           There was no one at the desk so Dean gave a sharp tap to the bell on the desk and the clerk came out of the office.  My eyes about popped out of my head because she looked just like Mary Wickes, and my smile got even wider.

           “What can I do for you folks,” she asked with a bright, customer service smile.

           Sam stepped forward.  “I’ve got a reservation under Sam Wallace.”

           I rolled my eyes, I’d made the boys watch White Christmas before we’d left and Sam had loved it.  He’d spent a day with his laptop before we left making us all new fake IDs but he wouldn’t tell me what names he’d put on them.  Now I knew why, I just hoped it wouldn’t give us away to whatever we were hunting.  My attention was drawn back to what was going on by the clerk’s voice.

           “Here it is Mr. Wallace,” she was saying. “One room for your brother and one for you and your wife.”

           I managed to control my expression. What the hell was Sam thinking?  Acting like we were married wouldn’t be a problem; I’d been harboring a crush on the younger Winchester almost since I met them.  The problem was going to be not taking it too far when we were alone in a hotel room.  My mind began to drift in a direction that was going to cause problems and I tried to jerk it back to the case at hand before it went too far.  When I dragged my wandering mind back to where it should have been the clerk was saying, “Are you sure you want to stay?  You must have heard about-”

           “Yeah, we did,” Dean interrupted her.  “But he’s been promising Y/N here that we’d stay here for her birthday.”

I took that as my cue to gush.  “I’m such a huge fan of White Christmas!  When I heard about this inn I made Sammy promise to bring me here.”

I grabbed Sam’s forearm and looked up at him with my best “I love this man so much” look on my face.  I heard Dean snickering behind me but ignored him.  I figured Sam deserved whatever he got for not warning me about us pretending to be married.  But instead of being embarrassed, Sam was looking back at me with an indulgent smile on his face, playing the loving husband to the hilt.  I felt my face heating up at the look in his eyes and hoped the clerk just thought I was a blushing bride.

Apparently she bought it because she finished checking us in and we headed up to our rooms.  When we passed a young woman who looked like Anne Whitfield on the way upstairs I missed a step and almost fell on my face.  A strong hand caught my arm before I could hit and I turned in time to see Sam give me a barely noticeable shake of his head.  I nodded and we made it the rest of the way to our rooms without incident.

Dean was across the hall from us and I saw him shoot me a smirk as he shut the door to his room.  The rat had probably known what Sam was planning and hadn’t let me in on it.  I made a mental note to get even with him as I flipped the bird at his closed door.  

I had to take a deep breath before I turned away from the door; facing Sam alone without giving myself away was going to be quite the acting job on my part.  I schooled my face into a questioning look as I turned around.  I almost lost my train of thought when I realized that Sam was standing next to the one bed in the room looking a little nervous but managed to catch myself before I gave the game away.

“So want to explain yourself,” I asked quietly.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and refused to meet my eyes. “Dean thought that if I told you, you’d veto the idea.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed, “When have I ever refused to do what was necessary for a case?”

“We haven’t known you that long,” he was still looking at anything but me. “I can’t always predict how you’re going to react.”

I reached for my bag with a slow smile. “Good.”

Sam finally looked at me for the first time. “What?”

“What fun would it be if you knew me that well,” I asked as I headed for the bathroom and a shower before dinner.

 Dinner was supposed to be “semi-formal”  but I used it for an excuse to go all out for the first time since I’d met the guys.  My outfit was a simple amethyst dress that I accessorized with a silver belt, jewelry and heels.  I did my hair and makeup while Sam showered and changed in the bathroom.  I put my hair in a bun, leaving a few strands to curl around my face and stuck with lipstick, purple eye liner, mascara and just a brush of lilac glitter along each cheek bone.  I was just checking the fall of my skirt in the mirror on the closet when I heard a soft exclamation behind me.  I turned to find Sam staring at me, so I spread my arms and twirled, unable to resist a little payback.  When I stopped I gave him a questioning smile.

“Wow, you look…” he trailed off without finishing his sentence.

I gave him an appraising look. He was wearing a white dress shirt with the first couple of buttons undone with black slacks and his Fed dress shoes.  My heart beat a little faster as he walked over and took my hand, tucking it in the crook of his arm while he brushed a piece of hair out of my eyes.  I glanced up to meet his eyes and my breath caught at what I saw there.  I had to be imagining things; there was no way he was looking at me like that.  He bent towards me, tilting his head just a little.  My eyes fluttered closed when he got so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek.  Just before our lips touched there was a banging on the door.

