#so that means cataloging my mistakes along the way~

[gamebunny-advance]

Alright...

So, I started working on the "Ice" doll. In my efforts to try different things anytime I do one of these, I decided to try sculpting the hair this time to achieve its cartoony-shape.

In my opinion, it turned out pretty good.

But...

It's Mario. I just made Super f*ckin Mario, which was NOT the goal here.

So I peeled it off, and I'm going back to the drawing board for his hair.

[grimm909]

Deep In The Sea - Part 1

Hey guys! I don't have much to say here, not to mention that I will be answering your requests as soon as possible. I'm sorry for those who wait, but I had made a promise to myself that I would do, first of all, a horror and drama story where Jade would be the main attraction. Sorry for the delay and please don't give up on me! I also want to apologize if there are any English mistakes. As I said in my first post here on tumbrl: English is not my native language. Happy reading~  WARNINGS: female gender reader, violence, yandere, obsession, non-consensual, mind break, horror, drama, mutilation, mention of pregnancy.

The creature's eyes glowed with fervent attraction, which you thought were like a child's after being given a new toy. That same heterochromatic gaze met two other eyes fragmented between fear and fascination, but equally deep as the ocean. Those eyes were too fixed to dare to look away. Those eyes were yours.

Apparently attracted to you, little by little the creature's slippery tail began to wrap itself around your body, similar to a seaweed that simply wraps itself around things, without actually squeezing them. It was almost like a preventive measure to not let you get away from him, preventing any attempt by you to escape – which you thought was a possibility.

The penknife still present in your hand — firmly attached to your fingers as the only weapon you had in case you tried to defend yourself against him — was something seen and admired by the merman, as it had been exactly the object that had saved him until a few moments ago.

And of course, you.

[...]

It should have been just another normal day of swimming for you. As a marine biologist, sometimes your job allows you to explore and catalog the different types of fish in the sea.

You don't know exactly when this desire to explore the intriguing and dangerous ocean started, but you know that's what you wanted for your life. The emotion, the adrenaline, and how enchanting the beauty of the things that existed below the water was not something that made you tired.

You also usually had the help of your friend and co-worker, who was responsible for steering a small speedboat, to take it to the middle of the ocean. Sometimes you took turns swimming, as it was not a good idea to leave your only means of transport floating in the sea. 

Really, nothing had been much different from that. You put on your wetsuit, waved goodbye to your mate, and dropped into the ocean with a waterproof camera slung around your neck. 

You dove as far as you could to the bottom of the ocean, for enduring the cold and high pressure down there was not something a human could do without the proper equipment. And his were good, but not the best. 

Nevertheless, for someone with affinity and custome, trying to go more than a hundred meters deep was reasonable. As far as you knew, the longest record ever broken by a person was 320 meters. But honestly, it's not like you're too interested in beating other people's records, if they weren't your own. 

So you were tempted to go deeper than ever before. Checking his blood pressure gauge and what oxygen he had left, he realized that a longer round trip would be possible, as long as there were no interruptions along the way. 

However, it was from this decision that things started to take another turn. 

So, well, your fault. 

You've successfully managed to bear the huge weight on your back and take some great pictures, which you use to take some daily notes later on. However, just as you were about to swim back to the surface because of the oxygen, a tiny high-pitched sound was captured by his ears.

You thought at first that it might be a whale, dolphin, or any other creature that made relatively loud sounds like that. However, this hypothesis was soon dismissed on its own when the sound again resounded in a more strangely shrill and profound way, that even the earplugs could not rid him of the momentary headache caused by the noise. 

This was unlike anything you had ever heard, recognizing that it was not an aquatic animal ever cataloged by man. You were extremely tempted to want to know what it could be, perhaps even discovering a new species of sea creature and being able to photograph it. 

Curiosity overcame your logic and you tried to guide yourself through the animal's "screams", noticing that as you swam deeper, the sound increased. Darkness began to cover more and more the entire route, due to the lack of sunlight. And you were forced to turn on the flashlight housed above your head, so you could see what was before your eyes. 

The vision was of a tortuous path with many stones, but his biggest concern was the excess of mesh nets present in the environment and other types of garbage improperly discarded, which continued along the way to where the source of the sound was. 

You checked the oxygen in the cylinder one more time and realized you had to race against the time. The movement of your feet and hands became more erratic, yet quite painful due to the pressure of being even further down than you could have anticipated. 

By the increase in speed, in the distance you noticed a strange sea shape, which for you exactly resembled an eel. However, eels didn't "scream" that way. They didn't even look as huge as this one. 

You became more cautious as you knew the good reputations of these creatures and taking an electrical shock was not in your plans. Then he tried to approach more slowly, until he noticed that the creature's shape was starting to get even weirder. 

You hid behind a rock and turned off your flashlight so the animal wouldn't see the light, then turned on the camera. Your intention was to zoom in as far as you could and try to take the picture right there in the darkness, through the flash.

Squinting your head a little, you positioned the camera towards the animal and in a quick fraction of a second, the light emerged through the click of a button. You get your photo and quickly go back into hiding, analyzing the image. 

It is not completely clear, let alone sufficiently illuminated, but the shading of the animal is quite noticeable and it would be possible to make an analysis of which species is. That is, if you knew any sea animals with arms. 

Yup. Damn arms. 

Aside from an apparently human head, of course. 

Is it possible to choke under water, breathing through a tube? Well, you almost did. 

You eyes widened in absolute surprise and her hands that were still holding the camera trembled with anxiety. 

You thought that, like every child, it was always normal to hear and even be interested in fanciful stories of mermaids and mermen. But the fact that somehow these creatures could be real stirred you in a strange way. To make matters worse, none of these stories portrayed the mermaids as friendly beings, but rather as ship sinks and fishermen killers. Especially, if you disregard the entire "The Little Mermaid" movie. 

However, you are abruptly kicked out of your own thoughts when the sound made by the creature is even worse than before, causing your eardrums to ache due to the distance of only a few meters between the two of you. 

No way. That's ridiculous. It should just be a misunderstanding on your part. It was all so dark in the image, that simply assuming it was a mythological creature without even seeing it with its own eyes, was evidently gross neglect on the part of the animal that was screaming for apparent help. Yes, animal. 

By this reasoning, which you tried to tell yourself was the only absolute truth, you put your camera in place, turned on your flashlight again, and came out of your makeshift hiding place to complete your objective. 

However, for a second surprise that day, in less than a few minutes, you realized how foolish you were, to think that your eyes had been deceived with the truth demonstrated through a blurry photograph.

It was real. The stories were really true.

For a few seconds, time stopped for you and your body remained stagnant, as if you were just some object floating in the water. The image before your eyes would be etched in your mind for a long time, both for the stunning beauty of the creature and for how deadly it looked, but especially for the deplorable state in which he found himself. 

His neck and wrists were tied to a large mesh net, linked to a generous amount of rubbish tangled around a rock. It was impossible to escape that trap caused by the illegal disposal of men, if the stone was not obstructed or if those wires were not cut. And the fact that the merman was struggling to get out of there didn't help, it just made the situation worse so that he was more and more trapped. It was like he was in quicksand, how funny. 

However, time didn't stop for him, who noticed your presence precisely by the light that the flashlight emitted, directing his attention to you and immediately growling as a probable warning. 

Soon, it all happened just too fast for your eyes to follow. One instant you were fine and the next a dull ache shot up the side of your face, so that totally unprepared by the force of the blow, you fell to the sand. 

His goggles ended up cracking a little on one of the lenses, perhaps from the fall or the attack by the merman's tail — who else could it have been and what? Furthermore, the creature's tail was the only thing it wasn't attached to, enabling it to attack anything that came dangerously close.

Afraid, you quickly sat up and crawled across the sand to get away from the monster, then raised your hands in the air and shook your head frantically from side to side, trying to indicate that you weren't there to hurt it. This didn't seem to have the slightest effect—probably because those signs didn't mean shit to him, or he wasn't a rational creature as mythological stories always suggested—whereupon the merman was now stretching his arm and tail toward him to try to reach you. Like anyone in this situation, you feared for your life, but you weren't angry at the creature for its hostile actions and you knew there was no way it could hurt you, precisely because it was trapped. 

Actions speak louder than words, however—even though there was this tremendous irony that you couldn't even speak because you were underwater, just as you seriously doubted the merman would understand you if he could—and you pulled out of the pocket of your latex coveralls a switchblade, grabbing a piece of net on the ground that luckily was close to you, and cutting it with extreme ease, then pointing at the blade and then at the net it was tangled up with, signaling that he wanted to help you. 

The merman somehow seemed to understand you bad mime, relaxing his muscles and stopping his growling, yet still giving him an extreme look of distrust. Surely, one wrong move with that object and your neck would be broken. You were just lucky this time, because you weren't close enough to take the full weight of that monster's tail in one slap.

A third time, you checked your oxygen and realized that you would now not only have to be careful to help him, but very quickly. However, fast and careful were two words that couldn't always keep together. 

You thought a little about getting close. Is it ok to untie it? Until a few moments ago, he seemed quite willing to kill you. However, you stopped to once again analyze the situation he was in. If by chance his movements in his hands and neck were not entirely restricted, he might even be able to cut the net with his teeth or sharp nails. And if he wasn't released, he might starve to death or some other predator even bigger than he would make him a snack.

You forced yourself to swallow your own fear. If I were in his shoes, I would also like to be released. Maybe he wouldn't kill you in retribution, right? 

You got off the ground and swam a little closer, breaking the safe distance from your body to his. You looked into the merman's eyes, trying to convey serenity and confidence, then looked away at the hammock around his neck, deciding that first you would free him from that agonizing suffocation he was probably feeling. 

You lift the pocketknife in your hand and carefully begin grinding the line of his neck, breaking out in a cold sweat at the prospect of accidentally cutting it. If that happened, he'd get a little cut and you'd get a broken neck. Haha, it would even be funny, if it wasn't for a cruel possibility. 

Taking longer than you'd expect, when the last line of mesh on its neck is removed, the merman looks strangely relieved and you almost swore you saw him heave a sigh. Inside, you smiled at it and then proceeded to cut the net from one of your wrists. 

When the job was done, the creature raised its webbed hand and pushed you away with a light shove to the chest. You were slightly startled by this, but then realized that he would finish the job himself, using the claws of his free hand and sharp teeth to instantly rip apart that net, much faster and more aggressively than you had done with the knife. So that was it, he was on the loose. The merman massaged his neck and wrists, relieving the likely pain he was feeling. His face, no longer nervous, looked strangely indifferent and serious, as if he had stepped in mud and soiled his shoes—that is, if he had been on land and had feet.

Then he hovered over his person and approached with a single, brief flick of his tail. At that moment, the apathetic face gave way to a brief curve of lips in a polite smile. 

And you didn't like it.

[...]

So, here was your person. Facing a potentially dangerous and definitely carnivorous creature. However, now was not the time to remember the events that had stupidly gotten you into this situation. 

After all, you were starting to run out of oxygen in the cylinder. You widened your eyes and lifted your free hand and pointed at the tube in your mouth, then up, then at the tube again. Repeating this sequence more than three times so the merman could understand his despair. 

You shook your head from side to side and touched its slippery as well as sticky tail to push it away. That bad choice only made him tighten around you even tighter, not enough to hurt, though. You thought you could use your pocketknife to hurt him, but from the look of it, he was just holding you there out of sheer curiosity, with no pretense of attacking. 

Desperate, you gave him the best pleading, desperate look you could muster, trying to let him know that you really needed to go. And all he did was just widen his smile. 

Oh no. 

From then on you swore you would die, but it was then that he surprisingly proceeded to unroll his tail from his body. The merman swam dangerously closer until his face hovered inches away from his own, causing his eyes to widen and a nasty shiver down his spine. 

His big, sharp, smacking hand touched your face, then tenderly caressed the side, in the same spot where it had hit before—and which now was a huge red smear. You noticed: he was apologizing through this act of affection. 

In another situation, you would find this very cute. But not in this one, certainly. And it didn't help much when the creature decided to break the distance, opening its mouth to lick the entire reddened expanse, with a tongue you found to be extremely long and strangely soft. 

Is this supposed to be really cute? Now it felt more like psychological torture.

You felt a tightening around your waist, this time realizing it was his arm. And it wasn't long before the merman's other arm came around his back as well. You had no idea what he wanted, however you understood when the merman began to swim up, with you in his arms. 

Apparently, he had the vague idea that you definitely wouldn't survive if you stayed there much longer, so he was giving you a ride. He was so fast! So fast that even the pressure made her head ache, needing to hug him back so she would feel less likely to end up having a stroke. You would never have had a chance to escape him if he wasn't being so friendly. Killing and eating you wasn't in his plans, apparently. 

And lucky for you, in less than five minutes, the sea started to be less dark and brighter, indicating the brightness of the Sun and how close you were to the surface. 

The oxygen time in your cylinder runs out completely, but unbelievably coincides with the time your head finally emerged from the water. You hastily take the tube out of your mouth and suck in a significant amount of air. 

How stupid of you to take such a risk, as you had taken today. 

The feeling of pure relief makes you forget for a moment that you are still facing and in the arms of a mythological creature, resting your head on the merman's shoulder and breathing heavily. 

When the world in your head finally seems to be at peace, you take your distance from the merman and this time he lets you go. Lifting your goggles, you once again stare into the creature's eyes, this time without fear. 

"Thanks." 

You thanked him and smiled, gracing the merman's ears for the first time with your thin voice, even though you were uncertain if he would be able to understand it.

He then mutters something totally incomprehensible to you, however you imagined it was his "disposition". 

You start looking around the sea, identifying to your right a distant image of what looked like a speedboat. 

Immediately turning your back on the creature without saying another word, you proceed to swim towards your only mode of transport. 

Distant enough, you turn your head back one last time to confirm that the creature was still there and that for a moment, none of this was your imagination. And to her surprise, he was. However, showing a terrifying, sharp-toothed grin, exclusively for you in delight or gratitude. You wouldn't be able to identify it anyway. Maybe you didn't even want to. 

However, you are polite to smile again—however forcedly—and give him a brief wave of your hand, thus saying goodbye to him definitively and returning to swimming without looking back. 

You hoped never to see him again.

[...] 

Telling what happened to your friend was not a complicated task, because it would be really difficult for him to believe his story. For sure, he would just think that the water pressure started to affect his head in a negative way, making him notice things that weren't there. 

And by those thoughts, you omitted the truth. Even if you had that blurry photo intact—and showed it to prove the integrity of your words—your colleague would momentarily be surprised, but then quickly dismiss the possibility of being a merman by saying you were confusing seaweed with arms. Sea shadows are never to be trusted, he would say. 

Extremely skeptical he was, just as you were. Although, now, maybe you weren't as skeptical as before after seeing that sea monster in person, touching it and still hugging it. 

You decided to frame the creature's photo in a photo panel you had in your room, to always remember that certain "things" really existed and to remember that the sea floor might not be as friendly as you thought it would be. 

You almost died, idiot.

Still, it didn't shake you as much as it should have, for after a week since your encounter with the merman, you continued to do your usual job at sea. 

You didn't find him either and didn't risk swimming too deep, fearful that she would see him again or find another creature no longer as "generous" as the first. 

However, fate seemed to have other plans for you. 

Cruel plans.

Thanks for reading this far! But if you're frustrated that you don't have any smut, know that part two will be full of it. I had to split it due to how long it was. So next time be careful with the depth!

You don't want to drown, do you?

Eventually, my work will also be posted on Ao3, in the form of two chapters. So, don't be surprised if you find him there.

See you~💙

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Adapting The Devil and Abrahamic Concepts

Note: This following post is not intended to dismantle or bash anyone's beliefs, all that is said is not intended to cause fear or anger in anyone who is of any of these faiths. What I say is not an indication of my alignment with any faith or ideology, this post is just a little, and slightly philosophical, ramble.

Oh, and as per usual, I am terrible with grammar and silly mistakes are bound to be in this so I'm sorry in advance!

Now that's out the way, on with the ramble!

So... whilst I'm following the Mandela Catalog closely with my eyeballs and also writing my own chaos (which I am currently in two minds about releasing tidbits of but that's a whole other kettle of fish), I realised something.

We need to explore Abrahamic concepts more often!

When you delve into the more esoteric and "deep" ideas within the various scriptures of the Abrahamic faiths, things get interesting and thought-provoking regarding humanity, incomprehension and purpose.

This is the part where I start talking about the Devil, because of course I gotta bring in the og Big Bad. I feel as though, this is gonna sound extremely bad pfft, he's severely underused in media. I say this because when you start getting into the research surrounding him, things start getting really, really bizarre.

First off, Satan is not a name, it is a title. Satan, or as I know him, Shaitan, is Hebrew in origin and means Adversary. It is a position, not inherently a name or identity, it's more like a part of an identity, like how a certain job can be a part of who you are but not necessarily all of you as a person. Satan is a position in this reality, not the name or identity of the entity who holds this title.

Now, why do I bring this up?

Well, some people have an issue with the existence of Satan and not just because he's evil, but because his existence doesn't make sense when you think of God. God is supposed to be all-powerful, all-knowing and all-good, but how can God be any of these things if Satan exists? God would have to not possess at least one of the aforementioned aspects; for example, if God let Satan happen because God did not foresee, then surely God is not all-knowing.

Which leads to the "theory" if you will, regarding the necessity of the Adversary. Without evil, there can be no good. So, the Adversary is needed, but is the Adversary aware of that?

If we go along the belief that Satan was an angel and the belief that angels have no freewill, which is more islamic but wahey guess I've outed my Muslim background, that means that Satan is essentially performing his function as he is not capable of choice.

However, time and time again, we have read that Satan is a rebel, which suggests that there was a choice that was made. So, I propose this, what if he has the illusion of choice?

Satan is in torment, yes, but it is not because of the horrors of Hell, but rather, the torment of trying to fight a battle you could never win. What if, like the cycle of Samsara, Satan is fighting to break free from his chains in angelhood and be free, hence either making himself human or a new god.

Imagine if the Devil is just a complex primordial force trying to be something simpler? Imagine the thing you feared the most, was just as scared himself?

Satan remains terrible, but he makes me think. He's this scary, primal force of nature that is somewhat human, or at least trying to be human, trying to be something he's not.

It reminds me of this quote Sotha Sil once said about Vivec from TES Online; "He wishes to be all things at all times. Every race, every gender, every hero. Both divine and finite... but in the end, he can only be Vivec."

Same goes here, perhaps Satan wants to be everything, angel, god, human, good, but he can only be the Adversary.

Abrahamic philosophy, from my understanding, is about acceptance and submission to reality, whether it be through one's worship or through acknowledgement of this alone. Submission isn't just about bending the knee, it's about submitting to yourself, your identity, to the deity who created reality and to the nature of that reality. It pretty much is the understanding of the fact you exist and you exist in this particular, human way. Again, this is my understanding and opinion and people will have their own ideas, so please note I don't represent anyone when I say this 😅 .

Satan cannot submit because he does not accept his identity. He goes against that very philosophy and we need that. Without that example of necessary rebellion, we would not be able to understand our own inner conflicts. For he represents conflict on the personal and cosmic scale.

And that conflict, the complexities of Abrahamic faith, predestiny, freewill, that really frightening fear Abrahamic faiths present when it comes to angels, Satan and God, are not explored enough.

Frankly, I think the show Lucifer really missed the opportunity to get weird and wonderful. They touched upon Satan and his relationship with God and the nature of his freewill or potentially lack thereof. However, they never really delved into it and I'm so sad about that, especially with the acting talent of Tom Ellis- we could have got some spicy stuff.

But that's also why I adore the Mandela Catalog. That godly horror of this cosmic creation crashing down on us like a ton of bricks with all its anger and fear is exactly what I have been yearning for in an abrahamic adaption. The world around us in the Mandela Catalog is falling apart because something which isn't God is trying to be, the Adversary is trying to be his own opposition and that dismantles his very sense of self.

And that is also what I want to do in my own writing, explore this creature of despair and horror and peel back the layers to see what lies under the title of Adversary. I want to know and explore what this entity is, what he is to himself and what he is to humanity, to those who are subject to his madness.

Satan is bad, but what is it to be the opposing darkness, when you can't be anything else?

This is just my hot take lol. But it's a hot take I've been mulling over for a while and I just needed to get out there :).

Thanks for reading my little diatribe!

[mrs-gauche]

Here’s a little summary of all DA4 news we got in 2021, because I feel the need to kind of collect my thoughts at the end of the year. But please feel free to add anything I might have forgotten, even though the year didn't seem to have much to offer in terms of official new info, there still were a few crumbs here and there and some big unofficial stuff. :D

- Apparently, DA4 is purely Singleplayer now

(THE BULLET WE DODGED, thanks to the huge success of Jedi Fallen Order and the flop of Anthem, we'll honor your sacrifice. You died so DA4 Singleplayer could live. 🙏)

No but in all honesty, as much as I feel for all devs involved who put so much work into Anthem.. I was honestly relieved to hear they'd let it go completely in order to fully focus on DA4 and here's hoping that they learned from their mistakes in the Andromeda/Anthem development mess and don't have DA4 "suffer" because of the next Mass Effect (or the other way around, like pulling devs from one project to help on another.)

- 5 new concept art pieces + 2 new illustrations along with 2 new short stories on DA Day

You know, as much as I love these little nuggets of art and stuff, at some point of this year, I was like "Can't they just release DA4 as a picture book already with the amount of concept art they've put out now?" 😂

Though there seems to be a certain pattern in the concepts they reveiled, with each of them matching perfectly with the shots in the teaser on last year's VGAs, so maybe a hint and something to speculate about!

Additionally, one of the short stories does hint at a potential eight year timeskip since the events of Trespasser, which is a huge deal. What could it mean for the Inquisitor and their efforts? The Qunari invasion? The one who was left in the Fade in Here Lies the Abyss? The Warden if they’re alive? Solas’ plan? I’m not that surprised actually, given how he already hinted at “a few more years of relative peace” in Trespasser, until the Veil comes down. Almost ten years between the events in the game and the release of DA4 in real life would allow the devs to establish a new world state for old as well as new players to the series.

- Lots of new people hired, especially in the animation department!

This might be a good reminder for some that BioWare, despite creating Triple A titles, is.. actually not that big of a studio. 😅 At least not in comparison to other Triple A developers like Ubisoft for example. I feel like people tend to forget about that when setting the bar for expectations and how much budget and resources are involved. I don't know much about game development, but from what I understand, in the grand scheme of the EA catalog, BioWare is like that weird little nerdy child that they adopted in 2007, when EA's interest seemed to be anything BUT singleplayer story focused RPG games. 😂 So please guys, keep in mind that there might be only a handful of people on some of these teams right now.

- Long time veterans Matthew Goldman and Caroline Livingstone leaving BW

On that front, not to sound dramatic but.. does the DA4 team have a Creative Director right now? *nervous laughter*

There still hasn't been any official statement from neither BW or Matthew Goldman and the nature of his departure was strange, to say the least.. Like, if it hadn't been for this e-mail leak, we wouldn't even know about it.. I mean, they don't owe us a statement or anything and departures happen all the time for all sorts of reasons and it’s none of our business, but I feel like for such an important position on the team to just be gone like that after 20+ years at BW without any kind of farewell, when it wasn't even a transitional thing like with Darrah and Hudson and he always seemed so enthusiastic about DA and his work and engaged a lot with the fans on Twitter until very recently before his departure... Idk, it just doesn't feel good. :/

Caroline Livingstone, former Performance Director/VA Producer, will be working with Casey Hudson's new studio now. She was always highly praised by the VAs and the devs and always seemed to get out the best of any VAs performance, so it’s a bit sad to see her go! We don't really know how much she was even involved in DA4's development.. How much of the voice acting is done at this point? 👀

- Christian Dailey took fully over from Mark Darrah as DA4 Executive Producer

“Employee Nr. 35″ officially left BW as well in February of this year and I will miss his frustratingly vague and teasing DA4 tweets. He was literally there from the beginning. On the other hand, we now get to hear his side of game development in a really informative way on his own YouTube channel!

- A very insightful presentation on the challenges of production during the pandemic by Scylla Costa, DA4 Lead Producer at BIG Festival 2021

Here we got a little glimpse of some MoCap/Pcap sessions, as well as what I assume has to be the writer’s room? 👀 It’s a really interesting presentation and it’s kind of crazy how BioWare basically went into work from home the day after they had gathered the whole team to review DA4′s story and how they never really had the chance to settle in the new Epcor Tower place.

- In a shocking revelation, the Veil is a thong

I think watching the Gamers for Groceries stream was definitely the most I laughed throughout the whole year. Thank you, Patrick, I’m still in tears.

- DA4 might be released in 2023

If this is true, we could expect them to kick off the marketing in earnest next year! And given their blog message on DA Day, I think we can definitely look forward to finally get some substantial stuff in 2022! :D

- Elven bum for DA4 confirmed

We may not even have a title for this game, but rest assured, there will be booty.

[not-a-coral-snake]

for the @lamenweek Day 6 prompt: Auguste Lives Au

inspired by this post by @skyline-sunset-in-my-veins and @phoenixtcm

“When I am in Arles this fall,” Damianos says, words soft in the summer sunset air around them, “I will kneel before your brother the king and ask his permission to court you.” He pauses, smile just the slightest bit cocky. Laurent is lounging, hair mussed and shirt trailing half-opened laces, in Damen’s arms. “Court you officially, I mean.” 

“You are going to Arles for the negotiations yourself this year?” Laurent says. Seated as they are, Damen cannot mistake the shudder of tension, quickly repressed, that runs through Laurent at Damen’s words.

“You haven’t told him yet,” he says. 

“It’s just I thought that the ambassador—”

“You haven’t told him yet,” Damen says again. “You said when I saw you last fall that you would tell him last winter for sure.” He tries not to sound accusatory, but well. It is not the first time they have had this conversation.

“I haven’t told him yet,” Laurent concedes. It should not be so hard. It’s been six years since Marlas. Vere and Akielos are at peace. Laurent is in the habit of sharing nearly everything with Auguste, and yet— 

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” he says, as he always does. “It’s a sensitive matter, I wish to catch him in the right mood, lest he make up his mind before hearing me out.” 

“And you’re afraid of hurting him,” Damen says, as he always does.

“And I want to ensure I don’t hurt him. So I have to find the right time—”

“It’s been years now,” Damen cuts in. “Should we believe that, somehow, the perfect moment will occur this summer, when it did not last winter, or last spring, or the summer before that?”

“Damen—”

“This can just be a fling, if you want,” Damen says, gently.

‘That’s not what I—no,” says Laurent. Damen’s never said that before. 

“We can just keep meeting a few times a year. It doesn’t need to be serious. It doesn’t need to be something we tell others about.”

“Damen, stop,” Laurent says. “No. I want to court you. I want it to be official. I want it to be serious.”

“Well, then let it become serious.”

“I’ll tell him this time,” Laurent says. He can do this. It’s been six years since Marlas. Auguste always speaks of Prince Damianos in respectful tones. Laurent picks up Damen’s hand, kisses his knuckles. “Promise.”

And Laurent means to tell Auguste that summer, he really does. He meant to upon his return last fall as well, and the time before that, and the time before that. It’s just that—well, it’s just that every time he returns from diplomatic visits to Delfeur or Ios, he’s struck again with the slow, deliberate way that Auguste moves now. Each year as late spring ripens into summer, he sees how it saddens Auguste that he still no longer has the vigor or endurance for hunts or long rides or anything more taxing than a slow turn around the gardens. Each year as fall deepens into winter, he sees how another year has gone by and the cold makes Auguste’s injuries ache just as much as they had the winter before. 

Auguste had nearly died on the battlefield at Marlas. But that wasn’t the whole of it. Even after he had survived the trip home to Arles, he almost died of fever, of wound rot, of the pneumonia his battle-damaged lungs nearly couldn’t shake. And he almost died of assassination, not one time but many. There were few ways to kill a king in the peak of youth and health without attracting undue suspicion, but endless subtle ways to hasten the death of a man in his sickbed. Their uncle, left to rule the court unchecked, had tried seemingly most of them, endless schemes which Laurent had only barely managed to avert and which left behind no conclusive evidence for Laurent to show the court. Even as Auguste had gained strength, the schemes had continued, until the day Laurent gave up trying to beat his uncle while playing by his uncle’s own rules and had simply arranged an accident of his own. 

