#save me...!!! i have so many stupid sketches but i will stop here for tonight

[mecachrome]

plagued by the overwhelming desire to make a mini comic series of domestic 814 nonsense T__T

[strawberrylemonz]

And I Shall Name Her Clementine

Part 6

Part7 [CURRENT]

Part 8

DT: @petrichormeraki @applepie1000 @jump-in-the-cadillac

------------

Tommy did not think this through. Grian thought it was hilarious, while Kristin thought it was adorable. The Hermits did their best and fucking failed at hiding their amusement. He just wanted to help the poor girl, for fucks sake! She was an orphan that escaped the cruel conditions of 2b2t, a server that the Phil fucking Minecraft warned all his children to steer clear from. And her bear had a tear in it! It looked pathetic, flopping around with its stuffing falling out! Of course Tommy was going to clean it up and replace the stuffing and resew the messed up seams! Now, the nameless child refused to detach from him. Everywhere Tommy went, she wordlessly followed closely behind. Finally, after many attempts to get the child to go with an older adult, the two made it back to Tommy’s house. 

“Alright, kid, I made you a bed. Your rooms construction will be finished tomorrow, so you’ll be in the guest room tonight. G’night”

After changing into comfortable sleep wear, Tommy flopped onto his bed. Letting out a huffy sigh, he turned around to his backside and stared at the ceiling. Letting out a hum, he closed his eyes and prepared to sleep.

Only to be awoken by rustling.

Opening his eyes, he turned to his side to face the door to his room. There, timid as ever, stood the young girl. Clutching her bear to her chest, she quietly walked up to the side of his bed, staring at him with scared eyes. Rubbing his face, he propped himself up and looked back at her.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer him, but the trembling spoke loud enough for him. She was scared. How could he be so stupid? Of course she was scared, she faced the terrors of 2b2t all by herself. Humming, he scooped her up and moved over, placing her beside him. Throwing the covers over her, he turned to face the wall. He momentarily froze as he felt her small hands cling to his shirt, as if that alone would save her from her monsters. Humming a little song, he faded to sleep thinking that maybe, just maybe, it really could. Maybe he could.

--------

Morning could not come soon enough. As he put up the freshly washed sheets and comforters to dry outside, he noted another task to put on this task wall. Once he finished, he walked inside and to his wall. Putting up a sign, he added more for him to do.

-make/buy the kid more clothes

-find out her name

-potty train [Kristin better help]

-start adjusting her to her room

Sighing, he looked over at his crafting table. Picking up the newly made dress, he walk over to the bathroom. There, Kristin was bathing the child. She had come over early that morning to check on him, and offered help with bathing the child. He placed the dress down and prepared to leave, but was stopped by both girls. Kristin spoke up as the child began to whine, grabbing the air for Tommy.

“Where do you think you’re going? I can’t come everyday to help clean her. I’ll teach you how to bathe her.”

She must have saw the hesitation in his eyes, because her tone changed to a calmer tone. 

“You won’t hurt her, don’t worry.”

Sighing, Tommy nodded as he joined the two girls. Kristin hummed, smiling at him before explaining what to do. As he listened and watched, he peered over at the kid. The child was happily staring at him, only looking away to close her eyes when Kristin warned her to do so. After she was washed and dry, Kristin helped her slip into her new dress. 

“Well, I better go. I have a garden to start.”

“A garden? I can help you with that later, if you want. My brothers, aside from Grian, and Phil don’t really know, but I’m pretty knowledgeable with plants.”

Giving him a hug, Kristin informed him that she’d message him if she needed help. As she closed the front door behind her, Tommy turned around and faced the child, who was staring up at him in silence. Sighing, he motioned for her to follow him into his kitchen.

“I learned to braid from Wilbur. I’ll fix up your hair, and then we’ll have breakfast.”

--------

“So you don’t know your name?”

A small head shake from the child confirmed his question. As she munched on her toast, Tommy asked her simple yes or no questions. Some she would move her head to answer, others she would point at objects to help him piece together the puzzle. He had learned that her parents were murdered after she had just began learning to walk. She had overheard players mention the hub portal, so she traveled across the server to get there. She and her parents had escaped from being experimented on. She was a young, inexperienced shapeshifter that preferred bugs she squealed when he got excited over her fuzzy moth form. She didn’t know how to speak, didn’t know her name.

“Well, we can’t leave you nameless. I’ll start giving names, and you let me know which one you like the most.”

A small nod let him know that she understood what to do. 

“Alright, then. Samantha”

Shake.

“Peony”

Shake.

“Lily”

Shake.

“Lavender”

Shake.

“Fiona”

Shake.

“Robyn”

Shake.

“Clementine”

Tommy bursted out in laughter as the girl squealed, waving her toast around in excitement. She hopped up and down in her seat, nodded ferociously at the name. Wiping a joyous tear, Tommy let out a sigh as he poured juice for both of them. Placing a cup in front of her, he watched as she carefully picked up the cup, slowly sipping the juice.

“Clementine? I like it.”

She smiled brightly at him, and he returned the gesture. As he finished his breakfast, he put his dishes in the sink. As he prepared to wash dishes, he felt a tug. Peering down, he saw Clementine point at a table chair. Quirking an eyebrow, he shrugged as he went over to the chair. As he picked it up, he followed the girl as she silently directed him in front of the sink, right next to where he stood. As he set it down, he watched as grabbed her empty dishes, climbed onto the chair, and dumped her dishes into the sink.

“You want to help me clean the dishes? Really? If you want”

As he showed her how to wash the dishes, Clementine watched with intense eyes. Shaking his head in amusement, he turned to place the second plate on the drying rack. As he faced the child once more, he nearly had a heart attack.

“No! Clem, don’t drink that water!”

--------

As quiet and secluded as the kid was, she was unpredictable. One moment she's quiet and sweet, the next she's trying to eat whatever she gets her hands on edible or not. Tommy sighed as he placed a leather journal in his satchel, along with all the other items he needed. Looking over at Clem, he hummed in approval as she placed her bear in her small backpack. Chuckling as she struggled to get it on, he kneeled down and helped secure it on her back. 

“Ready to go?”

A small nod from her was all he needed. Putting on his satchel, he held out a hand to her. Clementine brightened up as she grabbed onto his hand, grasping it with both of her tiny hands. As they made their way through the server, they enjoyed the quiet morning and small breeze. It was still fairly early, so no one was really out and about in the area they were walking through. As the approached the Hub, Clementine tightened her grip on Tommy’s hand. Crouching down to her level, Tommy gave her a smile.

“It’s okay, Clem. I’ll bring you back safely. Just stick with me, okay? Trust me.”

She slipped her hands out of his and opened her arms to him. It took him a while, but he nodded once he understood. Scooping her up, he adjusted her in his arms and entered the portal. 

Stampy was working on the appearance of the portal in the Hub when Tommy approach. 

“Hey! Big man, what’s up?”

“Oh, hello!!! How are you this morning? Oh! And who is this lovely lady?”

Stampy and Tommy smiled as Clem hid her face in Tommy’s arms. Shaking his head, Tommy spoke up.

“This is Clementine, or Clem. I’m watching over her due to, uh, unfortunate event.”

Nodding in understandment at Tommy’s tone and wording Stampy allowed Clem access to the world. Before Tommy walked in, however, Stampy pulled out a flower from his inventory. Holding it out to Clementine, he smiled to the girl, who kept changing her gaze from the flower and to his face.

“Here you are, Clementine! I hope you enjoy your stay! Do have fun!”

She peered up at Tommy, who nodded back to her. Letting out a timid smile, Clem slowly accepted the flower. Nodding in appreciation, her smile grew as the man gently patted her head. 

--------

“You have a kid?!”

“When did this happen?!”

“I like her dress.”

“Thank you, Lani. And for the last time, stop asking the same questions over and over again!”

Clem giggled as Lani twirled her around, the two ignoring the other three’s bickering. 

“You said her name is Clementine?”

“Yeah, she chose it herself.”

“Really? That’s amusing, given that that’s your favorite name around.”

“I know. Are you guys ready for me to finally take your measurements, or not? Or would you rather show up to the gala in bed sheets.”

“Sorry, we just didn’t think that you, of all people, would have a kid with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

After some bickering, Tommy was finally able to take measurements of all three of his friends. After jotting them down, he pulled out the different sketches of outfits that he made for all of them, letting them pick and choose what they liked and didn’t like so that they could craft their outfits alongside him. Tommy, on the other hand, was showing Clementine the bees that were buzzing around. Clem giggled, before poofing into a small bee, herself. The other three stared in shock as Tommy clapped, catching her as fell. Since she had to stay in hiding while on the run, she never learned to properly fly in any form. As she poofed back into a little girl, she clung onto Tommy with a smile. As the three quickly finished picking out the details for their designs, Drista, Lani, and Tubbo took mental notes of questions to ask over their lunch picnic.

--------

Clementine took a liking towards Tommy’s friends, as well as Stampy. Throughout the week, she enjoyed joining Tommy on his travels to Stampy’s world. She also warmed up to everyone else in Hermitcraft. Grian nearly yelled out in joy as Clementine mimicked his wings, hers being slightly more pastel than his. Tommy was more than grateful to have Grian there, as he began to teach the girl how to fly with her wings. Kristin, on the other hand, enjoyed playing with the girl as Tommy busied himself with the outfits for his friends. Once he finished the outfits and gave them to his friends, he began the outfits for Grian and Kristin. Since they were a part of the empire, he matched their outfits with his. Once he finally finished Kristin’s, he sighed as he sat back in his seat. Tugging eventually brought him back to reality.

“Hm? What is it Clementine?”

He watched as her small fingers pointed to the elegant dress, and then back to her. Understanding her form of communication, Tommy nodded. Sitting up, he propped her up onto his leg. 

“You can have a gala dress, too, yeah. What do you want? Flowers? To match Kristin?”

She denied every suggestion he gave. Finally, not being able to think of anything else, he spoke up. 

“Well, what design do you want for your dress?”

He followed her line of sight to the side of the room. He couldn’t help but acknowledge the warmth growing in his chest as he saw what she was showing him. His own royal outfit. 

“You wanna match me?”

Nod.

“Yeah, okay. You can match me.”

--------

She adored her dress. She made him set up her dress next to his outfit, waiting for the day they can wear them together. Tommy just laughed at the child’s excitement.

They were currently at the shops with Kristin. Kristin had suggested commissioning a crown for herself to wear during the gala, and invited the two to join her. Clementine’s smile only grew as she had a tiara commissioned for herself as well. Just as Tommy adjusted her tiara, Mumbo approached him. 

“Tommy! Xisuma needs to see you! Says there’s someone at the entrance of the portal waiting for you!”

Tommy quickly handed Clementine to Kristin, promising to return, before heading over to the portal in a hurry. As he stepped through the portal and into the Hub, he fidgeted nervously. Who would need to see him? Tubbo? No, he had access to come visit anytime. Lani? Drista? No, not them, either. He got his answer, however, once he stepped into the Hub. 

“Ah, there you are. Do you recognize this man? He says he knows you?”

And as Xisuma moved out of Tommy’s view, Tommy felt himself freeze. Blinking a few times, he spoke with unsure words.

“Fundy?”

[words-writ-in-starlight]

also 9, 18, 29, and whichever other one you have the most potent Idea(TM) for, for leverage/dishonored au~??

GOD I love that AU so much yeah let’s do that.  Starring Empress Parker, Lord Protector Eliot Spencer, and Natural Philosopher/Inventor Hardison. I lost this in my drafts, sorry about that.

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Hardison has blown himself up in front of his Empress and her bodyguard so many times that he should be over getting embarrassed by it, but he isn’t.

Parker knows she didn’t actually die--admittedly, the recovery time from jumping over the rail, sorely wounded, and landing badly in the water below the overlook was long enough that she doesn’t hold it against everyone for thinking otherwise, to say nothing of the rest of it--but she hates knowing she lost that fight.  It was an attack she couldn’t have hoped to see coming, literally out of nowhere, and if even Eliot couldn’t stand against it, she didn’t have a hope in hell, but.  She hates knowing that she lost that fight, and she hates knowing that she lost it in front of Eliot, and she hates what happened afterward, and she hates what it did to her people, and she hates what it did to Eliot, condemned to torture in Coldridge for a regicide that didn’t happen, what it did to Hardison, left lying to save his own life in the new court so that he could try to prove Eliot’s innocence, and it’s not embarrassment, it’s so much worse than that, but--  It’s close.

Eliot is both extremely embarrassed and not remotely embarrassed about falling more or less to pieces, when he finds Parker alive.  On the one hand, he’s her guardian, he’s not supposed to look weak in front of her, it’s literally his job.  On the other hand, she’s been dead over a year, Eliot and Hardison have been mourning her like a severed limb for over a year, and now she’s here, scowling and rubbing her wrists where he cracked the cuffs off her after handling Moreau in a very permanent fashion, and--

He’s entitled to a little bit of a breakdown, he thinks.

18. When they fight, how do they make up?

So...Coldridge changed a lot.

It wasn’t actually Coldridge, it was everything, but if you asked any of them, it was Coldridge.

Eliot and Parker have had some fucking arguments in their day, mostly early on, when Parker was a recently corralled and unwilling imperial heiress and Eliot was a Lord Protector that she picked because she thought he would be easy to convince into slacking off.  Unfortunately for her, Eliot has never slacked off a day in his life, and the first time he caught her sneaking out via rooftop, he shouted at her like no one had dared shout since she was crowned.  She yelled right back at him, but--

Ultimately, the thing is, he was only angry with her when she put herself in danger.  She learned to think a little more carefully about what was likely to get her killed in a way that Eliot couldn’t protect her from, and Eliot learned to let her run a little wild, for her own sanity, as long as she took him with her and didn’t do anything actively stupid.

Eliot and Hardison bickered constantly, of course, and if either of them crossed a line, they’d go out of their way to make it up to each other--Eliot would leave one of Hardison’s favorite meals on the table so he’d remember to eat while he worked, or Hardison would build Eliot some new inadvisable gadget and invite Parker to come watch them test it for an hour or three.  On the rare occasions that Parker and Hardison really fought, Parker would hide for a few hours and then Hardison would corner her and they’d have an emotional conversation about it and then they’d be fine.

And then...well.  Then Parker was murdered, and Eliot was blamed for it, and Hardison was forced to lie for a year to stay alive in Moreau’s new court, and--

A lot’s changed.

Parker just wants things to go back to normal, as if she’d never been presumed dead for a year--she can’t bear the way they treat her like glass.  Hardison is being eaten alive with guilt for what he said to the court, the lies he told to survive--he can’t let himself be angry with Parker or Eliot, under any circumstances, when he feels so much more to blame for everything.  And Eliot--Eliot can’t speak.  Can’t sleep much.  Doesn’t like to be touched without a warning, doesn’t like to be alone, doesn’t like having his coat taken away from him, never goes anywhere without three knives.  He hates teaching them sign language, but he hates not being able to talk to them more.  Parker suggests bringing in a tutor, someone who knows the Serkonan sign language Eliot learned as a teenaged sellsword, and he scowls deeper and deeper until finally he just.  Walks out of the conversation.

Parker is in possession of what could be called interrogation records, if you wanted to make the understatement of the century, so she knows that Eliot’s voice is gone for good.  So does Eliot, if he’s forced to admit it.  Too much damage from that time he almost cut his own throat, from his tongue being cut out, from screaming until he tore all the tissue to tatters.  He just--hates it.  He hates it.

He takes a few hours to pull himself up onto the roof he used to yell at Parker for crawling on, and just sit there and mouth curses in every language he knows.  Then he takes some deep breaths, and climbs back down, and goes back and finds the Empress again.  

29) Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

After they fix things--as much as they can fix, dragging every one of Moreau's lies into the light and scorching the fucking earth on his entire network--Parker sits up late at night, in the darkness of her quarters lit by the dull glow of the city below her windows. This isn't particularly new. None of them sleep all that well anymore. God knows she woke up from a nightmare. But tonight is...quiet. She's the only one awake.

Hardison is still asleep on the lounge, a sketch for a new kind of crossbow open under his hand and his head tipped toward the bed. Eliot is asleep on the bed, his back to the wall--Parker made them move her bed into the corner, after she came back, after probably decades of the imperial bedchambers being unchanged. He's curved toward her like a parenthesis, and he slept through her waking, something he hasn't done since she returned. The dim blue light of the city softens all the scars of the last year and a half, until Hardison's hands are clear of burns and Eliot's throat is unmarked. Parker can see them both breathing, slow, almost perfectly synchronized.

It's only because she's watching so closely that she sees Hardison stir and grimace, flexing his pencil hand and cracking all the knuckles. She holds a finger to her lips, and he nods, and she gestures him toward them.

That does wake Eliot up, the motion of the mattress sinking down as Hardison settles on her other side, and her guardian jolts up automatically. He makes a gesture toward the pair of them, not sign but an obvious pantomime of switch with me.

"You gotta sleep, man," Hardison says quietly, gently, and Eliot's face goes forbidding, and Hardison reaches out across Parker, moving with a syrupy half-asleep slowness that's probably at least half genuine, but also gives Eliot plenty of time to knock him away. Eliot doesn't, and Hardison pinches Eliot's sleeve and tugs on it like a kid, the way he used to when Eliot was ignoring him.

Parker blinks at Hardison's arm, stretching over her, and grabs Hardison by the wrist. He lets her manhandle him without a fight. She sets his hand on top of Eliot's, and then wriggles down until she's lying down between them, their joined hands on her belly, rising and falling with each breath.

"There," she tells Eliot. "This way, if we move, you'll wake up."

Eliot's hand is clenched around Hardison's fingers so tightly that it makes his knuckles white, and Hardison squeezes back, and Parker wonders if maybe it's not worth it, if maybe they should just let Eliot go back to watch and stop trying to honeypot him into a full night of sleep. But then--then Eliot lets out a breath and visibly forces his fingers to relax, and rubs a thumb over the burn scar on the back of Hardison's hand.

He nods, and Parker nods back.

She doesn't know how much Eliot managed to sleep, by the time they wake up in the morning, but his drawn, grey pallor is a little less in the sunlight.

[a-lonely-tatertot]

Finding Home

First / Wattpad / ao3

A/n: Another one done another one done! A longer chapter than the last, and the wait was because a lot of stuff came up and i didn't have much motivation to post because i was concerned that no one really cared about this so um yeah sorry

words: 6065

Tw: mentions of injuries and blood if there's others please let me know

Chapter 7: One Hell Of an Exit

It had been three days since Dex told him Fitz left, three days since the pit in his stomach had started steadily growing. What hurt the most wasn’t Fitz actually leaving, it was the fact he told Dex instead of him. Some best friend, he thought.

Keefe sighed and sat on one of the cots in the Healing Center. Elwin’s office had become home after a year of working as his assistant. Days went by, mindless and boring; they rarely got kids. Tam and Linh’s class often had the most injuries, sending in at least a kid a day because some idiot decided to go against the rules. But they were gone now, and Alchemy instructors were finally being more careful, actually watching the kids when they had dangerous chemicals, but it left the Healing Center bare. Somedays, as he played yet another round of cards with Elwin, he wished that at least one kid would get hurt so he could do something. 

Elwin did his best trying to fill the silence, teaching him new things. But Keefe knew that worry that came off him in waves, that concern that never really left after his coma. It had gotten stronger after Fitz left, keeping a watchful eye on him. Searching for pain that was there but Keefe was just too good at hiding it. No matter how many times he told Keefe that he wasn’t Cassius, that he would always be there, the wall between Keefe’s emotions never came down. 

“We should go see the Celestial Festival,” Elwin said, startling Keefe. “It’s next week and we haven’t been out much. I do always love Orem’s lights.”

Keefe hummed in response.

“I think Biana plans on going; we talked about it the other day.” Oh. So that was Elwin’s plan. Make him talk to people again. What was the point of it? Pretend that half of their friends didn’t get the great idea to hightail it out of this hell hole to be normal people for once? To pretend that they actually knew what they were without a war to fight?

“I bet with a little persuasion you could get Dex and Marella to come,” Elwin continued. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Keefe whispered softly. Why did he agree? Keefe pretended he didn’t know, but deep down under things, he didn’t want to look at he knew he was lonely. That he missed his friends. So why not take advantage of the few who were left?

The festival lights were insane. He stood with Biana as the council stepped to the stage, her determination flew off her in waves and he marveled at how far she had come. The way she held herself, scars on full display, mouth set, she looked older than he was used to. But when she glanced at him, through the flashing lights, her eyes were playful and mysterious and Keefe almost let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t completely left and grown-up without him too. 

Dex and Marella stood at his left, Dex holding some sort of snack over Marella’s hands as she lit a small fire, letting out a whoop when it just barely toasted. Keefe grinned with them, surprised at how far the two had come with their own fears of Marella’s fire. Biana tapped his arm, gesturing to a patch of grass a little ways from them and to the blanket in her hands. From there they had the perfect view of the light show, grinning ear to ear as they appeared in the sky. None of them talked of who they wished was there, and none mentioned the last time they’d watched the lights. They avoided topics flawlessly that they knew brought too much pain and weaved their way through, making their uneventful lives seem important. Honestly, the only semi-put-together person on that blanket was Biana; unlike the rest, she always knew what she was meant for, there was a fight in her that wouldn’t settle for anything less than a better world.

The rest of them were basically just melting mallowmelt. 

Eventually, Biana had to leave, and the others ended up back at Elwin’s with a unanimous vote of we’ve-got nothing-better-to-do. They raided the kitchen and grabbed whatever snacks they could find before climbing the stairs to the roof. 

They laid there for who knows how long, staring at the stars in silence. “What do you think the others are doing?” Dex asked into the dark. 

Keefe sighed. He honestly didn’t want to know but spoke anyway. “Probably doing taxes.”

“What the fuck are taxes?” Marella asked, propping herself up on her elbow. 

Keefe chuckled, “Horrid, horrid things.” They lapsed into silence again, the only sound being the scattered animals roaming Spendor Plains. Keefe always thought the name was stupid, but he’d given up on trying to get Elwin to change it a long time ago. 

“I want to go,” Marella declared. Keefe glanced at her, but she was staring at the sky; Dex had the same puzzled expression on his face. Finally, she continued, “I’ve got nothing other than people who don’t want me here.” Her tone sounded defeated and honestly, he agreed.

“I’ll drink to that,” Dex laughed, half-heartedly raising his cup of Lushberry juice to the air in a mock toast. After his new power surfaced people stopped believing he could control it. They avoided him on the streets, they hated the fact that he worked with Elwin. It didn’t matter that he had won a war for them, the fact that his mother had started it and had turned him into something dangerous was enough. He glanced at Marella and Dex, knowing they were thinking the same.

A few minutes passed when, “Then let's go.” It was Dex this time, he had sat up, the others following suit. “They hate that we’re here. That we saved them. They hate that Sophie and Fitz left, their Golden Heroes. We’re the screw-ups that are still here. Hell, look at us. The son of a bad match, a pyrokinetic, and a fucking mystery.” Keefe grunted, he’d been called worse. “We might as well find somewhere to belong.”

Keefe clapped sarcastically but he could already feel the addicting buzz of adrenaline in his veins. “Well said, fellow outcast,” he laughed. “But if we do this we’re not leaving quietly like the others.”

Marella nodded a grin taking over her face as she stood. “Buckle up boys, we’ve got one hell of an exit to plan.”

 Around 1 am (Keefe thought it was one am, he didn’t actually know at that point), Elwin came out with a plate of snacks. Keefe didn’t have time to register what half of the things were when his attention was brought back to the sheet where he had sketched up the layout of a building—that Marella was marking exits on. Dex watched them, laying on his stomach with his chin resting on a pillow and messing with his device.

 At some point they had moved inside, spreading along the couches, their ideas scattered in a chaotic order. Keefe didn’t quite remember when Elwin said he was going to bed, too wrapped up in whatever the others were saying to him. He glanced at the clock; its ticking hands read 4 am. He smiled around the room, Marella sprawled dead to the world asleep on one couch, Dex on the other sitting in a curled ball messing with something that Keefe couldn’t see. Right then, as he sat with his back against the wall and eyes drifting, Keefe couldn’t think of anyone else he’d want to leave with.

  Keefe paced Elwin’s office like a mad man. He couldn’t sit still, not with the buzzing and churning in his gut. When Keefe would let out a heavy sigh Elwin would glance up smile lightly before going back to his work. 

“You know,” Elwin said softly, after Keefe’s fourth round of the Center, “I’m still not entirely sure what I’m going to do when you leave.” In surprise, Keefe looked up to find Elwin with watery eyes. Keefe halted and stared, shocked, to say the least. The realization of how much he meant to this man who had taken him in after everything he had done when his own father didn’t want him. He didn’t quite know what to say, he wasn’t used to this raw emotion that came off of Elwin in waves. Finally, Keefe’s face melted into a sad smile.

“You’ll be okay without me,” Keefe said, for once sincere. A beat of silence passed where Keefe could practically feel Elwin trying to think of something to say without crying. Without Keefe crying, cause Keefe really didn’t like crying. “Plus,” Keefe smiled to try and break the tension, “You and the other parents can have weekly get-togethers about how much you miss our annoying little faces!”

Elwin let out a harsh laugh, “Yeah I guess we can.” Suddenly Keefe found himself wrapped tightly in Elwin’s arms. It still took him a second to remind himself not to tense up, that it was Elwin’s way of saying “I love you.” He felt tears welling in his eyes from the thought that it was real, that he wouldn’t see Elwin for a long time. He buried his head in his father’s shoulder and fisted his hands in the back of Elwin’s shirt. 

“I’ll miss you,” Keefe said finally, willing his voice not to crack. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Elwin reassured. “We’ll be okay. You need this, and when you’re ready you’ll come back home.”

Reluctantly, Keefe pulled away, “What happened to me reassuring you?”

Elwin laughed, “We both know I’m much better at the reassuring.”

He smiled at that. Yeah, maybe he’d miss this place, but he had a whole world to rediscover. A rustle of paper coming from under the door jostled him out of his thoughts. It was from Dex, his cue to get moving. In small words it read:

“headed to the meetup point, all devices ready on schedule - TM" 

Keefe grinned and turned to Elwin, "That’s my cue! See you tonight, Dad.” He let the title slip out, Keefe had never called him that before except in his head. Before he could see Elwin’s reaction he turned and was out the door. 

Weaving his way through the deserted corridors, he found his way out of Foxfire to the courtyard, running to the leap master and hastily yelling out for Marella’s house.

He arrived to find Marella already waiting for him outside, duffles around her. “You ready?”

With a nod, they grabbed the bags and headed to the leap master, places to be. A minute passed and all three of them, Dex, Keefe, and Marella, found each other standing outside Biana’s office door. Getting in was the easy part, since Biana was gone the house was empty. 

“You ready?” this time Dex asked, Keefe was confused about why, after the night they’d had and the plan they’d put together, they’d think to back out. “After this, there’s no turning back,” Dex said, eyes drifting to Keefe and Marella.

Marella grinned, all teeth. “Come on boys, we hit the point of no return the minute we decided to leave.” Promptly, she stuck her lock picks in the hole and twisted them around until they all heard a faint click. It was Keefe’s turn to grin as Marella swung the door open and marched her way in. He followed, placing the duffles in the center of the room, Dex came after him and whistled at the flamboyant decor. 

The far wall was almost entirely glass, sun streaming in and lighting the entire room. A desk sat with trinkets and papers scattered. The wall where they entered was covered in bookcases. There was a small nook that wasn’t covered in poorly organized books. A dark wood frame surrounded a drawing that Keefe had given her; it was of the entire crew, a sort of sequel to the one he had given to Sophie all that time ago. They had been laying in her room after the twins left, a week before Fitz would too, and they had both confessed that they missed them. Sophie, Tam, Linh, how rarely the entire team would get together because they had no reason to. No war to fight, no reason they’d need to get together. Keefe thought that growing up fighting a war made them all forget how to have a simple friendship. 

Before falling asleep that night he decided to draw something to remind Biana of them. He would never forget the way Biana’s entire face lit up when he handed the painting to her. He softly smiled at the memory.

“I found the crystal!” Dex called from the other side of the room, half stuck in a drawer. “Marella, are you almost done?”

Marella, who had one foot on the seating part of the chair and the other on the back, was trying to balance on two legs of it with one circular disk in her mouth and the other in her hand, trying to place it on the ceiling. “Well I would be if Keefe would get his butt over here and actually do something!” she grunted. Tried to at least, her words came out muffled and confusing, but Keefe got the idea quick enough to grab the chair before she fell. 

“Oh my god,” Dex muttered. “I’m going to be the one making sure you two dumbasses don’t die, aren’t I?” In unison, Marella and Keefe grinned at him and he groaned. With one last little hop Marella got the device on the ceiling and planted the other on the bookshelf. Keefe placed one under Biana’s desk, and next to the door on the wall. It all hit them at the same moment as Keefe armed the last disk, and Dex drew out the letter they had written up on the roof. 

“I think I’ll miss her,” Dex said finally; Marella nodded. And finally, it felt like a bright neon sign, right in front of him, blinking bright and loud, and somehow all along he had missed it. The only reason the three of them had stayed was Biana. Keefe, who knew her as his little sister. Marella who she knew as a friend that no matter what was there. And Dex, as the person who stuck by his side when Sophie left him and waited to return the favor. Maybe it was poetry, maybe Keefe was connecting dots that weren’t supposed to connect but it made him want to laugh. 