“Come on you two, I’m hungry,” Dean shouted.

Sam brushed his lips lightly over mine and whispered, “Damn it.  We’ll finish this later.”

He went to open the door while I tried to pull my scattered wits back together.  Dean walked in, dressed much like Sam except that his shirt was blue and buttoned all the way up.  He looked me over and let out a low whistle. “Wow, you really are a girl, Y/N.  If I’d have known that was hiding under those clothes I’d have been married to you instead of Sam.”

I rolled my eyes at him and took Sam’s arm again so we could go down to dinner.  I wasn’t surprised when we were shown to our table by a Dean Jagger look alike or that the floor show was Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye.  I was beginning to form theories about what we were dealing with and I wanted to test them, so when I saw Anne head for the restroom I excused myself and followed her.  As we were washing our hands I managed to brush my bracelet against her.  She gave a low hiss of pain as I apologized for cutting her with a loose link of the chain.  She smiled and assured me she’d be fine as she left in a hurry.  I returned to our table and nodded at the boys.  We finished our dinner quickly and headed for our rooms.  I changed in the bathroom so I could wash off my makeup and then we headed for Dean’s room across the hall.

Over beers I told them about my run in with the girl in the restroom.  Sam agreed with me that it was probably shifters, but Dean argued that there were a half dozen other things from ghouls too werewolves that it could be.  I rolled my eyes at that, but agreed that he could be right.

“I’m sure a werewolf could imitate Bing Crosby that well,” I said sarcastically.  “Or that a family of ghouls managed to find pieces of the whole cast to munch on.”

I chugged down the rest of my beer, more than a little tipsy by now thanks to the wine I’d had with dinner.  I looked at Dean. “You know I didn’t grow up in the life like y’all, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing, Winchester.”

I made sure to slam the door on my way out.  

 I had a bottle of Irish cream stashed in the bottom of my weapons bag.  I grabbed the ice bucket and headed down to the bar to fill it.  As I came through the lobby, I heard singing.  I stopped in the door between the lobby and dining room to listen.  When I recognized the voices I peeked around the corner.

What I saw was Bing and Rosemary Clooney sitting by the open hearth fireplace singing Count Your Blessings.  I smiled as I watched the scene play out, stepping out into bar area as they finished.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I didn’t want to interrupt your rehearsal.  I just came down to get some ice”

“Rosemary” smiled at me. “So what did you think?”

I made a snap decision. “I think you’re wasting your talents.  You shouldn’t be killing off your guests.”

“BIng” took a step forward, but I held up my hand.  “Don’t think I came down here unarmed or that I don’t know what you are.  I want to hear your side of this story.”

He looked skeptical but the woman started spilling almost immediately, with the man chiming in to add details.  Turned out they didn’t actually own the inn and our three vics had found that fact out.  All three wanted the land for its location but were planning to tear the buildings down.  They hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone but hadn’t seen any other way out. As they talked I analyzed their body language like they boys had taught me.  All signs pointed to them telling the truth.  I had an idea but I knew Dean wouldn’t go for it, so I called Sam’s cell phone.

“Where are you,” he demanded, sounding both worried and pissed off.

“Hello to you too,” I replied.  “I’m in the bar, could you come down here and bring my laptop?”

           I hung up before he could answer, knowing that his curiosity would bring him down to see what was going on.  I looked at the two shifters and smiled as I checked my watch, then told them, “Five minutes.”

           I explained my plan to them as we waited and asked for some paperwork from them.  “Bing” ran off to get what I asked for just before Sam showed up with my laptop under his arm.  I had “Rosemary” tell her story to him while I hacked into the county database.  This was the one area where I was better than either of the Winchester’s I could hack just about anything, even Sam had to admit I was better than just about anyone he’d ever met.  

He looked at me when “Rosemary” finished and nodded.  I breathed a sigh of relief; he’d back me with Dean.  I sent the paperwork I faked to the printer in the office and rushed to grab it before anyone else could get it.  Sam came stood behind me as I brought it back to the bar.

“This is everything you need to prove you own this place,” I said watching the faces of the shifters. “It’s all your in exchange for a promise to never hurt anyone except in defense of your lives.”

“Rosemary” and “Bing” looked shocked.  They stared at the papers in my hand for a minute, and then met my eyes.

“I’ll swear on whatever you want, hunter,” BIng said softly.  “Anything to save my family’s home.”

           I handed him the papers. “That’s good enough for me.  I hope you live a long peaceful life and that we never have to come back here again.”