After that, Auguste was safe, but the fallout from their uncle’s years ruling the court and admittedly-suspicious death left him with nearly as many enemies as allies. As prince, Auguste had been universally adored. As king, he faced a yearslong struggle to regain the allegiance of erstwhile allies. 

And all this was, at its root, because of Marlas. Because of Damianos. Auguste’s history with Damen wasn’t just the matter of an injury six years ago, not when that injury had colored every day of his life since. And Laurent can’t imagine a way of telling him that he loves Damen, wants a future with him, without it sounding like a betrayal. 

To make matters more awkward, Auguste has, for whatever reason, gotten it into his head to nag Laurent about romance. It’s uncomfortable enough to be keeping his relationship with Damen a secret from Auguste. It’s worse to lie, outright or by omission, every time Auguste asks him if there’s anyone Laurent is interested in pursuing. 

And then— “You know you can tell me anything, little brother,” Auguste says quietly, a few minutes after Laurent has let a conversation about an overly-flirtatious marquis from Lys lapse. 

Laurent swallows, mutely cataloging the darker corners of his past. He does not like to lie to Auguste. But he does.

And there are things he probably will never tell his brother about, things Auguste does not need to know, but also— “Actually, Auguste,” he makes himself say. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

And then he pauses, because he still hasn’t figured out a semi-workable phrasing. I’m in love with Prince Damianos, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still upset about what he did to you. I’m fucking the man who almost killed you, and I’m sorry but also I won’t stop. I know seeing the prince of Akielos this fall will probably be terrible for you but also when he asks to court me please say yes.

It’s Auguste who rescues him, after a moment or two of expectant silence. “Is this going to be you finally telling me about your romantic entanglement with Prince Damianos?” he says. “Because honestly, I’m getting sick of seeing you walking around looking guilty and sad all the time.”

“You knew?” Laurent says.

“Of course I knew! You, dear baby brother, are not very subtle. And I’ve had to hear all your reports from the negotiations with Akielos twice a year. Was I somehow not supposed to notice how you gradually stopped insulting Damianos and started telling me about all his varied and impressive positive traits?”

“I said that he was straightforward and committed to the good of his people, and thus that the negotiations were likely to be a productive use of time!”

“And then the trip after that, you said that he was an innovative thinker, a natural leader, and you couldn’t help but admire his tenacity. You said you didn’t mind having to go on hunts with him, which anyone who knows you understands is a major compliment, and when you said he was patient, you smiled that quiet smile of yours that means you are remembering something that made you very happy.”

“Auguste—”

“And yet! Whenever anyone suggests you have developed any fondness for the man, you deny it. Why go to such lengths to conceal a friendly working relationship?”

“Auguste—”

“And honestly, brother, even back when you hated him, I couldn’t help but notice you mentioned his appearance rather a lot. You were always complaining that he was ridiculously tall, or offensively muscular, or something along those lines.”

“I said he was a brute!”

“You also said that his eyes were, and I quote, ‘disgustingly soulful.’ Oh, and the letters! Was I not supposed to notice that in the last year your correspondence with the prince of Akielos has roughly quadrupled in volume and frequency, even as the official negotiations are reaching a standstill? There isn’t enough policy discussion to account for a tenth of the letters you write. There isn’t enough policy discussion to justify you going to Delfeur in person twice a year, and yet you insist on overseeing things personally each time anyway.”

“Auguste, I’m sorry, all right? I know that this must have been painful for you to witness, and I don’t want you to think I don’t care about everything you’ve been through.” He swallows. “But I don’t want to stop seeing Damianos.”

“All right.”

“‘’All right?’ You’re okay with it? Just like that?”

“He makes you happy. If your judgement of him is to be believed, then he sounds like a worthy man. And I trust your judgement.”

“But he stabbed you. And now I’m sleeping with him.”

“Well, we were at war. And it was years ago. And I’m fine. We’re at peace, the nation’s moving on, you’ve moved on in your opinion of him, I can move on as well.”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Why can’t it be? I only met him for about ten minutes. I’m sure there’s more to him than he revealed in a single duel. You have my blessing, Laurent.”

“How can you just—”

“Remember when your pony threw you and you broke your collarbone?”

“This is not the same, this is not even close to the same—”

“You snuck out of the infirmary to go to the stables and tell Chuckles you weren’t mad at him.”

“I was seven, he meant me no ill will, and the bone healed in a month. Also he was a horse,” Laurent grits out. “Damianos was—is—a grown man, responsible for his choices, the injuries he inflicted did lasting damage, and he was trying to kill you.”

“Well, no one is asking you to sleep with him,” Auguste says, in his reasonable-big-brother voice. 

Laurent lets out a breath, sits back in his chair. “I started managing the negotiations with Akielos so that you wouldn’t have to speak with him,” he says. “We said that it was because I could travel more easily, that it was because you could not justify spending so much time away from court. But in truth, I did not want you to have to be in a room with him, to have to learn to make polite conversation with him and pretend that Marlas did not happen, that it didn’t matter. If I have come to know him as far more than just the soldier who attacked you, if I have put his past actions behind me, come to care for him in spite of them—that does not mean I expect you to do the same. Could ever ask you to do the same.” 

“You’ve always been protecting me, all these years,” Auguste says softly. “Don’t think I don’t know it, or appreciate it. But let me be the protective big brother again once in a while? You’ve learned to let the past go and let yourself have the present you want with Damianos, because you’re in love with him. Allow me to let the past go and have the future I want, where my little brother is happy.”

He’s looking Laurent in the eye, gaze steady, and slowly Laurent allows himself to believe that Auguste is serious, that in his heart of hearts, he does not mind. That he is happy for Laurent. 

“Thank you,” he says. “For your blessing.” 

“Of course,” Auguste says. And then, “Well, when I say you have my blessing, I mean informally, of course. Prince Damianos will have to ask me himself.”

“You just want the chance to make him squirm,” Laurent says. 

“I just want the chance to make him squirm,” Auguste concedes, and he and Laurent break into quiet laughter, imagining it.

[collecting-stories]

Invisible - Luke Patterson

Summary: You and Luke finally admit your feelings to each other.

A/N: My first time writing JATP...

Julie and the Phantoms Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The piano was more of a prop at this point than anything, practically holding you up as you leaned against it, tapping at the same key over and over, the pout playing on your lips unmistakable. Mrs. Harrison had given out instructions at the beginning of the month that she wanted an original composition by each student in the class. It was a simple enough assignment and honestly, you’d been finished for weeks now but there was no way you get up in front of the class and perform the song you had written.  

When Flynn had badgered you last week you had sworn that you didn’t have a crush on Luke. He was just Julie’s bandmate and, of course, a ghost. “You always want what you can’t have, I was worried that included him.”

Luke, you were beyond positive, did not feel the same way about you. He was focused on the band and, possibly, figuring out what they needed to eventually crossover. Besides, you were pretty sure that he liked Julie. Their chemistry together on stage was undeniable and maybe it was just for show, but you doubted there was a chance with him at all. So, you lied and told Flynn that you didn’t like him but then every song you wrote lately was about him and you knew you could sing any of them in front of the class.  

“Hey!”  

“Crap!” You jumped, almost falling off the piano bench. You looked over to your bed where Luke was laying, sprawled across the comforter, smiling innocently at you. “You have got to stop doing that!”

Whatever had happened when the club stamps disappeared from their wrists, you couldn’t be entirely sure. All you knew was that you could actually hug them now, high five, fist bump, hold hands with. Alex had even attempted to give you a piggyback that had ended in a mess of limbs on the ground. But they were still ghosts. Cute, talented, way more attractive in a cut off shirt than he should be, ghosts.

“Sorry,” He sat up, swinging his legs around to hang off the side of the bed, “thought you were coming over to Julie’s?”

You cringed. You had promised to go to Julie’s to play them the song before Friday but you had chickened out. Maybe it wouldn’t be obvious to Luke or the guys but there was no tricking Julie or Flynn, they would know immediately that any song you sang was about Luke. You had essentially laid all your feelings out there for him and there was no way you could perform something so personal in front of him.  

“I was...I’m just still...ironing out some kinks.” You shrugged, running your fingers over the keys experimentally.  

You had spent plenty of late nights with Luke, in your room writing music, cataloging snippets of lyrics that you pretended weren’t about him but the truth was that he was all you could think about. The change they’d gone through after the Orpheum had only made it harder to deny how you felt.  

“I thought you were finished your song,” Luke said, coming around the piano. He reached for the sheet music on the stand but you grabbed it first, shoving it back into your bag.  

The look of hurt that flickered was quickly replaced by curiosity as Luke took a seat beside you on the bench. “It just needs some work.”

“What have ya got so far?” He asked, not letting up. Luke was nothing if not persistent, especially when he thought someone was holding out on telling him something and you definitely were. He leaned close to you, trying to goad you into showing him the sheet music.  

“Nothing worth showing off, which is why I didn’t go to Julie’s,” you admitted, “I’m supposed to have a song by tomorrow and so far...I’ve got nothing.” Not entirely true but you couldn’t tell him the real reason you were avoiding Julie’s house.  

Before Luke could answer you, your mom called up the stairs for dinner. It was a welcomed distraction, an excuse to leave the room and hopefully the conversation behind. Maybe you could write a song about your mom’s lasagna or going to the mall with friends once you were done dinner. Something superficial and dumb. You left Luke in your room and headed downstairs to eat.  

That, of course, was your first mistake. Trusting Luke not to snoop was always a risk, he was a naturally inquisitive person, to put it nicely. The moment you left your room he was pulling your sheet music and your notebook out to see if the song you had written was as bad as you claimed it was. He skimmed the first two lines, smiling when he recognized the hook that he’d helped you with three nights ago when you couldn’t sleep and he was annoyed with Alex and Reggie.  

He hummed along to the chords as he read the lyrics, not even realizing, as he went, that he was frowning. This song that you said wasn’t very good was fantastic but that’s not why he was upset. Whoever you had written about, it was obvious that you liked them, a lot. Thinking that he’d helped you write a love song for someone else stung more than he thought it would. He knew what Alex would say, that if anyone shouldn’t get together it was a ghost and a lifer but he couldn’t help the crush he had on you.  

“Hey!” It was your turn to spook him, Luke’s head snapping up to look at you, eyes wide for a second before he grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry, just thought maybe a second set of eyes might help.”

“Luke,” you sighed, incapable of actually being upset with him, “I told you it wasn’t done.”

“It definitely is. It’s great, honestly.” He replied. He might not love that you were writing some guy a love song but he wasn’t gonna lie about your talent.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You replied, standing on the other side of the piano, taking the first few pages to look them over.

“So, who’s the guy?” He asked. Luke’s inquisitiveness got the best of him every time...he couldn’t help wondering who had stolen your attention so much that you wrote about them.

“What?” You asked, looking up at him as if you were surprised by the question. You weren’t, you didn’t want him seeing the song because you knew that he would ask about the subject and you couldn’t lie to Luke. You wished you could, it would make things a whole lot easier if you could pretend like the song was about some guy from school but you hadn’t really ever liked anyone the way you liked Luke.  

“The song...come on, who did you write it about?” He asked.

“No one,” you replied too quickly, “just, you know...a song. About, just like...made up stuff.”  

“Made up stuff? I know you...I know that’s real emotion on the page and not some ‘made up stuff’. So...who?” He pushed.

“Like I said, no one.”  

Luke nodded slowly, appraising the few pages that he still had in his hands, “okay, okay...I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you don’t have to but it’s true.”  

“This is way too-”

“Luke!” You stressed, “just drop it.”

“Why?”  

You groaned, sitting down on your bed and flopping onto you back, now he was going to antagonize you about why you didn’t want him to know who the person you liked was. And if he knew that, if he knew anything, you were positive that he would put two and two together and figure out that it was him. Luke called your name and you groaned again.

“Look I wrote the song about a guy that I really, really like who totally doesn’t even like me and like, I might as well be a ghost like you guys because I’m totally invisible to him and it’s so frustrating because...ugh.” You covered your face with your hands, mumbling through them, “I want him to like me but it’s never gonna happen.”  

“Maybe just, tell this guy you like him...show him this song or something?” Luke suggested, every word feeling heavy on his tongue. The last thing he wanted to tell you was to go ahead and pursue this guy. “I mean, you’re you, who wouldn’t notice you or like you?” He certainly had and did.

“No way Luke,” you huffed, “that is like the last thing I wanna do...I do not need rejection right now.”  

“Come on,” Luke got up from the piano and came over to sit with you on the bed. He grabbed your arms, pulling you to sit up with him. “No one in their right mind is gonna reject you.”  

“I appreciate the confidence.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” he laughed, prodding your sides with his fingers in an effort to make you laugh.  

“Stop!” You pushed his hands away but he was already smiling.  

“Look, I’ll even help you,” he offered, “tell me who you like and I’ll help you, ya know, tell ‘em.”

“How will you help me tell them?” You asked, skeptically.

“I’ll help you with the song.”  

You bit your bottom lip, thinking over what he had said about you telling your crush and what he said about helping you. “Okay, will you play the guitar part for it? I think the piano is nice but I kinda wanna hear it with the guitar.”  

“Yeah, totally.” He nodded, gulping down the feeling of dread that settled over him. He could just see it, this song going well and you landing this guy you were clearly crazy about. All those sappy lyrics you wrote about love and longing were all for someone else.  

He grabbed the guitar from its stand as you made room on the bed for him to actually play. You listened to him play the opening chords, missing your que the first time and then stopping him before he could get to it the second time. You reached out and grabbed his hand.  

“What’s up?” He asked, thinking he had played something wrong.  

You knew this was a massive risk, one you could potentially regret forever. One you were certain you would regret forever. But you took the chance anyway. “I just, I have to be honest with you about the song...” you trailed off.

“What about it?”

“The guy I wrote it for...it was you.”  

Time felt frozen for a moment as Luke sat there, taking in this new piece of information. “Me?” He finally said.  

“Yeah...I really like you. I know it’s super crazy cause, ya know...but I can’t help it.” You explained. “So?”

A smile crossed Luke’s face, “how could you ever think that I wouldn’t like you back?” He asked, “I’m crazy about you.”

“Seriously?” You knew you must’ve looked completely shell-shocked but you couldn’t help it. You had written off your crush as one side for a while now and hearing him tell you that it wasn’t felt infinitely better than you could describe.  

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded. He pushed the guitar away so that he could scoot closer to you, his hand reaching up to lay on your cheek, pulling you into a kiss. You couldn’t even begin to describe what it felt like, oddly warm, completely perfect, as if the two of you were meant to fit together like this. Luke pulled away first, eyes meeting yours as he licked his lips. “God, this feels so surreal.”

“Well, you are a ghost.” You joked, stealing another quick kiss.

[monkberries]

So here goes: Personally I find Paul to be hot with a beard. But it annoys me because there’s always some Paul stan who’s like “he was super depressed during that time you know” anytime someone says how hot he looks with a beard. Like first of all, I don’t think we should go around diagnosing people and assuming how he felt 24/7 just based on a couple of quotes when we don’t know him, and second of all I was just saying he looks good. Also idk why Paul stans want to pretend like Paul is STILL a victim when he’s definitely not. He’s a super successful billionaire musician. He’s fine.

I'm going to assume all four of these were from the same anon; I received another along these same lines that seems to be from someone else:

OKAY. There's a lot here.

As I've said before, I think the concept you are both talking about - that Paul is the favourite, that people will attack you if you criticize him, that people are vilifying John more now - is true, but is also a matter of perspective. I think sometimes we perceive the whole fandom as just the people we're surrounded by; that can be true in smaller fandoms, like for obscure shows or whatever, but for the Beatles, the fandom is so much bigger and more spread out across generations, social media platforms, and works of literature than almost any other fandom. There are literally thousands upon thousands of books either about or tangentially about the Beatles; there are pockets on every platform from tumblr to twitter to podcasts to instagram to facebook etc., and it branches off even more niche within those to like, facebook groups specifically for podcasts about the Beatles, or discord servers, or livejournal threads, or music forums, or fics on ao3. There are fansites with thoughtful speculative articles like heydullblog and blogs specifically reviewing Beatle books like beatlebioreview and sites cataloging every bit of minutiae like the Beatles Bible, all with their own flavor of comment sections. And not only that, the Beatles fandom spans generations and cultures in a way that almost nothing else ever has or ever will.

And this is not even going into the shifting narratives that have been in play over the years surrounding Paul specifically, and the huge, huge difference between the perceptions of him by the authors and the Counterculture People, the perceptions of him by regular ass Wings fans who have only idly flipped through Rolling Stone while waiting in line at the local bodega, and the perceptions of him by everyone in between, who may or may not have been unconsciously influenced by the wider narratives about him.

All that is to make the case that the fandom that you are experiencing on tumblr/twitter is an extremely small fraction of The Fandom at large. For every Paul stan on twitter that yells at people for not believing that Paul literally invented music, there is a John stan in a facebook group going on about John's supposedly tireless peace efforts. For every nuanced, well sourced post on amoralto's blog, there is someone in the Beatles Bible comment section saying that John and Paul hated each other. For every fan who's read the major Beatles bios with a critical eye towards bias, there are plenty more fans who just absorbed them as straight fact. This is not to say that your experiences are not real or valid! They absolutely are! What I am saying is that there are infinite permutations of infinite Beatles fandoms out there, and the people you see who insist that Paul is still treated worse than John, I would imagine, are occupying various permutations of the fandom where that is more true, alongside the one they share with you. It's not for me to say whether the Paul or John people have the upper hand on the whole - truly, I don't think anyone has enough perspective on the whole fandom to make any judgment on that, no matter what general Grand Pronouncements anyone may make about The Fandom.

As I've said before, any overly defensive "stan" behavior, whether it's for John or Paul or George or anyone, is exhausting to me, so I definitely understand where you're coming from re: him being supposedly underrated. He is literally one of the most successful musicians of all time; as of the beginning of this year, he is worth 1.2 billion dollars; and, thanks to his own efforts and the efforts of quite a few fans and writers out there over the decades, he now enjoys an incredibly positive "granddude" reputation. There are ways in which it can be exasperating to read yet another indignant refutation of music reviews for RAM that came out fifty years ago, when his last three albums have hit the top 3 in the charts in both the US and the UK and have gotten great reviews. I have seen people wonder, honestly wonder, how much more money Paul could have made, how much more respected he could have been, if the rock press had been inclined to give RAM good reviews. When I see that, it does start to feel like fans of Paul, at least the defensive ones in the fandom permutations I occupy, are arguing with the author photo of Philip Norman in the book jacket for Shout!. It's not that I think those arguments and discussions are not worth having; I do think they're worth having because I believe that the only way we can continue to grow is if we grapple with the mistakes made in the past. But there is a strange kind of disconnect that happens when you read about someone indignantly defending Wild Life as though the members of Wings are currently, actively having eggs and rotten fruit thrown at them, and then you remember that Paul is currently, and has been for many years now, one of the richest men in the entire world.

As for the misogyny thing, I'll copy and paste a quote from Erin Weber which may explain a little better than I can:

"Where it starts entering into serious discussion for me is when you have professional grown men (Schaffner would be the most glaring example of this, but not the only one) repeatedly using the term “pretty” or “pretty-faced” to refer to another grown man. (Norman does the same). Schaffner doesn’t only do that once or twice, he uses one of those exact words at least fifteen times in his references to McCartney. “Pretty-boy” is also a term that at least one journalist has used to describe Paul, and that’s not a stealth insult: that’s an overt one. (My husband, who hates the Yankees, routinely used the term “pretty-boy” to insult Alex Rodriguez. And it wasn’t meant as a compliment).

My reaction to this is based both on studies that I’m aware of (I’d have to hunt them up, but I’ve seen them referenced before) which argue that the use of feminized language can be a method of stealth insult/diminishment when used by men to describe other men, and my own personal experience. It is difficult to see a situation where a grown man using the term “pretty” or any variation of the word “pretty” to describe another grown man means it as a compliment. Even if its purely meant as a descriptive term, it is a descriptive term that is weighted with significant meaning and is feminizing. And given the rock press’s obsession with masculinity and its insistence, as noted in other studies, of using masculine terms to portray a song as good and feminizing terms to describe them as weak or inferior, I don’t think its a coincidence that a rock press that knew well the power of masculine and feminine language commonly used feminized language, particularly in the 1970s and 80s, to describe McCartney."

I personally see this more as pseudo-homophobic than pseudo-misogynistic (like, when I see a man called "pretty" by another man in an insulting way, I immediately think "oh, that author wanted to say a gay slur but he's too Professional"), but the two things can get muddled together, I suppose.

Anyway, actionable items:

Diversify Your Fan Experience. More perspectives can really help gain a fuller understanding of not just the fandom but the Beatles themselves. Don't be afraid to be wrong, and don't be afraid to be right; always be open to learning new things and hearing new insights.

If All Else Fails, Block 'Em.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Adrenaline Rush

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,400 Warning: None Premise: Another stolen kiss. Set after the Kenmore Heist of Chapter 9

______________

“Great work today, team,” Baz said with a grin and a mock salute. “Enjoy your night.”

The last words he accentuated by shooting Ethan a significant look. Thankfully, Lilac missed it entirely, too preoccupied with switching seats to the front now that Baz was being dropped off. 

Once alone, they drove in a silence that started off comfortable as Lilac fiddled with the radio. When she couldn’t find a station that pleased her, she switched the audio mode to play CD. The monotonous narration of the latest historical audio book he had been listening to filled the car, which prompted her to scrunch his nose at him. 

Ethan chuckled as she turned it off, feeling his shoulders relax. In the silence, he finally thought back on the excitement of the day. There was a part of him that felt reckless in agreeing to her plan in the first place. There was another part, a more insistent one, that thoroughly liked it. 

His mind swiveled to thoughts of their kiss, more proof that his carefully constructed conviction was crumbling. The memory of her lips on his, her body relaxing into his without hesitation despite the surprise, made him suddenly aware of how close their bodies were in the confined space of the car. 

He could feel her eyes on him and unsurprisingly his body flared with heat. She was thinking about their kiss, too. He knew her well enough to know that with certainty. 

The tension thickened until she could no longer take the silence. He also knew she would attempt to dispel it with characteristic humor. 

“So,” she started, the smirk evident in her voice. “The great Ethan Ramsey kissing in supply closets, huh?” 

“Here we go.” He suppressed a grin of his own, gratified he was correct about her. 

Lilac laughed and he could see her hands raise in a gesture of defeat. “I’m impressed,” she confessed. “Besides we all did it.”

Ethan recalled the first weeks of her intern year, when rumors of her and Bryce Lahela were all the nurses talked about. At the time, he felt mildly annoyed that one of his interns ran around stirring up gossip and speculation, even if it made him a hypocrite. Now, he could begrudgingly admit that chagrin might have been something else entirely. 

“Jealous, Ramsey?” The question was playful and terribly accurate. 

Ethan focused on driving, allowing a grin to break through and shaking his head slowly, concealing nothing. 

He didn't care. He was done hiding from her. 

“You must’ve been so popular,” she teased. “I almost wish I had been there.”

“Hardly,” he said. “I was obsessively focused and not exactly the friendliest or warmest. I mostly kept to myself. That’s hardly attractive.”

 Lilac made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “You are so clueless about the effect you have on people,” she declared. 

He chanced a glimpse at her when it was safe to look away from the road. At the same time, Lilac glanced up at him, their eyes locking together like magnets. Her smile was too deliberately coy and if Ethan was being honest, it had the intended effect. He felt his pulse accelerate, a palpable energy sizzling between them. Perhaps Ethan wasn't that clueless because he could've sworn that the way she looked back at him, wide eyes dark with something left unsaid, she was flirting with him. 

Eyes back on the road, he decided to play along. 

“Jealous, Allende?”

She let out a breathy sort of laugh, one that could ensnare a man forever. “Honestly? Yes.”

He coughed on his reply. Her delighted laugh filled the car, almost musical in the sound of the traffic that whizzed past them. 

“I'm messing with you,” she admitted, unaware of how true the words were. “I'm sure young Ethan Ramsey was a hit. Those poor interns never stood a chance.” She shrugged, before adding, “Besides, my mother always says, 'Lo que no fue en tu año no te hace daño.'” 

Ethan understood the words and meaning well enough, even if he struggled to formulate a precise translation. It seemed Lilac struggled too for she gave up with a sheepish smile that was entirely too endearing. 

“Wise woman, your mother,” Ethan commented in response. 

The red glare of break lights interrupted any response she may have offered. Ethan stepped on the break.  

“Dammit. I forgot there was construction on Congress Street,” he said, mindful of keeping his eyes ahead. Blindly, he reached for his phone and handed it to her. “Do you mind checking if there's other side streets open we can take?”

Lilac opened her mouth, perhaps to argue she could just look it up in hers. However, something on his screen caught her eye. 

“No lock code?” she asked with something close to jest. Ethan was certain she was cataloging this in her mental arsenal of jokes about his age. 

“There's nothing in there I'm worried about anyone seeing,” he replied, glancing at the rear view mirror. 

Except he was wrong. 

As he said the words, he remembered the picture set as his home screen. It was a photo of the Biscayne Bay in Miami at dusk, taken by him from the balcony of their hotel room in the minutes before they kissed for the first time.  

He was certain she recognized it because she stared at the screen in silence. When he glanced at her, he could see all traces of humor had vanished from her face, eyes examining the picture with recognition.

“This is from Miami,” she said in an oddly small voice. Those eyes he loved so much were fixed on the screen, as though she could not drink in the sight enough.  “When we…”

Lilac did not need to finish the sentence to ignite the memories. That night would be seared into his mind forever, not only because it was commemorated on a screen he glanced at every day, but because it was the first time he dared to hope she would want him just as badly as he wanted her. 

Lilac emitted a soft sigh, so quiet he almost did not catch it.

She was thinking about that night too.

 With a stab of guilt, he realized she must also be inevitably remembering how he’d push her away. He had been so convinced then he knew exactly what was best for her that he never bothered to give her a choice. Ethan had decided for both of them with ruthless and unmoving conviction.

Yet, she was there, right by his side. She had forgiven him when all he did was punish her for his own mistakes. His chest felt tighter with a powerful, all-consuming emotion – one he was too cowardly to admit.

“Ethan?” 

But her words broke off into a startled little cry as Ethan abruptly maneuvered into a different lane. The move inspired the shrill honking of several car horns and even one rude gesture from a driver passing them by. 

“What are you–”

Ethan safely parked the car on the side of the road and turned to face her. Wide eyes looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. 

Fueled by the sudden onslaught of emotion and the adrenaline of the day, Ethan caught her face in his hands, leaned in, and kissed her. His fervent lips moved against hers almost as if in anguish, desperately holding her to him as though she might disappear. Although initially surprised, she did not hesitate to respond just as fiercely, her lips submitting to his desperation, her hands resting at the planes of his chest. Her sweet, lush need for him made his heart skip, inspiring his tongue to part her delicate mouth. 

When they pulled apart to catch breath, his hands helplessly held on to her, relishing in her warmth. Lilac studied him curiously, a radiant smile illuminating her already lovely face. In the gold glow of the Boston streetlights, she looked ethereal to Ethan.

“What?” he asked breathlessly when she continued to wordlessly stare at him in wonder.

“You've been... loose lately.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows and she huffed a quiet laugh at that. 

“I meant, you’re loosening up.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ethan asked, nipping at her bottom lip when he couldn’t resist the sight of it.

“I like it,” she admitted, sounding deliciously dazed from the small, sweeping kisses he brushed against her lips. “It makes you seem...happier.”

It was not a strong enough word for what she made him feel.

________

Author’s Note: Roughly translated, that Spanish saying means something like “if it didn’t happen during your time, it doesn’t hurt you”. I am obsessed with Ethan knowing/understanding Spanish (among other languages).  

Very pointless drabble, I know. But today is a very sad day for my family and I just needed to write to get my mind off things. 

If you made it this far, thank you, as always.