“Yeah, me too, but we’ll see her before we leave,” Keefe reminded him a bit forcefully. If he were in that office any longer, he’d convince himself to stay. Marella took the note from him to read over again before leaving it. “Let’s go, we’ve got four more places to hit.”

Keefe didn’t wait for an answer and ended up making it to the leap master before the others. It took a few minutes, but finally, they were all there calling out for Foxfire.

It was dark, everyone had gone. Keefe didn’t quite understand how time zones worked with jumping from Biana’s house, which the sun was just then setting, and Foxfire where it was already dark with the moon high. Granted, he didn’t really try.

Foxfire, being much bigger than Biana’s office, forced them to split up. Dex took the top levels, Keefe took the middle, and Marella the ground floor. Keefe slung his bag of disks over his shoulder and made his way through the classrooms. It was slow work, finding good spots to put them in each room and through the hallways, with the bag which felt like it held a bunch of rocks.

The job went by in about an hour, even though it felt much much longer, and he finally made his way back down to the courtyard. “What took you so long?” Marella laughed as he came out rubbing his sore shoulder. “Don’t forget we’ve got more to do!”

“Yeah yeah,”  he grumbled. “You guys done here yet?”

Dex poked his head out from behind one of the trees and said, “I’ve got two more left.“

Keefe could tell that the ones in his hands were the only ones he had left from how his bag looked much lighter. "So we can mark Foxfire off the list, ey?” Marella asked.

“Only three more places to hit,” Keefe grinned.

Dex rolled his eyes, “That’s not counting the spots inside those places. It’s much more than you think.”

Keefe just laughed in response; they were so close. To being free, to running away, the thing Keefe was so good at. Running, and well, making one hell of a lasting impression. That was really their plan. 

It was a short time till they found themselves in Atlantis weaving their way through the back allies to find the shed they had left the next batch of devices at. Dex reminded them, yet again because “everything has to be perfect”, that Marella was taking the treasury building—which sounded entirely boring, which was why Keefe had opted out. Keefe would be taking the various transportation locations, and Dex the business district (also boring). Their rendezvous would be the monument of Linh, Sophie, and himself when they had saved Atlantis. Keefe remembered making some horrible joke about the monument when it was built, something about how they didn’t get his hair in all of its glory, but then, after seeing it again, all he could think of was how much he regretted that his stupid crush had gotten in the way of actually being able to get to talk with Linh. He wondered how many of the others he’d neglected ‘cause of it; he wanted to groan at how stupid he was.

“You good there, Goldie?” Marella asked.

“Why am I Goldie? You’ve got blonde hair too." 

"Okay, yeah, but my hair is more pale than gold. And plus I deserve something much cooler than ‘Goldie’." 

Keefe shook his head, "Okay, Braids.”

Marella, who had started to walk off, threw a smile over her shoulder. “Could use some work!”

“I didn’t have enough time!”

“Excuses! I expect something better when I come back!”

“Oh, so I’m getting graded?” Keefe shouted, but she was gone and he was left standing alone. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he headed to the nearest light leaper. There were about five of them across the city that only lead to other light leapers inside Atlantis. He had five devices, the smaller ones that would reach only the light leaper itself and the edges of surrounding buildings. 

In total it only took him about twenty minutes to leap to each spot, find a hidden location to hide the device, arm them, and then leap away. Marella and Dex had more to cover than him so he found himself sitting at the edge of the fountain, fiddling with the KMD, as they had ended up calling them. Dex arrived first, grinning and clearly riding an adrenaline high, with Marella in tow. “All set?” Dex asked.

Keefe stood. “Yup just as you planned, Techmaster.”

“Wait, why does he get a cool name?” Marella gasped.

“I like him more,” Keefe deadpanned. Dex smiled and did his best to look innocent (which he was really good at for some reason) and Marella rolled her eyes.

“Don’t just stand around; we’ve got places to be!” Dex called, already headed for the whirlpool.

With a chuckle, he and Marella followed. Mysterium was next, in Keefe’s opinion the most boring of their stops but the way that Dex’s face lit up when he spotted Slurps and Burps whirling and glittering in the distance made it worth it. Dex beamed with something like pride and it was infectious. Keefe shook his head slightly, at how easy it was for him to grin, at Dex’s face that was entirely dorky, and at Marella who smiled somewhat mischievously as she placed her devices. It was quick and easy work placing the devices while Dex dropped off the letter—almost identical to the one they had left Biana—at Slurps and Burps. They waited as Dex made his way back to them and practically ran when they could see him. There wasn’t as much time left as they had hoped; the sun was supposed to rise in about two hours, leaving them barely enough time to cover all of Eternalia. Keefe reached the leaper expecting the others to be on his tail when he turned around, but they weren’t. 

His eyes scanned fervently and finally found Marella and Dex standing off to the side, staring back at the Slurps and Burps. Keefe wanted to laugh at the scene if it wasn’t so serious. Marella, stoney, sarcastic, quick-witted Marella, had her arm over Dex’s shoulders like she was pulling him in for a hug. Keefe raised an eyebrow at her when their eyes locked over Dex’s shoulder and her face turned hard. Speak of this and I will kill you, was the message Keefe read loud and clear.

After what seemed like ages, the pair made it to the leap master seemingly still emotionally intact and Dex with a new determined look in his eyes. As Keefe called out for Eternalia he couldn’t help but feel a new rush of adrenaline crash over him.

Now to tackle Eternalia it relied on many moving parts. Part I, the councillors homes. Each of them had two disks, set to cover a larger distance, and needed to place one in between every two towers. Keefe, along with his two devices, also was in charge of the KMD, which was to be placed on Alina’s tower. When they were still scheming Alina’s tower was the obvious choice of who they’d want to annoy the most. Alina’s surprisingly wasn’t the hardest to find, of course, being the most glittery and the most bright even in the dark. Just as he placed it he saw three flashes in the distance, Marella’s signal, marking her to finish first. Once the device was placed Keefe sprinted to his last spot when- CRASH!

He sprawled on the ground, head aching and pain shooting up his arms. Fuck, he thought eloquently. Curses slipped from his mouth as he tried to stand. He managed to pull himself to his knees to determine just how screwed he was. He had rough spots on his palms that were bound to bruise, a huge scrape down his arm, a busted lip from the way he could taste copper in his mouth, and from how much his head ached, he had probably cut his head too. His legs were probably worse; luckily, he couldn’t actually see the extent of his injuries because of his pants (and from the pain he could feel he honestly didn’t want to see it). 

He was fine. This was fine. He would just push past the pain and get himself through downtown than he could figure it out. It was just a fall. A fucking painful fall, his brain supplied unhelpfully. He saw three green flashes in the distance and cursed again. Dex was gone too.

He needed to get moving, and he needed to get moving fast. Keefe grunted, took a few breathes, and managed to get his feet. It was a bit harder to leap with an injury but he managed, and after placing his last device, he found himself in downtown. 

Dex saw him first, delight turned to concern turned to worry until he was rushing to him. “Why are you bleeding? Why are you beat up? I leave you alone for five freaking seconds-" 

"What happened?” Marella came up behind him with more annoyance than concern on her face.

“Well, I was going to explain to Gears over here-”

“Gears? Really?”

“-but I don’t think he knows how to keep quiet,” Keefe finished. 

“Start talking, now." 

Keefe sighed, "I fell.”

Marella stared at him, “You fell, and did this?”

“It was a very mean rock!”

“Oh, my Ancients-” Marella breathed clearly trying not to laugh.

“You’re benched. we’ve only got a few more left anyway,” Dex said, still eyeing his injuries. Keefe honestly didn’t have it in him to argue. Though it didn’t stop him from snatching the other KMD from the bag next to him and securing it to the ground with only a few winces. 

He watch as Dex and Marella placed the last couple of devices. They were clearly talking about something urgent, and from the way, Dex kept on glancing his way, it was probably about Keefe, but he wasn’t close enough to hear and honestly, it was getting on his nerves. What was so important they couldn’t tell it to his face? Probably something you won't like, Keefe thought. He wasn’t always the best at taking bad news, though he didn’t think he was as bad as Fitzy used to be.

“We’re gonna have to jump back to your house before we can set everything off,” Marella stated. 

Keefe balked. “We don’t have time for that!”

She threw up her hands, “Well you went and got yourself hurt and we don’t exactly have another choice.”

“I am fine,” Keefe said, trying to hide the wince that came.

Dex rolled his eyes, “It’s a short pit stop, come on. We’re all done here; a few minutes won’t hurt the schedule.”

Keefe wanted to argue that it would hurt the schedule because the schedule was flawless and nothing mattered more than the schedule. Unfortunately, he knew that neither of them would actually listen to him. 

Admittedly, when it was all done, getting Keefe patched up with the cloth they found and cleaning off the blood took a lot less time than he initially thought. They had found Elwin’s stash of pain killer serums and as soon as Keefe took them he ordered them to get moving. “We’ve got places to be and things to set off!”

“Lead the way, dude,” Dex huffed. After the war, Forkle had ended up showing the rest of the Black Swan members where his office was—with a heavy, heavy swear to never show the council where it was. The best part about Forkle retiring: they could use the dusty office as a great spot to see pranks. That was probably not Forkle’s intent but who could really stop them?

Stepping into the weird round office (what had Sophie said it resembled? A hobbit hole? Keefe put that on the list as a first order of business to figure out when they got to the Forbidden Cities), it was like nothing had changed. TV’s still lined the wall, and the desk in the center had scattered papers from who knows how long ago. From his memory, Sophie was the last person here, she had watched right before she left, she spent almost a whole day just watching. In Keefe’s opinion, it was kind of creepy but it was probably something sentimental to her. It had been a year since then and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. 

They set to work, setting up, connecting cables, dusting (not something Keefe thought this would entail). Their list was made quick work of and soon they were all set up and staring at the screens. People moved like nothing was going to happen, they moved in a trance of things to do and places to be and not a care for the world around them. Keefe remembered a long time ago, Alden saying that elves loved their work, but as he watched people go they didn’t all seem to love it. Their lives were a dull continuous day after day after day with nothing to want and nothing different. Keefe grinned, oh how they would change that. They all held separate controllers, all for different things.

With a nod, Marella started to count down. “Three. Two. One.” She pressed her button and the disks went off. Pink goop (Keefe got the idea from bubble gum, something he had been a tad bit addicted to in his time away) covered everywhere. Luckily, the cameras were high enough that their view wasn’t blocked, because the view from above was amazing. People shouted and left their shops, watching as the mass overtook everywhere. No one was actually in danger, anyone stuck would be just a tad bit uncomfortable but still safe. Dex let out a breathless laugh, “It worked, oh my Ancients it worked!" 

Marella let out a whoop and he couldn’t help but be caught in the crashing wave of her joy. But they weren’t done yet; there was still more to do.

They waited in anxious excitement for the panic to die down before they could release Wave 2. Finally, it was time and Keefe pushed his remote to see glitter fill the air and Biana’s infamous quote light the sky. ”' Sparkles make everything better,’“ Keefe said as he watched the shimmering rain. "That they do, that they do.”

Dex giggled as he pushed his button, releasing the KMD. Keefe was fairly proud of his odd combination of their initials, but it worked well. Keefe’s pink faded into Marella’s orange into Dex’s green in a shimmering rain that morphed into “The Outsiders”, as Dex had called them the night before. 

Keefe swelled with pride, “Now that is something sixteen-year-old me would be hella proud of.”

Marella nodded, “We did something amazing here today, boys.”

“That we did." 

That afternoon, moments before sunset, Dex, Marella, Keefe, Biana, and Elwin stood on the hill behind Elwin’s house. No one knew what to say, no one knew where to start. Honestly, Keefe thought that the only thing keeping Elwin from crying was his silence.

"Really,” Biana spoke startling them all. “You had to use the 'Sparkles make everything better'?”

Marella barked out a laugh. “Hey, we knew it would get your attention,” Dex said.

Biana raised her eyebrow, “Oh, really? Because the giant blob of pink goop in my office and everywhere else wouldn’t?”

“Wellll- it was a fun addition,” Keefe said.

Biana smiled softly, “I’m going to miss you guys.” Keefe couldn’t stop himself anymore and he pulled her into a hug.

“We’ll be back. I promise.”

“You better be, asshole; I can’t fix everything on my own,” Biana whispered into his shoulder.

“And you don’t have to,” Keefe whispered back. If anything, he wanted her to know that before they left. She nodded slowly. 

Keefe felt Dex and Marella join the hug, and eventually so did Elwin and it felt so final that Keefe had to remind himself again and again that it wasn’t; that he’d be back. 

Finally, they pull away, everyone with teary eyes. “If any one of you gets hurt you are calling me immediately, got it?” Elwin stated, point his finger at them.

Dex snorted, “I don’t think it works like that.”

“I do not care, I am not letting anyone of you get hurt by that place,” Elwin said, almost glaring at them. “Are you kidding? The amount of work I’m going to have to go through, detoxing you after you’re exposed to all those-” he waved his hands excessively, “pollutions!”

“Yes sir,” Keefe said as he mock-soluted him.

“We should probably get going,” Marella elbowed him, checking her watch. “Bi? Watch my mom, will you?”

Biana smiled, “Of course.”

Dex gulped, “And watch the triplets for me? And Elwin, talk to my parents? They’ll be mad I didn’t tell them but I just couldn’t say goodbye to them.”

Elwin and Biana nodded. Keefe raised his leaping crystal, “I love you guys.” The beam opened up and before he could bite his tongue, “I love you, Dad.” He stepped through, not even looking to see Elwin’s response.

Marella and Dex met him on the other side, both giving him quizzical looks. “You really just called him Dad for the first time and then ran away for who knows how long?” Dex asked.

“Yup!”

“I thought that impulsive phase was over,” Marella said.

“I'm sorry what have the past two days been?" 

"We don’t talk about that." 

Keefe grinned, "Okay Techmaster, lead the way.” And they were off a clean slate, a fresh beginning.

They had rigged up a computer, a shitty web camera, and a stand duct-taped together in the middle of their small Sydney apartment. Dex stood behind, still messing with the settings as Keefe was trying to fix the crappy white sheet they had hung behind them. “I think it’s fine,” Marella chuckled.

  “Oh suree tell the guy who actually can speak to the tech how it works,” Dex said, rolling his eyes and pressing a few more buttons. Marella moved her fingers around her temple and mouthed, “Crazy” and Keefe found that he couldn’t stop himself from snorting. 

“You know I can see you right.”

“Yup!” Marella and Keefe said in unison, giving in to another round of giggles.

Dex shook his head, “Well, we’re all set up.” For a millisecond Keefe could tell just how nervous Marella was in the way that her eyes darted, trying to make sure everything was holding steady, how her hands silently snapped to some imaginary song. It came off her in waves, though her excitement accompanied it. 

“Okay, you guys ready?” Dex asked. 

Keefe nodded. “Okay, three,” Dex held up three fingers. Two. One. He pointed at them. 

The first round ended prematurely in a fit of giggles. The second with Marella staring blankly, the third with Keefe singing some random song he had heard on the radio because who knew what he was supposed to say? Certainly not him!

It took more tries than Keefe could count and well after the sun went down before they finally had an acceptable intro (they also managed to drag Dex into the actual camera view which was secretly Marella and Keefe’s main goal). 

It took only two days to edit on top of the jobs that they had managed to find. Eventually, they were all standing in front of the computer anxiously watching Dex press the upload button.

“You know,” Dex said, “it’s not going to make any difference with you standing right there.”

“We are witnessing history in the making; we cannot miss out on that!” Keefe yelled dramatically,  met with an exaggerated eye roll. 

It all seemed too simple to be called a beginning, just a click of a button, and they were alive somewhere among the firing code in this vast world.

They were all lounging on the couch when it came. The doorbell rang, and no one moved, except the cat. Dex was too wrapped in his current school project that had to do with writing something that was way above Keefe’s amount of brain cell. Curled on the couch, Marella had her headphones in, editing their newest video that had them trying to paint a posing Dex with their fingers. This ended into chaos which was a surprise to no one. Keefe grinned at the memory as he tried to lure out their new cat that had decide to bolt under the sofa the moment the bell rang. “Come here Marty Jr.,” Keefe cooed.

Marella pulled out one earbud, “Did we really have to name her Marty Jr.?”

“If I recall correctly you didn’t have a better idea at the time,” Keefe retorted.

“I did!” Dex called.

“For the last time, we are not naming her after some weird chemical!”

“Pneumonia is a perfectly reasonable name!”

“Wait,” Marella said, “isn’t that a lung disease?”

“I thought it was some poisonous gas thing?” Keefe said. 

Dex groaned, “Why must I be the only intelligent person here?”

“Look is someone going to get the door? It could be pizza,” Marella said. Keefe groaned and gave up trying to get the cat out from under the couch, going to answer the door. 

No one was outside on the balcony, no one was in the courtyard except for the neighbor's kids. But there was pizza on the ground, still in the box, and it smelt like heaven. On top of the box was an envelop. “Did either of you order a mysterious pizza and a suspicious-looking envelope?” Keefe called out, carrying the box into the house.

“No?” Dex said, his face twisted in confusion. 

“Well, looks like we got a surprise then.”

Marella came up behind him, Marty Jr. sitting comfortably in her arms, “What’s in the envelope?”

“Just a letter,” Keefe said. It was a letter, but when he unfolded it, it held a handwriting he would never mistake. Biana’s. “What the-” Keefe started but Marella snatched the paper out of his hands. 

“She wants to meet us,” Marella whispered. 

“Where?" 

"In some cabin in the US.”

Keefe groaned, “Crap, we don’t have that kinda money without it being sponsored.”

Dex grinned holding up the discarded envelope, “She already thought of that.” He pulled out three plane tickets. 

Keefe grinned, “Well, I guess we’re going to America.”

[brideofcthulhu10]

More headcanons to help me work through the dreaded writer's block! Hope you guys don't mind it's a bit slow right now, I plan on posting another tonight and hopefully I'll be able to get to some asks once my brain is no longer fried

Dwayne Headcanons

When he was responsible for Laddie, Dwayne would often take him out to the boardwalk whenever Star was busy. Sometimes he’d even choose to take him along even if they were with Star just to hang with the munchkin

If anyone told him he was too short Dwayne would hypnotize them into letting him one. He wasn't exactly worried about the kid being flung from the roller coaster, he could easily catch him if it happened. It felt awesome impressing him at the strength test, just watching him jump up and down as the attendant handed him a giant blue monkey which of course he'd give to Laddie. The boy was such a hyper, sunny child it was hard not to laugh when this spritely eight year old would play a water gun game and yell “this is a load of bullshit” when he lost. Well, he did grow up around four teenage guys, two having the worst language you could imagine. David used the word "fuck" like it was going out of style. At one point some lady in her thirties tried to lecture Laddie about watching his language, to which Dwayne had immediately stepped in after he said “piss off lady”. Again he had to choke back a laugh, pushing the kid behind him before this lady throttled him. To save face Dwayne feigned some half assed “shame on you” to Laddie just so she would piss off, and then ushered him away- for an ice cream sundae. Granted while he couldn’t condone a kid cussing up a storm, he did find it utterly hilarious watching this uppity chick squawk like a hen in outrage.

“Seriously though I don’t know where the hell you learned all that from-”

“Paul taught me.”

“Yeah, well, Paul probably isn’t the best guy to copy, kiddo. "

Chinese food isn’t his favorite, but he knows it’s Markos so he doesn’t complain when they have it at least once a week. Actually, his favorite is probably Hispanic. Many forget much of California was once Mexico, and as such the culture still thrived even into the early 1900s. Santa Carla flourished, and between pick pocketing gigs and heavy labor on the docks, Dwayne could always count on there being fresh tortillas for a few dollars after a long day. Elotes with extra chili powder, huarache, freshly brewed horchata on ice? Utterly delicious! Nothing can compare to freshly made tamales by a sweet abuela in a tiny food truck cooing to you in Spanish. Even he can blush when they pinch his cheeks gushing about what a skinny man he is. Paul and Marko love it as well and will often tag along when Dwayne goes to Mama Rosa’s, although he often has to elbow Paul in the gut because he’ll flirt with the cooks in the back into getting a free taco.

“Ay, Paul, mi angelito querido cielito, you’re skin and bones!”

“Well, I always skip a meal before coming here, abuela. Your cooking is too epic to have anything else in my stomach!”

“Dude, will you stop flirting with that poor woman before you give her a heart attack, you ass?”

Dwayne had a brother many years ago who was lost after being caught in direct sunlight during the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906. Since then on April 18th he holds a small memorial for his brother Jasper, who died pulling the curtains shut to shield them from the sun. Some years David, Paul and Marko will join him, silently drinking to their fallen friend. It's a rare moment of seriousness for these wild boys, sitting beside an altar crudely constructed atop a wooden crate, draped over with the jacket once worn by Jasper that survived the flames. Decorated in worn candles melted by decades of use, a bottle of rum from over eighty years ago still untouched with an empty shot glass beside it caked in dust and cobwebs, worn flowers shriveled into darkened husks, a glass of blood they keep freshly filled with each visit, feathers of birds to help carry him to the sky. Every time he adds something new, a gift from every era. Recently he brought Jasper a Def Leppard vinyl record, propped against a sketch of his brother drawn before his passing by an admirer who had died long ago. Paul left a little toy motorcycle for him, Marko brought an old pocket watch he found at an antique store that bore a striking resemblance to one he had admired long ago, and David brought him a hunting knife

“You would’ve loved hair bands, Jas. Everything’s changed now, its crazy. It sucks you never got a bike of your own,” Dwayne would say, sitting in the dark with only the tender flicker of candles brushing away the dark. Never again would he let the sun take him. It was the darkest, deepest cave in the hotel. And there, Dwayne spoke more than he ever does outside “Horses were cool, but it’s better to have something that doesn’t stop every time it takes a shit, you know?”

Unfortunately Dwayne sucks at video games. It’s not that he doesn’t get it, but he has the worst gamer rage. Now, Dwayne doesn’t often get legitimately mad, but when he’s been playing the same god damn stupid water level for the past hour and a half just to be killed by a squid-! Well, lets just say Paul practically dove to catch the controller before it was chucked at the tv, and cue a dirty look towards Dwayne for nearly smashing his “baby”. He wasn’t about to have him break ANOTHER controller. Yeah that wasn’t the first. At this point he’s content just watching from afar and sometimes back seat gaming when Marko is going the wrong way. He’s not nearly as bad as David who will openly call someone stupid after dying. 

Dwayne is definitely the type to nap after a long night. Truthfully he misses when he could just lay out in the sun like a lizard on a hot rock after a long day, it’d feel incredible. Instead he’s resorted to a hot water bottle or a heating pad. Yeah, he loves hot weather. Summertime is his favorite time, just savoring the toasted air blowing in his face on rides over the beaches. Sometimes he’ll try to wake up early to watch the sunset from within the cave, although it’s burnt him on more than one occasion he will still try to get a glimpse. Winter is the worst for him, he hates, absolutely despises the cold. Even though he doesn't technically get cold anymore, everything seems to die away in the winter leaving only twisted branches and grey skies. David may enjoy all that gloomy melancholy but not him.

One wouldn’t assume Dwayne to have much of a sweet tooth. That’s because they’re wrong. While he isn’t into the marshmallow caramel double candy bars deep fried and dipped in chocolate like Marko or Laddie, he has a serious weakness for chocolate. Like, a major weakness. Paul is still searching for his stash, tucked away somewhere secret in the hotel. Any time he thinks he’s close to finding it, Dwayne moves it again.

“Dude, sharing is fucking caring you greedy bastard”

“Get your own candy asshole, why do you think I keep my stash hidden from you guys?”

Now the whole hoity toity fancy chocolate isn’t what appeals to him. He can certainly appreciate a well made chunk of dark chocolate sprinkled with chili powder, but he’ll settle for a cheap bar snatched from a gas station. Most sweets weigh heavy on him, but chocolate is such a unique medium that can be changed into almost anything, appealing to every taste imaginable. Sweet, savory, spicy, bitter, semi-sweet, rich, dense, light. Chocolate cake, chocolate doughnut, hot chocolate, fudge, and of course the traditional candy bar. You make him a mug of Mexican hot chocolate and he is putty in your hands. You couldn’t necessarily bribe him with food. But you could certainly butter him up to suggestions when he’s crunching down on a candy bar. Paul knows this, and at this point Dwayne knows this guy has royally fucked up if he comes up to him with a stack of chocolate bars.

“Heeeeey, Dwayne, buddy, old pal, chum, lookie what I found, all for you man how cool is that?”

“....,” Dwayne glances up from his book at the handful of chocolate and slowly lowers it with a firm sigh. “What the hell did you do now?”

“Wha-Whaaa-? Oh! Okay, wow. Woooow. Offend much? I go out of my way- I mean, can’t a guy just, you know, do something nice for his best friend-?”

“Paul. What. did. you. do?”  

“Okay okay, well you see David made me go fill up his stupid bike, and there was this hot chick at the gas station, I mean perfect fuckin ten man, she had the biggest frickin tits- okay anyway! Well, next thing I know the keys are gone, the chick's gone, the fuckin bike- You gotta help me man he’s gonna fucking kill me and dance on my grave!”

Of course Dwayne will help… in exchange for twice the chocolate. Like I said, it won’t always work as a bribe, but it’ll certainly help your cause if you go in with some incentive.

[iam-kenough]

Will you ever notice me? (Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character)

Summary:  Dutch and his boys found a girl hidden inside wrecked shack near their camp. She introduces herself as Iris and starts leading outlaw life with Van der Linde gang, quickly developing feelings towards one, special cowboy. However there is big year gap between them and Arthur sees Iris just as a kid...And girl won’t take that!

Authors notes: I updated two chapters today and I hope few of those who read this story will be happy! It’s just another chapter and you can find the rest of them following masterlist on my blog if you  want to read more of my  fanfiction. Hope you gonna enjoy it! Words count:2921 Chapter 13 Arthur Morgan wasn't leading the best life. It was full of danger, stress and runaways. Man did many things wrong, not looking after Eliza and Isaac to start with,  not learning a lesson to not fuck with young girls as it will ruin their life. And there was Arthur, clinging onto memory of his last fallout with Iris. It was something horrible, something that dragged him down for couple days now. Arthur really wanted to talk with Iris but every time he saw her alone, he couldn't. He had lump in his throat just by looking at girl and when was just sure about what he's gonna say, he forgot all the words. But maybe there were none? Maybe he fucked up another thing that was important to him and he had to cope with it? And finally, maybe it will be easier to shut her out?

She was sitting on the grass and washing up clothes, her hair falling onto her beauitful face. Arthur was worried that broken nose is gonna change her appearance but it was the same, it healed well and quickly as she had vigor in herself. Arthur started sketching Iris, hiding away from her gaze so he could memorize every of her feautures without being noticed.

She's leaving, he overheard, now for sure. The night after John's wedding she's gonna be long gone, moving to some big city. She's leaving even if only to became a waitress instead of robbing people and to live on her own.

All ideas he had were terrible. Arthur was thinking about stealing her money so Iris won't be able to leave so soon but he wanted her to stay and love him, not just make her life more miserable. He noticed piece of his own face reflecting in the mirror that he usually used for shaving and he felt disgusted with himself, putting object face down. Arthur overheard her sobbing in a tent one night and that was it. Do or die - Arthur said to himself, because if he's gonna leave her like that in this very moment, he's gonna become even worse cold motherfucker.

Cowboy peeked inside between two flaps and found Iris lying on the bed, makeup running down her cheeks, visibly drunk. She haven't notice him at first. She was holding a letter and one of he's shirts, cuddling with it.

- Can I come in? - he felt like an idiot even for asking that, knowing the answer. But there was still a blink of hope, right? Iris looked stuttered and embarassed when she noticed his presence but then her features softened. She was drinking again, but it was different. Iris got sentimental today rather than furious or playful and Arthur knew the feeling, he was getting like this too whe he had too much.

Arthur rested on the cot, near to her feet. Without any thinking he started carresing Iris's leg. - I'm okay, not need to pity me - she murmured after a while, wiping tears away, turning face into opposite direction from Arthur's gaze.

- You don't look like ''okay''. I feel like I can help even to pay for small piece of my faults...?

She was starving for his touch, that's why she straightened her legs so he would be more comfortable to reach them. They remained like this in another moment of silence, Arthurs fingers tickling girl's skin.

- Is that my shirt? - he asked, not getting the point of having it.

- Yes, I stole it from your tent last week. Yes, it might be creepy. But...I don't care what you think about me anymore - Iris mumbled.

- I ain't gettin' it, girl, it's just dirty shirt of mine - Arthur shaked his head, eyes widening.

- It's the closest thing to hugging you when I am drunk enough to fool myself it's you lying next to me. Helps me sleepin' too. Arthur rarely felt like falling apart to cry, but this was this moment. After all of that he was still in her heart and she associated him with safety. He decided he's gonna take a bit of luck and he aproached her slowly, takin' her into bear hug. Iris's hands curled around his chest in no time. Arthur was rocking her a little, stroking her hair and small of her back. Iris couldn't fight anymore, even she didn't have enough pride to push Arthur away and shut him out. Cpwboy was needed right now.

- What did I do to deserve it? - she whispered, her voice sad - I will do that again just to have you over even one more time in the future if you'd share this secret...  