           The two shifters left, Bing clutching the papers.  I turned and looked into Sam’s eyes. “Did we do the right thing?”

           “I think we did,” he said. “And Dean will come around eventually.”

           Then he smiled at me. “Let’s go to our room. I think we need to talk before we go to sleep.”

           He put his arm around my shoulders and drew me close as we headed for the stairs.  Whatever else happened, I had the feeling that this was the start of something good.  

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[lepus-arcticus]

20.

The larkspur rises in spikes from the garden, blooming rich and blue as twilight. Missy, in all of her half-baked witchy wisdom, used to say the flowers provided protection from evil spirits, that they symbolized true love. Rich, considering that larkspurs were a deadly poison, carrying highly toxic alkaloids that killed gourmandizing free-range cattle by the paddock every spring. 1501 Larkspur Lane was aptly named. A place for spirits, a rancid core of death wrapped up in a pretty story about eternal love.  She can’t help but think that Mulder dragged her out there on Christmas Eve to distract her from thoughts of Emily. She loathed to imagine that he felt sorry for her, that he’d plot a night of cheap thrills for her benefit, as if she were some wilting rose, incapable of living with the weight of her grief.  Then again, maybe it hadn’t been a distraction after all. Maybe there really was a part of Mulder that wanted to bind his soul to hers forever - he was a romantic at heart, and she could see how the tragic lyricism of a murder-suicide would appeal to him.  If only he knew the options. If only he knew how often the question had rested in her mouth, squatting on the flat of her tongue like a toad. This is how we do eternity, Mulder. We create life. The most permanent of intimacies, the two of us unified in chromosomes, stitched together in strands of DNA.  Scully sighs and turns over in bed, resigning herself to sleeplessness. The leftover buzz of fear bristles through her veins, and she thinks of blood, of betrayal, of the fireplace still warm. Maurice and Lyda, trapped in that house... but it was all in her head. It had to be. A mutual hallucination, maybe brought on by some unknown environmental contaminant, mold in the walls, or perhaps by her compromised emotional state... She heaves another weary breath into her chest, glancing at the clock. 4 AM. Screw it. It’s Christmas, damn it, and on Christmas, you should be with the one you love.  Mulder is happy to see her.  -  They trade sheepish apologies and hungry looks, packages in festive paper. Beside him on the couch, she rips into hers with abandon - Mulder’s rare gifts are always puzzling, always a challenge, more of an experience than a thing in itself. They’re extensions of him and all of his complexity, like little pieces of his soul.  She pops the plastic lid off of the cardboard tube, and shakes out a tightly-packed roll of newsprint, flicking her eyes up at Mulder in the process. He’s watching her, his own gift half-unwrapped in his hands. She digs through the nest of paper, flirting - “Hmm... let me guess, a replica of an ancient ritualistic phallus?”-” and then she finds it, and the breath is stolen from her lungs.  A spyglass, very old, but in beautiful condition. Scully blinks slowly and runs her fingers along the smooth brassy curve of it, transfixed by the craftsmanship, the history. Holding it aloft, she extends the draw and examines the maker’s mark, smelling the sweet scent of old metal. Her thoughts wheel, trying to eke out the deeper meaning, but she stops herself. She’d rather savour the challenge, turn it over in her mind for days, extract the message slowly, like fine oil. 

“It’s wonderful,” she breathes, and he beams down at her in relief. “You like it?” he asks, and she brings one of her hands up to his jaw, thumbing at the corner of his canted smile. He presses his lips to her knuckle. “I love it. Now open yours.” He finishes shredding the wrapping paper, uncovering a worn VHS tape, the cover faded. His head juts forward, jaw agape. 

“Holy shit, Scully, Destination Inner Space? I’ve been looking for this for -”

“- years, I know, so now you can shut up about it -” 

“How did you find -”

“- Oh, you know, Langley knew a guy who knew a guy...” 