My love and gratitude to every single one of you

_______

Tags:  @openheart12 | @ethandaddyramsey | @noboundariesplease | @silverlitskies | @infinitiestones | @flyawayboo | @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum | @myusualnerdyself | @thatysn | @choicesyouplayandmore | @chasingrobbie | @trappedinfandoms | @togetherwearerapture | @nooruleman | @caseyvalentineramsey | @axwalker | @parkerattano | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker | @kaavyaethanramsey | @edith-eggs1 | @choices-lurker | @jens-diamondchoices | @tefigranger | @ethanrcmsey | @coffeebeandragon | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey | @aestheticartwriting | @longneckramsey | @binny1985 | @mvalentine | @sanchita012 | @drethanramslay | @ ethanbrook |@ramseysno1rookie | @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite | @takeharryandgo | @aworldoffandoms | @desmaranj | @ josieplayschoices | @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor | @oofchoices | @ethxnrxmsey | @octobereighth | @colossalpainintheass​

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [59]

i. eden 

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 15.1k (yes, you read that right)

Warnings:��mentions of blood, vomit, injuries, anxiety, mentions of lesions/radiation, angst, language, allusions to suicide/suicidal thoughts, violence, injury, fighting, death.

Summary: Praimfaya has passed, leaving you and Clarke separated from everyone you love. Six years pass, and in that time, your life changes in ways you never expected.

a/n: FIRST OF ALL, THANK YOU FOR ALL OF THE LOVE ON THE S4 FINALE (AND IN GENERAL!!!) I LOVE ALL OF YOU MORE THAN THE STARS! SECOND OF ALL, YOU ALL VOTED FOR TWO UPDATES THIS WEEK DESPITE THE LENGTH OF THIS ONE! SO ASSUMING ALL IS WELL AFTER THIS HURRICANE, YOU SHOULD STILL HAVE A FRIDAY UPDATE! THAT IS ASSUMING I HAVE POWER AND WIFI OFCOURSE! OKAY THAT IS ALL HAPPY SEASON FIIIIIVEEEE!!!! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

12 hours after Praimfaya

You jump awake with a gasp. 

You don’t know why, but panic is pulsing through you, making your heart pound and your breath come out in quick gasps. You look around, trying to figure out what’s going on, eyes raking over the scene in front of you. Nightblood is spread out on the floor around you, a throbbing pain in your left arm. You turn to look at the source of the pain, confused, until your eyes land on the sloppily stitched wound and see the lesions all along your skin. 

You turn your head and vomit. 

Slowly, the pieces fall together, and you remember everything. Raven, stuck on the island, taking off your helmet to save Emori, deciding to go to space. You and Clarke running to the tower to turn on the lights on the Ark, the rocket launching without you, Bellamy leaving you behind. Praimfaya quickly approaching, nearly swallowing you and Clarke whole. Clarke falling and smashing her helmet, cutting open your arm, Clarke coughing up blood. The flood of memories increases your panic, and you turn your head, looking for Clarke, her body still in the same exact place you left her in. 

You crawl over to her and check her breathing and heartbeat, relieved that she’s still alive, but that relief doesn't last for long. Although you and Clarke were both exposed to the radiation in the air outside, Clarke’s exposure is clearly much worse. Every inch of her exposed skin is covered in spots and lesions, looking painfully cracked and irritated. Though you have no idea how to care for her, you know that you have to. You pull off your radiation suit, and toss it to the side, before you clumsily get Clarke out of hers the best you can. Once you're both free, you look around, trying to find a place to put her. Luckily, the two of you never made it down the stairs of the lab before you passed out, meaning you’re on the same level as the office. 

You hook your arms under hers and drag her to the room and onto one of the couches. You make sure to turn her on her side in case she pukes or coughs up blood, and you put a trash can nearby in case she needs it. Then you head out into the lab in search of anything you can find to help you. You scour Becca’s computer and files for any tips on how to help Clarke, and after an hour or two, you manage to find a few resources to help you. None of them take into account Nightblood, and you know that your mom didn't do much to help Luna, but at the very least, you have a few tips to help your twin, especially if things get worse. 

Knowing now that the best thing for her is rest, you leave her be and clean up the mess the two of you made in the lab. The act of scrubbing Nightblood off the floors and table keeps your mind off the reality of the situation, a fact that you’re grateful for. But as soon as you’re done, your memories come rushing back, and you start to panic again, until a single thought comes rushing back to you. 

The radio.

You run back up the stairs and into the office, before heading straight to the radio and turning it on. Kane usually kept the channels and frequencies that you used the same as the ones used on the Ark, so you start scanning each one, experimentally calling out, “Bellamy, it’s me, can you hear me?”

You do this for an hour, unsuccessfully scanning each channel and searching for a response. You repeat the same process as you attempt to talk to the bunker, but you’re met with no response from them either. Right now, you and Clarke are well and truly alone. Wanlida and Wanheda, Azazel and Azrael, shining star and la lune, you and Clarke, the Griffin Twins. 

Left behind by your friends, your family, the people you love. 

No one left but each other.

Survival begins.

-

24 hours after Praimfaya

You wake from your nap with a start, your subconscious still on edge about Clarke and her condition.

You get up from the couch you’re sprawled out on and walk over to check on Clarke, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, letting you know she’s still okay. You consider trying to fall asleep again, but it only takes a second for you to remember the anxiety pulsing through you, and you know sleep will only evade you now. Instead, you wander back into the lab, looking for something to do, your feet taking you past the doors that used to hide the rocket. You stare at the closed doors, thinking of the rocket, which now floats in space, without you, and something compels you to push the button and open the doors. 

They slide open, revealing a large empty space, the hole left behind as empty as the hole in your heart, and you start to turn and walk out of the space when something catches your eye in the corner of the room.

A pack. 

Your pack.

You run over to it and grab it, relieved that something of yours has been left behind. You unzip the main part and look inside, seeing that the pictures you had are gone, left in the bunker with your mother. Your clothes are gone too, along with your fancy soap, but your pack, the bag that has gone nearly everywhere with you in the last few months, is here with you, and for now, that’s enough. 

You turn the pack upside down and dump the contents of the bag on the floor, cataloging everything you have with you, in case anything might be helpful later. First aid kit, flare, a few rations, a flashlight, a single radio. 

You sigh, disappointed to find nothing particularly useful, and you grab the pack and pull it towards you, prepared to toss everything back inside, but something about the pack makes your brows pull together in confusion. It’s heavier than it should be now that it’s empty. You start to unzip the few pouches on the pack, pulling them open to reveal absolutely nothing, until you reach the very last pouch. You unzip the front pocket, pulling it open, your eyes landing on a book that you definitely did not put in your bag. Yellow cover, blue binding. The Iliad. 

Bellamy.

You smile and reach for the familiar book, abandoned since the race to beat Praimfaya began, only half finished. You open the cover, flipping past the first few pages, when the scrawl of someone's handwriting catches your eye. You flip back a few pages, tears welling up in your eyes when you see his handwriting on the first page of the book, before the title page. A note, addressed to you, though you’re unsure when. As you start to read, tears well up in your eyes.

My radiant moon,

I’m writing this letter to you to tell you that I love you. 

Right now, you’re asleep beside me, unbothered by the chaos of life that awaits us outside our door. When you sleep, you have a tendency to pull me closer to you, always reaching out for me anytime I shift or leave the bed. I don’t think you even know that you do it, but each time you do, I’m hit with the strength of your love. I’ve never had someone love me like this before.

But, I feel the same for you. Looking down at you now, I want nothing more than to love and protect you for the rest of my life. I promise to always do that. 

I don't know when you’ll find this, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe when we’re old and gray, surrounded by our kids and grandkids, watching our family gather together and spread the love that we share. 

All I know is that you are my love and my heart, and I am a better man because of you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to you. I know that I've made mistakes, and that at times I don't deserve the love that you give me, and when I feel that way, I’m going to work to earn it. 

For now, though, I have to go. The love of my life is reaching out for me, trying to pull me closer. I love you more than the stars, my radiant moon. You light up my life in ways I didn't even know were possible.

Forever yours,

Bellamy

 If you weren’t already kneeling, the note would have made you collapse. Instead, reading Bellamy’s words hits you like a freight train, reminding you of your grief, reminding you of your loss. Five years. You’ll have to spend the next five years without him, left with nothing more than this note and your memories. The tears that have been steadily building in you since reading the first word now fall, loud, grief stricken sobs breaking free from your chest, nearly choking you with their force. 

And there you stay, on your knees on the floor of Becca’s lab, crying for everything you’ve lost.

-

36 hours after Praimfaya

You sit in the office of the lab, watching over Clarke, willing her to wake up. Fear and anxiety pulse through you, so powerful you feel sick, absolutely terrified at the thought that you’ll have to do this alone, without your twin by your side. The more you stare at her though, the more anxious you feel, and you finally stand and turn away from her, unable to take the anxiety for another second. 

Your feet carry you over to the desk where most of your things now lie, including your pack, The Iliad, and your knife. You pick the knife up and turn it over in your hand, looking over the tallymarks you’ve etched into the handle. Five marks in total, one for each life you have taken with this blade. The first Grounder during the Battle of the Dropship, the second Grounder that attacked Bellamy and nearly killed him, Shumway. You feel a roll of nausea when you think of Shumway, a kill so different from the others. But you push the thought away, knowing this is a dangerous path to walk down. Instead, you run your finger over the fourth tally, the one for the Azgeda assassin that nearly took your life in Mount Weather, leaving the fifth and final mark for Dakiva, the Ice Nation warrior who was a little too eager to kill you and your friends. 

You start to put the knife back down when you realize the chaos of Praimfaya nearly made you forget the two lives you took right before coming to Becca’s Island. You dig through the desk drawer until you find something sharp enough to etch into the wooden handle, and you add the last two tally marks, bringing the total to seven. You take a deep breath as you finish, thinking of all 7 kills, along with the countless others you’ve had a hand in. It’s hard not to think of them now when there is nothing but silence all around you, the chaos of the Earth calm for the first time since you’ve landed. You know you had a reason for every life you took, but you know the enemies that you’ve fought also had a reason when they killed your friends. Trikru killed off the delinquents because you landed in their territory and accidentally burned down a village with the flares you fired into space. The Mountain Men killed your friends for their bone marrow because they believed it was their birthright to walk the Earth, the same way your people were taught that it was their birthright to eventually return to the ground. Pike killed every Grounder he encountered because he thought they were a threat to your people. Alie, as calculating as she was, took lives for the greater good, in an attempt to save the human race from Praimfaya. 

Every life you took was to save your people, your friends, your family, yourself. Does that make it okay? Echo said that war makes murderers of you all, and there’s no denying that you’re a killer. When it comes down to you and your people against an enemy, you will kill the enemy without a second thought, no hesitation. You are Wanlida, the Bringer of Death, but what does that truly say about you? Are you evil? Are you a monster? 

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Between Clarke’s condition and the downtime, your head is practically spinning with thoughts, flying around like a chaotic tornado, destroying everything in its path. You drop the knife onto the desk and walk back over to the couch, laying back on it and closing your eyes, hoping that, for once, you can fall asleep quickly and get out of your head. 

-

48 hours after Praimfaya

“Bellamy, can you hear me?” You sit staring at the radio, wishing for Bellamy’s voice to come through, answering you, but you hear nothing other than the steady thud of your heart in your ears. You flip to the next channel, and press the button to try again. “This would be so much easier if I could just hear your voice. Bellamy, please answer me.”

You wait, heart dropping when you’re met with the sound of silence once again. You move on to the next channel, eyes glancing to the bandage on your arm, a line of lesions peeking out from beneath it. “It’s been 2 days since Praimfaya, can anyone hear me?”

“The Ark is on channel two.”

Your eyes lift at the sound of the other voice, falling to the couch where your twin lays, watching as she weakly pulls herself up. You rush over to her, tears flooding your eyes, relief taking over every inch of your body. As soon as you reach her, you pull her into a hug, holding her tight. “I was worried you wouldn't make it, and that I’d have to do this all alone.”

She smiles at you as you pull back. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

She winces from the pain that smiling brings her, and your eyes scan her face, checking over her radiation damage. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” She looks around the room, eyes falling on the other couch, the one you’ve been sleeping on. “Did you say it’s been two days since Praimfaya?”

“Yes. You’ve been unconscious since we got back inside the lab.” You stand and grab part of the MRE you were eating earlier. “Here, eat.”

She takes the granola bar, breaking off a few small pieces before trying to hand the rest back to you. “We should ration what we have left, we don't know how long it’ll last.”

“Yes we do. I already counted everything up while you were out. We have enough rations to last us for at least two months, and there’s enough for us to eat a little more right now. We need the strength.”

She nods and takes the full bar, eating it slowly as she thinks. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“We will. After you eat and rest.”

She accepts the command and eats the rest of just eating and talking. You stand from the couch, giving her the space to stretch out again. She closes her eyes, and before she drifts completely into sleep, she reminds you, “The Ark is channel two, the bunker is on channel five.”

“Thank you, Clarke.”

“I hope you hear from him.”

“Me too.”

-

14 days after Praimfaya

“We should go to the bunker.”

“What?” You look up from the list of supplies you’re checking over, and Clarke looks up from the rations she’s carefully stacking and arranging. “We can't stay in the lab forever, we’re going to run out of food. We should go to the bunker.”

You look at her, the healing lesions on her face, and then down at the healing injury on your arm, still surrounded by some small spots. “What about the radiation levels?”

“We can survive the radiation as Nightbloods, but everything is still too high right now. If we step outside, we’ll live, but we'll be miserable the entire way to Polis. But that gives us time to prepare and pack.”

You consider this, unsure why the thought hadn’t come to you before. Maybe it was the grief that overshadowed everything you did most days, maybe it was your intense focus on survival, but the thought of living in the bunker hadn't really crossed your mind. But when Clarke mentions it and lays out a formative plan, you find yourself nodding in agreement, excited at the prospect of not being completely alone. “Okay. Let’s do it..”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

-

30 days after Praimfaya

“Hey Bell. It’s been 30 days since Praimfaya wiped everything out. Me and Clarke have been planning our escape from Becca’s lab. In less than two weeks, we’re going to make the trip from the Island to Polis. It’s going to be hard, because we have no idea what we’ll be facing on the surface. The death wave took out any drones we had, leaving us blind to what’s happening up there. We’re hoping the rover survived, it’ll make the trip much easier. Still, I'm excited at the thought of being in the bunker, reuniting with my mom, Kane, and Octavia. I think things will be easier down there, especially since we’ll all have each other. Anyways, I wish I was going to the bunker to live with you. Better yet, I wish I was in space with you, swimming amongst the stars. I haven’t seen the sky in a month, and I'm starting to get restless down here. I guess if I get restless in the bunker, I can just climb up and explore the surface. The benefits of Nightblood.”

You hear Clarke calling you from down in the lab, and you yell back, “Coming!”

You lift the radio again, smiling sadly at it. “That’s Clarke, I have to go. I miss you, Bellamy. It feels like I’m missing half of my heart without you here. I hope you’re staying sane up there, and I hope you know how much I love you.”

-

42 days after Praimfaya

You turn to look back at Clarke, an excited grin on your face. “I see light, Clarke! I think we're almost to the surface!”

“Keep going!”

You turn your gaze back to the large slab of concrete above you, feeling around for a place to grab onto. You brace yourself against the rubble below you, Clarke’s hands held onto your ankles, holding you still and in place, and then you push, shoving the concrete with all the strength you have. It takes a few pushes to get it completely loose, but when you finally do, it rolls away, sending bright light flowing into the dark space. You laugh in disbelief, and you can hear Clarke doing the same behind you before you climb the last few feet to the surface. You turn and help Clarke up, grabbing her hand and guiding her through the space, before both of you turn and look out at the landscape around you. 

Your earlier relief quickly fades, shocked at the sight in front of you. Everything your eye can see is sand; dry, barren, dead land. There are no trees, the water on the edge of the island is gone. The mansion and the lighthouse bunker are leveled, nothing more than memories now. You and Clarke exchange a look, sick with the thought of how much walking you’ll have to do across this desert landscape. Clarke turns and pulls two packs out of the hole, passing you yours, before pulling the map from hers. She unfolds it, holding it up so you can see, both of you warily eyeing the long distance from the island to the bunker. “210 miles to Polis.”

Though you expected the water to be gone, your brain struggles to make the connection that this is the same land you crossed in a boat not long ago. Still, you joke to ease the worry. “At least we don't have to swim.”

Clarke folds up the map, putting it back in her pack, before she pulls it on and turns to you. “We’ve got this.”

You nod, agreeing, before you climb your way down from the pile of rubble that was once the lab, and begin the long journey to Polis. 

-

You and Clarke walk across the barren seabed for what feels like days, but is likely only a few hours. The sun beats down on you both, mercilessly hot, and the air is so dry and stagnant that it sucks all the moisture from your body, making you miserable. A slight breeze blows over you occasionally, but it only brings sand your way, doing little to cool you off. You and Clarke barely speak, preserving your energy for the walk ahead, before eventually, you hear Clarke make a small sound of excitement. You look over at her, but her vision is locked on something in the distance, and you turn your head that way, following her gaze over to a small pile of rocks. You smile, remembering the same rocks as the ones that once sat on the shore, marking the place where the boat on the island was frequently stopped at. 

You and Clarke immediately take off running, dropping to your knees in the middle of the pile of rocks, frantically digging the sand away with your bare hands. After only seconds of digging, you exclaim, “There’s something here!”

Clarke pulls the small shovel she found in the lab from her pack, digging large chunks of sand out of the way until you see a small bit of metal. You help her dig even deeper, exposing the metal more and more, until finally, you recognize the gun that sits on the front of the rover. You and Clarke exchange laughs of disbelief, before you turn and pull off your packs, ready to begin the process of digging the rover out of the sand. 

It takes a few hours, the sun gradually setting in the process, cooling the earth around you slightly. But for once, you don't care about the heat, your mind and body too focused on getting the rover out. Once it’s free, Clarke pulls open the door and you stand beside her as she experimentally turns the keys, still left behind in the ignition. The rover stutters for half a second, and your stomach drops, thinking that it’s not going to work, until a second later the engine roars to life. You and Clarke laugh in joyous disbelief once again, turning and hugging each other tight over this small victory.

When she releases you, you run and grab both of your packs, tossing them in the back as you jump into the passenger seat, closing the door behind you. Clarke slides in behind the wheel, pulling away from the dried seabed, pointing the rover in the direction of Polis, your soon to be home. As Clarke drives through the barren landscape, you hear an odd rumble behind you, and you turn and glance out the window at an approaching storm cloud, crackling with electricity, ominously dark. Clarke pushes the rover faster, trying to outrun it as you watch the terrifying storm grow closer. “What if we got caught in that without the rover?”

“I’m not sure we’d survive.”

You shudder at the thought, thankful that the two of you found the vehicle and that it works. Clarke continues on towards Polis, and you keep an eye on the storm for a while, until eventually, you outrun it, safe from its destruction. 

At some point on the way to Polis, you doze off, catching a few hours of sleep as the sun sets and the moon rises into the sky. Clarke wakes you up a few hours later, and the two of you trade off, leaving you behind the wheel to drive as she gets a chance to rest. As Clarke sleeps peacefully beside you, you grab the radio in the rover and set it to channel two, lifting the receiver to ask, “My love, can you hear me?”

You’re not surprised to hear nothing in return, but disappointment still sits heavy on you as you sigh and push on, committed to your routine at this point. “It’s been 43 days since Praimfaya. Clarke and I left Becca’s Island yesterday, and everything looks terrible. You wouldn't believe how much sand there is now, everything living now dead and gone at this point. It took us a few hours of walking, but luckily we ended up finding the rover, and by some miracle, it still works. We’re nearly to Polis now, I think we’ll make it in a few hours. I’ll let you know when we make it in the bunker, and I'll make sure to give Octavia your love. I know she’ll be sad you aren’t with me.”

You put the radio down and whisper to yourself, “Kind of like how I'm sad you aren't with me.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes and fall down your cheeks, your grief over being separated just as painful as the first day. You put the radio back down, too upset to continue your message, and you nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand come down and rest on your thigh. You turn to look at Clarke in surprise, her eyes full of pity, and you quickly wipe the tears from your face. “I thought you were asleep.”

“My twin senses were tingling.”

You force a smile to your face, locking your eyes on the road ahead of you. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. I know what it’s like to lose someone.”

“I didn't lose him, not really. I shouldn't be this upset.”

Clarke’s voice is soft, comforting, when she answers you. “La lune, you’re allowed to be as upset as you feel. We can all see how much you and Bellamy love each other, and even though he’s still alive, the two of you have to spend the next five years apart. That's hard to do, and you’re allowed to be upset over it.”

You feel tears fall down your cheeks again, finally voicing the one thought that’s been circling your brain since this all began. “He probably thinks we’re dead, Clarke. I’m scared that he feels guilty, or responsible, and I just wish I could talk to him one time to let him know we made it.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. If I could fix the radios and get your message to him, I would, no matter what it took.”

“I know.” You wipe away your tears again, giving her a more genuine smile this time. “I’m just glad I’ve had you throughout this experience.”

“Me too.”

You spend the rest of the drive in silence, both of you going over the events of the last 40 something days in your own heads. When you finally pull into Polis the sun is now up, lighting up the streets and guiding your way to the tower. Most of the buildings are still standing, small and low enough that Praimfaya ran through them but didn't level them. But you know that the tower has fallen, because you didn't get a single glimpse of it as you approached the Grounder capital. When you approach a large pile of fallen rubble, Clarke mumbles, “Stop here.”

You do as she says, turning off the rover and following your twin out of the vehicle as she runs to the rubble. She climbs up it carefully, standing on top of the pile to get a better look at the scene in front of her. You can see her face fall as she stares out, and as soon as you stand beside her, you can see why. The tower is 90% destroyed, only the first five stories remaining. The rubble you now stand on is part of the fallen building, knocked down easily by Praimfaya. “The bunker is underneath all of this?”

Clarke nods, her expression grim, before turning away. “C’mon, we have to find a way in.”

You follow her past the fallen stories until you reach the remaining part of the building that’s still standing. Rubble blocks the way, meaning your entrance to the bunker is blocked. Clarke immediately starts moving blocks of concrete from the path, turning and carrying them away in silence. You follow suit, both of you working together to move the larger pieces, gradually chipping away at the concrete that blocks the door to your future home. The debris you clear forms a sort of tunnel to the door, shielding you from the sun briefly as you work to haul away the stone obstructions. Periodically, the building seems to shift and rumble, leaving you with an uneasy feeling, and you and Clarke both freeze in place, hoping that the concrete above you stays in place. 

You both stop halfway through the day to bandage your hands, the continuous lifting of the rough stone leaving your hands raw and bleeding, and you spend that time splitting one of the last rations you have on hand. It barely leaves you satisfied, hunger still gnawing at you, but you push past it, using the feeling to motivate you to work harder to reach the door. You and Clarke continue working until it gets too dark to see the rubble, and only then do you both crawl into the back of the rover and fall asleep almost immediately, exhausted from the day.

-

You wake to the feeling of someone shaking you, Clarke’s sleepy voice calling your name and urging you awake. “I think we can reach the door today if we work hard.”

You blink the sleep from your eyes and sit up, groaning at the soreness in your muscles, already weary at the thought of lifting stones for another day. But if you get it done today, you could be in a real bed tonight. The thought gets you up and moving, following Clarke back into the tunnel to continue moving rubble away from the door. You start to get close by midday, blocked by a few large pieces that you and your twin struggle to move. No matter how hard you try, neither of you can shift the stone out of the way, leaving both of you frustrated, tired, and sore. Clarke starts to bang on the rubble with a large rock, screaming and yelling, hoping something will come of it. “We’re here! We’re here! Mom!”

She falls backwards onto her butt, all of her energy leaving her at once, and the movement shifts a rock behind her. Both of you stare at it in fear, waiting for a collapse that never comes. Clarke’s expression, however, morphs into one of shock, her eyes locked on something you can't see from where you're standing. You step closer as she pulls on something, eventually freeing a large, gnarled piece of wood. As you look at the source of the wood, tied together with similar looking pieces and a few spears, you realize that it was the throne. Lexa’s throne.

Clarke stares at the wood in her hand in sadness, tears welling up in her eyes. You think of her words from earlier, when you were in the rover. I know what it’s like to lose someone. You reach out and place a comforting hand on her arm, opening your mouth to say something when you hear a low rumble. Something about it lifts the hairs on the back of your neck, and your senses quickly shift into overdrive. You realize you can feel slight shaking, and nearby a small stone drops from up above, alerting you to a larger problem seconds before it hits. 

You wrap your hand around Clarke’s arm and pull her towards the entrance, both of you running through the tunnel as the rumbling behind you grows louder. You dive out of the entrance just in time, you and Clarke rolling over the stone debris at the entrance just as the tunnel collapses behind you, sending out a large plume of dust and smoke. You both scramble backwards, away from the falling hazard, watching in horror as all the work you put in is destroyed, burying the bunker door even worse than before.

You stare at the rubble in silence, both of you already aware of the reality at hand: no amount of digging will get you to the bunker door. You and Clarke are officially stuck on the outside, while your mom and the others are stuck on the inside. Without more help for the rubble, the two of you will never get that door open on your own. 

Eventually the two of you trudge back to the rover, her taking the passenger seat, you taking the driver’s seat, still shocked into silence over what just happened. Neither of you say a word as you turn the rover on and start to drive, pulling away from the bunker, the tower, and Polis, taking you back out into the barren landscape. Clarke doesn't ask where you’re going, and for a long time, you aren't sure where you’re driving to either, until the landscape, though desolate, starts to become more familiar. Within minutes, you stop the rover, you and Clarke both looking out the windshield at your former home. What’s left of it anyways.

You hop out, walking past the mostly destroyed sign, welcoming visitors to all that remains of Arkadia, home of the Sky People. It’s mostly a field of debris at this point, the walls knocked down and most of the ring of Alpha Station destroyed, leaving next to nothing behind. You and Clarke scavenge through what’s left, grabbing anything that might be useful to you later. As you wander through the field of debris, you stumble upon an ammo box, locked tight with a small padlock. You pry on the lid, trying to get it open, only to fail miserably. You shrug and grab it, adding it to your growing pile of items to sort through later.

After the sun sets, you and Clarke sit in the back of the rover, sharing your last ration and the last few sips of water from the canteen. Neither of you talk about it, not wanting to address the obvious fact that soon, without food or water, and unable to get into the bunker, you’ll both die. Instead, Clarke pushes the locked box towards you and hands you a hammer. “Open it.”

You bust the lock, before popping open the lid and reaching inside. Your hands close around a small ipod, and when you flip it over, you can see a label on the back, a name printed on it, letting everyone know who this belonged to. 

Maya.

You pass it to Clarke, both of you aware that the last person to have Maya’s ipod was Jasper. You reach into the box again and grab the next item inside, a large pair of goggles, formerly worn daily by Jasper when all of you first landed in the dropship. As you stare at the goggles, Clarke pulls something else out of the box, the last item inside. It’s a piece of paper, folded in half once, Monty’s name written on the front in Jasper’s handwriting. Clarke starts to open it, but you put your hand over hers, stopping her. Knowing how Jasper spent his last few days, you can imagine it’s a goodbye letter meant for his best friend. Something the two of you shouldn't be reading. 

She seems to understand this, her eyes falling to the note again, and the reality of the situation hits both her and you at the same time. Jasper is gone, dead before Praimfaya even arrived. Tears start to well up in your eyes and your twin’s eyes, everything hitting you all at once. Most of your friends are in space, without you. Your mom and the rest of your people are in a bunker in the ground, unreachable, while the two of you are here, on the surface, alone. No food, no water, no home, no people, nothing left. You and Clarke start to cry, loud, shoulder shaking sobs, overcome with grief and loss. You hold each other in your arms, the last two people on earth, left behind by everyone you love to tough out a world destroyed by Praimfaya.

-

You wake early, before Clarke does, and you grab the radio, along with a satellite dish she found yesterday while scavenging. You step out into the early morning and set everything up on the hood of the rover before climbing up beside it, setting the radio to channel two, your eyes lifting to the sky. “Hey, Bell.”