- You don't have to to do anythin'. I am the problem here, honey, not you - Arthur's voice was soothing as he planted kiss ontop of Iris's head.

- Arthur, I became homeless today - Iris suddenty changed topic, passing him a piece of paper. It was a poster with her face on it. "Iris Rhiannon/ from Van Der Linde Gang/ Wanted dead or alive/ 2000$".

- That means I have to take all money I saved and probably sell everything I own - girl said as noticed Arthur familiarised himself with poster -  That thing I pulled out with the train couldn't work out without slapping me back. I should've know better.

- Iris, listen - Arthur cut in suddenly, maybe it wasn't the nicest but he didn't care, it was intentions that mattered now - I can help you.

- I'm not pregnant with your child anymore so there's no reason for you looking after me, Arthur. I'm gonna be fine... somehow - Iris hesistated like she tried to convince himself, not Morgan.

- You gonna be fine? Ah, goddamn, woman, don't try to be proud when you obviously need me! You can't even leave the camp now! - Arthur shaked his head, speaking impatiently but she backed off, visibly scared.

- Why did you come here yelling at me, I don't need you! - she pushed him away

- Jesus, I'm sorry - man lowered his tone right away  -  I just ain't gonna let it happen, money means nothin' to me now, okay? Let me save you - he demanded, cupping Iris's small hand with his bigger one.

Iris suddenly gave in and nodded,  blushing briefly. Even if she wasn't thinking about accepting offer for real it was heartwarming and flattering that he tried to fight. Arthur decided he's gonna drink with her tonight, unless none of these words will come out. Man wasn't used to showing weakness, he'd rather be dominant asshole. So he took big gulp from the bottle, preparing for being more tender.

- If the bounty hunters are gonna come for you they won't simply kill you, they gonna take you to town and I'm gonna watch you hang, you know that? That's why I will help you and that's it. - he was giving her this fatherly speech, with low, demanding voice.

- Only if it'll make you feel better - Iris shrugged, tucking strand of  hair behind her ear.

- It's not about me, Darlin' - he caressed girl's head, playing with one of locks - I will probably never gonna pay you back for my deeds so that's good start for me to be a better man, for you.

Iris took a place with her back against tent's wall and started looking at her nails with embarrassment. Her fantasies weren't going so far when she expected to see him, so now it was akward to sit next to him as all of those words didn't seem honest or true.

- Don't overthink it, even if it's gonna be only for now, 'kay?

- I guess you're right. If you are here, we could use this time better. They drank together that night and cuddled like they had no worries. Arthur was telling Iris stories about the craziest things he did with the gang so far, and she giggled, admiring he's composed face when he tried to collect thoughts to describe everything in best way. It seemed almost like they never argued, like man never hurt Iris so badly...like they were a real couple.

- That's why I don't like to see you risking your life. I was to close to dying stupid death many times in my life - Arthur said finally, eyes softing at sight of Iris's face.

- I kind of like it - Iris exclaimed and then she noticed how close to each other they were, their noses millimeters apart - I mean, the adrenaline rush - she finished slowly, looking at Arthur's lips.

Suddenly Arthur realized that if they would kiss he wouldn't mind. He smiled with charming manner and caressed Iris's arm, inhaling her scent floating in the air. She always smelled like honey and flowers.

Then their lips met, both surprised with reaction of opposite side. Arthur and Iris was kissing like they were starving and this act were supposed to feed them. Arthur started to purr like a cat, parting girls lips with his tongue, tangling  fingers into her hair. Iris climbed on his lap right away, Arthur's hips between her tights as she was facing him and she deepened the kiss. They both started to sweat and their hands were running all around each other's bodies. Iris was trembling, melting away Arthur's body, playing with buttons of his shirt and with his suspenders. She moaned against his lips. It was hot, too hot and Arthur decided it has to stop or someone is gonna feel guilty in the morning.

- Iris, baby, we can't do that - he catched breath and tried to calm himself, ignoring her proximity and the fact he was horny as hell.

- Why? - girl asked, her face going sad and in pain in not time - I want you now...

- You just think you want me and I have one rule, I don't have sex when one of the sides is too drunk to decide about it properly - he explained, trying to look away from her cleavage right in front his eyes.  

- What a gentelman you are - Iris said, backing off and resting on the edge of bed. Her back was facing Arthur right now. Girl was trying to collect her thoughts, surprised with an outcome of their actions but in very bad way. Like she was opening a present and there was nothing inside the box.

- I just don't want to use you, and-

- Just cut it. You don't want me and that's it - she shrugged, eyes pierced into the floor - but of course you don't.

- Oh - Arthur murmured to her ear, his warm breath ticklish- I want you more than ever, you can clearly see what you can do to me...

- If it was true you wouldn't stop. But it's all calculated, eh? Your feelings even don't behave like ones. You are... the coldest person I know.

- I would never turn you down, you know that - he started caressing her back with his lips, it gave Iris this weird sensation in her stomach.

- At morning when I saw my poster I thought I hit my rock bottom, but no. I did it right now - she giggled but there was nothing happy to it- I'm not even good enough for one night stand. I never expected being this low that man I consider as handsome doesn't even want to use me, hiding behind explanations. Guess life is full of surprises for me.

- How can you be like this? You want me to use you?! - Arthur was shoked and maybe even offened by the was Iris was thinking.

- I just thought for a moment it's somehow normal again. It felt normal, being like this with you. Don't bother yourself with any more explanations, please - Iris quickly wiped away her tears so he wouldn't see them - Goodnight, Arthur.

- Let me stay with you, please? - Arthur said with hope in the last word.

- If that's what you need - sgirl shaked her head with disappointment. Normally she would just chug on the bottle and fall asleep drunk but she just simply rested on the bed and curled up with his shirt. Arthur was unbelievable.

- I think that's what you need, eh, girl?

- I don't know anymore - she shrugged - But yea, stay. You are more than welcome.

Iris looked at him as he undressed to his union suit and she saw his chest peeking from between the buttons. She blushed and looked away. Arthur's skin was nicely tanned, soft and peppered with hair. Arthur run fingers through his hair and yawned. He looked incredible adorable when he was sleepy, 'cause it was one of those moments he fully let down his guard. She started feeling guilt, she had no right to have him and he was right turning her down. Iris suddenly appreciated the fact he lost enough time to figure out something smart and nice to tell her instead of that he's simply not interested in her anymore. Girl wouldn't sure if she would keep herself together if it were the words he would use. Real gentelman like Arthur wasn't meant for insufferable brat like her.

- What're you thinking about? - Arthur rested behind her back and closed the distance between them, Iris felt like wave of warmth is going through her body.

- Nothin' - she lied briefly - I guess... I'm too drunk to think. That's why I do that in the first place, I mean, drinking.

He hummed with aproval, burrying his face in crook of Iris's neck

- Wanna sleep already? This was a really long day for you.

It wasn't only guilt now, this feeling quickly mixed up with shame and realisation. They were lying in her bed, wearing only their undergarments and even in this very moment, he just cuddled her instead of tearing her apart like lover would do. Iris was no woman for him. Few minutes passed before brunette interrupted this tense silence.

- How are you feeling, Arthur? I mean, any coughing lately?

-...no. Surprisingly - he opened his eyes with realisation. He wasn't in pain anymore but lately so many things happened he couldn't even think about being sick. Untill now.

- Guess I did good. Feeding you with all those weird herbs back then - she stopped and collected her thoughts - I know you got TB. Or had it, as I see now, thanks to book you bought me for birthday.

Arthur got up quickly, his eyes full of questions. Like she just dropped the bomb.

- When you got back from being O'Driscolls hostage and I was taking care of you I noticed that you spit blood while you cough. I had to do something - she was playing with buttons of Arthur's shirt, the one she still cuddled instead of turning around to face him - Just wasn't sure it would work, so I observed you without letting you false hopes. But today I lie next to you and listen to your breath knowing I did good.

- You cured my tuberculosis?! H-how? I've been told I'm gonna die soon, so-

- And even with this thought you wouldn't have me tonight to be real gentelman, how sweet of you - she smirked and got up, grabbing bottle of booze from the floor - Goodnight, Arthur. Hope it's last time we see each other like this.

- Where are you going, eh? - Arthur got up and catched her arm, squeezing it. She hissed.

- Away from you, that's where. Everything you do is pushing me away and pulling me back when you have no one else to go, but...- she looked up into his eyes, those eyes devil would be proud to have and smiled sadly - I guess I can't do that anymore. Even if it means breaking up forever with you.

- What are you talking about, you can't just do that, you need my help! - Arthur spreaded his arms in gesture of disbelief.

- So give me it if it's really meaningless for you to pay two thousand dollars for my head. And then fuck off. But you wouldn't do that, will ya? You don't want to help me, you want to buy me so I'll keep meeting with you on those pathetic terms like nothing ever happened.

- What did I do now to deserve this? I am no saint but I came here today to help and all I get is this angry face of yours - Arthur's tone was showing visible irritation. Iris was the only person who could put him from peace to boiling anger in few seconds.

- Guess people don't work like that, Mr Morgan - Iris looked aside with unsure expression, like she was afraid to look at his face and see something in there - I still remember everything, despite fact loving you and... there will be a time for me I will have to run and don't look back. Not even after you.

- You still want to move? Even now? You are crazy, probably half of people around are waiting to catch you! - he gestured towards tent's entrace.

- So let them try, there is nothing much left of me anyway. You say I'm crazy pulling out stunts like I was a cat with 7 lifes behind my belt but no, I am doing that because I have only one and it's shitty as hell. Drink to that, Mr Morgan!

And with those words she left Arthur speechless, as he was looking after her silhuette fading away into the warm night. 

[voldemorthatesnose96]

COLORS IN SILENCE

As an only child of one of the most famous painter in the world, Sander Driesen is also expected to be as big as his father. But life takes turn when he sees a Deaf florist boy whose silence could speak a thousand of meanings.

Disclaimer : if there’s any mistake or misintepretation of my Deaf character, PLEASE feel free to dm me to correct it❤️it means a lot to me. Thank you!❤️

Prelude

“You know exactly what to do, right?”

I want to scream “NO!” to his face but I can’t. It’s always the same question for every single time I want to create something on the blank canvas. WHY does he have to think that I always know what to do, when in fact I don’t?! Unknowingly, I grip my pencil too hard.

“Sander?”

“Yes, Dad. I know.” I say with gritted teeth and start to sketch.

My hand always slightly trembles whenever it touches the paper—scared and doubtful. But unfortunately my Dad and many people think that it’s my ‘signature’ move.

What the fuck is that, actually? Are they blind, oblivious or simply stupid?

At first, I’m not sure whether to sketch a silhoutte or a bouquet of flowers but then I remember the dream I had last night about an abandoned castle and the dancing trees which surrounds its ground; of course it’s weird but somehow I feel so entertain when I wake up and that even bring a tiny smile to my face; which is a very rare thing to happen for these past 4 years. So yeah, I’m going to sketch my dream instead.

“Sander, focus!”

“I’m already focused.”

Dad shakes his head, “you curved this line too hard,” he points to the twigs. ”Fix it.”

Trying hard not to roll my eyes at him, I do what I’m told. I’ve never been the kind of person who could remember the tiniest bit of their dream but weirdly enough, I can recall almost everything that happened last night. How I suddenly walked in this forest which grass were humming melodiously everytime I stepped on it, the wind was breezy and peaceful and the abandoned castle was not as scary as it sound. In fact, the interior was still as good as new but the hallway was the most attractive of all—it filled with many beautiful and famous paintings all around the world from van Gogh to Frida Kahlo. All I can think of is magical.

If only my life is just the same.

For almost 7 years now, I create something that hopefully could transport people’s imagination to somewhere else, almost like escapism from their own cages. Wish they could expand their views just by looking at my arts. Sadly, this little world—little happy bubble I create for another humans, I can’t even go there, not anymore. Day by day, I feel like a robot. Sure as hell my Dad isn’t the right person for me to talk to about my worries and stuff—he won’t understand, he doesn’t want to understand. He’s a famous oil-painter and his arts are frequently exhibited in the most popular art galleries in the world. He was taking a break for 2 years when Mum died; I was 3 that time. Funny, I never feel sad whenever I think of her. For me, she’s just a distant memory that I could never grasp.

“Stop.”

My Dad’s voice startles me and my hand stops instantly.

“What now?” I genuinely ask.

“I think you should take a rest.”

Okay. This is weird.

“But I’m not tired.”

My Dad sighs. His brows furrows, “just do it, son. You can continue later. For now, rest.” And without saying another word, he walks out from the room and closes the door behind him while I just stand there.

I have no fucking idea why he suddenly acts like that. This is the first time since many years ago and I can’t help but feeling curious. Dad is never a warm person around me. All he cares about is to carve me to be someone just like him, to be the perfect artist, to be... everything he were and I used to be so supportive of his ideas, without questioning a single thing; like a good son should be. It all changed though.

For almost 3 years now, I constantly feel hollow and unsatisfy about my arts. Whatever I do to make it right, whenever I try to fix it, these feelings are still there; lingering, waiting for me to collapse at last. Know what? I almost relent. For whatever reason.

If I believe in miracle, maybe this is how it works because I’m still here and doing what I’m supposed to do. But right now, Dad’s right. I need a rest. Maybe even some sleep.

Our art room have a tiny bed in the corner and I sleep there more often that I did in my own room. I used to locked myself in this room for hours just to finish the new art I’m making and Dad never asked if I’m okay or not. Maybe it’s normal for him. The way artist should behave, I guess.

I plop myself on the bed while staring at the white ceiling, waiting for the sleep to take me away. It doesn’t take long for me to finally give in and once again, for so many nights, my heart screams “help...”

————————

School isn’t that hard today. In fact, I enjoy what I learnt. Cubism isn’t my favorite style because it’s too... rigid? I don’t know how to describe it. But the new professor was very clear and creative about it and she made me not wanted to get out of the class and eat in the cafetaria instead. The class dismiss before I know it. Wow. That’s fast.

“Yo, Sandy!”

Without looking I already know who that is because there’s only one person in this world that would call me with the name SANDY and that is Hugo Mulligan; my only friend in the entire school since the day we met as the Freshmen.

“Not in the mood, Mulligan,” I mutter under my breath as I pack stuffs in my red duffel bag. “go away!”

He scoffs, “you’re no fun.”

“And since when Sander Driesen is a fun person to be with?” I retort.

“For once in my life, I agree with you.”

I roll my eyes and he laughs.

“Actually I want to ask you a favour. If you’re not busy today.”

“No. What’s that?”

“I need to go to the bakery and the flower shop.”

“What for?”

Hugo sighs, “today is Violet’s birthday. I told you many times before.”

Oh yeah. His girlfriend’s birthday. An exchanged student from Boston a year ago. Since Hugo met her, he literally never stops talking about how cute and pretty she is—the perfect girl for his dark world, he said, which I thought is bullshit because Hugo’s world is far from dark. I know because I met his family couple times and they’re all lovely, caring and hilarious. Dad as a lawyer, Mum as a chef and two incredibly beautiful male twins who’s not yet 3 years old—Hugo loves them all and it’s clearly seen. So yeah, no ‘dark’ for him at all.

“Earth to Driesen!”

I blink, “yeah, sure. I’ll come.”

“Your Dad is okay with it?”

“He’s in Florence and won’t be back until two days later. It’s fine.”

Hugo claps his hands like a little kid who just got a flashy new toy. A bit overreacted but I never really mind about it. Being friends with someone like him is tiring at some point because his energy seems to never put out but I gradually getting use to it.

“Cool! I’ll drive!”

I never really like to drive my own car. Dad often insists me to use it instead of taking a bus everyday to school and I tell him many times that I don’t want to; probably the only thing that I still hold on against my Dad and I have no regrets, at all.

When me and Hugo finally on the road, he talks about the dinner plan he’s been working on for this past week and my dumbass brain can’t think of anything so I just nod and say “that’s great” as a response. I’m glad he’s too happy about Violet to notices my reaction.

“.... I think it’ll be the perfect opportunity to ask her on a mini getaway for 2 weeks. What do you think?”

“Perfect.”

“I was thinking about Santorini or Lake Como. Which one do you think is more suitable for her?”

I nearly scoff but hold myself back, “you can take her to Sahara desert and she’s still gonna love you.”

Hugo smiles at my witty remarks, “guess you’re right.” And then he starts to sing loudly to The Weeknd.

We arrive at the bakery not long after. I remember this place is kinda new because it used to be an Italian restaurant. Strange how small detail could take space in your memory, even for an useless information like this.

Though I have to admit that their decoration and cakes are visually pleasing. I even intrigue to try their paris-brest.

“Take whatever you want, Sandy. It’s on me.” Hugo said as he waits in the queue and even gives a smirk when he catches me almost drooling.

“I’ll just take that paris-brest.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

Hugo nods, “sure. Take a seat and wait for me, would you? I won’t be long.”

But of course there isn’t any empty seat left because this place is full. So I go outside and wait there, a bit annoyed that I didn’t bring cigarette with me today.

I watch people passing by and mentally sketching their silhouttes to kill some time but the more I try to make it vivid, the more blur it is in my mind—so I give up. My hands trembles for an unknown reason but obviously not because of the spring breeze.

“I’m done. Let’s go!”

I follow Hugo back to his car and luckily my hands are alright now. The last thing I want Hugo to see was the tremble. I don’t want him to look at me weirdly or worse, concerned.

“Here’s your cake, Sandy.”

If I’m in the mood, I’ll smack his head with my bag for calling me that but today I have no energy.

“Thanks. Gonna eat these at home.”

“You can gobble ‘em up here if you want. I don’t mind.”

I smile, “I’ll save these guys for tonight. Best thing always come late.”

“If you say so,” then Hugo looks at his watch and mutters. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I completely forgot that the flower shop will closed in 20 minutes! God, I’m so dumb!”

“Is it still far away?”

“About 10 minutes but not with THIS traffic.”

I examine the road and realise that there’s a car crash. The ambulance already there and one of the car is wrecked almost thoroughly. I hope there are no children involved. What a terrifying sight to see.

“Stop looking, Sander,” Hugo says, his tone is always serious whenever he calls me by my real name. “It’s no good.”

“I just hope they’re alright.”

Hugo doesn’t say anything but his hands on the wheel go rigid. I notice that immediately but doesn’t say anything. For more than 2 years we’ve been friends, this is the first time I witness him being like this.

“They’ll be alright. They have to.” His voice sounds icy cold but worries at the same time.

His sudden remark startles me, “I hope so too.”

After that, none of us talk to each other until his car stop near the flower shop. I think there’s nothing special or extravagant about this place, considering how Hugo loves being surrounded by something over the top sometimes. Well, maybe he does have layers that I don’t know yet—especially after what happened earlier.

“You stay?”

“I’ll go with you.”

Because it’s boring to wait alone again rather than curious of what’s inside, to be honest.

“I’m lucky the shop isn’t closed yet,” Hugo says with a shaky breath. “Violet would be pleased, right?”

I smile genuinely, “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, pal. Relax. She’ll love you no matter what.”

He gives me a nervous smile as a response.

When I enter the shop, I’m not surprised how simple but clean this place is. Lots of different scent from each flowers catches my nose almost instantly, all at once and I can’t help but sneezes twice.

“Excuse me.” I say while wiping my mouth with a handkerchief.

“Robbie, my man!”

Hugo half-shouting voice make me jump and I follow his gaze; it’s the shop clerk, a guy around my age with unruly brown hair and a pair of eyes like Bambi, wears a green sweatshirt which a little too big for him.

“Cute.”

Shit.

Did I just say ‘cute’ that loud?

“Huh? What did you say?”

“Cute,” I say a little too quickly. “The flowers. They’re cute.”

I force myself to past a glance to that brown-haired guy and he seems doesn’t catch what I just said about him. Thank God. Even though Hugo still looks at me with bemused expression. He’s the first person who knows that I’m a Pansexual and probably the only person in this world—and I’m not definitely not gonna come out to Dad anytime soon. There’s no use.

“Can we hurry? I’m hungry.” I try to change the subject.

It works. Hugo turns his head again to the cute guy and made some gestures I don’t understand.

Wait...

Gestures?

Can it be... that guy...

“Robbie,” he mouths while doing all he can to communicates using sign languages. “My flowers for Violet, please.”

The guy named Robbie smile and nod then later went to the back to get Hugo’s order.

“Hugo, does he...”

“Deaf. Yes.”

“Robbie. That’s his real name?”

“No, it’s Robbe but I call him Robbie just like I love to call you Sandy.”

I roll my eyes to my brain, “fuck you, man. You can’t just changed someone else’s name.”

Hugo gives me a smirk, “I just did, Sandy.”

Before I can say anything, Robbe comes back with HUGE bouquet which consists with any kind of red flowers from rose to tulip. I almost sneeze again but successfully hold myself back.

“Don’t you dare sneeze on my precious bouquet, Driesen!”

“I wasn’t.” I retort but give him my most smug face.

“You’re funny.”

“Sorry?”

“Robbie said you’re funny.”

I look at Robbe and there’s a smile appeared on his face—deadass looking at me in the eyes too. Seems like this guy is very straight-forward and unapologetic.

“Uh... thanks, I guess?”

Robbe shrugs but still smiling. Then he writes something on a piece of paper and gives it to me : “would you like some flowers too? It’s on me.”

I look up, perplex and say, “why?”

He writes again : “because I think you need one :)”

This is interesting.

“Well, okay then. Thank you. What will you give to me?”

Why do I sound more flirty than curious? For God’s sake, he’s a stranger! STRANGER! And I dare to sound like THAT? The fuck is wrong with me?

Hugo snorts beside me. He’s clearly been enjoying himself. But again, I also laughed too hard when he told me the story about him been slipping and falling in front of everybody at his family’s business private party; so yeah, I guess I deserve that snort.

Robbe comes back from the back of the room holding a simple bouquet; there were two Eglantines, one Iris and three Larkspurs. I didn’t speak flowers so I’m not sure why he gives me those but when he hands it to me, I accept it wholeheartedly and say thank you. Robbe smiles and makes some sign that I’m sure it’s meant for “you’re welcome”.

My ears catch a girl’s voice entering the shop. She’s also around my age; with blue eyes, auburn hair and very pretty. Her eyes twinkled like the sun is shining on them.

“Afternoon, everybody,” she says cheerfully and then walks toward Robbe and pecks his lips. “Hey babe! Glad you made new friends.”

Ouch!

So he’s already have a girlfriend and that realisation stings me a little. And I DARED to ‘flirt’ with her boyfriend earlier!

But of course he is. I shouldn’t be surprised. Beside, they looks nice together.

Hugo nudges my arm, “you ready to go?”

I nod and and without saying another word again, I force myself to get out from there. Damn. I should say something to Robbe but I just can’t.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Can we go home now? I’m tired.”

“Sure.”

Ever since I broke up with my ex around a year ago because she cheated, my heart always told me not to trust any kind of affection towards other people. I keep questioning myself what did I do wrong, about her and about us—and whenever I ask her about that, she says “it’s not you, it’s ME. I’m sorry. So sorry, Sander!” . But it only took a month for me to forgave her and know what? We’re friends now, even though she moves to another city with her new boyfriend. Sometimes life can be very strange. I thought she’s unforgivable but seem like I can’t hold grudges for too long—Hugo told me that it’s a bad thing but... I don’t know, part of me doesn’t agree with him for an unknown reason.

“He meant well, you know?”

My thoughts bursts like a bubble, “what?”

“Robbe,” Hugo mutters. “With those flowers.”

I look at my new given bouquet, “you know the meaning of these guys?”

“Well, I coincidentally understand the meaning of those,” Hugo says. “You see, my Mum often bring back Iris home to tell the whole house that good news is coming, Larkspur is my Dad’s favorite because it meant “lightness” and you’re gonna find a vase full of them in his study and the last one which is Eglantine is literally speaks for “I wound to heal” , it was my Grandma’s favorite because it reminded her of her childhood home. And that’s that.”

Now I understand why Robbe ‘said’ that I need some of his flowers but the most surprising part was he seems to understand what I feel just by a single glance.

But it can’t be, can it? It can be just a coincidence that he picks those flowers for me. Maybe they’re the most best-seller kinds there and he thought I might like them too.

And I do. I really, really do.

[ptrparkcrs]

& you say rise above (self-para)

summary: peter meets an old friend in an unexpected place and faces dire consequences word count: 3002 trigger warnings: violence, injury, death mention, spider-man cops (completely useless, but existent)

It was ten seventeen PM. He had been at work late, probably too late, troubleshooting something small and nitpicky that even he barely understood. At least there was always food somewhere in the building, and FRIDAY liked him enough to not yell at him when he stole a second donut, or a third, or when he ordered an extra-large pizza on Tony Stark’s credit card. As long as he didn’t leave his workspace too greasy and saved some leftovers for Tony, he’d probably be fine.

Whatever it was he had been supposed to be working on, clean energy or artificial intelligence or consumer goods or fancy sunglasses, it probably wasn’t supposed to have been reconstructing the lenses of Spider-Man’s mask to better conform to his facial expressions, but Peter had had to do some repairs after Gabby had torn the thing to shreds. If Tony caught him sewing on the clock, what was he going to do? Let Spider-Man go without a mask? Put Peter’s life at risk? No, he’d be fine. He’d been too antsy to focus on real work, his ribs still healing, his face still a little tender. He’d needed a concrete physical distraction and the satisfaction of knowing he was fixing something.

(He’d be totally fine in a day or two; he was almost there, but Gabby had done a pretty solid number on him. Broken ribs, a black eye, scabs where the pavement had rubbed his chin raw, the whole shebang. He told everyone it was a bike accident, even though he didn’t own a bike, because nearly beaten to death by a chemically ramped-up teenager wasn’t something that could realistically have happened to completely normal, non-superhero guy Peter Parker. In retrospect, he should have said he’d crashed his skateboard into a taxi again, which he had done more than once in high school, but hindsight was 20/20.) 

Still, the time spent on the mask during the day had meant a pile of unfinished work, which had meant staying at the tower later. Peter knew that, as best as he’d tried not to be, he was a nepotism hire. He’d waltzed into Stark industries with little training and few qualifications, and he was determined to prove that he was just as suited to be here as anyone else. Yeah, he’d had the internship, but he’d gotten that through sheer dumb luck and minor internet fame, and he and Tony both knew it had been a cover, anyway. Yeah, he had a college degree, but most of his actual work experience had been mediocre photography for a vaguely predatory, second-rate newspaper. He’d been a child prodigy, sure, but last he’d checked most child prodigies peaked sometime around high school, and building the Spider-Man suit for personal gain wasn’t about to go on his resume. He knew any interview process he’d gone through had been performative; he knew that the job had been his no matter what, so long as he hadn’t actually blown up the company. He didn’t want Tony to regret his decision, and he really did want to keep his job. That meant actually doing his work, even if he did have to stay long past dark.

So he’d finally finished—the work and the mask—and headed home to find Sandwich demanding a second dinner and a walk. Fine. Okay. He could do that.

“All you’ve got going for you is your body, bud,” he said. “Don’t know why you’re so determined to ruin that.” Sandwich was beautiful, in a scraggly rescue dog kind of way (Aunt May said he looked like the dog from Annie, which was probably a compliment), but he was also dumb as a rock. He put a few treats in the bowl anyway and went to find a leash.

As he dug through the storage cube where he was sure he’d left the good collar, Peter heard sirens. They sounded close, maybe a few blocks away, and getting closer. His police scanner was on his nightstand, but there wasn’t time to check. Sirens were as good a cue as any.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told Sandwich, as he grabbed his suit from the pile on the floor, pulled it on, and headed towards the window. “We’ll walk later. Promise. Please don’t eat the couch again while I’m gone.”

The dog grunted and went back to eating.

&&&

Web swinging was hard today. His body groaned with every movement, resisting the stress of his acrobatics. Still healing. He hadn’t realized she’d gotten him quite that badly; he’d been up against way worse than a single teenage girl, but he hadn’t had anyone try so determinedly to kill him from such close range in a long time--not since Norman, or maybe Harry, but that had felt a little more reluctant. Fine, he’d go easy on the somersaults.

So long as whatever was up there wasn’t a troupe of murderous acrobats, he’d probably be okay. At least the new mask was holding up well.

What was up ahead, three or five or seven or twenty-six blocks from his apartment, he’d lost count, was—lights. Sirens. Yelling. A strange, echoing thump-thump. Shit. He dropped himself onto a rooftop to survey the scene, his ribs only groaning a little bit as he landed in a crouch. A bank, long closed for the night, its windows smashed. A row of police cars, like a barricade. Coming in from the north, fire trucks, an ambulance. A small throng of bystanders, their phones out, edging around the scene. A trail of broken asphalt running away in the opposite direction.

And in the middle of it all, a figure.

A man, maybe. In a long jacket, something more than the night obscuring his face. He—if it was a he—didn’t seem very big, but he hovered several feet above the ground, supported by what appeared to be a pair of giant robotic arms. Another pair spread wide into the night air, lashing at anyone who tried to approach.

Peter was pretty sure he’d seen those arms before, or something very like them. Mostly in sketches, then once or twice in a lab in college, never in use, just propped up safely against the back wall. They help my dexterity, Peter. More precise.