He sets the tape on the coffee table and cups his palms around her cheeks, kissing an eyebrow, the bridge of her nose. “You little...” he says through gritted teeth, and pulls her into a long and elaborate kiss. His hot breath is in her mouth, his fingers locking into the hair at the back of her neck. She flickers her tongue against his ripe bottom lip, panting, giddy with exhaustion and leftover adrenaline.  It swiftly becomes absolutely essential that he be inside of her. She breaks from him, gets up clumsily and stands between his legs, shrugging her coat down her arms and tossing it over to the chair. Mulder gets savvy, grinning, shifting his hips and unhooking his belt as she shimmies out of her trousers and unbuttons her shirt. He wrestles his cock out of his jeans, and she bends to swirl her tongue around the head of it before slinging her knees around his hips. “God, yes,” he growls, clutching at her hipbones, pulling her down.  The stretching fullness of him is crucial, life-affirming, and Scully remembers how a close encounter with death is often their most powerful aphrodisiac. She sinks all the way down onto him, squeezing her muscles, leaning her mouth to his and chasing his tongue. They ride out the urgency of it in a slow, symbiotic grind.  After a few long and delicious minutes, they begin to lose steam. Scully rests her head against Mulder’s chest, listening to the thud of his heart.  He strokes the length of her thigh. “We can finish this later, hey?” he mumbles. “I think we’re both a bit tired.” 

“Mmm.” 

“You, uh, gonna be at your mom’s all day?” 

“Yeah,” she says, nuzzling her nose into the neck of his t-shirt, suddenly unable to imagine the day without him. “...Come with me.” He smooths his hands over her back, silent, and her stomach pitches. 

“I don’t wanna ruin your family Christmas, Scully. Bill hates me.” She considers this, pressing her lips sulkily against his Adam’s apple. “C’mon, Mulder. You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas. Mom won’t mind. And if you can break out of a gulag with a homemade shiv, you can handle Bill.” He runs his nails down her bare ass, scratching her lightly. 

“Mmmm. You really liked that, didn’t you. Remember how... you pulled me into that airport bathroom...? Horny little thing.” He grabs her hips and tugs them forward, pressing himself up against the sweet spot inside of her as she nibbles at the rough of his stubble. “Alright, G-woman, stop biting me. I’ll come. Just let me grab a quick shower.”   - She gets herself back into her clothes and finger-combs her hair, flipping through one of his old National Geographics. There’s a good article on the Capuchin catacombs in Palermo, and she’s studying the mandible of a mummified friar when the phone rings. The machine picks up, and then a soft, smoky, familiar voice fills the room. 

“Hello, Fox. It’s me.” Heat creeps up her neck, and she snaps her head around and stares at the phone. “I guess you’re not up yet. You mentioned the last time we spoke that you didn’t have any plans for Christmas... I just... wanted to say that you’re welcome to come over if you’ve got nowhere to be today. Or I could come to your place. We could get Chinese, watch Plan 9. Like the old days. Just... let me know. You know where to reach me.” There’s a dizzying blaze of hatred within her, and even though she knows she shouldn’t, even though it’s childish and jealous and petty, Scully leans over, presses number 7, and deletes the message. Mulder emerges from the bedroom, his hair wet and spiky, tugging down a handsome knit green sweater over his t-shirt. Scully throws the magazine onto the coffee table, collects her spyglass, and walks over to him with purpose. She kisses him hard, the kiss of a woman who knows what’s hers. When she pulls back, his eyes are questioning, amused. “Is it the sweater?” he chuckles. “Hey, who was on the phone?” 

“Wrong number,” she says mildly. “C’mon, Mulder. We’re going to be late.”

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[radioactivedelorean]

Tagged By @witete

*Sorry if anyone has tagged me in any of these sorts of question things and I haven’t responded to them - I’ve had such a full activity feed that those posts are now long gone!*

Do This: List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or as little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they are working on. This can be anything!

Oh sweet God, I’ve got a TON of things in the works, so get ready for a long post. And don’t judge me for how much angst there is!

1: I’ve got an Adoption! AU in the works for Back to the Future - The premise is that instead of Doc and Marty meeting by however they met, Doc (still living in his old house - which never burned down) adopts Marty when Marty is like eight or nine years old. Marty’s a fairly bright kid (at least, more so than the trilogy, games and comic books make him out to be), and he catches Doc’s eye at the kids’ home when Doc finds a remote control car Marty modified himself to not only be more powerful, but to have better handling/steering controls, etc. The two get chatting and Doc signs the adoption papers, making Marty legally his son.  Doc insists that Marty calls him ‘Doc’ or ‘Emmett’, but never “dad”, since they both know Doc is not Marty’s biological father and shouldn’t therefore be addressed as such. I’ve got a few rather long one-shots for this, but no consistent plot just yet:

Doc and Marty first meeting in the children’s home

Marty getting into a fight at school when some kid makes a comment about Doc and Marty sticks up for him, ending up with Marty receiving a black eye and a bloody nose. Doc picks him up from school and isn’t impressed

Marty and Doc have a fight (about what, I don’t yet know) and Marty storms out of the house into the woods nearby. Marty ends up stepping on an illegal bear trap which gets stuck around his leg. Doc comes looking for him when it starts to rain and takes Marty home, before calling an ambulance. Marty is rushed into hospital and ends up having his leg amputated (Hey, I said there’d be angst!)