You release the button and wait, fully aware that no one will answer, but you do it anyways. After a minute with no response, you sigh and continue, “Bad news, Clarke and I didn't make it into the bunker. Everything collapsed around us, burying the door even deeper. The hard truth is, we could dig for years and never reach that door. I really let myself believe we’d live down there and everything would be okay. Instead, we’re stuck on the surface of a desolate planet, now without food and water. If we don't find some soon, I don't think we’re gonna-”

You cut yourself off, unable to say the words, unable to voice your fear. That all the bullshit you’ve gone through in the last few weeks was for nothing. Instead you shake your head, clear out your dark thoughts, and look around at your former home. “We came to Arkadia looking for supplies, but all we found were ghosts. Looking around at it now, it’s like we were never here. You’d never know over 400 people lived here and called this place home. Settled down, got comfortable, made a life. And now, only 100 of them remain, stuffed into a bunker in the ground as the rest were left outside to die.”

You stop yourself again, unsurprised to find yourself veering back into the darker categories. The truth of your situation is heavy, reminding you that you and Clarke won't survive long without water. “I doubt you can hear me on this piece of crap radio, but in case this is the last time I get to do this, I just want to say...please don't feel bad about leaving us here. You did what you had to do, Bellamy, and I'm proud of you.”

You hear the door to the rover creak open, and a moment later Clarke hops out of the back, and walks over to you, peering up at you. “You ready to go?”

You nod and she heads to the driver’s side. You lift the radio, eyes on the sky, and smile. “I love you more than the stars, Bellamy Blake. I’ll talk to you soon.”

You cut the radio off and grab it and the satellite, placing them both in the back carefully before jumping into the front beside Clarke. She looks over at you with a smile, “Where to?”

“Wherever the road takes us.”

She nods and peers out at Arkadia one last time before turning on the rover and pulling away, taking you away from your former home.

-

Clarke decides to lead the two of you deeper into Trikru territory, deeper into the former forest, in the hopes that somehow, somewhere, a food and water source survived. You hook up Maya’s ipod and turn on some music as you roll down the windows and let yourself enjoy the ride, neither of you wanting to think about what will happen if you find nothing. At some point, the sandy landscape gives way to charred terrain, giving you both a little hope that maybe you’ll find something soon. Eventually the flat land turns into hills, covered in charred trees, and you and Clarke exchange a look because, for once, the landscape hasn't been leveled. 

You both continue the ride in silence, listening to Maya’s music, watching as Clarke weaves through the trees along the carved out path. You ride for most of the day until she checks the gauges on the dash and sighs. “We��re nearly out of power.”

The path she’s been driving on is slowly taking you higher, and you muse, “Maybe there will be a good place to stop near the top.”

She nods, continuing higher, and sure enough, the path levels out to a little clearing, situated along the edge of a cliff. Clarke parks the rover in the clearing, right underneath the sun, and you both hop out and walk near the cliff’s edge, looking out at the landscape below. Just like everything else, it’s barren and useless. Still, the two of you remain there for a while, in companionable silence, until you nod towards the rover. “We should get some rest while it charges, that way we can keep driving once it gets late.”

“Good idea.”

Both of you head back to the rover and get into the back, stretching out the best you can in the small space and laying down to sleep. Clarke is out in minutes, the dream world taking her easily, but as you expected, you’re not as lucky. Instead, you lay in the back, staring at the roof of the rover, trying to imagine what Bellamy is doing right now. Maybe he’s learning Trigedasleng from Emori, or maybe Echo is teaching him how to fight. Maybe he’s eating a small MRE ration and sitting at one of the viewing windows, staring down at the Earth, thinking about you. As your thoughts start to wander even more, a low rumble in the distance pulls you right out of your head and into the present. Your brows pull together, listening, hoping, and seconds later another low rumble echoes in the sky. 

Thunder.

You sit up, shaking Clarke awake as you do, “Clarke, get up.”

She sits up suddenly, hand reaching for her knife, prepared for any threat. “What is it?”

“Nothing like that.” You swing open the door and jump outside, reaching back in to grab your twin and tug her out behind you. As you both stand outside near the rover, you hear another roll of thunder, and Clarke looks at you with a smile. It only takes another minute for the storm to roll in, pelting you both with cool rain, and you smile and look up at the sky, sending your thanks to the Universe. “Thank you.”

Clarke grabs the canteens from inside the rover, along with a few pieces of your scavenged materials, and the two of you rig up a trough to drain into the canteens. As soon as there’s a mouthful of water inside the bottles, you each grab them and drink it greedily, desperately thirsty considering you’ve been rationing your water too. You and Clarke stay out in the rain, filling up whatever you can with water, accepting each drip of the life source with appreciation. By the time the rain has stopped, you’re both soaked to the bone, but you’re too happy to care. Most of your water containers are filled to the top, and you and Clarke are safe from dehydration, at least for a little while. 

-

Not long after the rain storm, you take over driving, continuing down the winding path in search of supplies. The windows are down and the music is on, a driving routine starting to be established, and you are chatting with your twin about all the things you wish you could eat this very moment. For some reason, talking about food while you’re starving is actually helpful, both of you describing your favorite things in detail, distracting yourselves from the hunger that gnaws at your insides. As Clarke is telling you about the best Ark apple pie that she’s ever had, something hits your windshield with a light thud. Your eyes cut over to it, landing on a large bug, and without knowing why, you slam on the brakes. 

You and Clarke exit the rover and stand near the bug, both of you staring at it and then at each other, wondering if you dare to do it. You scoop the bug off the glass, handing half of it to Clarke, and you both watch each other for a long second before she whispers, “We haven’t eaten in days. We have to do this.”

You nod, looking at the bug with a grimace. “Stronger together.”

And then you both drop the bug into your mouths, chewing and swallowing quickly before the taste can reach your tastebuds. It’s as disgusting as you expect it to be, but you can easily convince yourself that you don't care considering the hunger that grips you. Clarke notices a few more bugs along the grille of the rover, and the two of you share them, scoping them off the vehicle and eating them quickly, hoping that your body keeps them down long enough to digest them and give you strength. As the two of you stand there eating, you hear a rumble of thunder and you look towards it, your eyes falling on a fast approaching cloud, charged and electric, heading right towards you. It’s just like the one you saw in the dead zone, thick and dry, full of sand, crackling with danger. You and Clarke both scramble into the rover and roll up the windows just as the cloud overtakes you, shaking the rover with it’s ferocity. 

You look over at Clarke, about to make a joke about the bugs and the sand, until you see the look of horror on her face. “What? What is it?”

“The solar panels.”

That’s all she has to say to get both of you moving again, grabbing scarves to wrap around your faces before she hands you Jasper’s goggles, and you pull them on. Both of you hop out again, and you are instantly met with a lungful of sand as you breathe in, drying out your mouth and throat. You cough against it, trying to ignore the sand that bites at the exposed parts of your body as you pull off the closest solar panel, but the heavy winds yank it straight from your hands, sending it flying away from you. You abandon the mission and get back inside, surprised to find Clarke already in the passenger seat, flushing out her eyes. She hears you close the door and mutters, “Too much sand, nearly blinded me.”

You cough again, trying to clear the sand from your throat. “The wind blew the panel right out of my hands.”

She looks up at you, water dripping down her face, pissed. “Damn it!”

You pull off the scarf and the goggles and toss them into the back, before settling into the seat, just as annoyed. “Nothing we can do now except wait for it to pass. We can't see a thing right now, we’ll just have to hope for the best.”

-

And hope you do. 

It’s only an hour or so before the sandstorm moves past you, leaving behind an eerie calm in its wake, but each passing minute feels like an hour as you wait to assess the damage. As soon as it’s clear, you try to crank the rover, sighing when the engine won't turn over. Clarke mutters, “Try again.”

You try a few more times, each attempt unsuccessful, before you step out of the rover and look at the panels. Each solar panel you appraise is broken and cracked, half hanging off the rover, clearly beyond repair. You and Clarke let out a huff of frustration before heading to the back of the rover and grabbing your packs, pulling out the map to mark the location of the rover. Clarke traces the rover point to Alie’s Solar Fields, both of you aware that there are plenty of solar panels there to replace the ones on the rover. Your twin looks over at you, gauging your reaction, and you nod in agreement with the unspoken plan, knowing the vehicle is the best thing you’ve got. She folds the map back up and stuffs it into her pack before the two of you head off in the direction of the fields, hopeful and determined.

-

You have no idea how long you've been walking, but the sand that stretches around you seems endless. Each time you reach a new peak, a new hill, you think: this is it, the solar field is right on the other side. But then you peer out at the landscape and see nothing but empty sand and disappointment. The sun is merciless in the dead zone, beating down on you and Clarke, leaving you hot, tired, and dehydrated. You’re sparing with your water, unsure how long it’ll be before you can get more, but the canteen hangs from your pack taunting you, sloshing around the last few drops of water gifted to you by the sky.

Slowly, your walking turns to trudging, and then turns to a slow drag, both of you so exhausted that your steps are heavy and barely lift from the sand. Clarke is the first to fall, and you drop your pack and move towards her, pulling off her pack and scarf, trying to get airflow to her face. Her skin is dry and cracking, her lips are peeling, and she is weak, barely holding on. You grab your canteen from your pack and pull your twin into your lap, pouring the last few drops of water that you have into her mouth and down her throat. She swallows greedily, and whispers, “More.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes, but nothing falls, too dehydrated to cry. “That’s all I have, Clarke.”

You grab her canteen and check inside, hers just as empty as yours, and you dig through both of your backpacks looking for anything to give her, your heart breaking when you find nothing. Clarke’s breathing deepens, and you’re sure she passed out, leaving you alone to sit in the sand and watch over her, hoping nothing happens. You must doze off or pass out, because you wake up on the sand, a throbbing pain in your hand. When you look that way, you see a bird pecking at you, and you shift away, letting out a surprised scream. 

Clarke shifts in your lap, scared awake by the sound, and both of you stare at the bird until she suddenly scrambles towards it. “Take us to your home!”

The bird takes flight and you and Clarke turn after it, watching it disappear over a large sand dune. You scramble up the dune, still feeling weak, but your adrenaline carries you the best it can, your body buzzing at the prospect of what you’ll find when you reach the top. You and Clarke make it at the same time, staring out into a sandy, barren landscape, much like the one you were already in. No sign of food or water, just a long stretch of disappointment and crushed hope. You turn towards Clarke to check on her but you lose your balance on the small hill, and you fall and tumble your way back to the bottom, taking a beating as you do. When you roll over and pull yourself to your knees, you let out a broken scream, tired of all the bullshit you and Clarke have dealt with since Praimfaya. 

Clarke makes it down the hill and drops to her knees in front of you, and you can feel yourself giving up as you look at her, tears welling up in your eyes again. “I’m done, Clarke, I can't do this anymore. We’ve lost our friends, our parents. I lost Bellamy. And I just...can't keep doing this, I can't keep fighting.”

You’re fully prepared to hear her argue and fight you on your words, but she surprises you by slumping a little, just as defeated, and pulling her gun out of the holster at her thigh. She holds it in her hands, looking it over, before glancing up at you. “If we do it, we do it together.”

You pull your knife out, the only weapon you have, the Grounder knife that’s been with you since almost the beginning. The same knife that has taken countless lives by your hand, and now, it’s going to take yours. You lift the knife to your throat as Clarke lifts the gun to her temple, both of you watching each other as you do. Azrael and Azazel, Wanheda and Wanlida, the twins, are done. You have given up, exhausted by your life and existence, unable to handle anymore curveballs from the Universe. 

Your mind flashes to Bellamy and you see Clarke’s finger drop to the trigger. You grip the handle of the knife tighter, pressing it into your skin a little as you reminisce on all the good things in your life one last time. Your father, your mother, your twin, and Bellamy Blake, keeper of your heart, love of your life. You close your eyes and whisper, “Oso gonplei ste odon.”

And just as you’re about to move the knife, you hear a bird screech above you.

Your eyes fly open and immediately search the skies, the bird from before now circling overhead. Clarke sees it too because she puts her hand over yours and pulls the knife away from your neck as she lowers her gun. “It’s not over. Not yet.”

Both of you scramble to your feet and follow the bird, which circles once and then flies in a new direction, one you haven’t explored yet. You and Clarke run through the sand as fast as you can, trying to keep up. This time when you crest the surface of the hill, you are met with lush, green trees as far as the eye can see. It’s a stark contrast from the sand at your backs, but it’s a welcome sight. You and Clarke let out laughs of relief, turning to hug each other as tears spring to your eyes, this time for a completely different reason. Because now, you have hope.

Clarke pulls away and looks at the bird, a vulture, which has landed on a tree nearby. “Thank you.”

And then she follows her thanks by lifting her gun and shooting it, securing your dinner for the night. As she goes to get the bird, you run back and grab your packs, stumbling back up the hill just in time to meet her. Clarke takes her pack and pulls it on before using some string to tie the bird to the strap, securing it at her side. You head down the hill, towards the lush, green forest, practically running towards it with excitement. As soon as you make it into the woods, Clarke finds a place to camp, and turns to you. “See if you can find some water.”

You drop your pack, grab the canteens, and run off, careful to keep Clarke in view as you search for water. It doesn't take you long to find a small creek, and you come back with two full canteens, welcomed by the sight of the vulture, spit roasted over a fire. Clarke takes her canteen from you with thanks, drinking the liquid down with appreciation. And soon, the two of you are nestled between a pair of trees, chowing down on vulture meat and water. It’s the best you’ve felt in weeks, surrounded by trees, and water, and food, and hope, and you send a silent thank you to the Universe for providing for you once more. 

Later that night, Clarke falls asleep and you pull out your radio and satellite dish, setting yourself up on a small boulder in a clearing that gives you a good view of the moon and stars. You smile up at them, tracing constellations as you flip on the radio. “Hey Bellamy, it’s been 49 days since Praimfaya, and I thought today was going to be it for me. Things got...bad today. Dark. It’s hard to see the light when the people that bring it to you are gone. Being separated from everyone except Clarke, it's hard. Even still, I'm thankful to have her, because I could never do this alone. I have good news though; we found food, and water, and life. Green trees and grass, bugs, animals. Maybe I can build a life here, and when you come down, we can enjoy it together. A peaceful life, with no more fighting, no more war, no more killing. Animals don't feel guilty when they kill. They just do it, because it’s kill, or be killed. In a way, I think that’s what we’ve been doing since we got down here, kill or be killed. The Grounders, the Mountain Men, Alie, they all threatened us in some way or another so we threatened them back. But maybe, to them, we threatened first and then they threatened back. We all had our reasons. At the end of the day, I guess it doesn't matter anymore, because there’s no one left to kill now. Wanlida, the bringer of Death, is done. The question is, who am I now?”

You lower the radio, still looking at the stars, when you see a streak of light fly overhead, so fast you almost miss it. 

A shooting star.

You lift the radio again, smiling as you do. “Did you send that to me? Even if you didn’t, I get one wish, and I’m using it on you. I wish you’ll come back to me, Bellamy. I wish I could see you, hug you, kiss you. If you come back, everything will be okay again, everything will be right. I’ll be counting down the days, my love.”

-

When you wake the next day, you and Clarke set out to explore, looking for a better place to make a permanent camp. You follow the stream for a while, hoping it will lead you to something better, and the small rush of water doesn't disappoint. Within a few hours you find a body of water, a waterfall rushing into it. You and Clarke grin when you see it, before you both take off running towards it, dropping your things along the bank. You strip down to your undergarments and jump in, relishing the feel of the cool water on your dry skin. 

You and Clarke swim for hours, letting the water refresh you and clean you, pushing the nightmare of the desert out of your mind. Eventually you pull yourselves up onto the rocks and let the sun dry you, both of you sitting and basking in the warm glow from the sun, nowhere near as harsh as the desert when it filters through the trees. Eventually you both get dressed and head out again, following a few trails in search of something better, and it's not long before you stumble upon it.

As you come around the bend of the trail, you see a sign up ahead, wooden and sturdy, printed with the words, “Welcome to the town of Shenandoah.”

Over the writing is a familiar symbol, three arrows moving through a perfect circle, and Clarke brushes her fingers over it and whispers, “Louwoda Kliron Kru.”

“Shadow Valley clan."

You and Clarke exchange a look before walking past the sign, following the path as it opens up into a small village. The first thought you have is that it’s beautiful. Bright and colorful, with ribbons hanging from the trees and decorations scattered throughout. There are small buildings in the village, mostly little forts and picnic tables with awnings, but in the center is a small church, somehow still standing. As you get closer to the building, you can see a young boy on the porch out front, face bloody, clearly dead from the radiation. 

You walk past the boy and slowly push open the door, worried about what you’ll find, and as soon as you do, you’re hit with an awful smell, one that you’re sure is the scent of decomposing bodies. You gag, instantly covering your nose and mouth with your hand, muffling the smell, and you see Clarke do the same, clearly trying to block it out. When you step inside, your suspicions are confirmed, as maybe 50 people are gathered inside, all dead. You look at Clarke, noting the sadness in her eyes, and you whisper, “Grounders burn their dead.”

She nods, already pulling off her pack, and the two of you spend the next few hours clearing the bodies from the village, stripping them of most their clothes and shoes, knowing the resources will be helpful for those in the bunker when they get out. At nightfall, you burn the bodies in the center of the village, watching the flames take the people of Shallow Valley away, reducing them to ash. “Yu gonplei ste odon.”

That night you both sleep in the grass, most of the buildings still too fragrant to sleep in. For the next few days, you and Clarke fix up the village, cleaning it and washing the clothes, searching for food and deciding where to set up camp. Eventually you decide on the building at the center, the church, neither of you wanting to sleep too far from each other at night. And each night you call Bellamy before you fall asleep, recounting the events of the day to him.

One day when you’re hanging up the next batch of clothes to dry, Clarke comes back from a hunt, bursting with excitement, running over to show you a bundle of berries carried in her shirt, bright and beautiful. The two of you wolf them down before making plans to pick more as soon as you can.

-

Clarke wakes you up early, eager to spend the morning picking berries, and the trip turns out to be a successful one. You come back with about six bowls of berries, with plenty still left in the field for later. Clarke spreads the bowls out on the table, along with her sketchpad and your radio, before she points to the chairs. “We’ve been working hard. Today, we feast.”

The two of you eat berry after berry, and Clarke uses some to paint in her sketchpad, crafting your likeness out of berry juice. You sit across from her, watching, before you finally pick up the radio and flip it on. “Hey, Bell.”

You wait for an answer as usual, but of course, none comes. Still, the disappointment can't reach you today, easily overshadowed by the excitement of the last few days. “The village is coming along great, I can't wait until you can see it. Clarke and I are pretty much finished now. We’ve cleaned all the other buildings and they're ready to be filled with our friends and family. Right now, Clarke and I are sharing a place, but once you get here, we’ll move into a little house of our own. I think I have the perfect one in mind. I found it three days ago when I was checking for supplies, and I'm thinking whoever lived there liked the sky as much as I do. There’s a hole cut into the ceiling, replaced by a thin piece of plastic, sealed tight against the elements. The house sits in a small space between a few trees, and the view to the sky is unobstructed. During the day, the sun tracks over the building, keeping it bright and airy. At night, you can see the moon and count the stars. It’s perfect for us.”

You pop a few berries into your mouth, and glance over at Clarke’s drawing. She looks up at you, smiling, and you smile back, happier than you’ve been in a while. “It's been 58 days, which means that by now, Monty should have the algae farm producing. How bad does it suck? No offense, Monty. We found berries, a whole field of them. They're not very sweet, but they're still delicious, some of the best I’ve ever tasted. They’re beautiful, too. Clarke’s using them to-”

You cut yourself off when you see movement from the corner of your eye, and when you look that way, you see a small child in the field nearby, staring at you and Clarke. You freeze, and Clarke looks up at you, sensing the change, and you whisper, “Someone’s here.”

She turns, and the movement must spook the kid because they turn and take off, tearing through the woods. You and Clarke stand, already running after them, yelling, “Wait, stop, it’s okay!”

Clarke leads the way, following the path the child takes, weaving through the woods and away from the camp. She yells after her in English, but the kid never slows down or stops, so you call out to Clarke, “Try Trigedasleng!”

Clarke switches languages and yells out to the elusive child, “Beja! Osir jos gaf in chich yu op!”

Please! We just want to talk to you! You follow Clarke down a small hill and then through a path, jogging deeper into the woods until your twin suddenly freezes in place. You stop behind her, catching a glimpse of the small child, who is half hidden in the bushes, watching you both. Clarke lifts her hands in surrender and you follow suit as she drops her voice into a comforting tone. “Yu laik Natblida, sha?”

You’re a Nightblood, right? The child slips from the bushes and moves into the clearing, and as you watch her, you realize now that they’re a girl. It’s hard to tell from the mud caked on her face and her wild, unruly hair, but now that she’s standing still and watching the two of you, you’re able to get a better look. Clarke takes her stillness as an invitation to move closer, her hands still lifted in surrender. She takes a few steps, and you start to give her a whispered warning when chaos erupts. “Clarke-”

The rest of your warning is cut off by Clarke’s pained scream, and you have a second to register her foot caught in a bear trap before the wild little girl runs at you, a knife in her hand, screaming, “Slip daun, Fleimkepa!”

Die, Flamekeeper! Though she’s small, she catches you off guard, your focus locked onto your screaming twin, and the girl manages to knock you to the ground and scramble on top of you, bringing the knife down towards you. You lift your hands to shield your face, just in time too, because her blade catches your left forearm, right over your freshly healed Praimfaya injury, and you let out a scream. She stares at the blade, now covered in your Nightblood, and she backs away from you and whispers, “Natblida.”

She turns and runs off before you can say or do anything else, but you don't have time to process the interaction because Clarke is still screaming from beside you. You scramble over to her and try to pry open the trap, but it’s too strong, and she gasps out, “Find a branch for leverage!”

You jog off in search of something sturdy enough to pry open the trap, nearly jumping with excitement when you find a branch nearby. You run back to Clarke and wiggle it into the trap before using it to pry it open all the way, freeing her foot. As soon as she’s free, you drop the stick and grab her, putting her arm around you to help half carry, half support her back to camp. She’s fighting back tears the entire time, grunting with each step that sends a shockwave through her leg. You finally reach the village and you make a beeline for the church you’ve been living in, and you lean her against the bar as she points across the room to her pack. “My medkit is over there!”

You run over and grab it as she pulls herself up onto the bar, tugging her pants up to inspect the wound. She gets woozy as soon as she gets a look, something you’ve never seen her do with a wound before, but considering how bad it is, you can’t blame her. The trap cut her deep, and if you don’t work fast, she’ll easily run the risk of bleeding out. You pull out her medkit and grab a tourniquet, quickly tying it off before grabbing the supplies for the stitches and threading the needle. You hover over the injury, looking up at your twin, nearly shaking with pain. “Do we have anything for the pain?”

“No, but if you don’t stitch this, I won't make it.”

You sigh and look down at the cut. “Here we go.”

You press the needle through her skin and start stitching the wounds, and Clarke holds back her cries of pain as long as she can manage before eventually passing out. You finish stitching the wound and bandage it before removing the tourniquet, and then you pull up your sleeve to check on your own arm. The cut is deep enough to need a few stitches so you patch up yourself, taking a second to admire the slight improvement you've had in the stitches department. Once you finish, you pull up a chair and decide to sit and watch over Clarke, not sure if the girl is going to come back and attack again.

Luckily, the night is uneventful, and you manage to catch a few hours of sleep before Clarke wakes you up, already limping her way to her pack and sketchpad before your eyes are fully open. “We’re going to the river.”

You give her a look, wondering if she's lost her mind. “With the child from hell still out there and roaming around?”

She gives you a scolding look. “She’s scared.”

You point to her injured leg and your stitched up arm. “Yeah, that makes two of us.”

But she gives you another look, the “I’m the older twin by two minutes look”, and you know she’s not going to let this go until you give in. So you sigh and roll your eyes before you help her down to the river, both of you approaching quietly when you see the small girl standing in the water, spearing fish like a pro. You’re impressed, and so is Clarke, because she calls out, “Yu na tich ai op hashta daun?”

Can you teach me that? The girl spins around, surprised to see you, before she takes off running again, her fish and spear in hand. You and Clarke call after her, trying to convince her you’re not a threat, but she disappears into the trees, leaving you alone. Clarke plops down onto one of the boulders near the water’s edge and tugs off her sock and boot before dipping her injured ankle into the water, cleaning her wound. You eventually strip to your undergarments and take a swim, wading around in the cool water and forcing the girl from your mind before you climb up onto the boulders beside Clarke to dry off. She sits in the sun beside you, sketching a picture of the girl, and when you eventually stand to pull your clothes on, you catch a glimpse of the wild child. You whisper to Clarke as you lace up your boots, “She’s here, hiding in the trees.”

Clarke nods once, not wanting to alert her that you both know she’s there, before she places a rock onto the picture and holds her hand out to you, asking for your help. You pull her to her feet and you both make your way back to camp slowly, hoping that eventually the girl will come around. 

Luckily, she does, and by nightfall she’s back at your camp, a fish in hand, offering it to you as a show of peace. You accept it with thanks, and Clarke gestures between the two of you, introducing you both. The girl hesitates for a moment, watching you both closely before she gives you the smallest of smiles. 

“Ai tagon Madi.”

My name is Madi. You and Clarke exchange a smile, and just like that, a new family is created.

-

6 years later

You turn and hang the wet clothes you just washed up on the line, a slight breeze rolling over you and cooling you off. You smile at the feel of it, always thankful to be reminded of the joys of living out in the open, in this small valley of green that you all call home. You turn when you hear a sound behind you, smiling at your approaching twin, three fish in her hand. “Nice catch.”

“Thanks.” She starts to say something else, but stops when you both hear the sound of the rover approaching, signaling another arrival. Madi jumps out of the front and runs over to the two of you, face split into a grin, her hand wrapped tight around something you can't see. She’s older than the first time you met her, her face clean from mud, her hair better kept now that Clarke is involved. It’s braided to the side, most of it kept out of her face as she has fun and gets into trouble everyday. 

“Hey, wash up. It’s time for supper.” You walk over to Clarke as Madi draws closer, holding out her hand to show you a few berries, completely ignoring what Clarke just said. “Look, the berries are ripe.”

Clarke nods, “That's nice. Come on, I caught, you cook.”

“Clarke, you promised. Last season, there weren't enough, but this year, they're everywhere.” You know instantly what she’s talking about. Inspired by Clarke’s first few months as Wanheda where she wandered the Earth with bright red, berry dyed hair, Madi wants berry dyed streaks in her own dark hair. “Please? I'll cook for a week and clean up.”

Clarke, always eager to get out of the cooking, looks down at her with a smirk. “Two weeks.”

Madi’s face instantly splits into a grin, “Deal. Come on, I'll drive.”

Madi takes off running towards the rover and Clarke walks behind her, pausing when you don't follow. She turns to look at you, sensing your hesitation about crashing the seemingly mother daughter excursion, and she asks, “Coming?”

You don't get the chance to answer, because Madi pops her head out of the rover and yells, “Come on, Ani and Clarke, it’ll be dark soon!”

You smile at the nickname, always happy to hear Madi refer to you as her aunt, reinforcing the idea that you’re just as much of a family member to her as Clarke is. Sometimes doubt and insecurity creep in, because Clarke and Madi bonded so fast, quickly forming a mother daughter style relationship without even trying. Your relationship with Madi formed quickly afterwards, but it was never the same one that she had with Clarke, leaving you more on the sidelines at times. In the last few years she has taken to calling you her aunt, a role you happily accepted, as it allows you to be the fun one while Clarke has to be the adult. You can't count how many times you and Madi have gotten into trouble and Clarke has had to come along and scold the two of you.

You and Clarke run to the rover and hop inside, and the three of you spend the next few hours picking berries before heading back to the camp. Madi prepares the dinner while you and Clarke get the berries ready, and then the three of you quickly eat before settling down in front of the fire and forming a little chain of people. You sit at the back, dying red streaks into Clarke’s short blonde hair, while Clarke sits in the middle, working on Madi’s hair, and Madi sits at the front, skimming through Clarke’s sketchbook. She pauses on a sketch of Octavia at the Final Conclave, warpaint sketched onto her skin, and Madi tries to look back at Clarke in bewilderment. “Ha yu na vout in em nou na win au?”