But that had been in a secure research lab up at Columbia, where the arms had helped a man’s clumsy hands study nuclear physics at an atomic scale, not ravage a bank on the Lower East Side. Stolen tech, maybe? A copycat? Convergent evolution, two people independently building the same machine at the same time? But what were the odds of that, really? These were robotic arms, not clean energy or self-driving cars. It was too niche. Who was this man, and what could he want?

He swung down, closer, landing on the hood of a police car. The officer standing next to it looked down at Peter and sighed.

“Hey, Spider-Man,” he said. “You can go home. We’ve got this.”

Peter tethered himself to a lamppost closer to the bank and leapt off the hood, angry at his stupid fragile body keeping him from somersaulting away for maximum dramatic effect. “That’s what you always say, Bill.”

“It’s David.”

“I really don’t care.”

He landed on the lamppost, but just barely. The many-armed man had seen him coming and was getting closer, one of his robotic limbs swiping at Peter’s perch. Peter leaped off before the pole could crash down and rolled to the ground, where he finally got a good look at his assailant.

He hadn’t imagined it. He knew those arms.

“Doctor Oc—"

Doctor Octavius. His thesis advisor. A kind, absentminded, academic type, the brand who left their office littered with sticky notes to remember to buy milk, who replied to emails four days late at two in the morning. He’d called Peter a genius kid, said he’d had what it takes to save the world. Because that’s what scientists do, Peter. We change things. We fix them. We make them better. We help the people who can’t help themselves—you get that, don’t you?

Oh, he got it.

Doc was wearing glasses, and his jovial smile had twisted into a sneer, but it was unmistakably him. He lowered himself to the ground, all four metal arms swirling around him.“Oh, great,” he said. “It’s the bug boy. What, couldn’t send any of the real superheroes to stop me? Daddy too busy arresting innocent people?”

With all due respect, Peter thought, what the fuck? Sure, he wasn’t an Enforcer, but his old professor going on a crime spree with a set of weaponized robot arms, probably having some sort of episode, called for enforcement.

He lifted himself off the ground slowly. His body was already screaming for a break, and they were barely getting started. “Look, dude, I respect the whole eight-legs thing, but you don’t gotta be so literal about it. It’s kinda—what’s the word? Tacky.”

Doc lunged at him; Peter dodged. “Wait, no,” he continued. “Kitschy. Campy. Gaudy.” Another swipe, another dodge. “No, I was right the first time. Tacky, it’s tacky.”

The next swipe came from behind him, and Peter jumped out of the way just in time. “What do you even want, Doc? For a guy in tights to teach you that robbing banks and taking hostages is wrong? Congrats, you got it!” He didn’t know if there were hostages; he’d been too stunned by Otto to check, he just assumed there were. There were almost always hostages when the guys in costumes got involved.

“How do you know my name?” Octavius growled.

Yep, there were hostages.

“I dunno, it was just a vibe. You kind of look like my dentist.” And the man who shaped my college career, but same thing.

Most nights he could go on like this forever. Banter, dodge, punch, jump, repeat. Talk him into submission, until he was too worn down by Peter’s endless punchlines to punch back.  Tonight, he was tired. He was injured. He had a dog at home waiting for a walk. This needed to be quick—rescue the hostages, get Otto taken in and looked after. (Kindly, he hoped; the Otto Octavius he knew was a good man, and was probably in there somewhere, scared and confused.) In the morning, maybe Peter Parker could call to innocently, coincidentally check in on his old mentor and get the full story.

“You’re a nuisance, Spider-Man. You know that, don’t you?”

“So it said on my report cards.”

Octavius stepped closer, and Peter webbed one of his metal legs to the ground, but he kept swiping. In his real arms, the human ones, Peter could see a briefcase, presumably full of the stolen money or techno-weapons for looting safety deposit boxes. So he already had what he wanted, but still the hostages, still the rampage, still the crazed look behind those horrible dark goggles. Peter could deal with him, the cops could free the hostages, they’d be fine, this was fine, everything was going to be fine.

But how had this happened—why had this happened? Did he poison everyone he touched? Ben, Gwen, Norman, even Harry, all either dead or driven mad by his proximity. Who next? Tony? May? Steph? MJ? His high school science teacher? His next-door neighbors?

You ruin everything, Peter Parker. They’re safer if you don’t love them, if they don’t love you. You’re a time bomb. A nuclear blast. Look at what you do to them. What you’ve done. You’re not worth it.

His spider sense alerting him to an incoming blow put a pause on the cycle of self-loathing. He couldn’t dodge in time, and an angry fist landed hard against his face. He groaned, and he tasted the blood from his (now probably broken) nose as it dripped into his mouth. “What do you want, Otto?” he spat.

Shit.

“Doctor” he could get away with as a joke, but how would Spider-Man know Doctor Octavius’s first name? He wouldn’t, that’s how. Not unless they knew each other in real life, civilian life, faces uncovered and feet on the ground. Peter, you idiot. His cover, which he had so carefully maintained for the past eight years, was about a minute from being blown by an academic in octopus cosplay. 

This shouldn’t have been happening. He was a professional, he was good at this. He had learned from his past, he was doing better, and these were amateur mistakes. He was off his game, that’s what this was. He was exhausted, injured, overworked, stunned by the improbability of it all. His whole life was improbable; he should have known to expect this kind of thing by now, but he wasn’t convinced he wasn’t living out some middle schooler’s sadistic Mad Libs. He still had time to fix this.

Otto said nothing; he just laughed.

Peter tried to launch himself in the air for a swing and a kick, but his reflexes were slowing, his injuries worsening. Whatever healing he’d done had been set back several days, and every movement was more labored than the last. Before he could evade, the arms, all of them now free of webbing, wrapped themselves around him and pulled him in. Peter hissed in response, his exhalation short and shallow, doing his best to suppress a yelp.

“Oh, come on. Personal space, dude,” he said, and the top left arm pinched his wrists together in response. He was now being held fast in evil, sentient handcuffs, no hopes of swinging away in sight. Nothing this stupid would have happened to Tony; Tony would have had lasers and lights and taken out this guy in minutes. Hell, he could have called in the Iron Legion for backup if he’d wanted, but a single man didn’t deserve it. Peter was a disappointment, again. This should have been so easy, and yet.

And yet.

Peter wasn’t Tony Stark.

“Otto,” growled Octavius.

Peter said nothing.

“Why did you call me that?”

This time, Peter squirmed. He was being held tightly, so tightly. His wrists were raw, his chest burning, and at some point, he had started to bleed. Work was going to have to buy bike accident twice this week. ”I told you. You look like my dentist. His name’s Otto. It was a lucky guess.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

His head spun and his mouth tasted like iron and asphalt as the world tunneled in around the edges of his vision. His hands still tied, he tried to gain some leverage with a kick, but the other arms squeezed even tighter until he was sure he felt a crunch. Great. This was it, this was how he died. Sometime around midnight outside a random bank because his college thesis advisor had taken up a life of crime and he’d been too weak and injured to do anything about it. Yeah, that tracked.

“Who are you, Spider-Man?”

Peter couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could only steel himself as his spider sense turned on high alert. Imminent danger, big time. Yeah, he got it. With the human hand not holding the briefcase, Otto pulled the mask from his head.

And immediately dropped him, limp and winded and battered, to the ground.

Peter’s bare skin was so cold, the streetlights so bright, every sound and smell heightened without the mask.

Otto’s face had cleared with recognition, and his sneer fell away. “Peter?”

Peter groaned. Then he peeled himself off the ground and launched a flurry of web bombs until Otto was wrapped tightly all over. It wouldn’t hold long, but it would have to hold long enough to get him taken safely into custody. Locked up in the Raft for ten to life, a brilliant man’s work cut short by his own creation. (Was it too soon to make Frankenstein jokes?) But Peter couldn’t think about the tragedy of it yet. He had to keep moving.

He kept his head down until he found the mask by Otto’s feet. His hands were shaking, and it took impossibly long to fit it back over his head. It was twisted or too small or made for someone else entirely, bunching around his neck and pulling uncomfortably against his swollen face. And then he stood up, wobbly and wheezing, and faced the officers who were pulling the hostages from the building. Maybe they’d been inside. Maybe they hadn’t seen him. Maybe it was okay.

“You’ve got this from here, Bill,” he said, and, with every ounce of willpower he had left, he swung away on shaky arms to pick up his dog, call Aunt May, and hide in his childhood bedroom for the rest of his life.

&&&

The officers may not have seen him, but there had been bystanders. There are always bystanders, just like there are always hostages. They have cameras. They have social media. They flock to danger, to drama, to sensationalism. They post suffering for the likes and the retweets and the fleeting moments of fame. A Spider-Man sighting was pretty commonplace--novel, but not extraordinary. But this tableau, a hero in crisis, an identity revealed, that was media gold. This was a millennial icon’s Pyrrhic victory. This was a new weak spot in the Accords. And under all that bravado, he was just a scared little boy. They didn't recognize him (there was at least one audible boo when someone realized that Spider-Man was just another pasty white boy), but they’d seen him, and that was enough.

The responsible thing would have been to keep his secret, to respect the sanctity of what had happened here tonight. But the bystanders are never responsible.

While all the others had been texting and tweeting and snapping and streaming, at least one had had the wherewithal to take a picture with one of their fancy, enormous, three-lensed phone cameras and capture Spider-Man unmasked, clear as day, battered and bloody but distinctly him, and send it straight to the Daily Bugle.

(The ball’s in your court now, Jameson.)

[blancheludis]

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 29/?, Words: 162.305

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

—

His ringtone rips Steve out of his sleep. Jerking upright, he winces at the pain in his back and shoulders. He fell asleep at his desk. Despite the crick in his neck, he feels a flicker of relief. The night hours are the worst, filled with spiralling thoughts and replays of everything he did wrong. If he had gone to bed, Steve is certain he would not have slept at all. So, even though he is getting too old to stay slumped over hard surfaces for too long, he at least got some hours of rest out of it.

The ringing stops. His phone. Suddenly wide awake, Steve scrambles to find it. He does not know what time it is, but there are not many people calling him. His mind immediately jumps to suspecting a new disaster.

Something might be wrong in DC. His team might need help. Bucky might have found Natasha and the two had a giant falling out. Bucky might have not found Natasha and started a fight somewhere. Stane’s men might have decided not to go out without getting a bit of revenge.

Tony. The call was from Tony. Glancing at the time, Steve sees the morning is well underway, and he was hoping to get a call from Tony. Still, now that he sees Tony’s name on his display, he cannot help but worry that it will be bad news.

For a ridiculously long moment, he considers not calling back, to delay whatever Tony has to say. He does not believe it is anything good, and Steve really does not want any more bad news.

Before that thought has time to really settle in, Steve has already pressed call. All of them are too practised in avoidance. It is hardly fair for him to preach to Bucky to talk to Natasha if he himself is afraid of what Tony has to say to him.

The dial tone grates in his ear, almost taunting him as if he has missed his chance. Then the call connects.  

“Steve,” Tony says, something hurried in his tone that might be nervousness or relief. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

Tony’s voice alone helps Steve feel calmer. He does not sound like there is another immediate emergency. That alone is no reason to believe they will end this conversation on a good note – Tony could just call to say he has changed his mind and wants Steve to leave New York – but it allows Steve’s heartbeat to slow.

“Not at all,” Steve says and runs a hand through his hair to flatten it as if Tony could see his dishevelled state through the phone. “I fell asleep at my desk and didn’t find my phone.”

“I woke you?” Tony asks, sounding concerned of all things.

“It’s no problem,” Steve hurries to say. “My back thanks you. This desk is far from comfortable.”

That was hardly funny but Tony laughs. It is mostly just a chuckle, but Steve perks up as if he has done something worth taking pride in.

When he looks down at his desk, he sees the sketch he has done the night before. It does not really surprise him that Tony is looking back up at him. Less expected is the smile on Tony’s face. Not one of the press smiles but reaching up all the way to his eyes. He has seen Tony smile like this once before during their impromptu lunch, but even then it was weighed down by worry and exhaustion. Steve realizes he wants nothing more than to see Tony laugh.

“You should invest in a better chair,” Tony says, a smile still audible in his voice. “You might risk falling asleep more often at your desk, but at least you will be able to move mostly without pain afterwards.”

Part of Steve wants to answer something smooth, something that says he is not worried about passing out in inconvenient places anymore because he hopes the problems keeping him away from his bed will be solved. That feels too forward, though, so he shrugs to himself.

“Sounds like you have experience with that,” he says, and immediately feels like he should apologize.

He does not know what the rules are for their situation. Do they talk freely? Are there certain topics off-limit? Are they still allies or have they gone right back to being unfortunately connected strangers – or even adversaries?

Tony hums noncommittally and then says, “Let’s have dinner together.”

That does not really answer Steve’s questions but fills him with hope nonetheless. Dinner means meeting each other, and that means they will have a chance to talk, hopefully without distractions. It means Steve has a shot at convincing Tony that he is not just a brute, good at nothing but taking charge. They can begin to build a space for each other in which they can coexist.

“Dinner?” Steve asks nonetheless, unwilling to get excited before he knows whether Tony feels pressured to do this. “Tony, are you sure?”

Tony takes a moment to answer, in which Steve wonders whether he has already ruined his chances again. Here he is, trying to give Tony space, but it feels like he is always doing that at the wrong time.

“I thought you’d jump at the chance,” Tony says, curious more than upset.

Steve wants to, it is as simple as that. He just does not believe in things being easy anymore.

“It’s just rather sudden,” he says, hearing the defensiveness in his own voice.

Immediately, the tone of the conversation shifts, growing tenser, more like an exercise in who manages to be more stubborn.

“What?” Tony snaps, making Steve look wistful down at his sketch. That smile is miles out of his reach right now. “Do you think I’ll have you arrested now? If so, I’d send them right to your doorstep. No need for subterfuge.”

Tony could do that, easily. The only one he would likely want to save is Bruce, who is not here and whose whereabouts Tony is likely better informed about than Steve. They saved Tony from Stane’s clutches, but what does that matter in the great scope of things?

“I didn’t think that,” Steve says nonetheless and believes it. Even battered and beyond tired, Tony had still worried about the Avengers getting exposed after the fight in the warehouse. He has never given any sign that he would act on the information he has.

“Then you’re not as smart as you pretend to be. It’s stupid to think the danger for that is over.” All of a sudden, Tony sounds irritated, keeping his words clipped short, almost like he is chiding himself for having called Steve.

It has never been more obvious that they have a lot of things to work through. They stumbled from being foes into being tentative allies, and now neither of these is true. They do not have a common enemy anymore, just the potential desire to explore whether fate was onto something when she made them soulmates.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me here,” Steve says calmly. He understands Tony’s reservations, understands being torn. His brain and heart are telling him different things too.

Tony huffs, then stays silent for a long moment as if to gather himself. “I want to have dinner with you,” he then says, less inviting than the first time. “But I don’t want you to think it’s some romantic get together where we celebrate being soulmates.”

Steve did not think that. It has never even entered his mind. He wants this to work on an instinctual level. That does not mean that his head stops counting off all the reasons why it will be difficult or even wrong.

“All right,” he says, not voicing any of that. He does not want to upset Tony any further. “When?”

“Tonight,” Tony replies, then waits if Steve is going to protest. “Meet me at the tower at seven.”

With that, the call ends. It would have been nice to finish this on a more positive note, but that would just mean lying to each other. Nothing is all right between them. Nothing is solved.

Steve wants to meet with Tony, but only if they are both up to it, when they both think they will be able to handle it.

They will meet, that is the important part. And so soon too, in less than half a day. Steve puts his phone down on the desk but stays sitting to look at his sketch. That smiling Tony is mostly hidden from him, but he is there, ready to come out if their lunch is anything to go by.

A pressure sits on Steve’s chest as he finally gets up. This is his chance to repair something – or at least to begin the process. To stop things from falling apart. Tony is offering him a hand. Steve is going to take it.

---

The tower has not become less intimidating since the last time Steve was here. He is standing on the sidewalk across the entrance, craning his neck to see the top. He went in there only a few days ago, but his mind was filled with worry for Tony then, leaving him no room to think about the fact that he was entering Tony’s home.

He barely remembers what Tony’s living room looks like, or the guest room he ducked in to avoid Rhodes. He cannot think of any details. Whether there was art on the wall, what colour the blanket was he tucked Tony in.

He does not need to know, of course. For some reason, though, he thinks waiting down here would be easier if he could picture Tony up there, getting ready to come down.

Steve is early. He could not stand staying in their base any longer. No one else was there. He called Bucky and then tried not to worry when he did not pick up. Clint and Bruce, too, did not answer. Steve thinks he has never felt so alone before, and he hates that a simple thing like picking out clothes for his not-quite-date pushed him almost to tears because no one else was there.

It is impossible not to see the truth in what Clint told him. All of them are hiding or outright running, unwilling to stick around because chances are high that it will hurt. Perhaps Steve pushed over the first piece of a domino chain when he found Tony, but they have been set up to fall from the very beginning.

Steve’s phone chimes. He immediately thinks Tony is cancelling. That or something worse. With how primed his head is to expect misery, it should not surprise him when it comes.

Once he has gotten his phone out of his pocket, he exhales in relief when he reads, Need a few minutes longer. Come up to the penthouse.

That is not a rejection. On the contrary. Steve is invited up into Tony’s home if only for the few minutes Tony needs to get ready. That is still a big step up from being left waiting out here without sending word.

It feels strange to step into the tower through the main entrance, like a hundred eyes fall on Steve the moment he steps through the door, following his every movement. He does not fit in here and everybody knows it. The building itself seems to know it, considering that it feels like the walls are closing in around him.

A receptionist looks at him searchingly, narrowing her eyes when Steve steers to the right to where the elevators are. He quickly corrects his path, wondering what he is going to say to her. ‘Good evening, I’d rather not give you my name so you can’t tell the police about me, but I’m here to see Tony Stark.’ That would go over well.

Thankfully, he does not seem to be required to say anything.

“Mr. Rogers?” the receptionist asks. She does not smile. When he nods, she points towards the elevators. “Take the one to the far right. Mr. Stark is expecting you.”

She cannot know who Steve is, or who he is to Tony, and yet she sounds disapproving. Perhaps she treats everybody coming up to her desk the same way, but Steve cannot help but think it is his fault. It must be glaringly obvious that he has no business being here. That this will all end badly.

With some effort, Steve keeps his back straight and his head high as he walks over to the elevators. The one on the right opens before he has a chance to push the button. He remembers the same thing happening when he brought Tony home. If someone is controlling the elevators remotely, Steve fervently hopes they do not have too much of a grudge against him. He does not fancy being stuck in an elevator in a building the size of this. In a glass elevator.

Steve rises quickly and watches as the city grows smaller and smaller beneath his feet. He wonders how long it takes to get used to a view like that, to residing so far over most other people’s lives.  

When the elevator finally comes to a halt, he breathes in relief, although the air gets stuck in his throat as soon as the door opens. That is not Tony waiting for him on the other side. He did not get a good look at Colonel Rhodes the other night, but he recognizes him instantly. Even without the uniform, he stands like a soldier, his face closed off but his eyes gleaming slightly as if in anticipation of a fight.

Steve does not move, but the elevator doors stay open for far longer than they should. He guesses that means it will not carry him back down to the ground either.

Inwardly chiding himself for his cowardice, Steve steps out into the penthouse and extends his hand. “You must be Colonel Rhodes.”

Steve sees the punch coming, sees Rhodes moving his arm, including his shoulder. He knows it will hurt, and yet he does not dodge. They look at each other for the second until Rhodes’ fist connects with Steve’s jaw, making his teeth click together loudly. Steve’s head gets thrown to the side as he moves with the punch, and then the pain hits, blossoming from where Rhodes’ knuckles rested briefly against his skin.

Not bothering with subtlety, Steve shifts his stance to stand more steadily, but no second punch is coming. He refuses to touch his jaw, feeling that nothing is broken, and just raises his head up high again.

“Rogers.” Holding his knuckles, Rhodes studies him, appearing not quite satisfied yet but at least willing to use his words. “Tony is not here.”

Steve briefly wonders whether this is a set-up after all. Whether Tony asked him for dinner only to hand him over to the authorities. Whether Rhodes is here to escort him out. Even with Tony nowhere in sight and his jaw hurting awfully, he does not think so. He cannot claim to know what is going in Tony’s head, but this is not it.

“I gathered as much,” Steve says evenly, waiting for what is going to happen. Rhodey will have questions and Steve can just hope that he has answers. So many things remain that he cannot make sense of himself, and this is a test he has little chance of passing.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Rhodes asks in a voice that makes it obvious he does not believe Steve can do so. “Anything that will keep me from burying you for life in some high-security prison. Or better yet, six feet underground?”

Rhodes makes no move to let Steve come in further, beyond that first step away from the elevator. The doors have closed by now, and Steve is sure he can do nothing to get them open again. At least not with a carriage waiting for him. He does not fancy falling several hundred feet to his death, although that might be preferable to angering the Colonel.

Steve has reasons and he has excuses, he just does not want to hide behind them anymore. What comes out of his mouth is, “Tony does not like murder.”

He just barely manages to keep from flinching. It does not do to poke Rhodes, not while Steve is barely allowed into Tony’s space at all. The thing is, he knows where Rhodes is coming from, but he is not sure whether Tony knows what is happening here. His best friend has all the right in the world to be protective but not to chase Steve away without authorization.

He would fight to the death for Bucky, and backing off when he is not wanted is the hardest thing in the world, but that is what they owe the people who trust them.

“Do you think you’re funny?” Rhodes snaps, coming a step closer. Steve braces himself even though it does not seem like Rhodes will hit him again. “Tony is my best friend and you hurt him. I don’t care for the words on your arm or fate, Tony deserves better than you.”

“I guess he does,” Steve says, calm despite knowing that he is handing Rhodes the rope to hang him with if Tony knows what is going on here.

Tony does deserve better, but Steve is willing to be that. He just needs a chance to prove it.

“See, that’s why we’re going to have a problem.”  Rhodey steps up until nothing more than a hand would fit between them. They are almost of the same height, and while Rhodes is slimmer, he carries himself with a righteous fury that Steve cannot hope to match. “This holier-than-thou attitude. You called him a criminal and beat him up for it, but you have made crime your day job. Hypocrisy is not a virtue.”

That is not the only sin he is guilty of, Steve knows that. Tony knows that too. Nobody is without flaws and Steve feels like he is drowning in his.

“Tony is a good man,” Steve says because what else can he do? He has wronged Tony and perhaps it would be better for all of them if they went their separate ways. That is what he is here to find out.

Crossing his arms, Rhodes stares Steve down like he is an insect, waiting to be squashed. “Is that all you’re going to say in your defence?”

Steve bites down the urge to laugh. An hour ago, he was fretting over what to wear, now it looks like he is not even getting close to Tony.

“I don’t have a defence,” he answers, fighting to keep his tone unaffected. He just wants something to go right. “What we did was wrong. We became exactly what we didn’t want to be. Instead of seeking justice, we dealt out vengeance. I’ve told Tony before, I regret it every single day.”

He does. He regrets not taking the gag out of Tony’s mouth to at least let him speak before he damned him. He regrets giving into Clint’s needling, talking about revenge while Bucky was getting increasingly upset, seeking an outlet. He regrets believing Stane’s lies and not looking deeper.

All of that led to him smashing his own future into smithereens, and now he scrambles to put it back together, salvaging as much as he can.

“Because he is your soulmate,” Rhodes states grimly, becoming more disapproving by the minute.

Steve shakes his head. Whatever else Rhodey might think about him is something he has to carry. That Tony is his soulmate might have prompted Steve to dig deeper and change his opinion of him, but it is not why he wants to stay.

“Because he is a good man and I am, apparently, not as good as I thought,” Steve corrects, struggling to keep his eyes on Rhodes. It has never been easy for him to admit his own faults.

For a long moment, Rhodes just looks at him. Then, keeping his arms crossed, he takes a step back. It gives Steve room to breathe more freely again. His expression stays slightly hostile, however.

“That’s a nice speech,” Rhodes says, lips pressed thin. “Sounds very practised.”

There is no way he can win this, Steve realizes. Maybe he is not supposed to. Words cannot make up for everything that has happened. All he needs is a chance to show that he is willing to turn this around.

“Well, I have been regretting this almost since it happened,” Steve admits, doing nothing to argue Rhodes’ assessment. That would not get him any sympathy.

Nodding, Rhodes acknowledges that but does not look like he is going to back down any time soon. “And now what? Tony has asked you several times to leave him alone and you didn’t.”

That is the thing he cannot explain. The bond still feels alien, settling inside his core like something that can take him over whenever it wants to while not allowing him access to it at all. Most of what he felt at the beginning of this did not come from him but was pushed onto him, corrupting his system with a need of the like he has never known before.

Perhaps all of what he is feeling is still just that, pushed onto both of them with no chance of ever becoming reality. But perhaps it is already real.

“I – I mean, I obviously don’t want to,” Steve says, struggling to find the right words. He does not know what is happening to him, so he has no idea how to explain it. “Have you met your soulmate? It – it is the best feeling in the world. And that makes it the worst for us at the same time. I don’t want to lose him, but I can admit that I probably already did. So, yes.” He takes a deep breath, wondering how he can form these words. “I’m going to leave him alone if he wants me to.”

Unable to look at Rhodes, Steve stares at the ground, at how his feet still stand hip-width apart, ready to take another blow. He means it. If Tony tells him to leave, he will. He has caused enough damage already. Whether he can stand the pain that will do to himself is another matter altogether.

“Just like that?” Rhodes asks, something dangerous in his tone that has Steve finally snapping.

He straightens and fixes Rhodes with a glare. “I know you’re Tony’s best friend, but stop putting words in my mouth,” he hisses, his voice trembling with the effort to stay calm. “It’s not just like that. Even if he tells me to go, it will feel like I’m abandoning him, like consciously ripping a part of me out. The way we met was not good, but that does not mean that rejecting the bond is easy.”

For some reason, Rhodes’ posture relaxes a bit, although not to the point of backing down. “So you want him.”

That is a loaded question. For now, Steve just wants to not have ruined this before it could truly begin. Whatever this is. “I want him in my life,” he says, surprising himself with how firm his voice sounds.

Like a puppet with his strings cut, Rhodes’ shoulders slump and his arms fall to his side. When he looks at Steve, his gaze is searching but not hostile anymore.

“Damn, I believe you,” he says, sounding rather unhappy about that. Then his face settles into a more determined expression again. “All right, let me tell you just now, no matter what Tony decides, you are being watched. One step out of line and we’ll be on you. I don’t mean your favourite hobby of beating people up, but my very good friend Pepper will ruin your entire life. She can do that, easily. You’ll have all your bones intact but nowhere to step safely. You will –”

“Rhodey.”

Tony appears out of nowhere, strolling into the entrance hall more relaxed than Steve has ever seen him. It is an act if the high-strung tension reverberating through the bond is anything to go by, but Steve drinks in the sight anyway.

For the first time since they have met, Tony does not look worse for wear. The bruises from the warehouse fight are concealed or already vanished. His eyes are clear and not overshadows by dark bags. He is wearing a suit jacket but is not fully dressed up like he was for all the press conferences. He does not walk like someone is ready to jump him from the shadows.

Steve’s breath catches as his eyes linger on the way Tony smiles at Rhodes. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Unrestrained and packed with meaning. The sketch Steve made of Tony does not do him justice by far.

“Tones,” Rhodes calls, changing persona in a split second. He is now smiling too, even though he does not turn his back on Steve. “Are you seriously interrupting my shovel talk?”

Something flashes over Tony’s face, too quickly for Steve to interpret, but he can imagine what it is. A shovel talk indicates that there is already something happening between them. More than the tentative promise of talking things through.

“You make Pep sound like a monster,” Tony says in a jovial tone.

Steve has never met Pepper Potts, but her curriculum vitae and her efficacy speak for themselves. She is not a woman anybody should cross. Even though she is arguably against Steve, he is glad that Tony has someone like her on his side.

“She is,” Rhodes counters without hesitation. “We are. For you.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “I guess you expect me to be grateful.” Now, there is a slight warning underlying his words. Even Steve can hear that.

Rhodes appears unimpressed by it. “Actually, I would expect you to stay safe enough that our vengeance will not be needed.” He shrugs. His smile turning wry. “But I know you.”

They look at each other, completely ignoring Steve, who is contemplating anew whether he should try the elevator doors. This feels like a private moment. One he should not witness.

“Thanks, honeybear,” Tony says. The expression on his face is so tender, it hurts to even look at it.

Rhodes nods and steps aside. “Well, Tones, he’s all yours.” With a last look at Steve, he adds, “If you throw him out, I’m happy to get another punch in.”

With that, he leaves, whistling under his breath, which causes Tony to roll his eyes. Then they are alone. Immediately, an awkward tension wraps itself around Steve’s shoulders. This is what he has been waiting for, seeing Tony without any danger involved.

“Let’s go,” Tony says, offering a smile that pales next to the ones he gave Rhodes, even though they appear no less honest. “I’ve got a table for us in twenty.”

[zrtranscripts]

Season 8, Mission 3: Big Mistake

A dark and stormy night

[rain pours, thunder rolls]

JODY MARSH: I really can't decide what I like best about this storm. How dark it is, the way it's whipping the rain around us like a rain duvet, or that it's actually picking up pebbles and hurling them at us! Maybe it's that it got our friend killed because of a stupid accident in the dark! A stupid accident!