2: A post-finale Gravity Falls fic where Bill returns (wow, such an original idea!) - Stan and Ford are out on the Stan O War somewhere in the North Pacific when Ford starts hearing his brother calling him nicknames only Bill called him (IQ). Ford brushes it off as lingering paranoia, until later when they call the twins via Skype and Mabel calls Stan ‘Fez’. That’s actually as far as I’ve got with writing but I have got a few more ideas floating around for this.

3: I’ve got a few random RickFord one-shots that are sort-of finished:

One with Ford having a bit of PTSD regarding the scars he’s picked up over the years. Rick sits with him on the couch in their apartment and calms him down

One where Ford and Rick go to the Smiths’ place for dinner and Ford ends up getting salmonella (they went to a restaurant the previous day where Ford had chicken), but the symptoms only show up as Ford is eating the casserole Jerry had cooked. Rick takes care of him at the Smiths’ place (he turned the basement into a living space for him and Ford) but ends up contracting the disease from his boyfriend. In turn, Ford takes care of him

A few less-than-500-words one-shots based off random one-line prompts from various topics

A few very short snippets of an AU where Ford is a college professor

A one-shot from the same AU where Ford ends up in a car crash

4: A crossover AU in which there is a glitch with the DeLorean and Marty ends up landing in the middle of Gravity Falls, a year after Weirdmageddon. Ford finds him and takes him and the DeLorean back to the Mystery Shack to try and get it fixed up. Doc wasn’t with Marty at the time, so he isn’t present in the crossover

5: A few one-off Back to the Future one-shots from both my own ideas and one based off an episode of the 1991 cartoon (I wouldn’t recommend watching it - it’s very cringe-worthy and Michael J Fox is nowhere to be found. They make Marty very much a side character and focus on developing characteristics/personalities for Doc’s kids, Jules and Verne. I’d be all for that, if it wasn’t so obnoxiously animated or poorly voiced. Plus the plotlines of some of the episodes are ridiculous! There’s a Biff replica in most, if not all, of the episodes from both seasons! Alas, starved for content, I ended up watching the lot of them).

Doc, Marty and the kids are making a quick escape in the train (no idea from what) when an anti-aircraft cannon knocks them out of the sky and they get stranded

Marty is accused of being a witch and is damn near burned to death at the stake during 1600s America. He ends up with severe burns on his legs, but Doc manages to rescue him before he gets killed (from the cartoon - s1e4 “witchcraft”)

A very old fic that I’m probably going to abandon involving Marty being unable to cope with the new timeline - everything he knows has changed and even Doc can’t help him

Plus a bunch of others that I don’t feel are worth mentioning (mainly just alternative endings to an old fic of mine)

6: A few incredibly old Rayman fics that I have no intention of doing anything with any more (I had inspiration for a full two weeks and then it died)

7: A couple of Antisepticeye fics that I don’t think will be going anywhere. Things like Jack getting kicked out of his body in a Bill Cipher like fashion, generic things like that.

8: A few MEGA old fics/ideas for Team Fortress 2. I actually love that game a lot and the comics are super good. The fics are basically me being a cruel person and using my writing to abuse the characters, so I don’t think I’ll go into detail with these ones

9: A few one-off Gravity Falls one-shots that won’t be going anywhere (considering I was writing some of these when I was halfway through season 1, so with no knowledge of Ford’s existence)

Dipper is left to guard the Shack while Stan goes out and Mabel’s at a sleepover. The Shack gets robbed and Dipper ends up seriously hurt (I wrote this before Ford came into the picture)

A fic exploring what happened to Ford while he was in the Fearamid (basically pure torture for my sick amusement)

An idea where getting Bill out of Dipper’s body during Sock Opera is a little harder than they first thought, and Bipper ends up locked away. Stan works extra hard to get Ford back in the hope that he can help.

A few little one-off ideas for the Guilty Ford AU

10: A few odd rick and Morty one-shots that just exist as ideas and/or notes

11: And finally, last but not least, a fic called Dēbĭlĭto, which is my full-length fic for the Brain Trauma AU. I don’t think I need to go into detail with this one!

Phew! I scanned all of the archives over on my Google Docs account and that’s everything I’ve dug up!

 Not taggin’ anyone :P