How could you not think she would win? You translate the words easily, Trigedasleng now a second nature to you given how much practice you got with it while raising Madi and teaching her English. Still, Clarke scolds her when she uses the language, clearly more comfortable with it times than she is with English. “English, Madi.”

“I'm just saying, Skairipa's a beast. Of course she'd win the Conclave.”

You finish with Clarke’s hair and slide onto the log nearby, putting you in a better position to see the sketchpad in Madi’s lap. She now has it flipped to a picture of the rocket, flying into the sky, leaving you and Clarke behind. You stare at it sadly, feeling a sharp pang in your heart from the loss of Bellamy, still separated from him after all this time. Clarke finishes up on Madi’s hair, and the young girl turns to glance between you both. “I'm sorry they left without you.”

Clarke glances down at the picture, and gives Madi a smile. “Well, I'm not. Because if I was with them, I never would have met you.”

Madi grins at her before settling her head into Clarke’s lap, and Clarke leans back against your legs, all three of you connected as you look up at the sky, tracing the stars. Madi touches the necklace around her neck, a silver sun hanging from a chain, and the gesture causes you to touch the moon hanging around your own neck, checking that it’s still there. As you think of the moon and of Bellamy hiding out amongst the stars, you muse, “Do you think they'll come back?”

Madi is the first to answer, always eager to spread light and positivity, the perfect embodiment of the sun. “Definitely. Bellamy will do anything to get back to you.”

You smile down at her, grateful for her words, and she smiles back, before you both turn your eyes back to the sky. You’re thankful for your little family and the life you've built here, but it’s hard not to miss him, and to want him here with you. Instead, you have to remain on the ground longing for him, wishing that he would have taken you into the stars with him. 

-

You and Clarke are up early the next morning, and she starts packing up the rover before the sun even rises. “I want to go to the cliff’s edge, see if we can find more things to dry and save for winter.”

You nod, already reaching for your radio and satellite, “I’ll go with you, there’s a lot better chance they’ll hear me if I’m up there.”

“I’ll go wake Madi then.”

“She’s not gonna be happy about that.”

Clarke shrugs, already walking over to the sleeping girl. “She can sleep in the rover.”

You grab your pack and strap on your knife before heading to put your things in the rover, smiling at Madi as she grumbles at Clarke. An hour later the three of you are on the edge of the cliff, and Clarke wanders off almost immediately, the sole walkie talkie in her hand. You drag the radio and the satellite to the edge of the cliff before settling into the grass, leaving Madi in the back of the rover to continue sleeping. You flip the radio on, and look up at the sky as you begin, “Bellamy, I don't know if you can hear me, but it’s been 2,199 days since Praimfaya. I don't know why I still do this everyday. Maybe it's my way of staying sane, not forgetting who I am…”

You trail off, still not sure who you are. You used to be Wanlida, Bringer of Death, someone who killed without thought or hesitation. Now, you’ve haven't killed anyone in 6 years. So are you still the Bringer of Death, are you still a killer? Does 6 years of changed behavior erase the sins of your past? You shake your head, still unsure, but you amend your statement nonetheless. “Who I was.”

You sigh and look around at the green that stretches out from the valley. Your eyes find the sky again, wishing you could see the Ark, wishing you could see Bellamy. “It's been safe for you to come down for over a year now. Why haven't you? The bunker's gone silent, too. We tried digging them out for a while, but there was too much rubble. We haven't made contact with them, either.”

You shake away the sadness that comes every time you think of the bunker, of your mother, Kane, Octavia, the others, all buried beneath the Earth, unable to get out. “Anyway, I still have hope...tell Raven to aim for the one spot of green, and you'll find us. The rest of the planet, from what we’ve seen, basically sucks, so-”

You cut yourself off when you hear a sonic boom, and your eyes scan the sky until you see a small ship enter the atmosphere. You stand, looking at it in shock, a grin splitting your face, “Nevermind. I see you.”

Excitement takes over every cell of your body, leaving you practically buzzing, and you flip over to the station for the walkie just in time to hear Clarke say, “What was that? I’m coming back!”

“It’s a ship!”

“A ship?”

“Yes!”

You can hear her running back towards you, her voice coming out in between pants, “Bellamy?”

“I think so!”

You run back to the rover and shake Madi awake, and she rolls over with a groan. “No lessons today.”

“We have visitors.”

She sits up in a flash, ears perking up at the sound of the approaching ship. She clambers out of the back and to the cliff’s edge as you put the radio in the back, and a second later you hear Madi yell back, “I thought you said the ship was small.”

Something about her question lifts the hairs on the back of your neck, and alarm bells go off in your head. You run over to her as you hear Clarke approach from behind, and Clarke kneels down beside you, holding up her rifle to peer through the scope. “It’s not them.”

You turn towards her in alarm, “What?”

She passes you the rifle so you can get a look, but Madi, who heard none of your exchange, starts to jump up and down, calling out to the approaching transport, “We’re here, we’re here!”

Clarke pulls her down, shushing her. “Stop, get down! I want you to back up the rover. Get it out of sight and load the guns.”

You peer through the scope of the rifle, reading the writing on the side. Gagarin Prisoner transport. Your stomach sinks, suddenly understanding Clarke’s fear. You look over at your twin, and she nods her head back towards the now hidden rover, her jaw set. “We have to go figure this out.”

You follow her back to the vehicle, jumping in the back as she jumps into the driver's seat. Madi sits in the passenger seat, looking between the two of you in fear as you check the weapons in the back, making sure they’re loaded, and Clarke flies through the woods, driving as fast as she can. “Who are they? Why are you both so scared?”

Clarke glances at her and then back at the road ahead. “I will not let anything happen to you. Do you understand?”

“Well, maybe they’re friendly.” You think about all the possibly friendly people you’ve met since being on the ground, and anxiety runs through you. The Grounders, the Mountain Men, Pike. Clarke must be thinking the same thing, because she deadpans, “Maybe. But until we figure this out, I want you to hide in your secret spot.”

“No! Clarke-”

Clarke cuts her off immediately, clearly in a no nonsense mood. “This is not up for discussion, Madi. The Flamekeeper scouts never found you there. Neither will they. Promise me you’ll stay in the hole.”

“What about you and ani?”

“We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

She pulls up at the edge of the village, before turning in her seat to face Madi. You hand Clarke a pistol, one from your small armory, and Clarke passes it to Madi. “If you shoot, they will hear you.”

“I’ll make sure it’s my only choice.”

Clarke nods and then motions Madi towards the door. “Go.”

Madi complies, jumping out of the rover and running off towards her hiding spot. You climb into the passenger seat, glancing over at your twin, catching the look of fear on her face as she watches Madi run off. You put your hand on her knee. “She’ll be okay.”

She nods, tucking away her emotions before she pulls away again, turning the rover back in the direction of the transport, moving fast. She gets the two of you to a lookout spot just in time, both of you peering through the scopes of your rifles to watch the doors of the transport open, and a person in a radiation suit walking down the ramp, checking to make sure it’s safe. Once they confirm it is, they pull off their helmet, revealing a woman. She takes a deep breath of air before calling back to the transport. Seconds later people come filing out of the ship, all carrying guns, all looking terrifyingly menacing. You and Clarke pull back to exchange a worried look before peering through the scope again, continuing your watch. 

Their weapons are different from yours, larger, more mechanical, and possibly more destructive. You and Clarke watch as the prisoners split into groups and start to check the land nearby, and eventually she leads you back to the rover in silence. She takes you to the cave where she and Roan discussed splitting the Ark, the same place Echo nearly slit your throat, and the two of you prep in silence for what may be another war. The person you thought you buried, the killer, the monster, rises to the surface again, prepared to defend your family and the life you’ve made. Clarke sketches their weapons from memory, both of you discussing and trying to figure out what they are and what they do, while you count bullets and inventory what you have in terms of weaponry. The numbers are grim, especially when they’re compared to the numbers of the prisoners and their weapons, but you don't let yourself focus on that. Instead, you try to remember what it’s like to take a life, wondering if you’re even still capable of doing it. You turn to Clarke, about to ask her the same question you’re mulling over, when you hear a gunshot ring out nearby. You and Clarke exchange a look, instantly knowing that it means Madi’s in trouble. Clarke grabs her rifle and you grab your pistol and both of you take off running back to the village, moving through the woods as fast as you can. 

As you get closer, you get a glimpse of Madi through the trees, on the ground at the feet of two prisoners. One of them is holding a gun at her, and Clarke drops to her knees to take aim with her rifle. You whisper, “I’m gonna get closer.”

She nods in acknowledgement and you take off running again, careful to keep out of Clarke’s line of sight. As you come over the edge of the hill, you hear Clarke’s gun go off, hitting the man near Madi in the shoulder. He falls away from her, dropping the gun, and you dive over the hill and head for the other man who’s standing and watching. You knock the two of you to the ground, both of you rolling away from Madi, and you recover faster than he does, scrambling to your feet. You swing a punch at him but he catches it before rising to his full height, towering over you. You twist out of his grip and he swings his gun at you, hitting you in the ribs, knocking you down. He starts to turn the weapon towards you but Clarke appears seconds later and swings her rifle at him, hitting him in the back of the head. He falls to the ground just as you see the other prisoner start to rise to his feet again. 

You jump up and run over to him, swinging a punch his way, landing a hit on his jaw. You follow it up with a hit to his adam’s apple, and he grabs his neck, choking a little. You look around for your pistol, knocked out of your hands earlier, and the prisoner recovers faster than you expected, reaching out to wrap his hands around your neck. He lifts you off the ground, your feet flailing, and you swing out and kick him between the legs. He drops you as he falls to his knees, groaning in pain, and you quickly pull your knife from your holster and slit his throat without a second thought. Blood pours from the wound and he clutches at it before falling to the ground, dead. 

You turn around and locate your pistol, grabbing it and looking towards Clarke, who is standing over the other prisoner. “Clarke, catch!”

She catches it with ease, turning it on the man, but Madi, who has been silent the entire time, calls out, “Wait! He tried to help me, I think he might be a good guy.”

Clarke glances over at Madi, and at the dead prisoner near your feet before setting her jaw and turning back to the man. “There are no good guys.”

And then without a second thought, she pulls the trigger, killing him. After 6 years of no death, no fighting, no killing, everything changes in an instant. The person you thought you left behind returns as soon as your family is threatened, and the same thing happens to Clarke. Instead of being welcomed to Earth by two twins and a child, the prisoners in your home are welcomed by Wanheda and Wanlida, the twins of death and destruction.

Just like that, the old you is back.

-

next chapter

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 6,567

Chapter Warnings: swearing, minor violence, manipulation/mind control, blood, vomiting, and explicit s.uicidal thoughts

Chapter Summary: Wilbur meets the Egg. It doesn’t go well. At all.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Seven: feet in the fire

A new day dawns, as per usual.

Tommy and Tubbo are waiting for him when he steps outside, shielding his eyes against the sun. They’ve got their heads tilted together, discussing something in hushed tones, Tommy gesticulating wildly, and he takes a moment to stop and smile at them. It’s just like when they were kids, the both of them getting into one mischief or another. Tommy was always the one to be blamed for it, but Wilbur knows better than to think that Tubbo doesn’t instigate his own fair share of chaos. It’s hidden better, but they’re two peas in a pod, in the end.

“Should I be concerned?” he asks, the words coming easily. Today is a good day, he thinks. He feels good, better than he has since his return. The darkness has receded, and his heart almost feels light. He can almost forget about the scar that runs across it.

They both jump, heads swiveling toward him.

“Wilbur!” Tommy says, at the exact same time as Tubbo says, “Good morning!” He glances between the two of them, and feels his lips curl upward into a smile once again. It feels easy, to be smiling with them.

“As long as I’m not the victim,” he says, and Tubbo shakes his head.

“No, no,” he says, “see, we were thinking about the Egg, right? And how it’s just, like, an egg. And we assume that it’s red, because of all of the vines, but we’ve never seen it, so we don’t actually know how big it is. I think that it’s a great big egg, because all these vines are big and thick.”

“And I think,” Tommy interjects, “that there’s no way that these vines are coming from the actual Egg itself, because vines don’t hatch out of eggs. So I think that it’s a regular-sized egg, and they’ve got it on a pedestal or something like that, or a, an egg throne. But it’s gonna look so fucking stupid, because it’s literally just a little egg, and we should smash it with something and see what they do about it.”

He hesitates. “I’ve got to go with Tubbo on this one,” he says. “I don’t think it’s going to be a regular egg.”

“Psh, you don’t know,” Tommy says. “You’re dumb. Oh!” His face brightens. “I forgot, Tubbo brought you some things.”

He lifts an eyebrow and takes a few steps forward, and something in his chest warms at the way Tubbo doesn’t tense up like he did the first day, doesn’t flinch back. There is still wariness in his eyes, but he doesn’t think he’s mistaking the way that it’s lessened.

He hardly deserves it. But today is a good day, and he’ll take it for the moment.

“Yeah,” Tubbo says. “Tommy’s still dirt poor, so he asked me to do it, but here’s some gear. We thought you should have something.”

Tommy is sputtering at the description, but Tubbo ignores him. He opens up his inventory, and then takes out—gear. A couple of swords, shimmering with enchantments, a bow, an axe, a pickaxe. Wilbur feels something in him loosen just looking at them; he hadn’t realized how vulnerable he’d felt, being weaponless, and that’s probably a bit fucked up, actually. He didn’t always feel the need to keep a weapon on him at all times.

(you led child soldiers to battle when you were little more than a child yourself and can you really feel surprised, at the way the metal hums in your hand, now, the way your fingers are more secure wrapped around the hilt of a sword than the neck of your guitar?)

(you learned to play such different songs, the blood bright and accented in your eyes, every scream a crescendo)

He glances up, checking to be sure that Tubbo really does intend these for him. Tubbo nods, so he crouches down to inspect the weapons, now all laying on the grass.

“I’ve got armor too,” Tubbo says, “but I wasn’t sure that you’d want it.”

And doesn’t that carry a wealth of connotations, of memories? There is a sharpness to the words along with the question, and Wilbur

(my L’Manberg, my L’Manberg, a promise of safety you never could keep)

turns it over in his mind, poking at it.

“No armor, thank you,” he says. “I never did like it all that much. I’ll let you know if that changes. Thank you for these, though.” He gathers up the weapons, choosing a sword to wear at his waist and sliding the rest of them one by one into his inventory, and then glances up again to catalog their reactions. Tubbo seems to have expected the answer, but Tommy is frowning at him, and he has to wonder if he’s remembering something else, remembering

(the last time he refused armor, he was intending to die, had written himself off as lost, lost along with his symphony, the only possible redemption in the press of a button, the lighting of a match, and Tommy didn’t know it then but hindsight is twenty-twenty and Tommy has always been too smart for his own good)

the wars and what followed.

Tommy sees him looking, and his expression smooths over.

“Alright boys,” he crows, as if nothing at all had happened. “Egg time!”

Tubbo snorts. “Egg time,” he agrees, and Wilbur stands.

“Egg time,” he says, and then they’re off.

The day really is pleasant, a cool breeze blowing and not a cloud in the sky. Tommy and Tubbo fill the air with aimless chatter and bickering, and he chimes in sometimes and doesn’t even feel strange about doing so. This feels natural, feels right, and if he can have more days like this, days that put a spring in his step and a gentle tune in his ears, he thinks that being alive won’t be such a chore after all. Perhaps he can even learn to be thankful for it, well and truly.

He thinks that would be nice. To love life again. It’s a distant, glimmering possibility, but today it seems a bit nearer.

“It’s under Bad’s mansion, I think,” Tubbo is saying. “But they made another entrance, I’m pretty sure. Should be somewhere around—”

“Hey, Tubbo!” a voice calls. “Hey, Tommy!”

And it is a new voice. Not Tommy or Tubbo. Not Sam. A new voice, and that means a new person, and Wilbur can’t prevent the way all his muscles go taut, can’t prevent himself from fingering the hilt of his gifted sword. It’s partially a leftover instinct from the war and partially his own fear, his own aversion to being seen by anyone, to being forced into a confrontation.

He wasn’t always like this. He used to delight in speaking to people, or in a good debate, twisting his opponent’s words all around into Gordian knots until he has his victory. He’s not sure that that part of him will ever return, will ever fully recover from

(the world is against you and you are alone and you can trust no one for they will shake your hand with a smile in their eyes and stab you in the back as soon as you forget yourself and turn)

those dark days, the days that took his charisma and twisted it into spite and paranoia and manipulation. Words that once were sweet drip down bitter-sharp, or shrivel on his tongue before they can breathe at all.

“Huh—oh!” Tubbo says. “It’s just Ranboo, Wilbur, don’t worry. Ranboo!”

Tubbo can see his stress, then, and that’s bad enough. He doesn’t need anyone else bearing witness to it. But Tubbo is already calling out and waving, and there is someone approaching them from off to the side of the path, someone very, very tall, half their skin pitch black and the other half stark white, a small golden crown perched in their hair. And Wilbur thinks, I have no fucking clue who this is, and a split second later, he thinks, Oh, it’s Ranboo, and the cognitive dissonance threatens to overwhelm him before he figures out its source.

He has never met this guy in his life. But Ghostbur did. Ghostbur—liked him? He’s fairly certain. Ghostbur liked everyone, of course, but they bonded, he’s pretty sure. Over memory problems? Ranboo has memory problems? That seems right?

What a mess.

“Hi,” Ranboo says. “Feels like it’s been a while. Oh, hey Gho—ostbur?” His voice trails off on the last word, going up about an octave and a half, suddenly very uncertain.

What does he remember about Ranboo? Soft-spoken, he thinks. Kind. Generally pretty nervous. A sardonic sense of humor, if you can get to it, one that made Ghostbur laugh. That’s all he can come up with. He was with Tubbo’s L’Manberg, but he doesn’t know what happened to him after—well. After.

He steps forward, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Not really,” he says. “Alivebur is more accurate.” He pauses. “Please just call me Wilbur, though. It’s nice to meet you. In the flesh, that is.”

Ranboo’s eyes widen. He’s not making eye contact, fixing his gaze just to Wilbur’s left instead, and—ah. That’s right. Enderman.

“Wow,” Ranboo says. “Uh, yeah! Nice to meet you too, I guess? Um, has this been a thing, or…?”

“Recent development,” Tubbo says. “We’re taking it slow.”

He feels like he should object to that phrasing. It makes him sound a bit like he’s… in their care or something like that, though he supposes that’s not entirely inaccurate. He’s hardly made strides to go and do anything by himself.

“Oh,” Ranboo says. He pauses. “Well, that’s cool. Do you know how?” He seems to regret the question immediately, holding his hands up in front of him, placating. “Not that you have to tell me or anything! But it’s just, I was there when Phil tried to resurrect you that one time, I don’t know if you remember. And it didn’t really seem to work?”

“You’re fine,” he says. “We don’t really know. We’re rolling with it.”

“That’s fair,” Ranboo says, and there is a moment of awkward silence. Wilbur can tell that he wants to ask something else, but he refrains, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Um, so I was just at the spider spawner. Needed to fix some armor. What are you guys up to?”

“We want to see the Egg,” Tommy says. “Have you seen the Egg, Ranboo?”

“The Egg?” Ranboo repeats. “You mean the one with the, uh—” He gestures around them, presumably at the vines that sprawl across the ground nearby. “No, I haven’t seen it. I don’t really want to, if I’m entirely honest. Kind of creepy, how people are fawning over it. I mean, it’s just an egg. Presumably. So I’m not really interested in getting involved.”

“We’re going to draw stuff all over it if it’s small,” Tommy says. “I’ve decided that just now.”

“Oh?” Ranboo says, and then doesn’t seem to know where to go with it.

“You could come with us if you wanted,” Tubbo says, but Ranboo shakes his head.

“Nah, I should be getting home. I have to feed Enderchest,” he says. “It was nice seeing you guys, though. And you, Wilbur. Um, welcome back to life, I guess?” He hesitates. “I gotta ask, does Phil know? Because we’re neighbors, and I was wondering if I should say anything about it or not.”

“You’re neighbors?” Wilbur asks, and looks at Ranboo in a new light. Young, anxious, in need of a secure place to stay once L’Manberg was destroyed—huh. That fits the bill. That fits the bill exactly. This is the type of kid that he can see Phil getting attached to.

(his heart’s always been too big for his own good, too soft despite all the years he’s lived, though he has to wonder why Ranboo is allowed a place and not Tommy, not the child he took in as his own years and years ago)

(it’s a matter of betrayal, perhaps, perceived on both sides, and which is right, he doesn’t know)

(he’s not going to tell Tommy that he’s not angry about L’Manberg’s destruction, because that might be a betrayal in and of itself)

“Huh,” he says, instead of voicing any of his thoughts aloud. “No, Phil knows, I’ve seen him. Him and Techno both.”

“Okay, good to know,” Ranboo says, and he really does look relieved. “Good luck with the Egg.”

“See you around, Ranboo,” Tubbo says. “You should stop by Snowchester sometime.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” Ranboo says, and then with a slight wave and a bit of a smile, he’s walking off along the path. Wilbur stares after him for a moment, which is why he sees how he stops and pulls out a book after he’s gone a few dozen meters and begins rapidly scribbling in it.

His memory book. He remembers that.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Tubbo says. They start walking again, and then they leave the path and start crossing the grass. The vines become thicker, more frequent. Something about them fills him with a sense of unease. Probably their color; outside of the nether, nothing is quite that shade of red, a dark crimson that reminds him of nothing so much as blood. Not dried blood, not the color it gets when it’s caked on like rust,

(coating his sleeves and he didn’t clean them so the blood is still there and he can smell it and the sword is in his hand and the stains are never going to come out)

but rather, it’s as if it’s frozen in time, still glistening, ready to flow again when the force holding it back gives way.

“I remember Ranboo,” he says absently. “Sort of. Ghostbur liked him. Though I guess that’s not really an accomplishment.”

And then, they’re at a short structure built into the earth, a ladder leading down. He peers over the edge, and can just barely make out a pool of water at the bottom, intended to break a fall.

“The spawner’s down there,” Tubbo says. “But I’m pretty sure there’s a tunnel that connects it to underneath Bad’s mansion, and that’s where the Egg is. Are we ready?”

“Of course we’re ready,” Tommy scoffs. He’s grinning, bright and wild. It’s the promise of adventure, Wilbur supposes, excitement without too much danger. Something new to discover, perhaps a new prank to play. His enthusiasm is infectious, but somehow, he can’t bring himself to join in fully. The sun is still shining, but something heavy weighs on him now, something that he can’t place. It’s the vines, he thinks, their unsettling nature, and he can’t bring himself to be sure that this will be without risk.

But Tommy’s on the ladder. Tubbo’s got one leg over the side, preparing to follow. There’s nowhere to go but down.

They make it without incident, and the sound of at least a hundred spiders hits his ears as soon as his feet touch the ground. He winces, trying to ignore the skittering and shrieking, but it’s impossible to do so entirely. But Tubbo is right—there are several tunnels leading out of this room, and there is a fuzzy red glow emanating from one of them. He exchanges glances with Tommy, who is still grinning, and with Tubbo, who has a smile on his face. Neither of them think this could go wrong, then. He should probably trust to that. He’s been alive again for all of five days. They know the server better than he does, at the moment.

They descend. He keeps his hand near the hilt of his sword.

He wishes Schlatt were here, just a little bit. His presence would be irritating, but reassuring. Reassuring to have another adult here, little help though he would be. Reassuring to have someone who could make fun of the situation, distract him from his mounting sense of dread. But he hasn’t seen Schlatt since yesterday, since he vanished from the prison, and he

(isn’t worried, not one bit)

can’t help but wonder where he is, what he’s doing. It’s not like anyone else can see him, not like he can touch anything. So how is he occupying his time?

It’s warm down here.

The heat is stifling, humid, like a swamp, almost, but worse, because there are fumes as well, and that acrid scent that comes hand in hand with lava. As they enter the main chamber, it is easy enough to see why: there are patches of lava and molten rock all across the floor, and vines hang down from the ceiling and cover nearly every square inch of space. The floor itself is obsidian, he notices. And there, in the corner—

It can only be the egg. He can’t tell how tall it is, can barely see it though the clusters of vines dangling in front of him. But it is very large, and very red, and beside him, Tommy mutters a curse. Too big to vandalize quickly and hightail it out, but frankly, Wilbur feels as though that’s the least of their problems.

“That is a big egg,” Tubbo says. He sounds impressed.

“I’ve seen bigger,” Tommy grumbles, stepping further into the room. He almost trips over one of the vines, and he shoots a scowl at his feet.

“No you have not,” Tubbo says. “Where have you seen a bigger egg?”

“I—” Tommy stops. “C’mon, let’s go look at it.”

“No, no, I want to know where you’ve seen a bigger egg,” Tubbo presses, even as they walk forward, picking their way through the room carefully. “Wilbur, back me up, where has Tommy seen a bigger egg?”

“Maybe he laid one,” he replies, and that response makes no sense at all, but he can’t be bothered to put in the effort. The closer they get, the more his mind is screaming at him

(get out get out get out)

that something isn’t right about this, that they’ve made a mistake in coming down here, and there is a corner of his brain that is filling with static, buzzing and distracting and uncomfortable. And then they’re standing right in front of it, and that feeling multiplies tenfold.

The Egg is several times his height and even wider across, and it is a shade of red that is unparalleled even by its vines. It is a shade of red that seems to move, that seems to scream, that seems to drip and ooze into the air. It almost looks as though it is made of blood itself, as if he could put out a hand and stick it right though, and he almost tries it before he balks at the idea, every instinct he has rejecting the urge.

No. This Egg is not for touching.

“I’m not sure I like this,” Tubbo murmurs after a moment. His ears lie flat against his head.

“It’s just an egg,” Tommy says. “Don’t be a pussy. Wil, what do you think?”

Wilbur opens his mouth and finds that he cannot reply.

“Do you think I could break a piece off?” Tommy asks. “Like a souvenir?”

“You shouldn’t do that,” someone says, and Wilbur jerks violently, his sword half unsheathed before he’s given himself permission for the action.

BadBoyHalo. It’s BadBoyHalo, only not, not Bad as Wilbur remembers him, because his face has taken on an ashen grey pallor, and his capillaries spread out like a web across his face, and they are the same white as his eyes. The same stark white, but somehow sickly, and blood shouldn’t be that color, blood should not be white, and Bad’s face itself looks gaunt and shadowed, half-starved, and his smile, once so kind and genial, is something predatory, something threatening. Bad is a demon, but he has never been a monster, and now Wilbur isn’t so sure that there isn’t a terrible thing peering at him out of those white, blank eyes, a terrible thing that isn’t Bad at all.

Antfrost stands beside him, and Antfrost’s eyes are red instead of blue.

“Hi Tommy, Tubbo,” Bad says. His voice is chipper, pleasant, and yet— “Hi, Wilbur! I didn’t realize that you were back! Have you come to see the Egg?”

Should Bad be this blasé about his appearance? He doesn’t think so. They were never friends.

(and even his friends were not his friends, by the end)

“Yeah, we wanted to check it out,” Tubbo says.

“That’s great,” Bad says. “Visitors are always welcome. It’s a fantastic egg, isn’t it?”

The question is searching, probing. He’s looking for a specific answer. Wilbur thinks that it would be a bad idea to give him the wrong one.

“I mean, it’s very big,” Tommy says.

“It is, it is,” Bad agrees, nodding amiably. “Are you liking it so far? I mean, are you having fun?”

Wilbur opens his mouth, intending to say yes, intending to say it’s the best egg in all the world, intending to say anything and everything that Bad so clearly wants to hear if only it will get them out of here sooner. But his mind is filled with static and he is too slow to the mark, so it is Tommy that answers.

“It’s fine, I guess,” he says. “Your decorations are shit, though. It’s too crowded down here. If I were a decorating expert, which I am, I’d say that you might try to clear some of this out, you know?”

“That’s—an interesting suggestion, Tommy,” Bad says, and his smile is much more strained. He doesn’t bother to hide it. It’s like a thin gash in his face. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He tilts his head. “I like it like this, though. I think it really gives life to the room. And we wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt it.”

“Hurt it?” Tommy repeats, and Wilbur’s heart is suddenly in his throat, with no reason as to why. “It’s a fucking egg.”