[gunshots]

SAM YAO: Well, I like how Jones, a homicidal maniac, is at large and the people who shot and killed Ellie are still chasing us! Shona, are you sure it was an accident? Can't you make them stop?

SHONA: We've no flashlight signal for this. We havnae needed one. No people ever come onto the island the way you did. Boats always land on the north, on Bas Sands.

JANINE DE LUCA: Where Jones' boat is.

SHONA: Aye, that's right. The island has perfect natural defenses. The north side has deep, strong currents that pull away any zombies walking on the seabed, so it's safe for boats. The south side is all rocks and caves. We wait there and shoot the zoms as they come up. It's like the island was built to fend off zombie attacks. [laughs]

SAM YAO: That's great, unless you happen to be coming in via zombie alley.

SHONA: They're chasing because they still think you're zombies. Believe me, they won't rest if they think they're letting a zom roam free on the island. Okay. I've no walkie-talkie. I'm not on duty tonight. Jones is on Bas Sands. We'll take the hill path and then through the ruins of Gaisgeach Village. There's an emergency call point there I can use to call the chief. But we have to hurry. This storm's barely begun.

[thunder rolls, wind whistles, rain pours]

[rain pours]

SHONA: We'll be safe as long as we keep moving. I know these paths better than anyone, better than that police chief, Duncan Macallan, anyway. The outlander.

TOM DE LUCA: You're born and bred here?

SHONA: I am, and proud of it. Ach, it's a beautiful place. When this storm's over, you'll see it. There's good grazing land in the center of the island and good arable fields to the east. Cliff paths and fishing rocks. We've everything we need. You'll be at home.

JANINE DE LUCA: As is Lachlan Jones. This storm may be dangerous. He is more so.

TOM DE LUCA: We need to know everything you do about Jones. If we understand his motivations in being here, we may be able to predict his intentions.

JODY MARSH: You said he contacted someone here wanting forgiveness. For killing your uncle, right?

SHONA: Aye. I intercepted one of Jones' messages by accident. Couldn't imagine who'd want to bring that murderer back here, so I started digging, looking at old messages and records. I still don't know who Jones was talking to, but I've narrowed it down to three. Well, four, I suppose. Everyone who's had access to the long-range comms system.

JANINE DE LUCA: And who are those people?

SHONA: My dad, but he'd never forgive Lachlan. And then there's Chief Macallan, and Joan and Derek MacLean. Morag Grounds, she knows everything about everyone, and she told me the MacLean's never did think Jones was guilty, so it makes sense if it's them. But I've not found any proof. 

That's why I was heading to the meeting point they'd arranged with Jones. Thought I could catch them in the act. What an idiot, trying to handle it on my own! Please don't tell anyone else. They'd be so angry. This is all my fault!

PAULA COHEN: All of us think it's our fault, Shona. It's only natural. But it was an accident. Tell us what you can. It might help. How did they contact Jones?

SHONA: Aye. So Mor Island is the main one in the Far Hebrides. We have the most contact with the mainland. We traded with Colonel Sage. He offered us guns, ammo, grenades.

JANINE DE LUCA: In exchange for some technology?

SHONA: Aye! There's an island to the north, Dearg Island. There's some scientists there, have been since before the zombies started. They don't allow any visitors. But we send them meat and milk and a few other things. They send us radios, walkie-talkies, parts of the wind generator.

TOM DE LUCA: And you asked them for something a bit more specialized recently. Something Colonel Sage wanted?

SHONA: Aye. A numbered project from before the apocalypse. Dearg Island sent it to us in a sealed box.

PAULA COHEN: They didn't know you had traded it to the mainland?

SHONA: No. My dad arranged it. We'd been running low on guns. Now the armory's bursting at the seams! It was when I was looking at the messages we were receiving from Sage that I... a few of us had a wee code when we were kids. A silly thing, like an island tradition. Extra letters in a typed message. Looks like typos. They spell out words. It was him. He was using that code to talk to someone else!

JODY MARSH: And he said he had the missing chapter of the Edda, that he could bring it home?

SHONA: Aye. It's been gone from the island for 400 years, nearly. Stolen long ago by the English and then lost. All we have is sketches and records of what people said about it. I'd give anything to see it, to hold it in my hands.

SAM YAO: My friend Ellie wanted the same. She was so excited to come to the place the Edda came from. She had all these theories about what we could learn about the zombies here. You'd have liked her, I think.

SHONA: Where's she lying?

JODY MARSH: Exit to the caves, near the cliffs.

SHONA: There's time for Chief Macallan to bring in her body if we tell him what's happening. The radio's at the top of this hill. Let's hurry!

[rain pours, wind whistles]

SHONA: Here we are. We'll run through these stone house frames. The radio's in the last one, nestled into the side of the hill. Nobody's lived here for ages. See how the grass has grown over the buildings?

SAM YAO: Ellie would have loved this! She studied ancient cultures. She did so much research about this place. Hey, you said you had some notes about the missing bit of the Edda. Anything about zombies?

SHONA: Zombies? Oh. You think the Wakened Warriors were zombies? I never thought of that. The Wakened Warriors were supposed to be very noble defenders of what's right. Your friend Ellie sounds wonderful. Like my uncle Callum. He loved the history of these islands.

JODY MARSH: That was your uncle who Jones murdered? He's killed so many people on the mainland now. How did he escape justice here?

SHONA: He didn't escape. He left. We ran him off, really, best we could. The chief couldn't prove what he'd done, but we all knew the truth. We shunned Jones. Wouldn't sell to him. Wouldn't even say hello when we saw him in the street. He headed for the mainland within a year. Ah, look. There. There's the radio. Just – just give me a moment. [radio crackles] Chief Macallan? This is Shona.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Oh. Is this about the sheep?

SHONA: No, it's not about the sheep! [continues in the background]

TOM DE LUCA: You doing all right, Jane? You look exhausted.

JANINE DE LUCA: I'm fine. It's been a long march uphill. Five, you're the only one still looking fresh.

PAULA COHEN: You have to pace yourself, Janine. The whites of your eyes are inflamed. That's the nanites.

SAM YAO: She's got 25 days though, Paula. You and Veronica said 30 days in total. 5 days gone. 25 days!

PAULA COHEN: But they won't be days of good health! I'm really sorry. Janine, exertion won't help. Please, take a moment to sit down now. This is good news. If we can't catch Jones today, at least the islanders will help us find him.

SHONA: I've spoken to the chief. Patrol are going to help us. They're coming to the south. We'll head west, to the beach, and catch Jones together. Come on. We must hurry!

[waves crash on beach, seagulls caw]

JODY MARSH: Wow! The cloud's clearing from the moon and I can see all the way down the beach from this cliff path. It's beautiful! The sea is all silver in the moonlight, and the beach looks really sandy!

SHONA: The storms go like this here. We'll have a few minutes of peace, then it'll go rough again. But you'll need to watch your feet now. The path's slippy. Only way over is by stepping on the blue rock.

SAM YAO: Wow, you really know this island.

SHONA: It's in my blood. Can I ask you something?

SAM YAO: Sure. I mean, I think you've probably saved our lives.

SHONA: What do you want with Lachlan Jones? To execute him for killing those folk on the mainland?

JANINE DE LUCA: He... has something of value to me.

SHONA: Not the Edda?

JANINE DE LUCA: No. We would love to see the Edda, of course, but if the island is its rightful home, it should stay here.

SHONA: So what does he have?

JANINE DE LUCA: He... poisoned me before he left. A technological poison. It's slow-acting, and he has a control box which can reverse its effect.

SHONA: [?]. In his messages, he said he was living quietly, just wanted to be accepted back home. If I'd know any of that... well. I'd not have come out late at night to try to find him.

SAM YAO: So, you know what we're doing here. We know what you're doing here. The question is is what Jones is really doing here. I can't see him peacefully taking up Hebridean farming, somehow.

TOM DE LUCA: We'll find out soon enough. Look through my binoculars, Five. That's his boat, isn't it, at the far end of the beach? He hasn't set sail. If we hurry now, we'll reach him before he has a chance!

PAULA COHEN: The wind's picking up again. Five, do you see that? Are those nets strung between those causeways? Won't they blow away?

SHONA: Those are my dad's idea. The high winds throw up all sorts – fish and crabs, driftwood and metal we can use. The nets are elasticated. When the weight in them is heavy enough, they snap shut. We pick them up when the storm dies down.

PAULA COHEN: Clever. Reminds me of our rainwater collectors at Abel.

SHONA: My dad's a proud islander. He's always wanted us to be self-sufficient. We have a wind farm, weaving, a distillery. All of it. He never wanted to be laird, but he's very good at it.

JODY MARSH: Sounds like it.

SHONA: Just don't tell him I said so.

TOM DE LUCA: Look, down by the boat. There's a body lying face down.

JANINE DE LUCA: Everyone back, out of the line of sight. It could be a trap.

SAM YAO: Hey, can I borrow the binoculars, Tom? That is the same outfit Jones was in when he left. I'd recognize that jumpsuit anywhere. I think he's... I mean, he's either taking a long nap in the middle of a hurricane or... or he's dead.

SHONA: Plenty of people here want him dead.

JANINE DE LUCA: Did any of them know he was arriving this evening?

SHONA: Only the one who sent the message.

TOM DE LUCA: If he is dead, we need to get to his body now. If we don't get there quickly, he'll wash out to sea. Go!

[waves crash onto beach, wind whistles]

SAM YAO: Bloody hell! That storm's really coming now.

[storm warning siren blares]

SHONA: Storm warning, urgent! We've only a few minutes to get to shelter.

JANINE DE LUCA: Jones is definitely dead. Shot through the head. We must search his body. With luck, he'll have the Edda and the nanite controller in the pocket of this jumpsuit. Five, Tom, Doctor, can you help me flip him?

TOM DE LUCA: Got it. Lift and flip on three. One, two, three -

JANINE DE LUCA: That isn't Jones.

PAULA COHEN: He's wearing Jones' clothes.

SAM YAO: Hey, just a sec! No, I know him. He worked for Sage. He was on the oil rig.

JANINE DE LUCA: Yes, I've met with him on several occasions with Mr. Lynne. His name is Arnold. A composting specialist. He's roughly the same height and build as Jones, dressed in his uniform, with his name badge!

JODY MARSH: So Jones brought him here to try to fake his own death, knowing that his contact was expecting him here? Thinking the body would wash out to sea before anyone got a good look at it.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: Shona, is this them?

SHONA: Aye. Abel Township friends, this is Chief Duncan Macallan.

DUNCAN MACALLAN: We've taken your friend's body, respectfully. We... nothing like this has happened before.

SAM YAO: You're the one that shot Ellie. She bloody loved this island! She was the one who kept telling us over and over how amazing it was, and the history and the culture and everything and you shot her!

DUNCAN MACALLAN: I am so, so sorry! I thought you weren't moving like zombies, but only zombies ever come through there, and it was dark and the storm, I can't - ! There's nothing I can say. [storm warning siren blares] Please. You have to get to shelter. Is that Lachlan Jones? Is he dead?

JANINE DE LUCA: No, Chief Macallan. Unfortunately, that is not Mr. Jones. So you have a storm brewing, a murder and a homicidal man on the island whose plans are as yet unclear.

SAM YAO: And it's midnight. So we've only got 24 days left to find him.

[ladywinchester1967]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Grace Drake

Characters: Dean Winchester, Grace Drake (OFC), Kenneth Drake (Grace’s husband), Lula and Sissy (Grace and Kenneth’s hired help), Sam Winchester*, William (Kenneth’s business partner)*

*= mentioned

Warnings: Cheating, SMUT, drinking, smoking, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), mentions of alcoholism, mentions of homosexuality, language, mentions of World War II (nothing too graphic).

A/N: This is the start of a BRAND NEW series; so the tag list for this is wide open. Takes place post-World War II (think late 40′s, going into early 1950′s) so I tried to use some of the slang and language that would have been used in that time period. Each part has themes from the song by Switchfoot of the same name (which I’ve ALWAYS wanted to use in a story!). Per usual; unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, but the pictures are NOT. I found them on Pinterest and tumblr.

Welcome to the Planet

Welcome to existence

Everyone's here

Everyone's here

Everybody's watching you now

Everybody waits for you now

What happens next?

What happens next?

She shifted and the cold light of day invaded her closed eyelids.

“Mhhhh.” She grunted and opened them up.

She was naked, save for the sheet and the arm that was currently wrapped around her body. She rolled over and saw a pair of shining green eyes and a wide smile looking back at her.

“Morning beautiful.” He said

“No way I look beautiful right now.” She said as she reached out and touched his face.

“You always look beautiful Gracie.” He said and kissed her.

“Mh, I love it when you call me that.” She said sleepily and opened her mouth for another kiss.

He rolled, putting her on her back and making her giggle. He kissed down her neck and to her collar bone and then back up to her ear.

“My sweet,” kiss “sweet,” kiss “Gracie Lou.”

“Deeeeeean!” She whined slapping his bare shoulders and making him laugh.

“You’re gonna have to hit harder than that if you wanna throw me off doll face.” He said, pinning her hands on either side of her head by the wrists.

“Mhhhh, can’t get rid of you easily can I?” She teased as they kissed. She opened her legs and his hardened length ran up her inner thigh as she gasped.

“Nope.” He said as he pushed inside her waiting core. He kissed her again as he buried himself inside of her.

“Dean,” she sighed against his mouth, her nails pressing into his shoulders “Dean, you feel so good inside me.”

“Gracie.” he sighed back as he raked his hands through her hair, wrapping her up into his arms as he pushed into her. She wrapped her legs around him, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He thrust up into her, hitting her sweet spot, making her back arch and her nails dig harder into his shoulders. He took his time, slowly thrusting in and out of her, kissing every inch of her body that his mouth could reach until she was a whining mess under him.

“Dean, please!” She begged “Please!”

“What?” He asked playfully “Tell me sweetheart.”

“I wanna come,” she whined, raking her nails down his back “please, please let me come Dean!”

He growled and pushed hard into her, making her cry out. She writhed under him, he seemed to be hitting every nerve in her body until she screamed and came hard. Her clenching around him was exactly what he needed to send him over the edge. With a loud cry, he emptied his load into her, his hips stilling as he supported his weight on his knees and forearms. He gave her one last kiss before rolling off of her, both of them breathing hard. After a few minutes of blissful silence, she rolled to her side and kissed his cheek.

“What time is it?” She asked, rubbing the tip of her nose against his cheek.

Dean checked his watch.

“Ten thirty.” He said

“What?!” She asked

“It’s ten thirty.” He said and showed her the face of his watch.

“FUCK!” She exclaimed and darted out of bed.

“What’s wrong?!” He asked

“I’m supposed to be at bridge club in an hour! Fuck!” She yelled as she gathered her clothes and threw them on.

“Shit!” Dean yelled and got out of bed to help her, tugging on his underwear. She threw on her bra and panties, foregoing her pantyhose for now, and stuffed them into her bag along with her gloves.

“God damn it,” she said “I can’t believe I over slept. Where’s my dress?!”

“Right here.” He said and held it up with two fingers.

“Thank you!” She said gratefully as she stepped into it.

“You sure YOU weren’t the one in the Army with that foul mouth?” He teased

“Father was a Sergeant Major in the Marine Corps remember?” She asked as she pulled the sleeves of her dress up and he flashed recognition across is face.

“Ah, now I remember.” He said

“Zip me please?” She asked and turned her back to him. He did as she requested and planted a kiss between her shoulder blades.

“I’m so sorry,” she said “I’m running around here like a chicken with my head cut off. I'm gonna be late and those bitches will rip me to shreds!”

“It’s okay,” He said as she grabbed her shoes and buckled them “go play bridge and gossip, I’ll talk to you tonight.”

She pinned her hair back as best as she could and gave him a quick kiss.

“You’re the best you know?” She asked him

“Stop flattering me or I won’t let you leave.” He said and wrapped her in a breath stealing kiss. She moaned against his lips.

“I have to go,” she whined between kisses “Lula and Sissy are gonna have a fit when they see me.”

Dean laughed

“Go before Lula threatens to hunt me down. Again.” He teased and opened the door for her, watching as she blew him a kiss over her shoulder and took off down the stairs.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Grace thought as she caught the bus back to her house, pretending that she wasn’t wearing the clothes she’d worn the night before. She was supposed to hit the road with her high school sweetheart, Dean Winchester, and drive until they reached the Pacific Ocean. They would set up a dual building where he could practice medicine and she could paint, sketch and teach art classes. That’s what they’d always talked about.

That was before Dean got drafted into World War II. He’d been ripped away from her in the blink of an eye while she helped the local Red Cross with the war effort.

When the dust finally settled, Dean’s brother; Sam, showed her the telegram that bore the sad news. Dean was MIA and believed to be dead. It was a hero’s death, her father had mused. She mourned, for years she mourned for the boy she had loved. The one that listened when she talked, that always told her that her dreams of being a writer and artist weren’t stupid or misguided. The boy who away made her feel pretty, the one who always showered her with love and attention, who understood that she didn’t want to be defined by her marital status or that expected her to pop out as many babies as she could.

The girl she was died along with him, after that, she found it easier to just do as she was told. She dated the boys her parents set her up with. Even accepted the proposal of the man her parents deemed “a good match” for her. Kenneth Drake worked successfully in advertising, he made good money and was nice enough. He didn’t seem too happy when she voiced her opinions on social matters or offered her view on the current ads he was trying to run.

“Darling,” he had said and patted her on the back of the hand “I know you have a lot to say, but women are meant to be seen, not heard.”

She had sighed and resigned to the fact that she was supposed to be decoration. She was supposed to smile, look good when she met the boss and have dinner on the table by five thirty sharp.

That perfect illusion was shattered when Kenneth was admitted to the hospital two years after they were married. She got the call in the middle of the night and rushed to the hospital to be with him.

“Please,” she pleaded with the nurse “I’m looking for Kenneth Drake, he’s my husband!”

“Gracie?” She heard a familiar voice ask. The voice send chills down her spine, only one person on the planet called her Gracie and that person had died years ago. She slowly turned and saw him.

His hair was darker than she remembered, but his eyes, oh lord in heaven, those emerald green eyes. Their striking color hadn’t changed at all. He wore a crisp white lab coat with dark slacks and shoes, across his chest was the name

Dr. D Winchester

“Dean?” She asked

He looked like he had seen a ghost, his face went ashen, his full lips dropped open into a surprise O shape. He briefly shook his head and said to the nurse

“Betty, she’s okay. Let her through.”

The nurse, Betty, nodded and stepped aside as Grace rushed over to Dean.

“Kenneth Drake is your husband?” Dean asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. She nodded, a dark curl falling into her eyes.

“Yes, they said they found him in bad shape outside this bar,” she said obviously upset “please Dean, can you tell me anything?”

Dean paused for a second and then nodded

“Have a seat,” he said gently and directed her to a nearby chair “I’ll check it out.”

“Thank you,” She said “thank you so much.”

He gave her a small smile and took off down the hallway.

After some time, Dean returned and sat by her.

“Kenneth suffered a concussion,” he told her “he hit his head on the cement after he collapsed due to alcohol poisoning. They pumped his stomach and gave him some fluids, he’s gonna have a nasty headache and a hell of a hangover, but he’ll be fine.”

She let out a sigh of relief and hugged him.

“Thank you,” She told him, inhaling his familiar scent “Thank you so much Dean.”

He reluctantly wrapped his arms around her, the familiar feel of her hair under his hand filling the dull ache in his chest that he’d learned to live with.

The next day she’d returned to the hospital to check on Kenneth. She headed up to the roof to get some air and found Dean, sitting on a bench. He wore sunglasses and had a lit cigarette in his hand.

“I thought you would be up here.” She called to him.

He turned, startled, but his expression softened when he saw her.

“Gracie!” He called

That was how it started; they’d rekindled their friendship like they’d never been apart. One night, she met Dean for a drink, which turned into multiple drinks, and the truth came out.

“You couldn’t wait for me?” He asked, his eyes glassy.

“Sam told me you were dead Dean, he showed me the telegram.” Grace said, taking a puff from the cigarette she stole from him.

“The Army thought I was dead,” he told her “my unit got captured by the Italians and they kept us as prisoners of war. Then the Allies liberated us and brought us home. Imagine the shock on my mother’s face when I turned up.”

“Why didn’t you?” She asked and trailed off.

“Come looking for you?” He asked and she nodded “I did, your father told me he’d put a bullet in me like the Italians, Germans and Japanese had failed to do if I ever came near you again.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shock as she handed back the cigarette to him.

“My God,” she said “my father, always the wordsmith.”

Dean smirked and snubbed out the cigarette.

“So Kenneth seems nice, albeit a raging alcoholic.” Dean said

She shook her head

“He’s docile,” she said “he makes good money, he works hard, he’s nice enough. I guess.”

“But?” Dean asked, downing the last of his drink and asking for another.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink.

“My husband,” she trailed off and chose her words carefully “bats for the other team.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up

“Kenneth wears sensible shoes?” Dean asked and she nodded “Sure do know how to pick ‘em Gracie Lou.”

She slapped his arm playfully

“MY PARENTS picked him,” she said “I had no say in the matter.”

“So, where is he now?” Dean asked

She pursed her lips and thought

“At a late meeting,” she said and downed the rest of her drink “with his business partner William.”

“Does he often have late meetings with William?” Dean asked and she nodded.

“Nearly every night,” she said “he comes home for dinner and then leaves at exactly seven thirty.”

“When does he come home?” Dean asked

“Whenever he damn well pleases,” she told him “he's the man of the house. His words, not mine.”

Dean shook his head as the waiter dropped off another round for them.

“I can tell you something?” She asked, leaning into Dean. Her blue eyes were sparkling like they always had, he could smell her perfume and the alcohol on her, which just made her all the more enchanting.

“Of course.” He said

Their eyes met and she bit her lower lip. Not only had their friendship rekindled, so had to sexual tension between them. The last time Grace had sex with a man was Kenneth on her birthday; and even then, it hadn't been anything worth writing home about.

“The last time I had a decent orgasm? Right before you went off to war.” she told him

His eyes went wide

“You’re kidding right?” He asked and she shook her head.

“This is much too serious for me to joke about.” She told him.

Dean reached in his pocket, pulled out his wallet and said

“We’re fixing that. Now.”

“What?!” She asked shocked as he threw some money on the table and grabbed her hand.

“Either I just left a VERY generous tip or a dry cleaning receipt, let’s hurry in case it’s the receipt.” He murmured in her ear and she laughed.

Dean always had the ability to make her laugh, even when she didn’t want to.

He took her to his apartment and as soon as the door was shut behind them he said

“You have to tell me this is okay Gracie, I need to hear you say it.”

It was nice to see all those years away hadn’t changed that part of him. He’s said something similar when she’d lost her virginity to him what seemed like a lifetime ago. She put her purse down and stepped closer to him. Standing in front of her wasn’t the boy she’d fallen in love with. He was a grown and jaded man, but he still had all the love and compassion in him that she’d always cherished about him. She nodded and said

“I want this Dean,” as she reached for him “I want you. Make love to me, please.”

That night had been full of passion and romance unlike anything she’d experienced since she’d slept with him previously. He remembered every place to touch and kiss her that made her toes curl and drawing sounds out of her she wasn’t sure she was capable of making any more.

The next morning her eyes fluttered open and she found Dean asleep beside her.

“Oh thank god.” She said quietly “that wasn’t an elaborate dream.”

She heard Dean chuckle as he opened his eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asked, pushing her hair out of her face. She nodded

“I should feel guilty,” she told him “I should feel ashamed and disgusted.”

“Do you?” He asked, hesitation in his voice.

She smiled and shook her head

“No,” she said “I don’t.”

That was more than a year ago, Grace thought as the bus pulled up at a stop near her house. Since then, she and Dean has carried on discreetly, just as she knew Kenneth and William were. Neither of them mentioned the other’s fling and they kept up appearances. She was there to greet the boss at work functions and host dinners in their home. Though now she did it with a bit more pep in her step.

She rushed into the house, busting through the kitchen door like a bat out of hell and startling both Lula and Sissy, the ladies that helped her in her home.

“Mrs. Grace you look like something that got caught in a drain!” Lula exclaimed and Grace laughed.

“I do look a bit silly don’t I?” Grace asked “Lula, could you make me some coffee while I freshen up?”

“Yes ma’am,” Lula said and nodded to Sissy “help Mrs. Grace outta those clothes so I can get ‘em washed.”

“Yes Lula.” Sissy said and followed Grace up the stairs.

Sissy was Lula’s niece and needed work, Lula had been helping out her family for as long as she could remember and when she started to get on in years, Lula asked tearfully if Grace could help out her niece. Grace’s heart went out to Lula.

“Lula, you know you’re family to us and if your family needs help, this is the least I can do.” Grace had told her and covered Lula’s dark hand with her own pale one “How about this? You bring Sissy on and teach her how you do things? That way when you’re ready to leave, Sissy can take over.”

“You do that for me Mrs. Grace?” Lula asked, her brown eyes wide with shock.

“Lula, if she is anywhere close to as amazing as you are, we’d be happy to have her on.”

Sissy was terribly shy at first, she didn’t even look Grace or Kenneth in the eye for the first few months she worked for them. Slowly though, she’d come around and was a delight to be around.

“Tell Lula I’m sorry this smells like cigarettes.” Grace told Sissy as she turned her back. Sissy unzipped her dress and asked

“Doctor Winchester again?”

Grace gave Sissy a sly smile and Sissy returned it. She threw the evening dress over her arm and Grace headed for the bathroom.

“Sissy, could you find me something to wear for today?” Grace asked

“What do you want to wear Mrs. Grace?” Sissy asked.

Grace shrugged

“Surprise me, I always get compliments on the clothes you pick out.” Grace said and went into the bathroom.

After a shower, pinning her hair up and donning a floral dress, peach sandals, a strand of pearls and matching earrings, Grace did her makeup. Just a little bit of mascara, blush and lipstick to bring out her features. She looked in the mirror and realized Dean had left a hickey on her neck.

“Asshole!” She mumbled to herself and set to work trying to cover it up.

When she was ready, she went down into the kitchen and took a cup of coffee that Lula had waiting for her.

“Did Kenneth come home at all?” Grace asked Lula.

“He was here this morning for breakfast,” Lula said “which you missed.”

Grace hung her head, Lula chastising her wasn’t anything new.

“Sorry Lula.” Grace said and sipped her coffee before shoving a pancake in her mouth.

“MRS. GRACE!” Lula shouted “You eat like your Momma taught you some manners!”

Grace laughed and so did Sissy. “You hush over there and make sure that mantel is dusted.” Lula said to Sissy, who scampered away.

“Did Kenneth tell you where he was going?” Grace asked.

“Playing golf with William,” Lula said as she arranged the tarts on a serving plate just so “said he’d be gone until dinner was ready.”

“That’ll give me plenty of time to get dinner ready,” Grace said “meatloaf and potatoes?”

Lula nodded

“Mister Kenneth likes that.” She said with a grin.

“I'm late, I have to go. I'll see you two when I get home.”

When she arrived, fifteen minutes late, Sue, the hostess for this meeting was not pleased at all.

“Not like you to be late Grace.” She said as Grace stepped through the door.

“I'm so sorry Sue,” Grade said and handed her a bottle of her favorite wine “I lost track of time.”

In spite of her distraction, the rest of the bridge game went off without a hitch.

“Grace, are you wearing a new lipstick or something?” Mary Anne asked as she dealt out another hand.

“No, it’s the same as always, why do you ask?” Grace inquired.

“You seem so,” Mary Anne trailed off “different some how.”

“Glowing almost.” Catherine commented as she took a puff from her cigarette.

“I bet I KNOW what it is.” Louise said, adjusting her glasses “Kenneth DID just get home from a long business trip.”

Grace’s cheeks flushed and the ladies started to giggle.

“Oh, now that makes sense!” Mary Anne said with a grin.

Grace tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” She said simply and went on playing.

After bridge, Grace made dinner. She made extra so that Sissy and Lula could have some as a thank you for their hard work. Kenneth strolled through the door at precisely five thirty, still wearing his golfing gear.

“Darling,” he greeted Grace with a hug “how were the ladies today?”

“Like hens in a hen house,” she told Kenneth “meatloaf and mashed potatoes tonight. Do you want brandy or whiskey?”

“Whiskey please, my sweet?” He asked, giving her a peck on the cheek.

They ate dinner, chatting about their respective days. Kenneth hadn’t done so well on the golf course and had lost a few dollars to William and their other partner, Jim.

“You’ll get them next week,” Grace said “I’m sure of it.”

Kenneth gave her a smile and took a sip of his drink, his eyes still on her. She looked back at him; he was indeed handsome. He had forget- me-not blue eyes, lush dark hair and a slight boyish grin on his face.

“Grace?” He asked

“Hm?” She answered as she took a sip of her wine.

“When are we going to talk about it?” He asked.

“Talk about what?” She shot back.

“What you’re doing.” He said

She blinked at she stared at him

“Eating my dinner?” She asked.

He shook his head and raked a hand through his hair.

“No, and don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.” He said

“Kenneth, I wouldn’t-“ she started but he interrupted

“I KNOW okay?” He asked sharply

“About what?!” She shot back, even though she knew exactly what he was getting at.

“You and that doctor!” Kenneth exploded “You’re fucking him behind my back!”

Even though it was true, and she had been for more than a year, she still decided to play dumb.

“What doctor? I’m not fucking-“ she started and he cut her off again.