Bad goes very still. Very still, and very quiet. Antfrost’s eyes gleam, and his ears twitch.

“It’s a very good Egg,” Bad says. “Maybe you should listen to what it has to say. I bet it has something to offer you.”

That doesn’t—that doesn’t make any sense. Bad isn’t making any sense, and it’s a kind of nonsense that is unnerving, made worse by his apparent sincerity. Wilbur tries to reach out, tries to get Tommy’s attention, tries to get him close, but his arms won’t move. All of his limbs feel thick, heavy, and his head is spinning, airy and light and disconnected, and Bad and Ant are intimidating figures, suddenly, figures that stand between them and the exit. Wilbur thinks that perhaps, he should draw his sword. He doesn’t like the way that Bad is talking, doesn’t like the way that Ant is staring.

Instead, he turns his head to look at the Egg.

Tommy barks a laugh, loud and incredulous, and it’s like someone has driven a pickaxe through Wilbur’s skull. He moans faintly, but no one seems to notice. The room is swimming.

“Have you gone nutters?” Tommy asks. “It’s a fucking Egg. I don’t see a mouth on it anywhere. In fact, if it has a mouth, I don’t want to know about it, because that is fucking disgusting—”

“Actually,” Tubbo says quietly, “I think I can hear it.”

Tommy stops.

“You what?”

“You do?” Bad asks. He takes a step forward. Wilbur wants to take a step back. He doesn’t move. He’s looking at the Egg, and he can’t tear his gaze away, despite what’s happening in the corner of his eye, because there’s something just on the edge of his perception that he can’t—

“What is it saying to you?” Bad continues.

“It’s saying—” Tubbo’s face scrunches up. “Actually, I really don’t think I like this. I think we should go. What I can make out isn’t very polite.” His voice wavers, wobbles, like a spinning top running out of momentum.

“Really,” Bad says. His voice has gone flat. “I think you should stay and listen some more. It might grow on you.”

“Um, no,” Tommy says, “no, I think that’s a bad idea, actually. I don’t want to—is this some kind of cult? Are you a cult, BadBoyHalo? Is this Egg your cult leader? I think we should not listen to the Egg cult. This is weird. This is fucking weird. Tubbo, do you want to go? Let’s go.”

Tommy makes a motion. Wilbur can’t tell what. He’s looking at the Egg, and his vision is blurry. But he can see the way that Bad steps forward again, the way that Ant steps to the other side. Their netherite armor gleams. The message is clear: if they want to leave, they go through them, and Wilbur can barely think past the way his head is pounding, but this was a bad idea. This was so clearly a bad idea.

Was this Dream’s plan all along? Get them down here, get them into—whatever situation this is?

“Hold on just a minute,” Bad says. “I don’t think you’ve given the Egg a fair chance. The Egg wants what’s best for everyone, and that means you guys, too. How about you, Wilbur, do you like the Egg?”

He opens his mouth. No sound comes out. The room is swaying. The Egg is right there. He could touch it.

(static static static and beneath it there is)

Tommy is at his elbow, gripping his sleeve. “C’mon, big man, you feeling alright? You’re looking awfully pale.” A moment, and then, “Wilbur? Wilbur? Tubbo, something’s wrong with him. Come on, Wilbur, let’s go.”

“Do you hear the Egg, Wilbur?” Bad asks, soft and steady, and his voice slices through the fog.

Because he—

He—

(glowing and red and creeping and comforting and sickly and familiar)

He hears it.

A whisper, trailing just on the borderline of audibility. A whisper, rasping and knife-edged, and it feels like a hand, like a hand is reaching into his brain, touching his mind, dragging its fingertips on his thoughts, and he is shaking, and he can’t stop. It is a whisper, and he doesn’t understand the words, but their meaning filters through to him all the same.

It whispers to him of fire. He can hear it crackling. He can hear it burning. He can feel it on his flesh, eating him, eating up his skin and his sinews and his bones until he is ash, ash mingling with the ash of his city. He is on fire and the fire hurts and it is a beautiful pain, a pain to revel in, a pain that he has chosen, a pain that has him grinning even as his lips burn away and bare his teeth, bare his skull, a permanent smile, a smile that means he’s won. His fingers are clenched around the match, his fingers are caressing the button, his fingers are grasping the hilt of the sword as he forces Phil’s arm to drive it forward. But it doesn’t matter, because he is the fire and he is the ash, and he is eaten away and he eats everything else, a serpent consuming his own tail and screaming and laughing and choking all the while.

It whispers to him of fire. You could burn the world, it says, and dance in the ruins, dance on the flickering spark-soaked wind, and it will be of you, their destruction, because if you cannot have it then no one deserves it so why not grant them the wreckage their betrayals have wrought?

His blood sings with it, with the thrill of it, with the desperate, ugly longing for it, the beast that lives under his skin rising to the surface, and unlike the kraken it breathes and it lives and it howls.

“Wilbur?”

He comes back to himself, a bit, and finds that he is smiling in truth, his lips pulled back, his teeth on display.

“Wilbur?” Tommy says again. “Wilbur, we need to go.”

Tommy doesn’t understand. Tommy doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t hear the voice, doesn’t hear its promises, its wonderful, wonderful promises. But that’s alright. He will, in time, and until then, Wilbur can understand for the both of them.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he tells him. “You’ll see. Can’t you hear it, Tommy? The world is on fire!”

He laughs, giddy. The room is spinning, and he with it, and his head throbs in time with his heart.

It whispers to him of a song.

A song, rife with drumbeats, thudding like the steps of a hundred armies, a million soldiers fighting and dying on the field. He was one of them, once, was Ares and led them all to blood. Blood, red and flowing, and what a lovely color it is. The blood is in the song, too, a plink plink plink of high staccato notes, a thrumming bass line that goes down in steps, a celebration

(no no no it’s a ground bass it’s a lament it’s a lament)

for the life spilling on the ground, for the life that is sacrificed, for the life that is fed to the cause, to the symphony, to the symphony! It understands his symphony, can sing in harmony with it! He’s gone so very long playing by himself, and yet here is something that knows the tune.

“No,” Tommy says, his voice shaking like a leaf on the breeze, “no, no, Wilbur, Wilbur, you’ve got to stop it, you’re scaring me, Wilbur, please—”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he replies, because he must make it clear, must make Tommy understand. “The symphony’s still there, Tommy, can’t you hear it? It’s kept on without me, but I’m here now. I can continue it how I want.” He widens his smile. “I can leave it how I want. I can leave it unfinished again. I can make sure that no one finishes it.”

Tubbo makes a noise, like a small scream. Tommy is silent.

“The Egg can do it, Tommy,” he says. “The Egg can do it. All you have to do is listen. Please, Tommy, for me, can’t you hear it?”

Finally, finally, he wrenches his gaze away from the Egg. Bad and Ant have moved closer, Tommy and Tubbo farther away. Tommy’s eyes are wide, and blue, and terrified.

(blue)

“No,” Tommy answers. “No, Wilbur, I can’t hear it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“We can fix that,” Bad offers, and Wilbur turns his smile on him. “All you have to do is stay down here for a little while. How does that sound?”

“It sounds bad! It sounds very, very bad!” Tommy erupts. “We’re not fucking staying down here, not when you’ve made Wilbur go all—” He gestures, and Wilbur doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. He feels fine, feels real, feels exultant, and he’d thought such emotions lost to him, so shouldn’t Tommy be happy for him? “We’re leaving, and if you try to stop us, then I’ll—fuck, I’ll stab the fucking thing and crack it open, and you can be all weird and cultish over the yolk.” As he says it, he pulls out a sword of his own, netherite and shining with enchantments, waving it wildly in the Egg’s direction.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Tommy,” Bad says, and then looks to Ant. “We’ll remove the obstacle. Tubbo and Wilbur can stay here.”

That sounds like a good idea. He’ll stay here, and the Egg will give him everything it promised in exchange for his devotion. And Tubbo will learn, in time, to love it. It is unfortunate, about Tommy, but those who threaten the Egg must either be brought around or they must be disposed of,

(wait)

and Tommy is never inclined to listen after he’s gotten an idea in his head. He’s terribly stubborn like that. So if he’s decided to oppose the Egg, there’s only one thing left to do.

Wilbur draws his sword, and in unison with Bad and Ant, steps toward Tommy. Tubbo shouts a denial, fumbling for his own weapon, but Tommy just stands there, staring at him, a look on his face that

(is horror and betrayal and you promised to protect him promised you wouldn’t hurt him anymore so what are you doing)

does something strange to his stomach, and—

The Egg is calling for his death, calling for his blood. But this—

This is Tommy. His little brother. He’s striding toward his little brother with his sword in his hand, and this isn’t—

The Egg whispers. Wilbur hears it. And it

(is going to hurt Tommy)

is going to hurt Tommy. He sees it in his mind: Tommy’s limbs sprawled on the ground, Tommy’s eyes gazing up sightlessly, Tommy’s shirt wet with blood, Tommy dead and Tommy gone, and a wave of revulsion washes over him. Tubbo is moving forward, is moving to protect, but Ant engages him, and Bad is too close to Tommy, and Bad’s sword is raised, is poised to strike, and Tommy reacts too late and he’s not going to get his own sword up in time and the Egg is so loud and demanding and Wilbur can hear it but he doesn’t want—

He catches Bad’s blade on his own. Interposes himself between Bad and Tommy.

“Get the fuck away from him,” he growls.

Bad’s eyes widen.

“Don’t you want to protect the Egg?” he asks, and Wilbur reels, because a large part of him wants to say yes, wants to say that he will give the Egg anything and everything it wants. But the problem is that there is another part of him, now, a part that puts Tommy’s safety above all else, and that part of him is trembling and shaking and terrified, and the Egg doesn’t feel like a soothing whisper but instead like a snarl, and there are still fingers in his brain but he can recognize them for what they are, for what they’re doing, can recognize that they’re fucking with his thoughts, yanking them around like a marionette on a string, and—

“Get out of my head,” he cries out, and goes on the offensive, and Bad must be surprised, because he allows himself to be driven back. The Egg screams, and he screams, too, because it’s loud and his head hurts so bad and part of him wants desperately to follow its commands and he feels as though he’s being ripped in half.

(it’s in his head it’s in his head it’s a violation it’s scraping off his skin hollowing him out and putting itself inside and he doesn’t want it doesn’t want it he wants it out wants it out out out)

There is a clang, a clatter of armor, and Wilbur chances a glance back to see that Tubbo’s gotten one up on Ant, somehow, and he’s grabbed Tommy’s hand and then Tommy’s grabbing his, and they’re all running. And Bad lets them go, sprints over to Ant instead, and they’re going to get out, they’re going to get out—

The Egg whispers to him of rest.

(it’s in his head and it won’t leave and it’s like worms writhing under his skin but)

He digs his heels into the floor and turns back. Tommy is shouting something and Tubbo is shouting something and they’re both pulling on his hands, but he won’t let himself budge.

The Egg whispers to him of rest, tells him, If you will not take the fire, then why not take the dark, they will be safe and unharmed without you there to burn them and you can find your peace again, that comforting nothingness that allowed you to drift, and

(yes)

yes, he wants that, wants that so badly, because he was dragged back to life, dragged back into the world that cut him down to the quick, that formed all his sharp edges, and for Tommy’s sake, he can pretend, but he doesn’t want to be here. And the red of the Egg is comforting again, its glow soothing and warm, and All you have to do is give in, it says to him, all you have to do is let go and the peace is yours and who could blame you for taking it back when it was wrongfully wrested away from you?

“Come on, Wilbur!” Tommy is shouting.

“It’s offering me rest, Tommy,” he says, and his voice is agonized. “It’s offering—I want to rest, Tommy.”

“Wha—no!” Tommy says, and from the shock in his voice, the horror, Wilbur knows that he understands exactly what he means. “No rest! You—you fucking promised, Wilbur, you told me that you were glad to be here!”

(it’s in his head and it’s using his mouth but it’s only saying what he’s been hiding, has brought these thoughts to the surface, to the light)

“I lied,” he says. “Tommy, I want to rest. Please, let me go.”

(his father stands in front of him, his sword in his hand, and his eyes are bewildered and hurt and confused and terrified, and he knows that with the way he is, it will only take a push for him to get what he wants, only a push to provoke his father into a reaction, and he is so very selfish but he is far past caring, because the symphony is unfinished and he is ready to go he is ready to go)

He looks at Tommy. Tommy is crying.

“Fuck you,” Tommy snarls. “Fuck you, we’re leaving, we’re leaving right fucking now, Tubbo, help me—”

And they are pulling him back, pulling him back and away, but he is struggling, fighting them, because

(please let me go please let me go)

the red is so warm and so soothing and as long as it’s not asking him to hurt Tommy, it’s alright, really, and he wants this, he does, and all of his earlier thoughts about fingers and puppets have dissipated and he wants this, he’s sure that he does, and Tommy and Tubbo aren’t letting him, they aren’t letting him go. And Ant is on his feet again, and he and Bad are advancing, and if he can just get to them, they will help him, they will understand—

And then everything gets very confusing. Because there is another voice, suddenly, one he doesn’t recognize. More sounds of fighting, and he doesn’t know who is fighting who, because the world is fading away around him, and his vision is just red. And then he’s being manhandled, and he wants to keep struggling, but his limbs aren’t responding, and someone is carrying him up a ladder, and then he’s being set on the grass, and the nausea hits him hard and quick, and he’s retching, bile coming up, and he’s choking on it and he can’t get any air—

And there are flashes. More nausea. His head pounding, like someone’s tried to make a jigsaw puzzle out of his skull. Water, cool and refreshing, and the red subsides, but he hurts, hurts so very much.

Tommy’s voice, yelling. A glimpse of Tommy’s face. And then, Wilbur is out.

[artificialqueens]

And Everyday: When Life Gives You Lemons, Put Some Vodka in Your Lemonade (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode, Jaida Essence Hall/Jan Sport) - Campvanjie

AN: This was originally written for a fic exchange, and posted to AO3 under my now deleted account there on May 1st, 2020. Reposting here, because I’m proud of it, and am clearing old S12 fics from my Google drive. I’m the original author of this work, and there’s absolutely no plagiarism going on!

Summary: Gigi needs a soft place to land after her quarter-life meltdown, and Crystal realizes the happily every after she gave up on, might not be totally out of reach. Meanwhile, Jaida and Jan work on restoring an old barnhouse; because marriage begets home improvement.Prompts: Parenthood AU, Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, and Angst all used to varying degrees.

CW: conversations around divorce/child custody and (past) bullying behavior, character mentions (non-specific) mental health issues as the reason for a past breakup.

-

“- Ugh, anyway, it’s like 3:30, he’s almost an hour late and I don’t know why the fuck I even got all dressed up just to sit at court being looked at like I’m some cheap bitch-”, Gigi grumbled into her phone. It was pressed against her cheek as she tried her best to juggle her purse and a extra-large coffee held in her other hand, her livid glare captured perfectly in the harsh, white light of the bathroom mirror across from her.

“I dunno, maybe because you have to be there? Kind of the mom thing to do.”, Crystal told her, static edging into her voice.

It was a long-distance call after all, and Gigi had fought against her fingers dialing the number almost by muscle memory. She had only relented once she had gotten through the packed hallway of the courts complex, and almost collapsed into what seemed like the only empty bathroom.

Call Crystal, had been the only thing she could think of do, in between beating her palms against the cool, brick walls, and shaking with sobs she refused to shed for fear of ruining her makeup.

Without missing a beat; Crystal had picked up, her voice always high and slowed, syllables enunciated in a way that had trained Gigi into asking for coffee, like it was spelled with a K, calling her son’s name, with the E in the middle a sharp, upward spike.

Crystal, Gigi realized with a start; was who had taught her to gulp in her breaths to hide herself crying, and shove her fist into her front pocket, to keep herself from shaking so much.

“I know. I know you’re right. I just- God, I’m so sick of it. It just want this all to be over so I can go back to what’s important, and stop feeling like my entire world is crashing down around me."

Crystal laughed, a little too dry for it to be genuine. "Hey, Gigi?"

"Hm?"

"If you- if you wanted, maybe you and the little munchkin could visit? Come see me in Missouri, maybe it’ll get your mind off things."

Gigi’s hands stopped underneath the stream of lukewarm water flowing from the faucet, her eyes meeting her reflection in the mirror. She looked like shit, no matter how much her carefully applied façade remained in place, her gaze jittered around the small room and she had never felt so truly tired in her entire life.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I mean, me of all people should know something about everything falling apart."

Less than an hour later, Gigi found herself dialing Crystal’s number again. She stood outside the courthouse, her glasses misted from the early- evening rain shower as she waited for her car.

Relinquished. She didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or take her parents up on their offer to live in their Florida timeshare and disappear off the face of the planet, too.

"He’s not coming because he filed paperwork to relinquish parental rights two weeks ago. In the eyes of the law, it’s just the two of you.”, her lawyer had told her, after finding Gigi just outside the bathroom. Jackie Cox was always dressed in tweed, pastel, pantsuits, dark hair coiffed in buttery smooth curls at the top of her head, her lips pursed in a thin, straight line, as though she was perpetually exhausted.

Gigi supposed that, being one of the city’s longest-serving family court attorneys would do that to you.

“I don’t know how I missed it on the dockets, but I should have told you first.”, Jackie apologized; her hand warm and steady at the small of Gigi’s back as she walked her client back up the hallway.

Gigi grunted, shrugging her shoulders underneath her jacket. “It’s fin- It wouldn’t have changed anything, Jackie. Really, thanks for everything."

She let herself lean against Jackie, letting one of her oldest friends wrap her arms around her, breathing in the scent of Jackie’s honeysuckle perfume on the courthouse steps.

"I’m sorry this happened-”, Jackie started, and Gigi could feel her heart sink to her stomach.

She had never done well with pity, least of all when she truly deserved it.

“Don’t be. Please, just don’t.”

“What are you going to do now?”, Jackie asked, as Gigi stepped out of her embrace, surveying the street before them that was quickly filling with cars and bikes and buses as the work day finished and school let out for the day.

“Right now? Get in an Uber and hope they don’t charge me triple for being late at daycare again.”

Crystal picked up on the fourth ring, and Gigi could hear the sound of a sink running in the background. Water splashed against metal, and the distinct sound of another woman’s voice, screeching with laughter, buzzed through the speakers of Gigi’s phone.

“Whoo- chile, I’m telling you if you come any closer with that flour, I’m gonna-"

"Shit. Sorry.”, Crystal had muffled the phone against her chest, the static only cutting out when Gigi was sure she had ducked into another room.

“How quickly can you get that guest room set up? I’m pretty sure we can make it for tomorrow if I drive through the night.”

-

“Mom- Mom it’s twelve-thirty-five. It’s way, way, way past your bedtime!”, Destiny crowed from his carseat, kicking at Gigi’s back. His blonde curls were plastered to the side of his face, lips dusted with salt from the bag of chips that Gigi had let him pick out form himself at their last rest stop.

Their entire lives had fit neatly into the sickeningly suburban five-seater that his father had insisted on, the largest luggage case filled with her son’s clothes and bedsheets still having enough room to jostle under his bare feet.

She knew it was impulsive, and stupid, and half-expected the police to pull them over several states away, but as the highways emptied to nothing bur a ribbon of white lines that kept them on the right side of the road, Gigi became more and more convinced she was doing the right thing.    

“My bedtime is five-thirty, kiddo. Yours is eight, so you get to stay up so much later.”, she joked easily, never having had Destiny for so many hours, all by herself in the years since he had started preschool.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense! It’s eight at night and right now it’s morning! Nobody goes to sleep at five in the morning!”, he shrieked, and giggled at his own reflection in the rearview mirror.  

“That’s when the garbage truck wakes up!”, he added. Gigi didn’t remember, if he had ever talked so much, his voice jarring and so different from the toddler babbles she had recorded, and kept on her phone to watch on her worst days.

Her textile studio had taken up her days, until her partners had grown tired of Gigi stumbling in at eleven in the morning, unable to force herself to care very much about their bottom line, and the grey, dull world outside until Destiny had come to kick her out of bed.

Afterwards, his father would take her nights, the pressure incessant that they be exactly what they looked like- a family that belonged in a catalog, with a perfectly dressed, perfectly quiet child, money to burn and success in spades; drinking from matching flutes of champagne while Destiny was left alone in his basement bedroom with a baby monitor and his collection of stuffed animals.

Gigi faltered in a sea of plastic smiles and shallow conversations, and at the end of the day, all of her friends who had warned her off marrying her senior-year rebound, giving her life over to the promise of a bright, empty future, had been right.

He wanted to live in a dream, where she was only ever a sidekick; their son nothing more to him than a prop to parade, an filled-in item on a checklist that he had given up without a second thought.

Gigi had named him Destiny, because she liked it first, but second, because it had sounded so good with his last name; that she had never even considered having to change it.

Destiny Goode was a name that sounded like a motivational quote from a caveman, and she briefly wondered, merging on to the next interstate her GPS system highlighted- if a six-year-old would remember his name if she changed it right now.

He could be a Garret, or a Jaden, just like every other boy at school.

A fresh slate with no more questions to be asked, and nothing left to tie her perfect boy to Gigi’s worst mistake.

“-So, she’ll be here at nine-thirty, and we’re all going to be nice as fuck and not make it weird, okay?"

Crystal smoothed down the pleats of her skirt with her palms, her legs crossed in front of her at the breakfast table, as her eyes flitted between Jaida and Jan, who both had forks in hand as they enjoyed the chilaquilles that Crystal had set out for their meal, knowing this was going to be a big conversation.

"Chile-”

“Okay, go back to the part where she broke up with you and then ended up married to darksided Warner-"

"Guys!”, Crystal protested, glaring down at her friends.

Jaida and Jan had bought the barn on her family’s property not even weeks after Crystal had agreed to put it on the market, the decrepit, white-washed wood tower an eyesore along the country highway.

They were the closest thing she had to neighbors, in the wide acres of rolling plains that separated everyone by miles along the road, and it hadn’t taken long for the three of them to grow close.

Together, they had carved a guest house out of the front entryway, laying water pipes and television cable; and were working on renovations to turn the barn’s hall into an event space, with glass lanterns hanging high along the rafters that Crystal remembered walking across like a tightrope when she was a child.

Jan drilled in heavy wood planks to form a catwalk that overlooked the barn floor, which you could reach from the outside fire escape, and Crystal had been thrilled to finally put her years of following behind her father to use, toolbox in hand as she sanded down the reinforced beams holding up the roof.

If Gigi hadn’t called her, Crystal and Jan had a day ahead of them of hauling the shingles from a pallet left by the side of the road, in Crystal’s truck up to the barn, while Jaida had her camera, and a full calendar of Senior Portraits to finish before the end of the school year.

“I know it sounds like a lot, but please, please, don’t make it weird. Gigi always…- She always needed everything to go perfectly, and I hate to say it but… I might be her only real friend. Like, ever.”, Crystal told them, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

Gigi, who for the past few years, had been nothing but  a collection of memories that would fire in her brain occasionally, like a slight twinge from an old injury, would be back in the flesh at her doorstep, at any minute. Crystal barely had the time to recruit Jaida’s help in clearing out her guest rooms for Gigi and her son, much less process how she truly felt about offering up her home as their refuge.

Gigi had never responded to the birthday cards she sent for Destiny after his third birthday; barely ever logging into her Facebook page that had been filled with photos of the two of them through college; and seemed to abruptly be cut off after she had gotten married. Occasionally, something would trickle through, a vacation photo of her little family, and anniversary note, a first day at school and a post that asked everyone to go and follow her business page.

For all of the refreshing Crystal did, Gigi’s studio seemed to never upload anything beyond its logo and business hours.

“Nah, listen, I get it, babe.”, said Jaida, a tortilla chip hanging from the corner of her mouth. “People grow and change and we gotta meet them where they’re at."

She nodded towards Jan, who was gulping down her orange juice, with a fond grin. "If you would have told my queen bitch ass when I was in high school, that I would end up married to Miss Team Too Much, I would have stole your man and told the whole school some dirty secret.”, Jaida laughed. “Everybody’s dealing with something, and I was so closeted and angry I was acting a fool for free."

"You were never closeted.”, Jan piped up, her voice rising an octave from normal, making Crystal widen her eyes as she looked to her side.

“Glass closet, honey. Besides, my point is, it’s water under a bridge, whatever we do when we’re young. I love you now.”, she said, pressing a kiss to Jan’s temple as she rose to go take their dishes to the sink. “You ended up turning out to be an amazing woman. I’m sure Gigi’s just the same."

-

The sun was high over the horizon line when Gigi’s car rumbled up the range road, rocks spraying into the grass as her wheels skipped over the pockmarked dirt.

She had taken Destiny to a hotel waterpark with a free breakfast, the absolute joy and shock on his face more than worth being several hours off of the arrival time she had texted Crystal. He was asleep now, only dressed in a pair of shorts and his sneakers, the buckles of his carseat starting to chafe red against his skin.  

Gigi turned left at the barn, towards the yellow-shuttered house she remembered visiting over so many spring breaks and reading weeks, surprised to see two workers, stacking pallets of shingles by the barn door. One was a gorgeous, darker-skinned woman, the sun glittering from the highlights in her hair as she waved over to Gigi, making her grin despite herself.

Crystal’s tiny town had always been welcoming, the huge open expanses of space seeming to make everyone all the more willing to seek a connection- though Gigi would have never guessed that Crystal and her family would ever do anything with the barn, which looked just a little less decrepit than she remembered, so many years later.

She parked by the balcony, just in front of Crystal’s truck, and shook Destiny awake, helping him into the first shirt which she could reach from his bag.

"C'mon, Des. We’re here. Are you excited to say hi to Mom’s friend? She stayed up all night to make you new room!”, she asked, watching as he took in the word around them.

“You have friends?”, he blurted out, so plainly that Gigi couldn’t keep a smile off her face, even if he had probably heard that from a TV show she probably shouldn’t have been letting him see.

“That’s not very nice."

Still, she kissed the top of his head, and helped him out of the car, his tiny hand feeling heavy in hers as they made their way up the stairs to Crystal’s door.

The balcony creaked under their feet, as Gigi raised her hand to press against the doorbell, Destiny tugging against her shirt, pointing up at the colorful strips of cut paper that still adorned the windows, the sun cutting what must have been a stained-glass glow inside the house.

"Snowflakes, like at school!”, he called to her, pressing his face against the windowsill before Gigi pulled him back.

“No, it’s called papel picado.”, Gigi corrected, remembering how Crystal had spent hours at her paper press in the basement of the art rooms in college, a mess of stencils spread across the desk, a chisel and mallet in hand as she studied the pictures her grandmother would send her.

Crystal’s tongue would poke out of her mouth, her pupils blown wide in concentration, oblivious to the darkening sky above her until Gigi would find her, at half-past midnight, standing still wide awake in the middle of confetti slices of cut paper piling around her.

They would kiss, exhilarated and young and alone together, and Gigi would never think anything was wrong until-

“Gigi! Geegs! Look who’s late to their own party!”, Crystal squealed, the door swinging wide open to reveal her; red-brown hair still as wild as ever, piled into a messy ponytail atop her head, and a smile so wide Gigi could see nearly all her teeth. Crystal sparkled with the same craft glitter that had always hung from her fingertips, her cheeks flush as though she’d run from one end of the house to the other.

Her eyes looked bright again, the memory of which was so foreign to Gigi that she took a moment to take it all in, Crystal’s bright skirt and her tight, sleeveless top looking all the more like relics of the summers they had spent together.

“Ahoy.”, she greeted, raising a hand to her forehead in a mock salute.

Crystal giggled.

Giggled, like she always had, and waved them inside with a flourish of her hand.

“Are you mad at me?”, Jaida asked, kicking open the toolbox that she and Jan shared.

They had watched Crystal let the storied Gigi into the house, and decided to occupy themselves with bolting down the side light fixtures in the barn, until whatever was probably going on between their neighbor and ex calmed down enough for Crystal to invite them in.

But, Jan’s temper had grown increasingly short through their day, her drill now clenched in a white-knuckled grip as Jaida held the ladder she was on steady below her, digging in the tool box for the next drill bit she would need.

“Why- the fuck- would I be mad at you?”, she said through gritted teeth, over the sound of the power tool in her hand.

“‘Cause you just said fuck, for one.”, Jaida muttered, her eyes rolling skyward. Her wife had always been a little dramatic, but there was nothing Jaida hated more than the silent treatment, far preferring a knock-down, drag-out, screaming fight to being frozen out for hours with little more than a sharp glance or a silent nodded sent her way.

Jan shrugged her shoulders, her favorite blue and red flannel shirt stretching deliciously tight across her back.

Was Jan teasing her? Was it all some kind of elaborate game that was intended to be finished in their bedroom?

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s killing the mood, babe.”, Jaida teased, hoping that Jan would get the hint.

Instead, she dropped the drill from her grip, clattering down the ladder as it bounced on the hard-packed ground. The battery pack popped from the tool’s back, not that Jan could be bothered as she stalked away, ignoring Jaida’s raised eyebrows.

“Hey- hey- you can’t just wreck stuff because you’re having a bad day!”, Jaida called after her wife, looking down at the mess of wires at her feet. “And I don’t know how to fix this shit so-"

She fell silent, as Jan’s steps echoed up the outdoor fire escape, her body disappearing until Jaida could only see the outline of her long, blonde hair, blowing in the wind from the balcony.

"Jan?”, she shouted, following her up the steps. “Hey, I know I fucked up, but you gotta tell me how otherwise I’m not gonna know how to fix it."

"Right.”, Jan scoffed as Jaida rounded the corner, the two of them facing towards Crystal’s house, where a second-floor light flickered on and off several times. “I forgot that everything’s so easy for you, I just have to spell it all out."

"Okay, what does that even mean?"

Jan glowered at her wife, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Why did you tell Crystal the reason you were a bully in high school was because you weren’t out?"

"That’s what this about? Baby-”, Jaida reached forward, her hand only barely touching Jan’s shoulder before her wife flinched away. “I was just trying to make her feel a little better about the whole thing, everything going on with Gigi. I don’t even remember if I was a bully in high school."

"Maybe I do.”, Jan snapped, her eyes flashing up in anger for a split second.

Jaida sighed, looking back over the horizon; where the sun was starting to dip at the back of scattered farmhouses and cottage homes littered accross the plains. “Look- I- I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“You’ve never apologized."

"You want me to say sorry?"

It had been years since Jan and Jaida had reconnected, long separated from the people that they had been as children.

Jaida had remembered Jan as an easy target from their first day in kindergarten, a tiny, loud girl who fell into a pattern that followed until Jan had left for college on a musical theatre scholarship, and Jaida had gone to play basketball for a small, comfortable liberal arts college in the heartland. When she had met Jan again; she was another person who shared the same name, at an alumni event where both of them had been invited to promote their respective colleges.

Where Jan had always worn her heart on her sleeve, the woman Jaida had married was confident, and passionate, witty and driven beyond belief.

She hadn’t had a second thought proposing to her, in the middle of the butterfly sanctuary at the zoo in the springtime, kissing her passionately without question at their Central Park wedding, their families both swaying together underneath the canopy of a white tent, to the music of the very first DJ they had found on Google.

"I just want you to- admit that it happened.”

“You’re acting like this was a big deal.”, Jaida groaned. “Baby, we were kids."

"It was a big deal. I thought about the stupid shit you and your friends said, for years after- and you don’t know what that was like."

"Okay- I-”

Jaida sighed, laying her hands on the railing that rounded the balcony, squeezing the metal rung tightly against her palms, the fight seeping out of her as she studied her wife, who looked on the verge of tears.

“Jan- baby, hey, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Silence fell between them, the sound of the crickets the only thing that cut in between their breaths. Jan buried her face in her hands, elbows resting against the railing beside her wife.

“I know. It’s just, that stuff adds up sometimes.”

She pressed herself into her wife’s shoulder, letting her head rest against Jaida’s arm.

“It adds up the other way around, too. Don’t think it doesn’t.”, Jan whispered, and Jaida finally let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in, her arm snaking around to rest around her wife’s waist. “It’s just a lot of work.”

“Then I’ll work on it, baby. Just tell me what you need.”

Gigi was surprised, at how instantly familiar Crystals kitchen was, breakfast leftovers heaped on top of Destiny’s plate while she quietly accepted a Diet Coke, sipping at the flat beverage as she finally began to relax. Gigi could tell her son was starting to feel sleepy, his eyes losing focus even as he kept lifting his fork to his mouth.

“Cielito.”, Crystal cooed, as she ruffled his curls, passing by the two of them as she moved to shutter the blinds in the kitchen. Destiny clearly thrived under the attention, and Gigi wondered if he had always craved touch, or if he was only a child who was excited by all of the new things around him. The heat was sticky, and Crystal’s brightly painted walls made the whole house look even more like an eternal birthday party, the fridge covered with photos and magnets.

Crystal had never learned to speak Spanish, at least as far as Gigi knew, having begged Crystal to help her pass her class for months when they had been roommates, but she supposed, she must have picked up more of it, with all the time she must have spent with her family afterwards.

“Where are you Mom and Dad?”, Gigi asked, swirling her straw in her Diet Coke. “I should say hi, right?"

Crystal shrugged. "We could Facetime? They were back in Mexico for a while after my Dad got sick, but right now they’re travelling Europe, living the old people dream. I’m sure my Mom still misses you."

Gigi took a deeper breath, her lips pursed as she watched Crystal dump dirty dishes in the sink.

"Is um- are you getting the barn demolished? I saw a couple people working on it outside."

"Oh, that’s just Jan and Jaida. They live there. I sold it a few months ago, and they’re trying to turn it into, like, a wedding hall. You’d love them- they’re the gayes-”, she paused, looking down at Destiny as he tipped his glass of orange juice into his mouth. “They’re super, super in love, and so gross."

Gigi could feel herself start to blush, even though she had started having that conversation with her son almost as soon as he had started to learn to talk.

"I usually have them over for dinner, so you can say hi."

Gigi coughed, swallowing the question that had been at the tip of her tongue since she had spoken to Crystal the day before.

"So? are you seeing anyone?”, she asked.

Crystal shook her head. “I’m not really looking.”, she said. “Still putting the cry in Crystal!”, she laughed. “And you were right, I wouldn’t want to put that on anyone else."

"I- ”, Gigi bit back her reply, not quite knowing if this was a talk she wanted to have, with her son arranging chips on his plate not two feet in front of her.

“Hey- buddy”, Crystal tapped on Destiny’s shoulder, nudging him with her hip. “Go wash your hands in the bathroom. It’s the one with the fish on the door and Star Wars on the curtain."

He looked back up at his mother, Gigi giving him a curt nod of approval as he skittered up the hallway.

"He’s a cute kid, you know? You’re doing a good job.”, she told Gigi, pushing the boy’s chair back in.

“Yeah… mostly not my job, but I’ll pass it on to our last nanny."

Gigi had stood with their plates, following Crystal to the sink where she happily plunged her arms into the hot, soapy bubbles, not caring very much for how her shirtsleeves got soaked in the water, navy fabric clinging to her wrists.

"Seriously. Gigi- look at me.”, Crystal reached around her, shutting off the faucet with a decisive clicking noise. “I don’t blame you for being twenty-one and not sticking around after I flipped out because I didn’t know how to deal with college, and real life and everything. It’s a day by day thing.”, she shrugged, reaching to open a cabinet and put the glasses in the drying rack away.

Crystal’s body was almost uncomfortably close, pressing into Gigi’s side like she remembered them being like, when they had shared their first apartment, having barely enough room for two people in between the fridge and the stove.

“Some days are better than others. But it’s-”, she paused, and smirked, her lips curling into the same wicked grin that Gigi could never shake from her memories, no matter how hard she tried. “No offense, but you’re not important enough for it to have been your fault."

"Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”, Gigi couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “Kick a girl when she’s down?"

"Or, some people just have shitty brain chemistry, and other people are assholes. Stop thinking it’s all on you all the time, you absolute flaming fuck-up.”, Crystal told her, her words softening behind her smile.

“Maybe don’t say flaming, but I did fu-"

Destiny padded back into the room, rubbing at his eyes. "Is it adult time yet?”, he asked, his tiny mouth yawning open. “Everyone’s saying all the bad words."

Crystal snickered, turning her undivided attention back to rinsing out the sink, her back turned to the both of them as if to say Gigi was on her own with that one.

"Good night, I guess.”, she muttered, shuffling across the tile towards him.

“See you tomorrow, Geegs. Just don’t forget, there’s always that.”

-

Gigi laid in bed with Destiny resting half on her chest, her son not wanting to leave her side, once the novelty of their adventure had worn off, and he had started to realize that there was a certain kind of permanence, to Crystal’s rainbow-colored walls, to the laughter from the kitchen that came from Jan and Jaida, who had eyed Gigi with enough suspicion to let it be known to her that she was absolutely not welcome in whatever little world they had built.

Okay, maybe the last bit was just in her head, and she could just introduce herself properly at breakfast the next morning- but she had still jumped at the chance to lock herself in Destiny’s appointed bedroom, pretending that he would need her to fall asleep, even though he had only wanted to cuddle before passing out completely the second that she dimmed the lights.

She scrolled through her phone, mindlessly as her son shifted in her arms, the message bubble beside his father’s name still lit up red with unread texts, that she skipped through to flick past her Instagram feed, landing on Crystal’s profile at the very bottom of her following list. The very first account which she had followed, years ago, and the very last that she kept up with, the creeping intimacy of being under Crystal’s roof, trying to piece together the life she had dropped out of, thicker than the heat of the air around her.

Crystal’s photos were all filtered through something that made them look brighter, more vibrant than the rainy afternoons and damp wetlands that they featured in the background, the captions all long, effusive essays about the importance of showing up to vote, or the beauty of the creek behind her house in the summertime. The most recent photo, featured her lying in a bed of sunflowers, grinning up at the sky, eyes half-shut against the sunlight.

Don’t look right into a solar eclipse!, the caption started, followed by at least a dozen laughing emoji faces, alternating with bright pink flowers. Sometimes life just punches you in the face, dummy! And you just gotta deal with it anyway. Don’t waste a second!

Gigi chuckled, locking the phone and laying it back on the bedside table, trying to move as little as possible as she turned off what was left of the light in the bedroom, and drew herself closer to her son in her arms.

His breathing was steady, his hands reaching for her hair in his sleep.

“Okay, kiddo. I got you.”, she said to nobody in particular, sinking lower in the sheets so she could tuck them tighter around him.

There’s always tomorrow, she could hear Crystal telling her, her voice clear as the dream Gigi was starting to slip into.

The next morning, she would start putting everything back together again.

[ojpovkjopsk]

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[depressedkakashihatake]

Brush

Kakashi shivered when Gai’s fingers brushed over the scar that ran along his forearm. a scar that would usually be covered by his uniform, or whatever clothing he had choicen to use for the day.

However, since they were relaxing by the river waiting to dry after taking a dip in the river, there wasn’t anything in the way when Gai reached out to touch his arm.

“Sorry.” Gai cringed when he saw Kakashi’s reaction, retracting his hand immidiatly and resting it on his own leg.

It was the only scar that Gai didn’t like. The one he left ignored whenever he was cataloging the various wounds that littered Kakashi’s body, pressing kisses against each and every one of them.

The one scar on all of Kakashi’s body that Gai wanted to forget existed, because rather than being a reminder that Kakashi had lived another battle, it served to remind Gai of his own mistake.

The one time his over confidence had gotten the best of him and caused Kakashi injury.

“You know, you could just talk about it,” His eyes burrowed into Gai as he spoke, watching for any reaction. “It’s not going away because you want it to.”

A small smile pulls at his lips when Gai responds with a huff. For a man so willing to forgive others mistakes he sure was hard on himself. Sliding in a bit closer, Kakashi brushed their shoulders together and smiled when Gai looked over at him.

“I’m alive,” He repeated the words Gai always told him after he got a new scar. “Here, with you. Isn’t that all that matters?”

No response. Just a look begging Kakashi to drop the conversation.

“You know, I thought it was sort of hot,” bringing his hands up behind his head he fell backwards onto the ground and stared up at the sky. “It’s so rare to see you getting Cocky. Knowing you can take out an enemy without breaking a sweat. I would have gladly gotten on my knees after the fight and...”

A hand came down over his mouth, muffling the rest of his words.

“don’t,” Gai glared down at him with anger in his eyes “Don’t act like that was a good thing, Kakashi. It got you hurt. It could have gotten you...”

He didn’t need Gai to finish his sentence.

Killed.

The one thing Gai had always been afraid of. Kakashi dying, either in Battle or by his own hand. Neither of them knew which was more likely to happen, though they both tried to ignore the possibilities of the second one.

Bringing one hand out from behind his head, Kakashi wrapped it around Gai’s wrist and carefully pulled the hand away from his mouth.

“It didn’t,” He smiled up at Gai “I didn’t die, and that’s what this scar shows. Just like all the other one’s you love to kiss and praise all the time, this is another mark on my body that shows i survived.”

Gai’s head dropped, his sight falling to the ground beside Kakashi. “I’m supposed to protect you,” There it was. The words Gai had refused to say for so long. The guilt he had tried so desperatly to hide away from the past two years whenever he saw that scar “I’m not protecting you if...”

“You protect me all the time,” Kakashi corrected him, his smile growing when Gai looked back at him. “Once in a while isn’t it ok if i take that job? If i do everything i can to keep you safe?”

Gai had so many scars from times when he had protected Kakashi. Instances where he put himself between Kakashi and an enemies blade, or when he took an attack head on because Kakashi was too injured or exhausted to defend himself.

“What’s one tiny scar, if it means you’re still here with me?”

[kar3npage]

Next to You

Neil Josten works as a math professor and lives a comfortable life in a neighborhood that happens to house all of his closest friends. He meets Andrew Minyard, the owner of the quaint bookstore down the street, at a barbeque and makes the mistake of agreeing to go to his book club. Lots of Andrew being an obviously lovesick fool, Neil being oblivious, and their friends loving them unconditionally.

Read it on ao3 here

Neil Josten made his way down the quaint street that he somehow managed to get an apartment in. His wheelchair clicked loudly on the pavement, and he got a few sympathetic looks as he rolled past. He does his best to ignore it, though some days that’s easier said than done.

It’s been years since his father died at the hands of Stuart, and a bit more than a year since the rest of his father’s circle was finally caught and imprisoned. No matter how much time passes though, Nathan Wesninski left a lasting impact. The scars on his arms and face make sure that everyone knows that something horrific happened to the young man with red hair, and the wheelchair ensures that he is noticed in every situation.

“Hey buddy!” Matt is easy to find in the cafe they always meet at. To begin with, they always sit at the same table so that Neil can get there comfortably. Also, he is freakishly tall compared to most people, and the spiked hair adds to his height. “Dan sends her apologies. Emergency at work,” Matt says with a grimace and pushes forward the coffee that he ordered for Neil. 

Matt and Neil have been best friends since they met in physical therapy when Matt got an injury while he was playing Exy in university. Neil was the first person Matt introduced Dan to when they started dating, and Neil was the one that Matt ran his business plan through when he first decided that he wanted to start a veterinary clinic. Matt was the one that Neil called when he got lonely in his empty apartment, and Matt was the one who forced Neil to get a cat. Neil couldn’t imagine a life without their weekly coffees or Christmas dinner with the Boyd-Wilds. 

Matt is describing in minute detail the reason why Dan was not able to come to coffee today - something about one of the high school students she taught struggling with something and going to her for help. The pride Matt felt for his wife was undeniable, and Neil nodded along and let him ramble.

“Anyway, I almost forgot! Allison is putting together a party on Sunday and you have to come,” Matt says after a few minutes.

Neil gives Matt an unimpressed look. “First of all, what is the party even for? Second of all, you know I don’t like parties.”

“I know, I know, but Kevin’s back in town! Plus you got your PhD, we need to celebrate that!”

“I got my PhD two years ago, you’ve got to stop using that as an excuse to have a party.”

Matt grins unapologetically and stares at Neil until he finally says “Fine. But I’m leaving early.”

Before he knew it, Sunday evening was there and Neil was reluctantly making his way to the Boyd-Wilds house. On his lap was a loaf of sourdough bread that he stress baked that afternoon, and a list of conversation topics that he printed off the internet. 

While waiting for someone to answer the doorbell, he stuffed the list of questions in his pocket and inspected the cars on the street. There were more people here than normal. Quite a few more. He could recognize Wymacks beat up old truck and Allison's pink convertible, and he was assuming that the rental car across the street was Kevins. There was also a red SUV that he hasn’t seen before, and a very fancy, very shining black car in the driveway. 

Allison opened the door like she owned the place, and threw herself on Neils lap for a hug before he could protest.

“I know you were dawdling, your apartment is, like, a block away.”

“Well I can’t walk very fast,” Neil says to Allison while half-heartedly shoving her away. She flicks his nose.

“You can get everywhere faster than me, stop trying to make me feel bad for you,” she sings, then grabs the loaf of bread out of his hand and walks inside without a backwards glance. “Literally everyone got here before you did. Even the monsters.”

Neil comes in hesitantly. There is a great deal of noise coming out of the kitchen, and Neil can see even more people in the backyard through the hallway. 

“So… who all came?” Neil says as he emerges into the tight kitchen where Allison disappeared to. There are a multitude of new faces in the kitchen who turn to face him, and he immediately regrets not coming up with an excuse to stay home. Not like any of them would have believed him, but an attempt could have been made.

“Allison, you didn’t say he was that attractive!” a tall man says from the corner. His arms are wrapped around an even taller blond man who smiles genially at Neil and coming forward to offer a hand.

“I’m Erik, and this is my husband Nicky,” the blond man says in a thick German accent.

Allison beams at Neil. “I told you he was cute. And he looks even better when he wears the clothes that I choose for him,” she says to Nicky, giving Neil a pointed look.

“Nicky’s the one doing Matt’s marketing for him now.” Renee’s calm voice comes from the corner, somewhere behind Nicky and Erik. “And he helped Allison with her branding when she started designing.”

Neil hums so they know he heard, then backs out of the kitchen to go to the back. He thinks that he should probably say something polite while he leaves, but Allison and Renee know how he is, and he feels like he’s getting in the way of all the people actually cooking in the kitchen.

The backyard has even more people in it, but it has more space so he doesn’t feel as claustrophobic.

“Neil!” Matt says from where he’s standing at the barbeque with Wymack, sounding like he had no idea that he was coming. Dan and Abby wave at him from their lawn chairs. Another woman is chatting with them, her arm around a short blond man. Kevin is standing near Wymack talking at another small blond man. Neil catalogs the two, checking for differences without thinking about it. 

Now he really regrets being here. There isn’t a single group of people that he can talk to that he knows entirely, and everyone else seems to be so comfortable chatting. He briefly considers using Sir as an excuse, but he knows that Matt would insist on going home with him if he thought that there was something wrong with Sir.

“No ones going to bite,” Allison says from behind him, making him jump. He realizes that he is directly in front of the door.

“I should go,” Neil mumbles as Allison walks past him carrying a bowl of salad to the table near the grill. “Nope! You can’t, it's your PhD party!” Allison sings.

Kevin turns around and notices Neil in the doorway. He looks intense, which is just his version of excited. 

Allison's announcement has caught everyone's attention and Neil can feel the weight of their eyes. He accidentally makes eye contact with the man who Kevin was talking with, and he shifts his attention quickly.

“It’s not a PhD party, that happened years ago.”

Dan grins. “You know that we’re going to call everything that so you feel obligated to come, right?”

“We just like having you here, Neil,” Renee says sweetly from beside him. Neil can feel his face heating up. “Have you met everyone yet?”

At the shake of his head, Renee introduces the new ones in the backyard. “Andrew is the one with Kevin, he owns the bookshop down the street from the cafe, and then over there is his twin Aaron, and Aaron's wife Katelyn. They work at the hospital together as surgeons.” 

“The bookstore you go to all the time?” Neil asks. Andrew is wearing all black despite the summer heat, and his gaze is blank as he watches Kevin get worked up over whatever he’s talking about. Most likely Exy, since he’s been making an Exy podcast since he stopped playing in university. 

Renee hums a confirmation. “Andrew and I have tea and cake at the bakery every Saturday. I supply treats to the book club he hosts,” Renee says with a smile. Her bakery is famous around the neighborhood for having the prettiest and most luxurious treats in the city. The woman who helps her run it, Betsy, makes Neil just as uncomfortable as Renee does. That combined with his dislike for sweets means that he very rarely ends up in the shop.

“He hosts a book club?” Neil says, staring hard at Andrew. He doesn’t know why his brain has latched onto the man like this, but he can’t help but be fascinated with how contradictory he seems to be. A man with bigger biceps than Matt who likes Renee's cake (and company) and runs a book club. 

Renee smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Oh yes, you should join us sometime. We’re reading Emma at the moment, in honour of the movie coming out.”

Neil narrows his eyes at Renee, but she doesn’t seem to be joking. He’s saved from the need to answer by Erik and Nicky coming out with more food and Wymack announcing that the burgers are done.

-

Andrews eyes keep sliding over to the redhead with a deer-in-headlights look as he completely blocks the door. Kevin has not shut up about Andrews' missed chance at going pro, and Andrew started blocking him out ages ago. Nearly as soon as Kevin started talking, actually. 

Renee winks at him when she notices where his gaze is fixed and he glares at her. Her smile just grows as she finds a lawn chair near Allison. Wymack interrupts the staring contest by putting out the burgers and Andrew bullies his way into line at the table by the grill to fill his plate. Kevin has moved to the back of the line to talk to the redhead, who takes the attack surprisingly well. He makes eye contact with Andrew and gives him a ‘what can you do’ kind of shrug and smile while he nods along to Kevins rant. Andrew pretends he was never looking at them and loads his plate up with bread and potato salad.

“I invited Neil to book club, I hope you don’t mind,” Renee says to Andrew when he sits down in the empty chair beside her. 

Allison leans forward to point her fork at Andrew. “I hope you know that I saw you ogling him.”

Andrew glares at her and Renee kicks her foot gently. “I think you and Neil would get along well,” Renee says.

“Who said I wanted to get to know him,” Andrew says while staring at a smirking Neil arguing with Kevin. Kevin’s face has gone an alarming shade of red and Wymack is watching them with a faintly fond expression on his face.

Allison snorts and turns to Katelyn to chat. Renee wisely changes the subject to her thoughts so far on Emma.

-

Opening the bookstore first thing in the morning is one of Andrews less hated chores. He likes the way the store smells, and the awed silence that it has before customers come in. Robin, his only employee, always takes the evening shift, so he has the whole morning to himself. He starts by setting up a new display in the front window, losing himself to the satisfying feeling of creating something.

The mornings are usually pretty quiet, since the neighborhood has a habit of waking up late whenever possible. The only other shop open is Renee’s bakery down the street, and Boyd’s vet clinic, which he walked past on his way from his place. 

Bee drops by at lunch like she often does, with a mocha and a croissant. Bee is Renee’s business partner in the bakery, and responsible for the pastries. The two of them adopted Andrew into their social circle as soon as he became a regular at the bakery when he first opened the bookstore.

“Renee mentioned that we might have a new member of book club this month,” Bee says as she admires the new display. Andrew does not miss the sparkle in her eye, or the pleased smile that she tries to hide by taking another sip of her hot chocolate.

Andrew doesn’t answer.

“It will be nice to hear new opinions,” Bee muses. He can tell that she’s fishing for a reaction, so he places all of his attention on stacking the newly arrived copies of The Glass Hotel. When he turns around, Bee is watching his carefully. 

“You know,” she says slowly, “it’s always a good thing to add to your social circle. Neil sounds nice. Matt always has good things to say about him.”

Andrew gives her a dirty look, which she easily ignores. “And he sounds like someone you would get along with. Allison told me that he has his PhD in some sort of math. And he has a cat.”

Andrew snorts. “So having a cat is supposed to make me overlook the fact that he’s interested in math.”

Bee laughs and gives Andrew a knowing look. 

-

A week later, and Neil is starting to get restless at home. He appreciates that the university allows him to teach online classes, but sometimes too much time with only Sir as company makes Neil think weird thoughts. He decides to get a sandwich from the cafe, after dismissing the thought of bothering Matt at work. He knows that he could always call Allison, since she is the boss and can do whatever she wants (or so she says), but he’s in a melancholy mood and he knows that she would force him out of it. For some reason, he wants to just wallow for a minute.

The day is crisper than Neil thought that it would be, but it’s a good kick to his system. He peaks in the window of the clinic when he goes past, and he’s suddenly glad that he didn’t text Matt earlier. It would just make him worry, and it looks like he’ll be busy today.

At times like these, Neil can’t help but feel just a little bit like a chore for his friends. He can always hear the busyness behind Allison when he calls her during the day, and he knows that Matt drops nearly everything to make sure he’s okay. He could always call Wymack, but Wymack is busy trying to save every kid that he comes across at the clubs he runs. Abby is constantly telling him that he’s no bother, but she is also busy at her work as a physical therapist. 

The melancholy back as strong as ever, Neil makes his way listlessly down the street. It’s a quiet day today, and all he has to do when he gets home is mark some tests, so he takes his time eating his sad looking sandwich. 

It seemed like fate that the bookstore was directly across the street from the cafe. How had Neil never payed attention to that before now?

It’s as quaint as the rest of the stores on the street, but with a darker colour palette than the rest. The window boasts various beautiful copies of Jane Austen books with a poster with information about the book club. The clean design of the poster reminds him of Allisons, and he wonders if Nicky does the marketing for Andrew too.

Neil sits in the cafe for 45 minutes before working up with courage to check out the bookstore.

A small bell rings as he struggles over the cracked concrete at the entrance to get into the store. By the time he actually looks around, Andrew’s flat gaze is heavy on him. He can feel a flush rise up the back of his neck.

Neil clears his throat a few times and tries to pretend that he’s not fazed by the staring. “Renee mentioned that you had a book club?” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

Andrew keeps staring at him. “I think she said the book was Emma, but she didn’t say what day it was.”

“Next Tuesday.”

“Oh.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got something else to do that day?”

“No, I just won’t be able to read the book by then,” Neil says, and to his horror, he feels the flush move onto his cheeks. He looks at a random book in an attempt to hide it.

When he looks back at Andrew, he’s relaxed back into the chair behind the counter. “Most members don’t read the whole thing before the club gets together. Some of them haven’t even started it, they just come for the conversation.”

“Really?” Neil says. The shame at not being a fast reader is starting to fade. He can’t imagine Andrew lying just to make someone feel better, and he has a strange trust for the near stranger.

Andrew tosses a small paperback book to Neil, and Neil fumbles to catch it. It’s the edition of Emma with the movie cover. Andrew waves away Neils offer to pay when he gets to the counter.

“Book club discount,” Andrew says while fidgeting with his sleeves.

“That’s not a great business practice, giving away books for that many people every month.”

Andrew just shrugs.

Neil’s at home and has read the first chapter of the book before he remembers that he was sad.

-

“Was that Neil that I just saw leaving the bookstore?” Nicky asked far too enthusiastically as he came barreling into the store not two minutes after Andrews bizarre interaction with Neil finished. 

“Nope,” Andrew says and puts his book in front of his face to block out Nicky.

“I love Neil! Is he going to hang out with us now?”

“Why would him coming to the store mean that he was going to hang out with us?”

“So it was him! Ha!”

Andrew rolled his eyes and turned the page despite not having read a single word on that page. When Nicky is silent for a few seconds, he puts the book down to look into his thrilled cousins face.

“I think it would be nice if he joined us for family dinner next month,” Nicky says brightly when he notices that he’s caught Andrews attention again.

“Why would he be invited to family dinner,” Andrew says flatly. He spends a moment putting all of his energy into ignoring the daydream of Neil being a part of the family. Andrew feels like a creep, having this weird little fascination with someone who he barely knows.

“Allison said that he doesn’t have any family. Isn’t that sad?” A hint of true sadness pokes through Nicky’s facade and Andrew is abruptly reminded that Nicky’s family is just him, Aaron, and Erik now. “Plus, he’s funny! Did you hear him sass Kevin at the barbeque? Even Aaron laughed!”