“YES YOU ARE!” He yelled as he stood “Shirley, the butcher’s wife, saw you with a man that wasn’t me last night!”

Fuming, Grace said

“Kenneth, sit down and we can talk about this calmly.”

“THERE’S NOTHING CALM ABOUT WHAT I HAVE TO SAY!” Kenneth shouted at her “HOW COULD YOU?! HOW COULD YOU FUCKING DO THIS TO ME GRACE?!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SOOOOOO?! What do ya’ll think?? Are you excited to see where this goes? Because I’m excited to share it with ya’ll! 

As always, kind feedback is appreciated. Feel free to like and share with your followers. If you’re new, maybe consider following? My boxes are open, so if you want to request something, you are more than welcome to!

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[stoopsbookstore]

Daggers (Part 2)

Genre - Suspense? Mystery? Smluff?

Warnings - Long fucking chapter. Most likely probably gonna be the only chapter without violence.

Pairing - None, as of right now

"Douglas Louis's daughter, Y/N, was attacked earlier tonight by, who cops are saying, a man who used to work for Mr. Louis. His daughter is currently being treated at the Francis Dale Hospital. More on this story as it develops."

Y/N throws a pillow at the TV, hoping that it will somehow change to a trashy reality show. Sejeong looked at her best friend, "if you break it, I think you have to pay for it."

"Jeong-Jeong, I really don't care right now."

"Well, you're gonna have to care about this situation, some guy attacks you and then a masked hero saves you, but you didn't tell them that. You need to say someth-"

"I can't. I don't even know who the guy was."

"You said one of them sounded like that kid who was at the coffee shop earlier, what about that?"

Sejeong did have a point, Y/N distinctly remembered the voice of her classmate, Haechan. He always seemed to be texting his friend in class. Y/N felt bad for looking at someone's phone, but when it's the only light in a darkened area, she couldn't help but look over. The contact name was Mark and then what she assumed was his Korean name. Haechan was a transfer student, just one of many, from the Smith Masters Academy. More are supposed to be arriving throughout the month, but so far, it's only been Haechan and some girl named Joy.

"Before we leave, ma'am," a cop came in the room along with Y/N's dad, "we just want to make sure what happened is what happened."

"I was attacked by some maniac and I don't know what happened after that."

"Are you sure? The doctor said there was no sign of any head injury," Y/N nodded as the cop was talking.

"I'm positive, I don't remember anything."

Sejeong looked at her friend with disappointment in her eyes and the cop left.

"Honey, they said you'll be here for the night, just to be safe and you'll be discharged in the morning. Me and Sejeong have to go," Sejeong stood up and got ready to call an uber when Mr. Louis cut her off, "I'll give you a ride home."

Mr. Louis gave Y/N a kiss on her forehead and Sejeong hugged her, she whispered in Y/N's ear, "Please don't do anything stupid." Y/N let go and pinky-promised.

"I'll try not to."

When they left, the rest of the night was relatively calm. Y/N was soundly sleeping, but she woke up around 2:09am and she could've swore she saw a man standing outside her window. She thought it was just a dream and promptly fell back asleep.

Two guys sat on the roof by the window, wearing all black and masks that covered most of their face, only exposing the eyes.

"Hyung, do you think she saw?"

"I don't know, Gadget. But we need to tell him that she's safe, she's being treated and she's sleeping. And I've told you don't call me Hyung when we're in a mission."

"Well, excuse me, Chameleon!"

"This is why we don't let you go out on missions, now come on. We have to get back."

The next morning, Y/N was picked up by her father and discharged with no complications. "Here, just some numbers if you need to talk to someone." A nurse handed Y/N some papers and they were off on their way.

"Before you hate me, we're gonna having some guests, there's 9 of them," her dad said from the passenger seat, handing her a bag of clothes, "They're transfer students, I offered for them to stay, and yes, one of them is that Haechan boy from your computer class. I planned on telling you last night."

Y/N sat in silence while she changed out of her scrubs.

Her dad sighed, "I can sense your excitement, they're waiting for us at home."

Y/N waited, her anxiety through the roof. She was about to have 9 new roommates and one of them was her classmate. She has heard rumors about Haechan, about how he's a serial killer and just Satan in the body of a kid. What if he finds her diary? What if he goes through her phone and finds the photos of her celebrity crushes? In the time she spent worrying about the boys, the car came to an abrupt stop.

"Honey, we're home," her dad's voice echoed throughout the car, waking her up from her anxious daydream. Y/N grabbed her bags and started to walk her way towards the door.

"What did Sejeong tell you last night? Don't do anything stupid, was it?"

Y/N chuckled, opening to the door to the huge 3-story mansion and immediately getting ran over by a body built like a tree.

"Oh shit, Y/N, I'm so sorry, let me help you up," a boy with curly, light brown hair stretched out his arm to pull the fallen girl up.

"It's okay, I'm fine, really. I'm assuming you're one of my new houseguests? And why were you running?"

"Johnny, at your service. The rest of us are somewhere, I think Taeil, Doyoung and Yuta are in the living room. Me, Winwin and Jaehyun are trying to chase a cat that's been runn-"

"Enough said, that's my cat, Drippy."

"I'm scared to ask why you have a cat named Drippy"

"He's a kitten one of the foster girls gave me before I left, she found him during a rainstorm and he dripped everywhere. He's about 7, so if you could not give him a heart attack, that would be fantastic."

A cough interrupted Y/N and Johnny's conversation, another boy, covered in leaves and with a rather annoyed expression, holding a fat munchkin cat stood by the staircase heading up to the second floor.

"Winwin, and I assume this is Drippy," Winwin spoke. The cat bit his arm and ran away, "fucking asshole. You," He said, pointing at Johnny, "The cat's a dick too" Y/N went up to Winwin and took a look at his arm, "don't worry, he's not poisonous, looks like he broke the skin, but it's not that bad, I've had harder," Winwin blushed at the seemingly innuendo.

Y/N noticed the blush, "Uh, oh, no- not like that."

A few awkward moments passed.

"Let's go clean this up, I'll see you later, Johnny."

Leaving the giant man standing in the foyer, Y/N took Winwin to the guest bathroom and looked for the first aid kit.

"He's normally not like that unless he's scared. He's a very chill cat, he's just not used to have a boy, let alone 9 around him."

Winwin stood in silence while Y/N found the kit, "this may sting a little, but it's just a cleaner," Y/N spritz the bite, causing Winwin to wince a bit. Y/N wiped it dry and stuck a band-aid on the wound.

"There, it's fine now, no infection, now you can make up a cool story you can tell if someone asks what happened."

Silence from the male.

"Okay. I'll be going, let me know if you want a tou-"

"Be careful of Hyung, please."

Winwin spoke, eyes bugged out, before running out of the room.

Y/N mumbled to herself, "What?"

"Y/N, come down to the foyer to meet the guys," her father's voice boomed.

Y/N didn't waste any second to race back through the first floor to see 9 boys standing, talking with her dad. There was one who stopped talking with everyone to just stare at her. He had dark brunette hair, his hair was laid across his forehead, covered in sweat. He must be Jaehyun, sweaty from chasing Drippy around the house.

"Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Y/N Louis. She's been living with me for about 7 years and she's the star of my eye, my rare gem, who hopefully will take over my business in a few years. Y/N, these are the transfer students who will be staying with us." Y/N's father walked to an average height boy and started to introduce them.

"This is Taeil, Johnny, Taeyong, Yuta, Doyoung, Jaehyun, Winwin, Mark and I know you already know Haechan. Quinn already gave them the house tour, except for Jaehyun, so if you don't mind sharing him around, that would be fantastic," he said, turning to the guys, "if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask."

8 of the boys took that as a dismissal and scurried off like cockroaches in the middle of the night, leaving just Y/N and Jaehyun.

"I don't have to show you around, you can go play with Haechan and Drippy," she said half-giggling, partly due to the awkwardness of standing in front of an attractive guy.

"Uh, actually I heard something about a library, I'd like to see that if possible." When Y/N heard this, her eyes lit up.

"Yea, it's my favorite place, come on," Y/N grabbed Jaehyun's wrist and dragged him up the stairs, all the way down the right hallway and opened the door at the end. The library was huge, two stories, it looked like it was an actual library someone would find in the middle of a small town. Y/N let out of his wrist and started to run through the shelves.

"When I was younger, I would always run through the shelves and play hide and seek with some of the staff," she felt a security in the huge space, she could feel herself spilling her guts to nothing, even though there was a 6 foot guy standing at the door.

"I thought you were supposed to give me a tour," He spoke up.

"I will if you find me," Y/N's voice echos throughout the space.

It was like a switch flipped in Jaehyun's brain. He ran in between every shelf, up and down the aisles of books.

"You know, for someone who just got home from the hospital, you're very hyper," Jaehyun said. He found a bookshelf that looked out of place, he pushed it in and finally found the girl sitting in a bay window with a sketch book and some paints.

"I knew as soon as I got these out, you would find me," the troublemaker sighed, putting her paints back.

"You don't have to get me the tour now, we can just stay here if you want."

"No, you need the tour, I just wanted to have some fun after last night."

Jaehyun stiffened at the mention of the night before, "yea, it's nice to know you're okay. Haechan talks to Mark about you all the time." The girl seemed shocked.

"Huh?"

"Oh, Haechan and Mark are best friends, they're like little brothers to the rest of us," he confessed as the two walked through the shelves, "we saw it on the news and Haechan started crying, he said you're the only person to ever care about him at that hellhole of a school."

"Well, from what I've seen, he's a good kid, I don't believe any of that crazy bullshit people say about him."

Y/N and Jaehyun walked around in silence, until his hand nudged hers.

"Uhh..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mea-,"

"Jaehyun, it's fine."

As Y/N continued to walk forward, Jaehyun blurted out, "Hey, I know we just met, but what about a date later tonight in your little nook?"

Y/N looked at the tall boy who's strutting in front of her, thinking.

"How about midnight? That way we know everyone is asleep."

"I'll be there."

(E/N) Part 2! Also, I have figured out how to turn on questions and anon, so feel free to do the "Ask my Muses" or request a drabble. I'm off to work on the Pixie!Pristin post while putting off cleaning my room.

[redditnosleep]

Good Morning, Beautiful

by JD-McGregor

The bristles stopped just before my naked eye. The brush quivered in her hand as she held it there.

"You know I can't finish until you stop crying, right?" said Em.

"I know, I know," I answered as I fanned myself with my hands. "Just give me a second. I need to call him."

She looked away, setting the brush on my desk.

"Alright then. But make it quick. Don't have that much time til we need to leave. I'll go and check out some of the new pieces in the studio.”

"Thanks. It’ll just be a second."

Em forced a smile. She closed the door behind her on the way out. I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was still wet and my makeup half-done. I felt and looked like a wreck.

The argument I had gotten into with Kurt on the phone earlier was still lingering. I needed the pressure go away.

This was supposed to be my night. I spent years dreaming of when I would be sitting in that spot. And because of that stupid fight I had gotten into with Kurt, I couldn't even get my makeup done.

I had to work it out. It was the only way I was going to be able to get on with the evening.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

I knew I wouldn't get an answer. He was still livid with a point to prove. He lost it on me before hanging up when we last spoke.

The tears tried to force their way out again. I worked so desperately to hold them back as I reached his answering machine.

“Kurt, please call me back. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean any of it. You aren't an asshole. You're right, I've been stressing about the show for too long. Please, please come tonight. It would mean the world to me to see you there.”

I threw the phone on my cluttered desk. It fell into the mess of art supplies, sketches and assorted beauty products.

My message was more apologetic than how I really felt. How could any girl be okay with her boyfriend not coming to her art expo? And it wasn’t just any routine show. It was one of LA’s biggest of the year. This kind of opportunity may never come again. I had been working at it for the entirety of our relationship.

It didn't matter if the big wigs around the executive table needed him to stay late. He needed to make an excuse and get out of there. This was the most important night of my life.

I had spent the better part of a month locked up in my parent’s cottage, getting all the pieces ready. Demolishing pot after pot of coffee, I worked like a mad woman late into every evening. I painted endlessly, completing hundreds of pieces. It was all a matter of producing the select few that would suffice.

I talked to Kurt maybe three or four times over that month. They were only quick conversations on the phone. Each time felt like more of a distraction and a chore than something I really wanted to do.

And that was the reason. That's why he didn't feel guilty about staying late at the office. If I was going to put my work ahead of him, why shouldn't he put his ahead of me?

It was our gift and our curse. We both cared too much about what we do. All too often that meant our relationship was put on the back-burner.

But, I had never seen him so mad. It was like he was another person. I was stuck with it now. I had no choice but to let it go.

"Em," I called into the hallway. "I'm ready now."

I straightened my back and stared hard into the mirror as her footsteps approached from the hall. I wasn't going to release any more tears. Nothing was going to ruin this evening for me. I sacrificed too much for that happen.

Em returned to her spot behind me. Her eyes met mine in the reflection.

"Your style certainly has changed a lot since I've last seen it," she said.

"And, do you like it?"

"Yes, I do. I really do. It's just so much more human than it used to be."

I double blinked. It was hardly the reaction I expected from my best friend.

"And how would you describe it?" I asked.

"Dark, but beautiful," she said as she placed a hand on my shoulder. "I think it’s perfect. Just like you."

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach on the drive over. But they paled in comparison to the sheer panic that enveloped me as we pulled into the Randolph Art Center parking lot.

It was the cars that did me in. Nearly every spot was already occupied. All of them filled with a vehicle worth at least $50,000. We must have looked like we were on welfare pulling up in Em's ‘09 Civic.

She chuckled as she pulled into a spot near the back of the lot. I saw her get up out of the corner of my eye as I fixed my gaze out the back window onto the giant glass building. I didn't move until she finally opened my door for me.

"C'mon now Charlotte, it's time."

She yanked me out of the car. There was no use in trying to hide how nervous I was. Rather than explain myself, I started my march towards the building. My heels clapped hard against the asphalt as I approached.

I reached the granite steps. They spiralled up to the main entrance on the second level. Even the fucking stairs were amazing. They intimidated me, just like every other piece of incredible architectural design on the building I was about to enter.

I relied on the support of the railing on the way up. It wasn't my first time being there. I had visited countless times before. It was the context that was different. For the first time, I was not merely a spectator for the works of others. This time I was here with my work. Now it was my turn to enjoy the spoils of the onlooking eyes.

If things went just as I had them pictured in my mind, it would be the first exhibit of many with my pieces on display. And perhaps, if things went really well, it would mean the end of the 9 – 5 office job.

That would be anyone’s dream come true.

Em managed to catch up by the time I reached the top. She caught me staring wide-eyed at the crowd of early-birds through the glass doors of the front lobby. She noticed me trying to distract the obvious distress by looking down at my phone. There was one pending message. It was one sentence long, from Kurt.

We’ll see how things play out.

Before the inevitable emotional response engaged, Em snatched the phone from me. She tossed it into her purse and zipped it closed.

"It doesn't matter what he does," she said. "It's only important what you do tonight."

She was right, we both knew it.

I flipped my straightened hair behind my shoulders and adjusted the crimson dress straps. As I looked onward at the sea of cultured art aficionados, Em took hold of my hand.

She didn't let go until we were inside.

I recognized a few of the faces in the lobby. I didn’t allow eye contact. I didn't bother stopping to talk. It wasn't time for the pleasantries yet.

We went straight to the main pavilion. The place was enormous. The ceiling towered over our heads. Metal racks with giant white lights hung from the ceiling. The building was equipped to display more than just art. They could have car shows there if they wanted.

I had to slip a little extra to the right person to get my spot. $2,000 more than anyone else paid, to be exact. It was right at the back, lined up against the far wall. In my previous visits to the gallery, I learned that people always gravitated there.

Not only was it centrally located, but it was right next to the main stage. Your eyes couldn't help but be drawn to that spot as you walked down the main aisle. It's where the bright lights were. It’s where the action was.

It would also be a short walk for me when they revealed the award-winning piece for the night. My award-winning piece. I entered it on a wing and a prayer. I never really considered winning a real possibility. It was created in the midst of my painting frenzy at my parent’s cabin. It was the proudest I had ever been of one my works.

As Em and I made our way to the three concrete walls that made up my little area, my eyes stayed glued to the paintings. Sixteen of my works were there, each of them covered by white cloth and hanging at a different height from the ground.

"It's so surreal," Em said, setting her purse down on the desk in my exhibit’s center. She twirled, looking at all my covered pieces. "The fluorescent lights make everything look so extravagant."

I agreed with her. My exhibit looked like something out of a magazine. It looked even better than the pictures the event coordinator had sent me a few days earlier. The extra money was worth it.

"I can't believe we're finally here," I said.

"We? You mean, you. You've earned the right to be here, Char."

I laughed as I locked our purses in one of the desk shelves.

"Should we start uncovering the paintings?" she asked.

"No, the staff will do that when they start to let people in."

“Don't think I can wait that long. Can you show me at least one?"

Her words raised another laugh out of me. I nudged her as I walked passed.

"Only for you, Em."

I chose the painting nearest to the desk. It was, in my opinion, the most moderate. Starting with it would leave me nowhere to go but up. Her inevitable barrage of compliments would ensue.

Moon Over Sea, that was its name. It was nothing special. Just a few shades of faded blue making up the water, and a dull yellow circle resembling the moon above.

I pulled the cover off and saw Em’s head reel back.

"It's beautiful," she said, aware I noticed her reaction.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, it’s just that style again. Like the ones in the studio."

I looked closer at the painting. As if I needed reassuring of exactly what it was that I created. It was the same as I remembered, save for one detail. Right next to the moon, I saw the outline.

A face. A man's face.

Perhaps it was a coincidence. The result of different strokes of the brush at the right point. And somehow, in my exhaustion and frail mental state in the midst of all the painting, I didn't notice I had left it there.

It’s possible I would have never noticed had Em not mentioned it. But now that she had, I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

I heard the front doors open. The voices of the many eager people started to enter.

"It's great,” Em said as I turned towards the crowd. “So much different than anything I've ever seen from you before."

The show staff started to walk through the varied exhibits. A lump was in my throat as they began to unveil all my other pieces.

I saw my mother right away. The green dress sparkled as she sprinted ahead of the others like it was some kind of race. She stopped only to nab three narrow glasses of wine from one of the server’s trays.

"Charlotte! You look adorable," she said, putting the glasses down on the desk. She kissed me on both cheeks before grabbing Em and doing the same to her.

"You know, I could hardly sleep last night. I was so excited for you. A few of my friends will be stopping by. We can't wait to see your new pieces."

I noticed her eyes cheating over my shoulder, looking at my paintings mounted on the wall behind me. Her bottom jaw lowered. I meant to ask her what the matter was, but I ran out of time.

Behind her, I saw that some members of the mob were already at the fringe of my exhibit. Thousand dollar dresses and Armani suits, rubbernecking at every piece from the hopeful artists that caught their eye.

It was time for the show to start. Nothing else mattered anymore. Not Kurt, not what Em and mom had noticed about my new pieces, not any other possible distraction. The first old couple wandered up to me. I braced for impact.

The next forty-five minutes flew by. I never moved from where I stood behind the desk. I was stuck, surrounded by a sea of rich, ancient faces. Each of them was seemingly captivated by the work of this young artist. If not that, then they did a good job of making it seem that way. Perhaps some of them just wanted to be near the main stage when the award-winning piece was announced.

Between calculated sips of wine (enough to look comfortable, not enough to loosen the tongue), I recited the same rehearsed phrases over and over and over. Every time, the mix of old acquaintances, rich old strangers and the occasional specific person I was trying to impress, ate it right up.

"Thanks so much for coming!"

"I left my heart in that painting."

"Just knowing that people appreciate it is enough for me."

Everything was going as well as I could have hoped for. Then, Em, who was busy entertaining people as they queued up to see me, tugged my arm.

"Someone wants to make an offer."

"What?!"

I couldn't believe it. I expected the good wishes, I expected the compliments. But someone wanting to buy one of mine so quickly, at a show like this… it wasn't possible.

"Which one?" I asked.

"The one of the mountain range."

"That's one of my favourites! Oh my god, I can't believe it!" I said as I did a little hop. "Okay, let's go see if they’re for real."

He approached me with an outstretched hand before I could even reach the painting. Childlike enthusiasm was in his eyes.

He grabbed my arm before it was fully extended. He pulled me into a half-handshake, half-hug. My dress rubbed against his old wool suit. I felt his whiskers scratch against my cheek.

"My dear," he said. "You're hardly the face I imagined by this beautiful work of art."

I blushed. I didn't know what to say. "Thank you," was all I could eventually think of.

"No. Thank you, young lady. I'm quite stricken by your painting of the mountain range. It's your style. It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

I turned to Em. She smiled wide. She rubbed my back with excitement.

"I'd like to put an early offer on the piece if that's alright? I'm not sure if you're open to selling tonight. But if you'll entertain the idea, I'll gladly write the cheque right now."

My stomach dropped when he said that. My feet shook so much I thought my heels were going to dig into the floor.

The man picked up on my reaction. The wrinkles on his cheek stretched as the corners of his mouth lifted.

“What a pretty little thing you are. Well, how about we cut right to the chase? How does ten thousand sound? If you don't try to wiggle the price up, I'll write you the cheque right here. I must have that young woman under the mountains on my wall."

"Wait, what? What woman?"

"The one you've painted lying at the base of the mountains. She has her mouth wide open."

I shivered. I had no painting with a woman lying under a mountain range. Only a painting of a mountain range. Nothing else.

Then, I saw what he was talking about. I walked towards it without saying anything.

There was no debate this time. The anomaly was there. It was no mistake.

The woman lay flat on her back. Her body made up the collective base of the mountains. They looked like spikes shooting out from her abdomen. Her slender neck was coiled back, her mouth gaped open. The fog I had painted at the bottom appeared to be coming out of her like visible breath in cold air.

My body shook. It was not the same painting I had sent to the gallery the week before.

It was more than just the fact that the woman was inexplicably painted there. The workmanship, it was unmistakably the doing of my own hand. The style, the fluidity of the strokes, the use of colour - all of it was mine.

The only difference was the subtle precision. The attention to detail was finer than my own. Like someone had programmed my personal touch into a painting machine.

Someone was fucking with me. Who or why? I had no idea. But this was no overlooked error. Only a twisted joke.

"I absolutely love it. It’s so real," the old man said as he came up beside me. "Shall I write that cheque then?"

The cheque dangled from my fingers. I stood alone in front of the painting long after the man had left. I had neglected to return to my post behind the desk. I dreaded the idea of having to go back and talk to them. It was impossible. I couldn’t pretend everything was alright.

Did I really paint that and forget? Was I really that out of my mind for that month alone in the woods? No wonder Kurt was so angry. His girlfriend was losing it.

I turned to the painting to the right, dreading what I would see there.

It was supposed to be a green meadow overlooked by a light blue sky and white clouds. It was simple, minimalist. There wasn't supposed to be a man's face. The same angry face I had seen in the first painting. Now it was finer, more detailed. It glared back at me from where it was positioned among the clouds.

That’s not a work of art. Somebody tampered with that painting. Was someone at the studio trying to sabotage me?

“Char, you have people waiting to speak to you,” Em said, returning to my side. She snapped me out of a trance. “You need to get back to the desk.”

"Em, I need you to cover for me. I need to go freshen up,” I answered as I saw the same woman’s face in the Koi pond of another piece.

"Can't you wait? I’m running out of ideas to keep them entertained."

"I just need a sec--"

A loud buzzing filled the giant space as the sound system turned on. A man with greased back, grey hair was on the stage. The crowd started to move towards him. He beckoned them with a white glove as they approached.

“Need your attention for just a moment here folks," he said into the microphone. "It's time to reveal this year’s winning piece."

I wished I could have just disappeared right then. It would have been the perfect time. All the eyes that were just on me, had shifted over to him. But I couldn’t. I just stood there, frozen.

The announcer made his way to the center of the podium. He looked at my piece, still completely covered. He grasped the corner of the cloth then turned back to the audience.

"I just want to take a moment to thank you folks for coming out. Great turnout again this year."

Mild applause from the audience sounded in response.

"I haven't gotten a chance to see this year’s big piece yet, but the judges on the panel voted for it unanimously. Apparently, it’s quite the changeup from any of our previous winners."

He grabbed the white cloth covering my painting again. This time, he didn’t let go.

With everything that was inside me, I hoped that it was the painting I remembered submitting. I prayed so much that things would proceed as they were meant to.

Good Morning, Beautiful, that was its name.

It was a painting of the sun rising above the desert. The sky was orange and purple, little yellow stars were all over. The sand was brown and orange. The land and sky blended into each other where they met.

It was a simple landscape with a unique range of colours. That’s all it was. I knew exactly what that painting looked like before I sent it in. There were no faces.

"Before I treat us with the big reveal, I just also want to mention that this year’s winning artist is the youngest winner we've ever had. Thirty-one-year-old, Charlotte Gauthier. Her exhibit is just next to the stage over here."

He pointed directly at me and hundreds of heads followed along. I forced a smile and a gentle wave just above my head. I could feel lipstick stuck to my teeth.

"Please start making your way up to the stage young lady. And get set for some fireworks. Because, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, theeeee 2016 Randolph award winner."

Time stood still. The fabric ran through the fingers of his glove endlessly. Slowly, he pulled it off. The crowd went impossibly silent in the giant convention room. All my dreaded suspicions became reality.

It stood as a pillar of terror. So much worse than all the others. There was no semblance to the piece I remember creating. Not even a trace of a desert landscape remained.

It was a bloody mess. I walked towards the stage, covering the side of my head. Tears started to pour down my face as the spotlight from the ceiling turned on me.

Both the face of the woman and of the man were there. The same ones that had somehow managed to find their way into every piece in my exhibit.

Except on this one, their details flourished. The long face of the woman now clearly expressed fear as she was sprawled on her back across a tile floor. The man's face, now, so clearly angry and determined above her.

They had distinguishable body parts as well. Her hands were up in a defensive position, blood running through her fingers. It was a helpless attempt at self-defense.

The man lunged off one knee. In his right hand, held high, just above his head, was a knife with blood lining the blade. It was coming right down on her.

In red, dripping letters across the top, the piece read the name that I had remembered giving it. The only part of the painting that was remotely mine.

Good Morning, Beautiful

The announcer pressed the microphone against his chin. He looked almost frightened of me as I walked up the steps towards him.

"Uh... Ladies and Gentleman, here is the lovely woman behind the painting. Let's give her another round of applause."

The claps were slow and sporadic at first. But soon, the few hundred people that had just gazed towards me were all clapping together. It started to get louder.

"I've never seen anything quite like it," the announcer finally continued. His initial composure had returned. "Quite graphic, I must say. But also, so visceral, so human."

I only looked at the painting once when I got up onto the stage. Just like all the others, it looked like a finer version of my own work. Another appalling masterpiece I had no recollection of creating.

The applause grew thunderous. A staff member came up with a bouquet of roses and laid it in my arms. The spotlight still on me burned my skin as I stood there facing the audience.

Em ran up the stairs and embraced me.

"You're so happy that you're crying. You're ruining my makeup job," she said as she giggled in my ear.

She was only half correct. I was crying. But not out of happiness. Only terror.

I forced a bow. The applause kept getting louder.

I was numb for the remainder of the evening.

Somehow, I succeeded in feigning a smile for a few more hours. I managed to carry out the conversations. The performance kept going.

I couldn’t even feel a thing when I heard someone put an offer in for $100,000 on the twisted version of Good Morning, Beautiful.

It wasn't until I was alone again, standing outside my studio door, that I returned. Sadly, it was unwelcoming and familiar. It was the uncertainty once more. Just what the hell was I going to see when I opened that door?

The studio was filled with the rejects. All the pieces simply not good enough to make the cut for the exhibition. And now, it was time for me to face them.

I pushed the door open and turned on the light switch.

Panic was immediate. The scattered works of art lying on the floor, leaning on the wall or sitting on canvases all featured one common theme. The same two faces. Sometimes hardly there, sometimes dominating the entire work of art. But there was not a single one that didn’t feature the man or woman’s face in some way.

I fell to my knees. My dress constricted my legs as I started to crawl forward. One knee in front of the other, I kept my eyes away from any of the painting within my line of sight. I started to heave. I needed some sort of solution.

Eventually, I found something that could help. An empty canvas. Clear of any of my own work or the ghost hand putting faces everywhere.

It was a chance. An opportunity to create a piece of art in this room that was actually mine. Something devised by within my own mind and nowhere else.

I gathered up whatever brushes and paints were within reach. I didn't think. I just started to paint.

Hours passed. The work was frivolous, uninterrupted. My elbow ached from relentless labour.

I went until I couldn't sit up anymore. I slowly let my body drop forward. I stretched out and lay next to the work that I created. It wasn’t complete, but it would have to do.

It was a picture of me, accepting the roses after winning the award earlier. Except, this scene was different. The painting behind me was the desert landscape that I remembered submitting. And there were no faces or any tears, just a genuine smile upon my face.

It was perfection. Just the way the evening was meant to go.

As my eyes started to close, I ran my hand along the painted version of myself. I felt the texture of the strokes from my own hand.

I didn't know what time it was when I awoke. There aren't any windows in the studio.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I heard steps coming up the stairs. It sounded like Kurt had finally come home.

My back ached from sleeping on the hardwood floor. I winced when I realized just how much paint I had spilled over my dress.

The feeling passed quickly. It paled in comparison to what I saw next. I soon realized that the painting I knelt in front of was not the one I remembered creating the night before.

Once again, a piece I had been so proud of was gone. In its place was something else.

It was the same woman from all the other paintings. Now, she was alone. She was on her hands and knees. Blood poured out from a wound in her stomach. She reached out for a phone sitting on a desk on the far side of the room. Once again, the title was written in bloody letters across the top.

Aftermath.

It was so human. So real.

The door creaked open behind me. I heard Kurt's voice as he stepped into the room.

"Good Morning, Beautiful," he said.

Then he lunged.

[4birds-of-a-feather]

Chapter 26 - Man, it doesn’t show signs of stoppin’ [part 1]

Birds Of a Feather

(title credits: Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!, Dean Martin)

“Aaaand here it is, the last one!” Layla whispered to herself as she put the last package under the Christmas tree. It was Eddie’s present, a nice set of hardcover composition books with a fountain pen and a ballpoint pen – a perfect gift for a writer. She had waited for him to go out for a walk so she could be alone in the house and position all the presents before leaving. He simply waved goodbye and wished her a happy holiday before walking out the door – it all took less than a minute and he was gone. On one hand she had more time to prepare her Christmas surprise for everyone, on the other hand she was disappointed because she was expecting a warmer goodbye. She wasn’t totally surprised though, she was used to Eddie’s mood swings and changes of behaviour: one day he was sweet and caring, actively searching for and apparently enjoying her company, the next one he seemed cold and distant and distracted, like today. He had been like this for a couple of days, after the show at the Moore Theater. <Maybe I did something wrong... Is it because I got jealous when those two girls appeared? What if I said something silly when he put me to bed?> she thought as she was walking towards the door, dragging her trolley suitcase behind her. She felt stupid for always considering herself at the center of people’s attention: after all it was Christmas time and he wasn’t going back home to San Diego, she assumed he probably had family issues or something like that. <What if there’s an ex girlfriend involved?> she kept wondering as she put her coat on. “What did you get me for Christmas?” Layla was suddenly startled by the voice of her friend and roommate – she turned around and saw her staring at her with a red packet in her hands and a smirk plastered on her face. “GOD, SARA! You scared me to death!” “It doesn’t look like a book... No, it ain’t a book – is it a movie? No, it’s too big to be a movie. Is it a collection of movies?” Sara asked feeling up the package then lightly shaking it. “You’ll find out in a few hours, darling!” “C’mon, give me a hint!” “Nah-ah” “Pleeeease” “Ok. It’s not a car” Layla replied with a grin. “... Fuck you, El” “By the way, what are you doing here? I thought you had left already” Layla took a look at her watch while Sara shifted unconfortably on her feet for a couple of seconds before answering. “So you were thinking about leaving without even saying goodbye, huh? I thought you loved me” she said, dragging herself dramatically towards her friend. “I was gonna call from the airport” “You were gonna leave me with a phone call?? Nothing can affect your heart of stone” “I’ll be back in a few days, and you’ll be with your family, it’s not like I’m leaving you here with Jeff or anything” the girl went on and Sara tried to ignore her once again. She cared for Layla, she was her best friend, and lying to her was getting harder and harder. “I think you wanted to leave without talking to me because you didn’t want to hear me talking shit about David and your stupid idea to get back together once again” <Mentioning her WC Boyfriend will surely make her drop the subject> Sara thought as she saw her friend rolling her eyes. “As I already told you, we’re not getting back together, we’re just meeting to clear things up and give a proper closure to our relationship” “I really wish it was true, El” Sara sighed. “It is!” “I know this is what you want now, but I also know that things are gonna be more difficult for you once you see that guy face to face and he starts talking and using his charm on you” “So you think I’m weak...” the girl retorted looking away. “You’re not, you’re strong. If only you knew how strong you are, you’d know you don’t need that asshole in your life.” Sara added and noticed that Layla was getting upset; as much as she hated that jerk, she didn’t want her friend to leave like that “Anyway, it’s actually your life and you have the right to do whatever you want. And I trust you, you’re the sensible one here, I know you’re gonna do the right thing in the end” Layla smiled and tackled Sara in a bear hug. “Thank you, Scroogie! Also for the present I found in my drawer, I’m gonna open it tonight” “Do you wanna know what it is?” Sara asked, still held tight by her friend. “No, I like surprises” Layla let go of her and wrapped her scarf around the neck. “C’mon, a little hint!” “Goodbye, my dear! Oh, you should keep these, I won’t need them in Boston” she grinned and handed her the apartment keys, then pulled her trolley-suitcase and went for the door. “Here’s the hint: it’s not a naked surfer with a red bow wrapped around his-” “MERRY CHRISTMAS, SARA! I’LL CALL YOU TONIGHT!” Layla basically screamed as she left and her roommate was doubled over laughing behind her.

************************************************************************************************ Eddie didn’t really know where he was going, he just wanted to run as far away as he could from his apartment and from the girl who was about to leave to spend Christmas with another guy who wasn’t him. He was almost surprised when he turned left and saw the turbulent motion of the lake water, he stopped and looked around. “I walked up to… Pier 62?” Eddie said to himself as he read the sign and spotted the Aquarium in the distance.   He shrugged and started to walk again, only at a slower pace, until he stopped at a bench, where he decided to sit. He lit up a cigarette as he took in the view of the dark cloudy sky reflecting on the waters of Elliott Bay and tried not to think about how stupid Layla was. <She’s not stupid though, she’s smart… and beautiful… fuck> he shook his head as he tried to ignore those thoughts, then felt the pocket of his jacket, smiling to himself when he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a notebook and a pen and started sketching what he saw – the creases on the water surface slowly growing into waves because of the increasing wind, the darker clouds in the distance, a couple of ferry boats returning to the port, a few people gathered around a fish and chips place on the left. <Why do I have to be like that? I’m lucky, I’m living my dream, making music, I met new nice people, have good friends that are pretty much family to me now, live in an interesting town that’s supposed to be like the center of the world for some. I should be happy. Fuck, I am happy. So this girl doesn’t like me the way I like her? So what? It’s not her fault and it’s not like she owes me anything. She’s lovely and cares for me enough to be considered a true friend and that’s more than I could hope for. I only wish she’d be with someone who loves her and respects her and… Oh shut up, Eddie! You just wish she was with you!> Eddie’s inner monologue went on for a while and he didn’t even notice the raindrops that started falling from the sky. He was brought back to reality when he felt something cold stinging his nose and noticed that the rain had turned into sleet. He shut his notebook and stuck it back in his pocket with the pen, then stood up and pulled the hood over his head as he started to run. The fleet turned into proper snow, which reminded him of a similar scenario many miles and many years away: Chicago, Christmas of 1984, when he first brought his new girlfriend home to meet his mom. Their plane landed incredibly late, their cab from the airport got stuck in traffic during a snow storm and when it was clear it was impossible to move they paid the driver, grabbed their bags and just got out of the car and ran for an hour in the snow to get home in time for dinner, freezing and soaking wet, but together, happy and in love. He was alone now, no hands to warm up with his breath, no turkey in the oven, no little brothers preparing tricks and pranks for him back at home. These thoughts made it look like the way home was taking much longer even though he was running. He breathed a relieved sigh as he walked past the Scarecrow Video Shop because it meant he was almost home, even though it also reminded him once again of the girl who worked there. <As if I wasn’t already thinking enough about her> Eddie ignored the elevator and went for the stairs, silently praying for Layla to be gone already. When he rang the doorbell and nobody answered though, he almost regretted his wish.

************************************************************************************************ “Is it just my impression or Mary Jane sucked a lil’ bit?” “You’re not wrong, Viv – I’m no expert but even I heard that strange squeak she did at the end” “Jesus H. Tap Dancing Christ! Girls, could you please save your gossip for later?? I have tons of glitter on my face and my hair looks like a fuckin’ nest, ugh” Sara rolled her eyes, silently asking herself what she had done to deserve to be stuck in a dressing room with those two dorks – they were technically supposed to help her, but instead chattered about whoever had been involved in the recital. “C’mon, Sara, live a little! You should be glad: that ‘sleep in Heavenly peace’ was horrible – and you hate Mary Jane’s guts!” “Right now I don’t have time to laugh about her poor figure: all I wanna do is reassuming my natural appearance and getting rid of all this fuckin’ glitter that’s comin’ out of my nostrils” “HA! So you admit it: she sucked big time!” “C’mon, Maux, just leave her alone” Vivian smiled at Sara, keeping on removing make-up from her face “And you… don’t you dare insult my glitter again! You looked like a proper little angel” Sara rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time, grinding her teeth every time her friends pulled a bobby pin out of her hair or rubbed cleansing lotion all over her face.   “… I’m still wonderin’ why they didn’t assign Silent Night to you, though” “No big deal, Maux” “Well, I got the feeling that next year it’ll be you singing it!” “I don’t think that next year I’ll be on stage…” “You said the same thing last year, primadonna” “… fuck off, Maux” Sara grumbled, cheeks flushing for the deep embarrassment. “Anyway! You did some justice to O Come, All Ye Faithful” “… and Father Steve was extremely pleased with your decision of singing some verses in Latin – ‘a wonderful surprise, and what an exquisite pronounce’, that’s what he said”   “Oh, great: now the Theology professor attends our recitals too – that’s exactly what I needed, a wonderful surprise” she wrinkled her nose. “Stop bein’ modest; I think that, deep inside, you really appreciate his attention” “… You’re a pain in the ass” “Love you too, honey pie!” Maux blew a kiss in her direction, then proceeded to wave the last bobby pin under her nose. “But it isn’t the time to celebrate yet; you still have to free yourself from Maux’s creation” Through her dollish ringlets Sara gazed at her own dejected reflection, still trapped inside a cloud of red tulle, and let out a deep sigh: her freedom was still far away. When the three girls finally came out, the campus was covered with snow and still heaving with students. “Well, girls – better cut and run if I want to arrive at Sea-Tac on time” Vivian looked at the watch on her wrist, then covered it again with a sleeve. “How much ‘til Cheyenne?” “5 hours and 10, I think… I just hope I’ll be home in time to exchange the presents with my family” “Is it a large one?” “Yup, four brothers but also grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins… we’re a tribe” the girl smiled fondly, then grinned at them “Group hug!” “Have a safe trip and don’t trade us for Wyoming dudes – right, Sara?” “Oh, yeah… yeah, don’t you dare pull that trick on us” “Never! Chicks before dicks” “… did you seriously just said it?” “Viv, don’t mind her! You’re hilarious” Maux reassured her, in between laughs. “Don’t worry: I learnt that it’s how she tells people she actually cares about ‘em…” Vivian threw her arm around Sara’s shoulder “Plus, don’t forget that, when Christmas festivities will be finally over, there’ll be a new recital around the corner…” “… and a new recital means another round of you falling into Viv’s clutches – and mine too!” the other girl almost squealed in delight, making the victim blatantly roll her eyes. “… at least I won’t be seeing the two of you for a couple of weeks – maybe I’ll be able to pull off an Alcatraz” “Shut up, Grinch!” her friends silenced her with a couple of snowballs that perfectly landed on her bonnet. “Say, what’s gotten into you?” “What? What should have gotten into me?” “You were distracted all the time… you still are” “Nope, just tired” “Yeah, Pinocchio, right – just tired” “D’ya think that Vivian’s Republican, holier-than-thou family has rejoiced when they found out to have a daughter named as Pretty Woman’s main character?” “What? Don’t change topic!” “… it’d be interesting to fly to Wyoming, just to stand outside their home with a boombox blasting away Roy Orbison” “… you’re impossible” “Pretty woman, walking down the streeeeeet… pretty woman, the kind I like to meeeeeet…” “I get the message, I get it!” Maux shoved her, then pulled a small package out of her bag “I’m gonna set you free, but not before getting the chance to give you this” “Maux, you shouldn’t have – I didn’t get you anyth-” “Shut up! Do you really think that I don’t know who got me that big book about Elsa Schiaparelli that I found in my bag last week?” Maux forced the package in Sara’s hands “I know it was your Christmas’ early present, I’m not that stupid” “Well, to dot the i’s and cross the t’s-” “Shut up and just open that fuckin’ package!” Sara let out a belly laugh and did just as her friend had commanded, a pair of dangle earrings appearing in her hands: the quartzes reflected blue, green and silver twinkles on her fingers, making her smile. “They’re beautiful – I love this kind of design, thank you” “Come here, you doofus” Maux hugged her, then playfully pushed her away “Now go, spend Christmas Eve with your family and don’t try to fly to Wyoming!” “HA! We’ll see, I can’t guarantee you anything” she followed her friend’s advice and finally went outside the campus. The snow had just resumed to fall.

[fangirlandtheories]

Can you write a fic where something makes Eve start being cold and mean to Ezekiel?

I am so sorry. A. For being the worst ever and taking months to complete this, but B. For this fic in general. Note: I cried while writing it. 

She didn’t mean it. It had just slipped out in a moment of irritation. She felt horrible. His face! He trusted her and she betrayed him. Eve released a shaky breath as she raised a hand to the door in front of her. She gave a quick, hard knock, rattling the light door beneath her fist.

“Go away.” The voice inside groaned.

“You don’t even know who it is!” Eve answered, furrowing her brow. The door swung open, revealing an annoyed Ezekiel.

“Oh, Baird, what a surprise.” He gave a wide, fake smile. “Go away.” With that he slammed the door shut. Eve gasped lightly, before huffing and began knocking again. That’s when she heard multiple locks slide into place. Naturally he would have a million and a half locks to keep his competition from breaking in.

“Look, Ezekiel, you know I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out and I’m sorry! Just let me in so we can talk.” She practically begged.

“Eve, please. Just go.” Ezekiel said quietly through the crack of the door. Eve felt numb as she heard his steps lead away from the door. She had no choice but to go.

Stupid.

She had no idea where it came from but it did. It had happened during their last mission. It wasn’t even that difficult of a task, but none of them had gotten much sleep so they were all vaguely annoyed to begin with. Ezekiel with his never-ending energy seemed to be perfectly alright, even a bit too hyper. Turns out he had a double shot of espresso before joining them. Ezekiel on his own was hyper enough, but with added caffeine he was going off like a rocket. That’s not good when you’re around three other people who are very tired. They were trying to sneak through the Victoria & Albert Museum in London so that they could find Da Vinci’s notebooks. This was case more built for Jake and Cassandra’s caliber. That’s the only sensible reasoning she could come up with.  Essentially, Ezekiel was there to get them through the door and to grab the notebooks out of the display.

It had happened at the notebooks. He had the case opened and they were looking at Da Vinci’s drawing of attachable wings. Jake was completely engulfed in the artistry of the sketch, while Cassandra concentrated on the science behind making the wings work. Ezekiel… well he was bored.

“I don’t get it. Why would he write backwards?” He asked, leaning over Jake’s shoulder.

“Because, Jones,” Jake huffed in irritation. “He didn’t want people to steal his ideas. If they couldn’t read it, they couldn’t understand it.”

“Maybe he should’ve locked it up tighter.” Ezekiel shrugged.

“Locked it up tig- Baird! Why is he still here?” Jake turned to Eve in frustration.

“We wouldn’t have the notebooks without him.” Eve reminded, trying to amend the situation. “Even if he doesn’t understand the importance of them.”

“Woah woah woah…” Ezekiel turned around to her quickly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well I just mean… This isn’t really your thing. You’re more modern so in comparison to Jake, Flynn, or Cassandra you’re kinda stupid with the historical stuff.” There it went. Flying out of her mouth faster than her brain could process the thought. The room suddenly turned tense and silent. Ezekiel’s eyes fell to the floor as Cassandra and Jake watched cautiously.

“Oh…” Ezekiel mumbled. “I see.”

“Ezekiel I didn’t mean it like-” Eve began but was cut off.

“It’s fine. No harm done.” He faked a smile. “If you all will excuse me, I just remembered I made plans for tonight so I gotta jet. Enjoy the notebooks.” With his hands in his pockets and his head down, he began to walk towards the door.

“Ezekiel, wait.” Cassandra sighed, beginning to walk after him, but he was already gone. He had gone back through the backdoor and was probably headed home by that point.

“Baird… That wasn’t…” Jake started, unable to even finish his thought.

“I know. I’ll talk to him later. Right now let’s just finish this case.” She sighed, still staring at the door that he had quickly walked out of. She needed to set this right.

That’s why she was standing outside of his apartment. Her heart felt heavy as she thought about the fact that if he had so many locks to only open his front door, how many would he have to have to open his heart? She saw the sliver of light extinguish from the door crack and she knew she wasn’t going to get to speak with him that night. Still, she was going to press her luck.

“Ezekiel? If you can still hear me, I’m going to come back tomorrow, except I’ll ask Jenkins to make your front door the destination for the back door so you can’t lock me out. I’ll be here at 8 am sharp. If you come see me before that, however, we won’t need to go through the trouble of invading your privacy.” She sighed softly. “I really am sorry.” Then she left.

Ezekiel stood on the other side of the door, listening intently. “They always are.” He mumbled as he drove the heels of his hands into his eyes. It sounded like he was going to need to wake up early tomorrow. It was 7:45. His plan was to leave just before she got there, just to make it more frustrating for her to return to the Annex and find him there. He drove across town to a building under the bridge, and waited.

“Ezekiel?!” Eve yelled, back at his apartment. “That little son of a-” She stopped her sudden realization as she looked around. He had a pretty nice house. It was very cozy. A little unexpected actually. She walked into his kitchen and smiled. On the refrigerator was pictures of him as a child, hugging who she presumed was his mother. There was another picture of him with other kids, some older, some younger. She knew some of them had to be siblings based on the drawings, or scribbles really, that also hung on the doors. They were addressed very lovingly to “Uncle Zeke” with little hearts and rainbows drawn around them.

Her heart lurched a bit when she turned to the table to find a college level history book open on the table, turned to a page about the Renaissance. She knew that he had only looked at it that night, because the first article on the page it was open to was about Da Vinci. She sighed, pulling out her phone and dialing his number.

“Where are you?” She asked when she heard him pick up the other line.

“I’m at the Annex.” She could hear a smug smile forming on his face. “Where are you?”

“I’m at your house.” She deadpanned.

“Now what would you be doing there?” He asked with fake sweetness. She could hear the anger he still felt bubbling deep down.

“Looking through your pictures, Uncle Zeke.” Suddenly his end got silent.

“Yeah well… A mission just popped up for me. So sorry to cut this conversation short but I really must go and save the world. Ta ta.” He ended the call quickly.

“Ezekiel, no! I need to come with you.” She yelled back, but he was already gone. Anytime a Librarian performed a mission without a guardian, the likelihood of death increased exponentially.  Baird ran back towards the door, hoping to get there before he used the backdoor. She ripped open the door, only to find the hallway staring back at her. She was too late.

When she finally got back to the Annex she was greeted by a grave sight. She had gotten back as quickly as possible, but it still took her about 30 minutes to make it back. That was, apparently, enough time for Ezekiel to get himself into huge trouble. She was greeted by a teary Cassandra and a stressed looking Jake, Jenkins nowhere in sight.

“What’s going on?” She asked. “What happened.” Then she noticed the blood on the floor, on the table, everywhere.

“Ezekiel… he-” Cassandra began before choking on her own tears.

“He doesn’t look so good Baird. Jenkins was worried. This doesn’t sound like it’s going to end well for him.” Jake told her solemnly.

“No. You’re Librarians. You don’t think like that. You have hope where there is none. What exactly happened?” She asked shakily.

“He was shot by a poisonous arrow. He was bleeding really heavily and he was kinda green. He’s back there with Jenkins.” Cassandra whispered, fearing that if she spoke too loudly, something awful might happen to her favorite thief. Eve heard the word shot and poison and began racing towards Jenkins’ lab.

“Jenkins! Is he going to be okay? What can I do?” She asked as she ripped open the door. Ezekiel lay on the cot, whiter than she had ever seen him. His eyes were sunken and she could hear his shallow, labored breaths. His side was red and sticky with blood. Fear ran through Eve’s thoughts. He was shot in his abdomen, which is a. The most painful place to be shot but also B. The area that is most likely to become infected.

“Colonel, it’s… it’s not looking good. I’ve done everything I can to turn the effects of the poison but nothing is working. I fear the worst.” He gave her the most honest answer, yet she refused to accept it.

“No… there has to be something… anything. Don’t we have any magical healing juice?” She asked frantically.

“I’ve tried everything we have. It’s too powerful.” He answered quietly. He had always hated being the bearer of the news but it was worse because this was Ezekiel. Everyone’s immature little brother so to speak. He was quick, uncatchable, nothing like this should’ve ever happened to him.

“What about the ‘break the glass only in emergency’ potion. You said it heals everything.” She turned, with tears in her eyes.

“Colonel…” Jenkins whispered. “I couldn’t subject him to that. You know the side effects of that potion. He’d be alive, yes, but he’d be paralyzed for the rest of his life. That’s not Ezekiel.”

“Dying isn’t Ezekiel either! I am the Guardian and it is my duty to keep him alive.” She argued.

“He wouldn’t be alive!” Jenkins snapped. “Don’t you understand? He’d be breathing and living but he’d never be the Ezekiel we all know and love. He’d be miserable and depressed and I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, let alone someone who we all care so much about.” Jenkins’ yelling was cut off by a beep. A long, hard beep, coming from the heart monitor. Ezekiel was gone. They whipped their heads around to him to find his pale skin to have sunken to an off grayish color, his chest no longer rising and falling.

“Nonononono.” Eve said quickly through tears. “We have to do something! CPR! Defibrillate him! Anything!”

“Colonel.” Jenkins waited, but he could tell she didn’t hear him. “Eve.” Her head snapped up at him. “We’d be prolonging the inevitable. He’s gone. I’m so sorry I failed. I wish I could’ve done more.” He spoke calmly and gently, face full of emotion, but no tears. He couldn’t cry over death anymore, it had become the only constant in the immortal’s life.

“Will you… tell the others? I don’t think I can and I need a moment to myself.” She sighed, wiping away some of her tears. Jenkins nodded before exiting the room, leaving her alone with Ezekiel. Their annoying, cocky, sweet, selfless thief was dead. Their was nothing she could do. As she thought back on their time, she remembered the immense pride she felt for him. He always managed to make her smile and amaze her with his vast knowledge. He’s the nicest criminal she knows. Knew.  Her latest memory wasn’t so great. She called him stupid. He was so hurt and now he was gone. She’ll never get him to forgive her. No matter how many times she apologizes, it’ll never be enough because it was all her fault. He looked at her like a mother and she directly insulted him and put no faith into him.  A new thought spiked through her like a dagger made of ice.

Oh God, His family.

Uncle Zeke.

His mother… his actual mother.

She had to tell them. Face to face. It was the only way. She stood slowly, moving towards the door, before pausing and looking back at Ezekiel. It felt so wrong to leave him so vulnerable, so exposed, so she covered him with his blanket. As she fired up the door for a small town in Australia, she heard the sobs of Jake and Cassandra and knew that Jenkins had to have given the news. It was her job to tell his family.

She walked though the door to a small trailer park on the bad side of a small town. Windchimes clanged against themselves, breaking the eerie silence. A place like this wasn’t for Ezekiel. The people in places like these tended to stay safe in their one spot forever. Ezekiel couldn’t be placed in a box like that. She glanced down at the file she had brought with her that told her all she needed to know about his previous life and found his house number. She searched around until she found a broken down mobile home with the paint chipping off. She knocked and a heavily pregnant woman answered the door.

“Hi, I’m Colonel Baird, I’m looking for the family of Ezekiel Jones…” She asked.

“Oh… a colonel. Mama!” She had a thick Australian accent as she yelled into the home. “There’s a soldier from the States looking to talk to us about Zeke.” Eve heard a fork drop onto a plate before seeing the same woman from Ezekiel’s photo appear.

“Now you listen here, Missy, I don’t care who you are or where you’re from, but you are not getting my son involved in any more of those missions.” She spoke before Eve could even open her mouth. “He’s just a child! Have some humanity! Wait… Aren’t MI6 operatives meant to be British?”

“You must be his mother. Please, allow me to explain. I’m Colonel Eve Baird and I work alongside Ezekiel at his current job and-” She began.

“You’re Eve?” His mother beamed. “Well why didn’t you say so? He talks about you all the time.” She pulled Eve into a tight embrace. “Thank you for taking care of my son.” It was like a punch to the stomach. How could she tell her after that?

“Can we sit down and chat? I have some news for you.” So Eve sat down and explained. She’d never seen anyone so brokenhearted in her entire life.

“You know,” His mother sniffled. “He never knew that I knew he was a thief. He always made up some story about where all the money he was giving us had come from, so I played along, for his sake. He was such a good kid.”

“I know, I only wish I had gotten to know him more.” Baird told her sincerely.

“Was he happy around you?” She asked.

“He seemed to be, yes.” Colonel answered.

“Cherish that smile. The mischievous glint in his eye. You gave him everything he wanted out of this world: The opportunity to use his gift to make a difference, to save the world every week, twice before friday.” Eve turned to the woman in shock and smiled when she winked at her. “He was never good at keeping secrets from me.”

Eve spent the rest of the night with Ezekiel’s family, crying and laughing and reminiscing. As night fell, she felt that it was time to return home to see how the others were coping. She exchanged numbers with his mother and promised to keep in touch about all the arrangements.

She walked into an empty Annex, her own footsteps the only sound. She walked across the room, about to head upstairs, when she heard a voice.

“So… you talked to my mother.” It was cocky and arrogant and smug and Eve burst into tears immediately as she ran down the staircase, to the mirror in the middle of the room. His face was splayed across the surface, eating pizza. Of course.

“You… you…” She stuttered.

“Yeah.” He smirked. “If Judson can do it, why can’t I?”

“Ezekiel… I’m so sorry. I never ever meant a word of what I said.” She cried into his reflection.

“I should be pissed, but the first thing you did after I died was go see my family, so I guess you’re evened out.” He smiled a real smile. They spent the rest of the evening talking. About love, life, everything. It was almost as though he was alive again. As the years went by, he was always there. He laughed alongside Eve and Flynn’s kids, helped Cassandra pick out the perfect outfit for a date with her girlfriends, Lucy and Estrella, and of course, pranked Jake. His life left a permanent mark on the Library and on everyone’s lives. He was the only Librarian besides Judson to become one with the Library. Despite not being able to leave the Annex, he still helped save the world every week, and twice before Friday.

[goldenheadfreckledheart]

There's A Nap For That

Based on this post: “If you both agree to take a nap instead of going out, it’s a date.” 

Or: The one where Bellamy and Clarke keep taking naps together. You know, platonically. See also: Let Them Rest

A/N: I started this before New Years and thought it would be done in like, three days. Oh how naive. But hey, here we are!

WC: ~6.5k Read on AO3

Clarke doesn’t plan to be alone on New Year’s Eve, but she also doesn’t plan not to be alone--if that makes sense. She could fly back to Los Angeles and attend her mother’s extravagant corporate party, if she wanted to put herself through that. It’s definitely an option.

But she’s long since decided that it’s better to deal with the vague feelings of missing out on the New Year’s celebration over fielding questions about why she’s not following in her mother’s footsteps or, god forbid, whether she’s gotten over “that whole sexuality thing” yet.

So she calls Abby the night before the party, fulfills her yearly, good-daughter quota of well wishes and pleasantries, and calls it good.

And really, doing nothing on New Year’s Eve is kind of the best thing that’s happened her, stress-wise, in the last six months.

She works in the graphic design department for an uber-trendy website that facilitates commissions for freelance artists, which makes it an incredibly lucrative avenue to get her name out there in the industry. It just also happens that the company is very concerned with staying up-to-date with aesthetic trends, and has her changing logos and web layouts on a weekly basis.

It’s the kind of somewhat crappy, over demanding job that she feels weirdly excited to have, because it means her mom isn’t paying people to make her life easier.

But it has been running her to the bone, so she’s positively delighted to do absolutely nothing for a night.

Or she is until she finds out that Bellamy also doesn’t have plans for New Year’s Eve.

“…but Bell’s gonna be around to take care of Athena, so that’s nice,” Octavia is saying, socked feet propped on Clarke’s lap, stroking the aforementioned cat curled at her side.

After spending Christmas with her brother, Clarke’s ex-roommate and her boyfriend, Lincoln, are heading out to his family for New Year’s. Clarke had been about to offer to watch Octavia’s cat for the duration of the trip, and the news that her brother will be around to do it piques her interest.

“Bellamy’s going to be here for New Year’s?”

Octavia rolls her eyes knowingly. “Yeah, he is. But don’t worry, I’m not gonna force you two to hang out. Learned my lesson on that one.”

“No, I was just going to say… It wouldn’t be terrible to get dinner or something, since we’re both here. Not,” she hurries to correct, when she sees Octavia’s eyes widen, “like a date. More like a ‘we’re the only part of our friend group that’s around, so we might as well hang out’ thing.”

Octavia pushes out a breath with an expression that doesn’t quite look convinced, but she relents. “Fair enough. I’m just happy you’re finally admitting that you don’t hate each other.”

“I never hated him,” Clarke grumbles, under her breath. Octavia just laughs.

“I hear you’re spending New Year’s Eve alone,” Clarke says, dropping down on the couch next to Bellamy, at their group’s annual belated-Christmas get-together.

He stiffens beside her. “What of it?”

She smiles a little, an attempt at reassurance. It’s fair to say that this differs from their normal pattern of interaction, mostly in that it doesn’t involve shouting. “Nothing. I’ll be here too. I figured we could do something together.”

He looks surprised at the offer, which, okay—it’s not like they’ve ever been the people in their group to seek out one-on-one time. But she really doesn’t think that they ever hated each other. They just had a hard time getting past a bad first meeting. Their conversations consisted mostly of biting comments or stupid arguments, but refusing to call him her friend had been more a pride thing than anything else.

Because, really, there is no downside to being friends with Bellamy Blake. He’s more of a mother hen than anyone else she’s ever met, and also just really fucking smart. She could talk to him for hours—she’s definitely argued with him for that long—and it’s a toss-up between which she enjoys more.

So while he and Octavia might be surprised by her idea that they spend the holiday together… she just has a good feeling about it. They could be really good at this friends thing, she’s sure.

“Unless you like being the sad person who deliberately chooses to be alone on New Year’s,” she prods with a sharp grin. Never mind that it’s what she’d been planning on, three days ago.

He rolls his eyes halfheartedly, reaches over to steal her wine glass and take a swig. “I’m not a sad person.”

She retrieves the glass with a scowl, elbows him in the side for good measure. “Then I guess we both have plans now.”

He grins, and it definitely doesn’t make her heart beat faster. “I guess we do.”

They exchange gifts with the rest of the group later, and Bellamy gives her a stupidly nice set of paints. The ones she’s been wanting. She has to resist bowling him over with a hug.

They’re definitely friends.

He opens her present later: a couple (much less expensive) biographies that he’s been rambling about for months but refuses to buy for himself, and a sketch of him and Octavia, copied from the photograph that sits on his sister’s windowsill that Clarke knows is his favorite.

He just stares for a second, and she can’t hide her smile. Leaving Bellamy Blake without words might be her new favorite thing. But before she can even tease him about it, he’s got an arm around her waist, pulling her to his side with a gruff, “Thanks, Clarke.”

She snakes out an arm to give him a quick squeeze back, and leaves it there when he doesn’t move his from her back. She even leans her head on her shoulder for a second, because why the fuck not? They’re friends, and it’s Christmas. Excess affection is acceptable. Encouraged, even.

She doesn’t step away until Miller catches her eye with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” she tells Bellamy, and makes sure to flip off Miller on the way to the kitchen.

Clarke has to go back to work for the few days before New Year’s, because apparently it’s the time of year that the company makes the most transactions, and god forbid the website doesn’t have digital snowflakes slowly drifting down the screen (“Think of how many customers we’d lose without the snowflakes,” her coworker, Roan, deadpans to her after the 4th hour of the project.)

So she nearly forgets about her plans with Bellamy until he texts her the day before.

 Bellamy:

so how formal are these plans I’m being coerced into?

do I need to dress up

 She smiles down at her phone.

 Clarke:

again, you’re welcome for saving you from your sad life

but no, don’t dress up

come over at 5 and we’ll figure out what we’re doing?

Bellamy:

thanks for your concern

5 works, see you then

have fun at work

Clarke:

do my best

 Unsurprisingly, her boss has her working on last minute edits at home on New Year’s Eve. She’s only just finished up and collapsed on the couch with some tea when Bellamy knocks at the door.

His first words to her, once she drags herself to the door, are, “You look exhausted.”

“Aren’t you charming,” she responds, waving him inside and heading back to the couch.

“Sorry,” he says, dropping down beside her. When she meets his eyes, he looks concerned.

“I can feel you mothering. Stop that.”

He grunts in offense. “I am not mothering.”

“Great,” she says. “Then where do you want to go for dinner?”

“Dunno,” he sighs. “Somewhere casual that won’t be crowded tonight.”

She musters a smile. “Where we don’t have to see like, five couples propose on New Year’s Eve?”

He huffs a laugh. “Exactly.”

“There’s a pretty good variety of restaurants at the strip-mall down the street. You wanna Yelp it?”

“Sure,” he says, pulling out his phone.

Clarke flips mindlessly through her recorded shows while he does that, settles on one of the intense baking competitions that never fail to put her to sleep.

It’s so… companionable. She keeps thinking about how they’ve never done this before, and how remarkably easy it is.

Eventually she switches channels, when one of the judges’ needlessly disparaging remarks get on her nerves.

“Hey, what gives?” Bellamy says, from beside her.

“One of the judges reminded me of my boss,” she says on a yawn. “And, hey, you’re not supposed to be paying attention anyway. Did you decide where we’re eating?”

“What’s wrong with your boss?” he asks. She’s not sure if he’s ignoring her question, or if he legitimately didn’t process it.

“Nothing different from normal boss stuff.”

The look he gives her says she’s not convincing. Which—she’s didn’t even know he could tell when she’s smoothing things over. It’s kind of a lot.

“They had you working today, didn’t they?”

When she only responds with a dismissive shrug, he prompts, “You want to talk about it?”

“Weren’t we going to eat?” she asks, pushing up from the couch to dump out her now-cold tea.

It comes off much more overly-dismissive than she intends. Because… it’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about it, but, it’s New Year’s, they’re supposed to be doing typical New Year’s things, right? Celebrating, not complaining.

“I’m not hungry yet,” he calls, so she can hear him from the kitchen. “Just… complain to me about your job and then we’ll go get food.”

It’s really not the worst offer she’s ever received. She’s just kind of surprised to get it from him.

She comes back from the kitchen. “You really want to know?”

“Pretty sure people who get together on New Year’s Eve actually talk about their lives.”

“You don’t know that. I’m sure lots of people just stare at baking shows and enjoy the respite from their,” she waves a hand, “you know, troubles.”

“So you do have troubles, then.”

She levels him a look. “You’re going to be so bored when I tell you about them. They’re so first-world, Bellamy,” she exaggerates on an eye roll.

His response is surprisingly serious. “Then that’s on me. I asked.”

It’s certainly not something she would have expected from him when they’d first met. When accusations of ignorant privilege and willful pessimism were tossed back and forth in nearly every conversation.

“It’s really not that bad,” she starts, flopping down next to him. And then, when he gestures that she get on with it, she relents. “Fine.”

As much as she failed at making it seem that way, she really doesn’t think of it as a big deal. Her boss over-works her, but the final product is always good, even if it’s just animated snowflakes. And yeah, her vacation time isn’t great, but she’s young, and it’s a job that will get her places, build a foundation for her career. Doing a little extra work now to ensure that won’t hurt.

It does look like it hurts Bellamy a little, though, judging from the way he winces at the mention of her pitifully few vacation days.

They must talk about it for a good forty-five minutes, and she finds herself, miraculously, actually feeling a lot better about it.

He asks about her co-workers, who she actually does genuinely like, and she tells him about the project she’s been put in charge of in the coming year. Her boss has, debatably, given her too much responsibility, but it’s still more of a plus than a minus.

By the time the conversation peters out, Clarke is mostly horizontal on the couch, feet on Bellamy’s lap without any tangible memory of how they got there.

“Jesus, it’s really running you down, isn’t it?”

“Mmhmm,” she manages around a yawn. “I’ll get up in a second though, promise. We need to eat.”

“Nah,” he says, “We’re not going out.”

She startles a little, but not enough to actually sit up.

“What? Yes we are,” she says to the ceiling. “That’s the whole point of tonight. We’re not sad people, Bellamy.”

“Have you ever considered that your persistent need to emphasize your lack of sadness is kind of… counterproductive?”

“Fuck off.”

He just grins at her. Which is rude.

“We’re not going out,” he says, a little more gruff this time. “You need to get some rest. We can eat something here, or I can run out and get us something.”

“You don’t have to—”

“People who aren’t sad don’t refuse help from their friends, Clarke.”

“I thought you said that was a counterproductive goal,” she tosses back drily.

“Jesus, good to know your wit still works when you’re half asleep.”

She smiles smugly into a pillow. “I’m great at multitasking.”

“Clearly. You want Thai?”

She considers arguing again, but she is pretty tired, and Thai does sound pretty good. She’s still not spending New Year’s Eve alone. That’s something.

“Yeah, Thai is good. Thanks Bellamy.”

“You’re welcome.”

She’s half asleep by the time he comes back with food, but she musters enough strength to help him spread it across her coffee table, and then dig in.

She puts on another cooking show when they’re done, but her eyes are drooping before the first five minutes are done.

“Go to sleep, Clarke,” Bellamy says, when she jerks back upright for the third time.

Too tired to argue, she just leans back against the armrest with a halfhearted, “Wake me up when it’s time for the ball drop.”

When she groggily comes to, the TV is still on, tuned to some news station with the volume turned low.

She nearly forgets why she’s on the couch until she turns to see Bellamy’s sleeping form across the couch from her, his legs dangling off the couch where they would have come in contact with hers.

Mother hen, she thinks.

The clock on the DVD player reads 3:21 AM, which means… she can’t think of what it means, for a second.

It’s only after staring absently at the TV, where anchors are talking about the first baby of the New Year, that she realizes they missed it.

It doesn’t bother her much, she finds.

She unfolds herself from the couch carefully, to go sleep in a real bed, and considers waking Bellamy, to send him home to his. But when she looks at him again, there’s some sort of pang in her chest at the sight of how peaceful he looks. It’s late now, anyway, she justifies. Better and safer for him to sleep here.

She gathers the throw from the end of the couch to drape over him, and nearly reaches down to pull his feet up onto the couch. She pauses before she does, though, at the thought that doing so might wake him up.

There’s something about having to talk to him when he wakes that scares her, and she isn’t eager to explore what it is at this time of night, foggy and sleepy as she is, so she leaves him there, and tries to convince herself it’s not as uncomfortable as it looks.

As she crawls into her bed, she idly muses that she didn’t kiss anyone, this New Year’s Eve. But it was still a pretty good night, all things considered.

The second time it happens is less premeditated than the first. Not that—she didn’t plan to fall asleep on him the first time, but at least they’d been planning to hang out.

He calls her a week into the new year, on a Saturday morning, and it shouldn’t be monumental in any way, but she hasn’t seen him in a week and… fuck, she misses him.

“Hello?”

“Hey Clarke,” his voice comes, a little distorted and awkward over the phone. Though the latter probably doesn’t have to do with the call quality. “It’s, uh, Bellamy.”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “I know. Caller ID is a thing.”

“Shut up,” he says, much more familiar than he’d been a second before. She can almost see his brows narrowing in playful annoyance. But then, just as quick, he’s back to awkward formality.

“I was, um – I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

She straightens up in her kitchen chair. “What’s wrong?”

He gives a short laugh on the other end of the line. “And you say that I’m the mother hen.”

Clarke just rolls her eyes, and doesn’t bother responding.

“Alright so,” he starts after a moment, before rushing through the next words. “Feel free to say no, but my apartments is flooded, and I – I’m trying to find a place to stay while they fix it.”

Before he’s finished, she’s barreling over his words, fingers clutching anxiously at her knee. “Flooded? How bad is it? Is your stuff alright? Do you have to pay for it?”

He works so hard, enough that she’d always known it, even when they weren’t friends. Because it wasn’t rare that Octavia would complain about how annoying he was when he was stressed and overworked. He’s halfway to a PhD, so it’s hard to imagine that anything has changed. She hates to think about him dealing with all this too.

There’s humor in his voice when he answers, “It’s not that bad, but it is the bathroom next to my room, and the plumber says it’s probably better for me not to be there.”

“Do you have to pay for it?” she asks again.

“Nah, it’s just old plumbing, so it’s not my fault or anything. The landlady’s covering it.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. Then another thought strikes her. “Wait, where are you going to stay while they fix it?”

The noise he makes on the other end sounds like a laugh.

“That would be why I’m calling you.”

It takes her a second to process, to realize that that was the first thing he’d mentioned, before she got swept up in the anxiety. To realize that he’s probably not just calling to catch her up on unpleasant developments in his life.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and the humor has left his voice when he speaks again.

“It’s just, uh, that Miller and Monty don’t have a ton of space, so I’d feel bad asking them. And Raven’s roommates might actually be insane, though I could ask them. But I thought maybe I could crash on your couch for a night? But it’s totally cool if--”

“What—no, sorry!” she says, interrupting, shaking her head as she gathers the words, “I didn’t realize what you were asking.”

“…is that a yes?” There’s a hint of hesitance in his voice.

“Yes!” she says, louder than necessary. There’s something warm happening in her stomach at the thought and she really needs to get it under control. “Come! My couch is yours. For as long as you need.”

As long as he needs only turns out to only be one night, and they hash out most of the details over the phone.

“Fuck, thank you so much. I know you’re busy with work so, you don’t—you don’t need to entertain me or anything.”

“Bellamy.”

“I’ll come over at night and be out of your hair first thing in the mor—”

“Bellamy.”

He stops, and she hears him take a breath. One he probably needed. “What?”

She smiles into the empty room. “You have grading and stuff to do, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, I have a layout to work on. Bring lunch and we can work together?” she asks, her free hand worrying through a knot in her hair.

She’s not that worried that he’ll say no, but there is some small part of her that’s still in wonder of this friends thing.

She hears him release a breath after a second. “Yeah, that sounds awesome. I’ll come around 1?”

Her grin is involuntary. “Whenever you’re ready.”

To be fair, they do set out to be productive; Clarke at the small table in her living room and Bellamy on one of the stools at the counter attached to the kitchen.

Within half an hour, she moves to the couch, responding to Bellamy’s raised brow with a shrug. “Need to stretch my legs,” she says, making a show of flopping down on the sofa with her laptop, legs outstretched.

It’s another half hour before he joins her with a stack of papers, settling in at the other end with his back against the arm.

“Not enough back support,” he says, by way of explanation. “Plus I’m pretty sure you have the best couch ever.”

“Such an old man,” she says, which earns her a glare. “But yeah, it is pretty comfortable.” She shifts her legs to make space for his and he leaves aside his glare to give her a nod of thanks.

“You do have excellent couch choosing skills.”

“One of my many talents.”

With an amused scoff, he turns back to his work, and so does she.

He falls asleep first this time, which is probably fair, given the amount of shit he’s dealing with at the moment. She doesn’t notice right away though, and it’s not until her own eyes are starting to burn that she looks up from her laptop and notices his stack of papers on the floor, one arm hanging off the couch toward them and his head leaned lightly sideways against the back of the sofa.

She also doesn’t notice the soft smile on her face until she lifts her hand to cover a yawn. Her eyelids droop even as she drops her hand and it’s almost on autopilot that she pulls the throw from the back of the couch and lays it over her feet, and effectively, his as well, before leaning back against her arm of the couch, halfway adjusting the pillow there before her eyes drift shut.

She wakes up to golden evening light streaming through the window.

It takes her groggy brain a second to realize that she’s awake because Bellamy is moving, and a second more to realize how tangled their legs have become, one of her feet wedged under his knee and the other resting against his opposite shin.

“Sorry,” he says, voice gravely and sleep-heavy, just as she’s about to move her legs, a flush beginning in her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He gestures between them where he’s reaching toward the blanket that’s fallen halfway off the couch. “My feet were cold.”

It’s suddenly a lot, having him this close, with so much contact.

“You’re fussy with blankets, aren’t you?” she asks, a weak try at humor.

“Hey, it’s fucking cold in here,” he says, stifling a yawn.

She tries not to dwell on, like, his entire face. “I’m sorry, would you rather be sleeping in your actually flooded apartment?”

He looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully, in faux-consideration.

“You’d be underwater, Bellamy,” she says on a laugh.

He cracks a grin. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad enough that you’re here,” she shoots back.

Bellamy just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause hanging out with you is such a hardship.” He looks away from her and shifts to cover a cough, which is just as well, because she needs a moment to digest the comment. Then he’s turning back to say, “But, okay, fine. You’re my hero.”

“That’s more like it,” she says, her grin smug. She leans over to grab the remote. “Cupcake Wars?”

“Hell yeah,” he says, then grimaces. “Hold on, my foot’s gonna fall asleep.” He reaches down to lift her foot off his leg for a moment. Before she has the chance to debate removing her legs from his entirely, he’s stretching his leg out and returning hers beside it.

“Good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, knocking her foot against his knee, warmth growing in her chest. “Good.”

It’s stupid to pretend he’s not her favorite, after that.

Not that she didn’t like him before—even when she told herself she didn’t—but now she’s got the whole… thing. The Bellamy Blake friendship experience: casual affection, constant mothering, stimulating conversations when she wants them, and stupid debates when she’s looking for something lighter.

They hang out more often now and any given night of the week finds the two of them at one of their apartments, working or just hanging out. The amount of times Bellamy comes over to nap on her couch on the weekends is slightly alarming. In the best way.

“Your couch is magical, okay?”

“So I’ve been told.”

She loves it. Loves having him around. Likes the aura of comfort he brings with him.

The Friday night after he meets one of the many deadlines on the road to finishing his thesis, he’s slouched against her on the couch while they wait for it to be time to meet their friends. Clarke cards one hand absentmindedly through his hair while they watch Chopped.

“Aren’t we going for something relaxing?” she’d asked when he turned it on. “You’ve been stressed enough for the last, what? Two weeks?”

He frowns, makes a sound of dissent as he shifts against her shoulder. “I haven’t been that stressed.”

Her laugh is tinged with disbelief. “Are you kidding? Should I pull up the string of text messages you’ve sent me? Clarke, I hate history,” she imitates, “Why did I do this to myself, Clarke? Ceasar can suck my dick, Clarke.”

“You only remember that one because you responded with like, sixteen eggplant emoji’s. Which,” he stops to lift his head and give her a look, “Weird.”

“Besides,” he continues, gesturing to the TV before she has the chance to tell him his history boner isn’t something to be ashamed of, “This is watching-other-people-fuck-up stress. It’s different from the possibility of ruining my entire career.”

She scoffs. Bellamy Blake is undoubtedly number one on the list of people least likely to ruin his career. He’s too passionate and fucking engaging to be turned down, if her opinion is to be trusted. And she likes to think it is.

“Fine. We’ll watch hopeful people fuck up and ruin their dreams if that’s the schadenfreude you need right now.”

He relaxes back against her shoulder with a huff. “Thank you.”

“Drama queen,” she murmurs, dragging a comforting hand through his hair.

An hour or so into the marathon, her phone buzzes and she leans over to pick it up. Bellamy groans, though whether it’s at the loss of contact or because he knows it’s bound to be Raven telling them it’s time to head out, she couldn’t say.

It is, of course, Raven, telling them to meet her, Monty, Miller, and Octavia at their favorite noodle place.

She relays this information to Bellamy, who groans again. “The one downtown?”

“Do we have another favorite noodle place?” she asks, tugging at a tuft of his hair that’s sticking straight up. “Why are you being such a grump?”

He frowns at her. It’s very puppy-like, and very unfair. “Weren’t you just saying I’ve been stressed out?”

“Weren’t you just denying it?”

He huffs a little, and she catches a hint of a smile. At least he knows he’s being a drama queen.

“I was kind of looking forward to just chilling out tonight.”

Chilling out with her. It shouldn’t affect her the way it does. They’re best friends, of course he like hanging out with her.

“Because you’ve been stressed?” she teases.

“If I say yes, are you going to tell Raven we can’t make it?”

A second later, as if realizing something, he sobers. “You can go,” he says. “Obviously. I don’t want to make you miss out, I’m just… not up for it tonight.”

She can’t help a soft smile. “Yeah, okay. I’m pretty tired too. You just want to hang out here? Watch something mind-numbing?”

The relief on his face is unmistakable and it pulls at her heart. He grins. “Are you gonna be mad if I just fall asleep?”

She swallows. “Not as long as you don’t mind me falling asleep on you, too.”

“Go for it,” he says, shifting so now she’s the one leaning against him.

“Cool,” she shoots back, more casual than she feels. She shoots Raven a quick text, and then settles in against him.

It’s Raven who ruins it—or saves it, depending on your perspective—when they go out for their weekly coffee catch-up. She and Raven have been friends even before she’d met Octavia, starting their freshman year of undergrad when Raven had transferred schools to surprise her high school sweetheart, who had moved on to dating Clarke and apparently neglected to tell Raven about it.

They both kicked him to the curb, and Raven proceeded to be the best engineer their school had ever seen. She’s the most badass person Clarke knows, and that’s saying a lot, considering she’s friends with both Blakes.

“So, what’s going on with you and Bellamy?”

“What do you mean?” Clarke asks, thoughts already flitting ahead to the plans she and Bellamy have for the week, wondering what Raven is planning that she needs to run by them.

“Are you two dating yet?”

It’s not an exaggeration to say she almost chokes on her coffee.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Is it really that surprising?” She raises an eyebrow. “You guys are always together when we go out. Though even together might be an understatement.”

Clarke flashes back to a week ago or so, at the bar, where may have been an instance of… nuzzling involved. She feels her cheeks start to go red—but then, if she recalls correctly, it was definitely consensual on both sides. Consensual half-tipsy friendship nuzzling. Totally normal.

She shrugs it off. “He’s my best friend.”

“Yeah, and we’re all glad that you don’t just yell at each other anymore, but,” Raven hesitates, “okay, just… walk me through what you guys do when you hang out.”

“I don’t know, we mostly just stay in,” Clarke starts, wondering if she’s just humoring Raven, or herself as well. “We both work long hours, and making plans to go out is exhausting. We usually end up on the couch with takeout, or he might cook. Sometimes we nap.”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, “sometimes you nap?”

“That’s not weird!”

“Depends on how often sometimes is.”

“Like,” she stops to think, “three times a week, tops.”

Raven looks supremely unimpressed. “I honestly don’t know what to say about this except that you guys are like, whatever the nap version of friends with benefits is.”

Clarke glares halfheartedly. “So like, just friends, you mean?”

Raven levels her an unamused look. “You and I do not nap together, Griffin. And I’d say we’re friends.”

“If you’re jealous, that’s all you had to say.”

“Honestly, this is really good, though,” Raven says, after flipping her off. “How to get with Clarke: A nap-based seduction.”

“Shut up.”

“You like him right?” Raven’s eyes are serious now, when Clarke looks up.

She makes a mental assessment. It feels too fairytale to say that she gets the best sleep when she’s with Bellamy, but that doesn’t make it not true. And that’s not even close to what she likes most about him. He’s smart, passionate, kind. Plus, if she’s being honest, holding hands? Making out? Not low on the lists of things she’d like to do with him.

She lets her head thunk against their table. “Fuck. Yeah. I do. Fuck.”

Raven pats her shoulder comfortingly. “Sorry babe.”

She does appreciate the support. And it’s fair to say she that she might not have realized on her own.

“For what it’s worth, I think he probably likes you too,” Raven says.

“I guess I have to find out.”

“That would be the mature thing to do, yeah.”

“I hate when you make me do the right thing.”

“Yeah, me too. You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Hey,” Clarke says, heart in her throat, the next time they’re at his place on a weekend. “I was thinking we should actually go out for once.”

He doesn’t bat an eye. “Yeah, sure. Where were you thinking?”

“There’s a new sushi place downtown? It’s a little high-end, but I figure after eating so much take-out, we probably deserve it.”

“Nice. I’m always down for sushi. Tomorrow night?”

She grins at him, wide, and watches him blink in response. “Tomorrow night.”

 Bellamy:

not to “throw it back” as the kids say but

how formal are these plans I’m being coerced into?

Clarke:

okay a) pretty sure it’s just “throw back”

but b) please don’t ever say that again

c) it’s sad to eat take out on your own bellamy, do u want to be sad??

(it’s formal-ish, but you probably don’t need to wear a tie)

Bellamy:

okay but I don’t eat take out on my own

I eat it with you

(cool, see you at 7)

She tries not to over think it while she’s getting ready. To start, it’s not even a date, not to him anyway. Mostly because she was too chicken to broach the topic, but it’s better this way, she rationalizes. Things can’t get weird if it’s just the two of them, Bellamy and Clarke, best friends, trying out a fancy sushi place.

She settles on a maroon wrap dress and her favorite boots, because the place is nice. And if Bellamy happens to think she looks great along the way, then she’s alright with that, and feminism will support her choice.

He shows up at 7, as promised, and she’s suddenly a lot less concerned with how she looks than the fact that he’s… unbelievable, honestly. Not that she doesn’t find him ridiculously hot on a daily basis, but dressed-up isn’t a look she’s ever seen on him… it’s a lot.

She’s about to fake a cough, or do anything really, to hide her reaction, when she notices his slightly slackened jaw and lingering gaze, which is, really, just awesome.

“Problem, Blake?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know you look amazing,” he says, hardly missing a beat, his cheeks tinged pink.

She ducks her head on a smile. “Thanks. You look great too.”

“Couldn’t have you being the only beautiful one,” he says, holding the door open for her to step outside.

She laughs. “Yeah, thanks for sharing that burden.”

“Anytime.”

Dinner is, largely, uneventful. She’s a little awkward at first, overthinking things, but then he starts talking about the weird grad student in his department who sucks up to all the professors, and all her stupid fears are gone; it’s just getting a ridiculously fancy meal with her favorite person.

She does insist on paying, because she’s the one who suggested they come, and she feels a little bad for wanting it to be a date, without even asking him.

“Come on, Clarke, this place isn’t cheap. Let me pay half.”

“I told you, I suggested it. I’m paying.”

His brows narrow. “At least let me pay for drinks.”

“I swear, Bellamy,” she says, exasperated but grinning. “If you don’t let me treat you, I’m not going let you make me dinner anymore.”

It’s almost comical, how she knew that would make him frown. “That’s low, Griffin.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely the worst.”

“You are,” he agrees. Finally,he relents with a grin. “Fine. Thanks, Clarke.”

She smiles back. “You’re welcome.”

She’s yawning as they walk back from the metro, a remnant of having to be at work at 6 that morning.

He nudges her. “Hey. You work too hard.” It's the start to a familiar debate..”

She grins, gives him a soft shove. “How many times are we going to have this argument? You work too hard!”

“Because I have to, not because I’m having my talents exploited.”

Her expression softens. Not that she’s ever far from a soft look when she’s around him anymore. God, Raven was like, embarrassingly right.

“Aw, you think I’m talented?”

He blinks, a little surprised at the change of tone—a detour from their usual bouts of ‘who’s more of a workaholic’—but he’s not out of commission for long.

“You know I think you should be one of the people whose art they’re selling, instead of just doing the background stuff," he says, deadly serious. "Not,” he rubs the back of his neck, “that the background stuff isn’t important, but you deserve to be the one they’re catering to, not the other way around.”

God, she loves him.

She catches his hand, squeezing softly. “I’ll get there. Baby steps.”

He nods. She thinks he might be about to say something else, but honestly, it’s gone on long enough.

She lets go of his hand to take his arm instead, pulling them to a stop about a block away from his apartment.

“Cool, so if we’re done with that argument, I really want to kiss you now.”

His face goes blank. “What?”

Okay, so, he definitely didn’t know this was a date. Which is very understandable. Her confidence falters. “If you want to. It’s um—it’s an option.”

She thinks her heart might stop, the way he stares at her for a moment, jaw working. Finally, he lets out a shaky breath, and she might actually die of relief when she sees a smile play at his lips.

“Are there other options?”

He’s probably on board. She’s like, 80% sure. But just in case:

“Yeah, we could also go back to your place and pretend this didn’t happen.” Her smile is pretty convincing, she thinks, given how awkward that scenario would be after her proposition. “Chill on the couch, watch something dumb.”

“That sounds pretty good,” he says, serious, and she thinks she might actually have misread this, in the worst way—until he catches her hand in his, entwining their fingers. “Can we do both?”

She smiles so wide it hurts. “Yeah.”

With a grin matching hers, he pushes her hair behind her ear and leaves his hand there, behind her ear and the edge of her jaw, his thumb brushing against it. She’s the one to press forward, catching his lips with hers, but he’s quick in responding--after a sharp intake of breath--his free hand settling on her waist to pull her closer, warm and solid and perfect. She grins deliriously at his groan when she opens her mouth to him

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you,” he says when they pull apart, his forehead resting against hers, breathing shallow. She can't help a quiet gasp, and his eyebrows twitch together. “Sorry, is that too much?”

“No,” she breathes, still grinning. “Raven called me out for being in love with you last week. She says it’s weird that we nap so much.”

“Napping with friends isn’t that weird.”

“That’s what I said. But also she wasn’t wrong, I’m definitely in love with you.”

His smile is blinding. “Cool. I love you,” he says, apparently just to say it again, before catching her lips again in another searing kiss.

They decide pretty soon, that they should head back to his apartment, instead of… making out on the sidewalk.

“So, just to clarify,” he says, swinging their intertwined hands between them as they walk, “I wasn’t projecting my feelings when I thought this felt like a date, right?”

She pulls him sideways to press her lips to his again, sweet. “Nope. I was just too chickenshit to actually ask you.”

She’s never seen him smile so much. “Cool. You didn’t need to be chickenshit.”

Clarke shrugs. “I know that now. But I didn’t want to ruin anything. You’re important to me, romantic or not.”

The look he gives her sends warm shivers down her back as his hand tightens on hers. “Okay, yeah. We really need to get back to my place.”

She laughs as he pulls her forward. “I know you like napping, but your favorite couch is at my place.”

“Yeah that’s not exactly what I was looking forward to.”

“Wow, my couch is going to be so offended.”

He kisses her again, once they're outside his building. “Yeah, I think we’ll survive.”