“Aaron didn’t laugh, he was coughing. But fine, I’ll invite him,” Andrew says with absolutely no plan to invite Neil.

“No, I don’t trust you to invite him. I will,” Nicky says firmly. 

Andrew doesn’t sleep that night. After knowing that Neil will be at book club, and then at family dinner next month (now that Nicky has taken that into his own hands, Neil won’t have a choice but to come), Andrew is starting to feel the stress that usually only pops up after a particularly bad nightmare.

After much introspection, he realizes that it’s not seeing Neil that's causing the stress, but the way that everyone has been watching their interactions. 

As soon as 4am hits, Andrew gets up and walks to the bakery. Sure enough, the light is on in the back and Bee’s yellow Mini Cooper is parked in the employee lot. Andrew knocks on the back door and tries not to make eye contact with Bee, who is wearing a knowing, empathetic look on her face.

Andrew settles at the table in the back and watches Bee work. The silence is soothing, and his muscles relax for the first time all night. After a while, she brings over some hot chocolate and sits down across from him.

“If you want me to get the others to lay off of you about Neil, Renee and I will tell them to stop,” Bee says gently.

“That’s not the problem,” Andrew says, his voice gravelly from disuse. They look at each other for a long moment, both waiting for Andrew to figure out what he means to say.

“Neil doesn’t know, and I feel dirty,” Andrew finally says dully.

Bee hums and takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “Do you want to tell him?”

Andrew snorts. “I barely know him.”

“Well, I don’t think that you should feel dirty. And I’m sure he’s been teased by Allison by now, so you don’t have to worry about him not knowing what the others are saying.”

Andrew lets her words sink in, then nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

Bee smiles, and brings over a hot chocolate croissant after taking the batch from the oven.

“I don’t think that’s very good business practice,” Andrew tells her, as he takes a burning bite.

He doesn’t feel so conflicted when he opens the bookstore, and it ends up being a better day than he thought that it would be.

-

Neil is enjoying the book more than he thought he would, but he has had much less time to work on it than he planned. After spending most of his days marking, and helping a student over video conference, he was exhausted. And worried.

He could picture himself making a fool of himself at book club, and all of them realizing that he’s not nearly as smart as they all make him out to be.

“I’m sure it’s going to go great! Renee and Bee both love it, and Abby goes! Erik goes when he can, too,” Matt assures him over the phone while Neil tries to come up with an excuse just in case someone confronts him for not going.

“I’ve only read a few pages,” Neil says slowly.

“That's a few pages more than me! Plus, we both know you have a lot of thoughts about it,” Matt says with a grin in his voice. Neil wishes he hadn’t told Matt about the characters over coffee the other day.

Sir is purring delightedly on Neils chest. “I can’t go, Sir is on my lap,” he tries again.

Matt pauses, but Neil hears Dan in the background. “No! That’s not an excuse! Sir cuddles you all the time.”

Matt sighs into the phone. “She’s right, buddy. I think you’ll have fun. And they have free coffee and stuff. That’s always fun.”

20 minutes later, Neil is miserably locking his apartment door and officially on his way to book club.

The atmosphere is surprisingly warm and cozy in the book shop at 7pm. There’s soft music playing, and people are chatting in little groups. There are only a few people that Neil doesn’t recognize, and the circle of chairs taking up most of the floor looks comfortable. For some reason Neil was expecting this to feel more like a test.

Abby beams when she sees him hovering by the door and waves him over. Neil recognizes the woman she’s talking to as Katelyn. 

“We were wondering if you would come,” Abby says warmly, knowing his history of wiggling his way out of social situations.

Katelyn smiles at him and sits on the closest chair so he doesn’t have to look up at her. Neil feels a bit grateful at that, and even more so when she offers him a cheese scone and a cup of coffee from the center table.

Katelyn launches into a story about a patient, and Erik works his way to their group. 

“Neil,” he says quietly as a greeting, and Neil gives him a shy smile. “Nicky was wondering if you wanted to come to dinner in a few weeks. He’s promising to make enchiladas.”

Neil swears that his brain short circuits for a moment. “You want me over… for dinner?”

“Here, I’ll get your number and Nicky can text you the time and place,” Erik says, ignoring his shock.

Andrew comes out from the backroom with more coffee, and that seems to be a symbol of some kind for everyone to take their places.

“Okay, what did you think?” Andrew says bluntly, and that’s it. Everyone has opinions, some of them silly and some serious. Half of the group hasn’t finished the book, and Katelyn admits to not even starting it. 

Andrew is having a light argument with Bee about whether Emma is a likeable main character with others popping in their two cents when Neil first says something.

“I thought she was kind of fun,” Neil mumbled. When he looks up, Andrew has an unreadable expression on his face.

“See, Bee? She’s fun,” he says in a monotone. Neil has to fight the smile threatening to show. 

The meeting is chaotic and warm, and Neil learns a great deal about the people in the room. He learns that Erik is a huge fan of the worst Austen movies, and that Katelyn barely reads but always shows up to book club. He also learns that Andrew is incredibly passionate about the books, but that doesn’t surprise him as much as it probably should.

The only awkward moment is at the end when everyone starts to help put their chairs back in place. When Neil offers to help, the room goes quiet.

“Take this,” Andrew says gruffly and shoves the tray of mostly finished treats at him. Andrew takes the coffee cups and walks to the back, so Neil follows him.

The back room is nearly as cozy as the front of the shop, and a girl that Neil didn’t even know was there is grabbing her bag to leave. Her name tag says ‘Robin’, and Andrew says bye to her almost fondly.

Neil puts the tray on the table in the middle of the room and watches Andrew move efficiently through the cramped space. He has a million questions to ask Andrew, but he’s not sure how to, so he contents himself with analyzing the room.

“You have a question,” Andrew says without turning around.

“I have lots of questions,” Neil says.

Andrew finally turns around and leans on the counter. “I’ll answer if you let me ask you something.”

Neil winces. “If it’s about the scars, you don’t need to bribe me to answer them.”

“It was something else, actually.”

Neil fidgets with the wheels for a moment. “Fine, I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

Andrew tosses his phone to Neil, and Neil feels a little thrill as he enters his number in. He texts himself so he can program the number into his phone. Matt’s going to be so proud to hear that he got two numbers today.

Andrew doesn’t say anything when he gets his phone back, just puts a tupperware container on the table so that Neil can pack up the leftover treats.

Before Neil leaves, Andrew says “Next months book is Atonement.”

-

Neil wakes up to four text messages. One is from Matt asking how the night went, one is from Erik warning him that he gave Nicky his number, one is emoji filled from Nicky, and the last one is from Andrew. It just says ‘You go first’.

Neil spends his whole morning messing up his marking because he’s thinking too hard about what his first question will be for Andrew. He gives up trying to work when Sir knocks over his coffee and nearly breaks his laptop.

Neil: What made you want to own a bookstore?

Andrews reply comes faster than Neil was expecting. He feels a little thrill when he hears the ping of his phone.

Andrew: Everything you could ask me, and that was your question?

Neil: You never said that there were topics that weren’t allowed.

Andrew: ...exactly

Neil startles when his phone starts ringing on the sofa beside him. Sir gives him a wide eyed look until he picks it up.

“I thought you were at work,” he says to Andrew.

“I would say the same thing about you, but I’m starting to doubt whether you actually have a job.”

“I do have a job,” Neil says smugly. “I’m a university professor. I teach online classes. And you’re avoiding my question.”

“There aren’t any customers in here, smartass,” Andrew says not unkindly. Neil smothers a smile. “So do you still persist in asking me why I wanted to own a bookstore?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t want to do anything,” Andrew says.

Neil stays quiet and waits for him to give him the rest of the answer. 

“I like reading, and I don’t like libraries.”

“Okay,” Neil says. He feels strangely content on the phone. Normally he sucks on the phone, and forgets to answer. “Your turn.”

Andrew is quiet for a moment. “Why did you come to book club?”

“Matt told me I needed more friends, and he wouldn’t let me use Sir as an excuse not to go,” Neil says honestly. He’s found that ever since he became a real boy all those years ago, he has a hard time lying. It always leaves him feeling gross and wrong.

Andrew huffs on the other end of the phone. “You seem to have lots of friends.”

“That’s what I said. The argument wasn’t accepted.”

Sir meows at Neil until he arranges himself so she can sit on his lap. 

“Is that your cat?” Andrew says, breaking a comfortable silence.

“You already asked your question,” Neil teases, tangling his hand in Sir’s fur. She starts her wheezing, loud purr and he can hear Andrew huff again.

“Tell your broken cat that she won’t make me look over your interest in math,” Andrew says.

“What?” Neil laughs. “Who told you I taught math?”

“You’ve caught everyone's attention. I can’t walk down the street without hearing a new fact about you,” Andrew says dryly. “Anyway, math is awful and a terrible subject to choose to study.”

“Math is interesting! It’s the only universal language!” Neil says, not nearly as upset about Andrews accusation as he normally would be. He’s halfway through a tangent on the wonders of math before he catches himself.

“Sorry,” Neil says sheepishly. “You’re probably not interested.”

“More than you would think,” Andrew says, sounding perturbed. “There’s a customer.”

Neil is surprised by the amount of disappointment he feels when the call stops.  

It becomes a habit during the slow times in the day. Andrew calls Neil when he’s bored and finished putting away any new merchandise, or Neil will call Andrew when he’s tired of trying to understand his students confused writing. So far, Neil has learnt that Andrew was in juvie as a teen, and grew up in the foster care system. He learns that Nicky is their cousin and that he took surprisingly good care of Andrew and Aaron when they were angsty teens, and he learns that Andrew has always struggled with touch. He learns lighter things too, like how Andrews favourite movie is Baby Driver (but he will never admit that to anyone else because he has a reputation to uphold), and his favourite colour is blue.

Neil returns the favour but giving away as much information as he’s getting. During their eighth phone call he has a panic attack when he tells Andrew about his father, and how he came to be in a wheelchair. Andrew talks him through it calmly, and doesn’t give him any weird looks when he visits the bookstore two days later.

The month runs by much faster than Neil is used to, and he hasn’t called Matt in a lonely depression a single time. He feels oddly proud of himself for it.

When Nicky texts to remind him of the dinner that him and Erik are hosting, Neil is almost looking forward to it. He has heard from Nicky almost as much as Matt, and the texts have been just as enthusiastic.

He spends the afternoon before baking bread while he chats with Andrew. Andrew had practically forced him into accepting a ride in his ridiculous, fancy car, and has spent the entire afternoon giving him various warnings about Nicky and Aaron. 

“Nicky will hug you,” Andrew says with a voice that sounds like he’s informing Neil of a death. “More than once. Erik’s not bad, but Nicky’s a hugger.”

Neil laughs while he kneads the bread. “It’s okay, Allison sits on my lap every time she sees me. People keep thinking we’re dating.”

Andrew hums in acknowledgement and continues with his warnings. “Aaron is judgy.”

“And you aren’t?” Neil says, thinking back to all of the customers that Andrew has thoroughly made fun of.

“He’s a different brand of judgy. Katelyn keeps it down for the most part, but he’s very rude,” Andrew says, like he doesn’t have any similar traits. 

“How often do you all have dinner together?”

“A few times a year. Nicky insists on our family dinners.”

Neil pauses. “It’s a family dinner?”

The line goes quiet. 

“Andrew? I can’t crash a family dinner,” Neil is starting to feel the root of panic in his chest.

“You wouldn’t be crashing it. Nicky and Erik invited you.”

“But he didn’t say it was for family,” Neil says nervously. Sir meows at him and jumps in his lap. He attempts to shove her off with his elbows so he doesn’t get flour on her. 

“Neil,” Andrew says calmly. “I’m coming to get you in three hours. Sir is not an excuse to not come.”

“Fine.”

-

As promised, Andrew shows up at Neils door three hours later. His mouth goes dry when Neil opens the door. Neil has never put much effort into his appearance, so Andrew is definitely not ready for the button up shirt and styled hair. Neil's apartment smells like freshly baked bread, and the cat that he hears on the phone all the time is sitting comfortably on Neils lap, unconcerned with the fact that Neil is moving around the apartment and fidgeting while she does so.

The apartment is spare, with lots of space between furniture for Neil to move around. The kitchen counters a lower as well, and Neil navigates the room efficiently and quickly. He pushes off Sir with some reluctance, then grabs a loaf of bread and shoves it into Andrews hands so he can put on his jacket. 

“You look nice,” Neil says nervously.

Andrew can feel his ears heat up. “You do too,” he says, though it comes out flat and uncaring. Neil beams anyway and leads the way out.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Andrew finally says when they are both in the car and on their way. “Nicky would die for you.”

“Nicky barely knows me,” Neil says, looking baffled.

“It only takes him a few minutes to latch on to people. Look at me and Aaron. One glance and now he won’t let go.”

Neil smiles gently at him and goes back to fidgeting with his cuffs. 

Andrew had never payed attention to the accessibility of places until he met Neil. He is extremely aware of how cracked and uneven the pavement is in front of Nicky’s, and all he can think about is how cramped the living room is.

Neil is looking at the pavement with trepidation. “Would you be able to help me, maybe…” Neil says quietly.

“Yes.”

Neil nods and pops open his wheelchair, moving into it with practiced ease. Andrew waits for him to get comfortable before standing behind him give the chair a push.

They make it safely to the front door, and as Nicky welcomes them in, Andrew notices that the furniture in the living room has been moved so there is more space. Erik notices him looking and smiles, offering a hand to Neil as they come inside. 

Aaron and Katelyn are already there, sitting in the dining room. Katelyn greets Neil just like she had a book club and starts a conversation with him about their next book. He can see the relief written all over Neils expression.

When Andrew looks over at Aaron, he’s watching him and Neil with an inscrutable expression. Andrew offers the bread to Nicky, not bothering to say it was from Neil. They all know that Andrew has very little patience in the kitchen.

Dinner goes better than Andrew had hoped. No one questions Neil's place there, and he seems to have a good time talking to Erik in German. Andrew interjects every once in a while, and Nicky looks like he’s going to cry when Erik lights up when he realizes that Neil speaks his language fluently. 

It’s not until dessert that Aaron opens his mouth to Neil.

“So what makes you so special?” Aaron says, fixing Neil a suspicious look.

Neil blinks, and pushes his plate of dessert to Andrew to finish.

“Umm…”

Katelyn elbows Aaron and gives him a significant look, and Nicky just looks tired.

“Normally only family gets invited to family dinner. And Andrew won’t even take the time out of his day to phone his own twin, so it’s kind of funny that you made your way in so easily.”

Neils expression shutters and Andrew pushes away the dessert. 

“I’m sorry,” Neil says in his professional voice. “If I would have known that this was just for family, I would not have intruded.”

“Aaron, Erik and I invited him,” Nicky says with a look that Andrew hasn’t seen since they were teens and Erik was still in Germany.

“Neil, the bread you made was incredible. Do you bake often?” Katelyn says sweetly. Aaron catches her eye and they have a bit of a silent conversation while Neil stares at his plate.

“I just think it’s unusual that everyone loved him so quickly, that’s all,” Aaron says. The room, except Neil,  seems to collectively understand what's happening at the same time. Aaron is upset that they took Neil in so quickly when he had to fight for Katelyn, and when Nicky had to fight for Erik.

“I think we’re done here,” Andrew says when he realizes that Neil isn’t going to say anything else. Neil knows the rocky history between Aaron and Andrew, and he didn’t seem to get in between the two of them.

“Would you like to take home some of the pudding, Andrew?” Erik says sadly. Nicky looks like he’s valiantly fighting off tears, and Katelyn's face is nearly as stoney as Neils.

“No, we’re going to go,” Andrew says, and Neil follows him out of the house. Andrew waits at the door so he can help him over the pavement, and no one says a word until they are both settled in the car.

“I told you I shouldn’t have come to a family dinner,” Neil says quietly. Not in a blaming way, just sadly.

“That’s bullshit,” Andrew says. His hands are gripping the steering wheel with more force than completely necessary. 

“It’s okay Andrew. I didn’t want to cause a fight.”

“You didn’t cause one.” Andrew stops at a stop sign and turns to look at Neil. “You didn’t cause one, it was already there.”

He waits for Neil to nod before he goes again. The rest of the trip is quiet.

The excitement doesn’t catch up with Andrew until a few days later. He thought that he was dealing fine with Aaron until he woke up and couldn’t get the energy to get out of bed. 

It would be easy to be mad at himself. He has a habit of doing that. Bee and Renee always tell him that healing is just like that, two steps forward and one step back, but it’s easy to forget how devastating it is when the step back comes.

He closes his eyes for a few minutes and it’s already 9:30. 

The minutes drag by slowly and too fast all at the same time. He’s too hot but there isn’t any energy to push off the blankets or open a window. He stares blankly at the ceiling and fights desperately for the memories not to overwhelm.

He isn’t sure what time it is when his phone rings. He lets it go, but it starts ringing again after.

He finally reaches over to answer, not saying anything once the call connects.

“Andrew?” Neil’s tentative voice says through the speakers. “I’m at the store and it’s still closed. I was worried.”

Andrew can hear the concern. He sighs and closes his eyes again.

“Do you want me to hang up?”

“No.” Andrews voice is gravelly.

“Okay,” Andrew can hear Neil's wheels against the pavement. “Do you want me to come over? You can say no.”

Andrew barely has to think it over. He doesn’t want Neil to see him like this, but he can’t get out of bed and he needs someone to open the window for him. He gives Neil his address and holds the phone to his ear while he waits. Neil doesn’t hang up.

When Neil gets there, he tells him where the spare key is, and the front door clicks open not long after.

“Andrew?” Neil's voice echoes through the quiet house.

“Hey,” Neil says when he gets to Andrews bedroom door. He doesn’t come inside, just talks from the hallway. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

Andrew turns to look blearily at him, and Neil leaves to look around in the kitchen. He comes back some time later with toast and a glass of water, and waits for permission to come into the room. He sits beside Andrews bed and starts reading Atonement out loud while Andrew eats, stopping every once in a while to make sure he stays hydrated.

Andrew doesn’t know how long they sit like that before his brain stop cycling and he’s able to look at the room clearly.

“You can stop,” Andrew says when he realizes that Neil’s voice is starting to go from talking so much. “Here,” he says, handing Neil a blanket from his bed. The room is getting cold with the window open, but he doesn’t want it closed yet.

Neil leaves much later, once it’s already dark outside, and Andrew manages to get some real sleep that night.

-

“Seriously buddy, I can’t believe you didn’t just chew him out,” Matt is still going on over the phone about the failed dinner party from a week ago. Neil is updating one of his courses while Matt rants. “What a dick move. Although, now that I think about it…”

After the silence goes on for longer than necessary, Neil says “Go on.”

“It’s notoriously difficult to get an invite to a Minyard family dinner.”

“You’re acting like it’s the Met Gala.”

“Hey, you remember what the Met Gala is! And I’m serious. It took Katelyn, like, two years of dating Aaron before she was allowed to go. Andrew refuses to have extra people there.”

“I know, that’s why Aaron was mad. And stop talking about Andrew like he’s not being reasonable.”

Matt is quiet for a bit. “I just think that Andrew should have been more open minded to Katelyn, and I wish that Aaron hadn’t been rude to you.” “You don’t know the whole story.”

“I know,” Matt sighs. “Out of everyone in the whole world, why did you choose Andrew Minyard?” The question doesn’t sound judging, just genuinely curious.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never looked twice at anyone else. What is it about Andrew that caught your attention?”

“Andrew and I aren’t dating,” Neil says for the millionth time. Although, the more he thinks about it, the more Neil decides that maybe he would like that.

The usual suspects are at book club that Tuesday, all clutching their versions of Atonement. Some are filled with post-it notes and written all over, and others are in impeccable condition. Neil’s is somewhere in between. He didn’t manage to finish this one yet either, but he was pretty proud of himself for getting almost three quarters of the way through.

Erik and Katelyn come over to talk to him before anyone else. Neil can tell that it’s an apology of sorts, but he’s just glad that they don’t mention anything outright. He would rather pretend that nothing happened.

He waves at Andrew when he comes in, and Andrew gives him his coffee before putting the rest of the mugs down on the table. Katelyn winks at him for some reason at that.

The conversation is more somber for this book, but Neil enjoys it just as much, and he has much more to say now that he’s more comfortable with everyone. He also notices that there are more savoury options on the sweats tray.

Neil stays back to help clean the dishes in the back, and then stays after they’re all done. Bee smiles at Andrew before she leaves, and Erik promises to organize a movie night or something with them all, and then the shop is empty except for Neil and Andrew.

“I have a question,” Neil says before he can lose his nerve.

Andrew nods once and watches him intensely, like he always does.

“Are you… Would you-,” Neil tries to line up his thoughts into a sentence that doesn’t sound weird or embarrassing. 

Andrew doesn’t say anything, just watches him fluster his way through his words.

“I would like to kiss you,” Neil finally says.

“That’s not a question,” Andrew says, and for the first time in months, Neil can’t quite read his expression.

“The question was implied,” Neil says nervously.

“If this is some sort of sexuality crisis, I don’t want to be your experiment.”

“This isn’t a sexuality crisis. I’ve never been interested in anyone like I am in you.”

Neil’s pretty sure that the shop has never been this silent before. “I’ll leave,” Neil finally says. He can feel a rock in his throat that makes him want to be in bed with Sir’s comforting warmth on his chest. He tries to not think of the fact that Andrew probably won’t call him tomorrow like he usually does.

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew says before Neil can get to the door. He raises an eyebrow after Neil turns around. “I didn’t say no.”

“You didn’t say yes either.” Andrew's face does something complicated. “Yes.”

Neil goes to Andrew, where he’s still sitting in the one armchair that he always chooses for book club. 

“Yes?” Neil says when he’s right beside Andrew.

Andrew’s eyes are dark when he says, “yes.”

Andrew kisses as passionately as he argues about books, and Neils mind stops for a blissful moment. He can feel every inch of Andrews hand pulling him in by the back of his neck, feel the heat of Andrews body being so close.

He feels dazed when Andrew pulls away, and is pleased to see that Andrew looks nearly as ruffled as Neil feels. 

“Would you like to go on a date?” Neil says.

“I thought you already asked your question,” Andrew says, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Technically the first one wasn’t actually a question.”

Andrew's mouth quirks up on one side.

-

Their date turns out to be a nice dinner at a park that Neil later admits was suggested by Allison. Andrew doesn’t mind, because he’s pretty sure that it would have been at the cafe if it was just up to Neil.

Andrew wishes everything was as easy as it was to start seeing Neil. Neil was practically incapable of keeping his emotions in around Andrew, and his bluntness made sure that miscommunication was avoided.

Aaron was a different story. All that Andrew wanted to do was ignore everyone else and let them figure out that Neil and Andrew were… something. Dating, he supposed. Unfortunately, Bee nearly forced him to talk it out with Aaron.

So here he is, holding his phone on a Saturday morning, waiting for his brother to pick it up. 

He sighs when Aaron picks up, and is briefly tempted to just hang up and continue their relationship as it’s been for the past few years.

“Andrew?” Aaron says groggily. He sounds worried.

“Aaron.”

“Are you… dying or something?”

Andrew sighs again. “No. I wanted to talk.”

There’s a stunned silence, and then the sound of Aaron getting up and moving around.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. “That’s… nice. Good. How is the store?”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

Andrew resists the urge to sigh again. “How is your job.”

“The hospital has been good. Busy, like always, but it’s been really good. Katelyn is working today, actually, so it’s just me home right now.”

The silence stretches like an elastic. Andrew wishes that he was talking to Neil, then blinks in surprise at his thoughts. He didn’t realize how much he actually enjoyed just talking to Neil.

“Is there something that you wanted to talk about in particular?” Aaron asks.

“I,” Andrew starts. It’s more difficult to get the words out than he thought it would be, but he squares his shoulders. “I am sorry that I didn’t like Katelyn. And Neil and I are together.”

“Oh. I mean, I knew you guys were dating.”

“No, you didn’t,” Andrew says, not bothering to explain that they didn’t start until recently. Aaron just huffs.

“Well, thank you,” Aaron says. “And… I’m sorry. About what I said to Josten.”

Andrew nods once, even though he knows that Aaron can’t see him.

“Erik invited us to that movie night. Are you going to come?”

“Yes,” Andrew says, already exhausted by this conversation.

“Okay. Well, see you then.”

“Yep,” Andrew says, then waits for Aaron to hang up.

-

Neil is stuck in that moment between sleep and waking, the feverish version of everyday life. He can see the soft grey of his bedroom wall, and the brick of the basement in Baltimore at the same time. Hear the whir of the ceiling fan and the giggles of Lola, smell the citrusy scent of his cleaning supplies and the metallic tang of blood.His legs ache in both realities.

As his mind clears, he realizes that the pain in his legs is likely what brought the past back so clearly. He stares hard at the white ceiling in an attempt to stop the thoughts spinning around his mind.

Tonight is movie night, he remembers.

It’s raining outside, the first rain for most of the summer and probably the reason for the constant discomfort in his tendons. He was hoping that he was past this, even though Abby was always warning him that there would always be times that this would happen. Long term pain couldn’t be avoided with that much damage, he would just have to have plans in place for when it hit.

Neil spends most of the morning trying very hard not to move, and not to think about his legs. It’s harder to distract himself when he doesn’t have anything to entertain himself. Sir seems thrilled with their extended lie-in, and he contents himself with watching her little belly move while she breathes.

The abrupt ringing of his phone startles him, sending sharp pains down to his feet. It takes eons for Neil to move enough that he can reach the phone. It’s already gone to voicemail by the time he’s caught his breath enough to look at who called. He calls Andrew back immediately.

“Nicky wants us to come by at 4 so we can have dinner and talk first,” Andrew says with vague disgust in his voice. It’s almost enough to make Neil smile. Unfortunately, he feels to guilty about the fact that he isn’t sure whether he’ll even make it to Nicky’s tonight.

“Hi,” he says to Andrew. “That’s usually how people start their conversations. With a greeting.”

Andrew snorts quietly. “Because you always follow societal conventions.”

Neils stifles a groan as he tries to sit up. He gives up in an awkward, half slumped position.

“Neil?” Andrew’s tone has changed and Neil realizes that Andrew had said something.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” he says, strain evident in his voice.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Neil can hear how pathetic it sounds, and desperately hopes that Andrew doesn’t. He doesn’t want Andrew to see how high maintenance he is when they’ve only been dating for a little bit.

“Where are you?” Andrew sounds concerned, and Neils gut clenches a bit.

“I’m at home, I’m fine.” “I’m coming over.”

“No, you don’t need to. You’ll see me tonight, anyway.”

Neil can hear a murmured conversation, muffled by a hand. “Robins taking the desk, and I’m coming over.”

“Wait, Robin is there? What time is it?” Neil can feel the first sparks of anxiety.

“It’s almost 2,” Andrew says, panting slightly as he walks.

Neil thinks of all the things he was supposed to do today. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come to movie night,” Neil says, trying to quash the panicked note in his voice. “I have a lot to do today, I was supposed to have an online meeting at 10 and I totally forgot. And I need to record a few audio recordings to go with the notes for the last unit. And-”

“Neil,” Andrew waits until Neil stops rambling. “I’m at your door and I’m coming in, okay?”

Neil makes a noise of assent and clutches the phone to his ear until he hears Andrew walk in. 

Andrews silhouette fills the doorway to Neils bedroom seconds later, and he becomes overly aware of how he looks, sagging on the bed with blankets strewn around him. Sir sits up sleepily and blinks at the intruder, then starts to have a very noisy bath. Neil gives Andrew a guilty look.

“What's wrong?” Andrew says, and his voice is so gentle that Neil has to blink away tears.

“I just slept in, thats all,” Neil says, like his bedroom doesn’t look like a murder scene. He thinks of the wheelchair, walker and other equipment sitting around his room. He’s trying to remember whether he put away all of the physical therapy equipment when Andrew sits down slowly on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you sick?”

Neil sighs. “No, it’s the rain.”

A small wrinkle forms in between Andrews brows.

“My legs. The change in weather makes them hurt sometimes. Which is stupid, because the weather is always changing around here.” Neil tries to smile and fails miserably. 

“What can I do?”

Neil blinks rapidly at the ceiling. He can hear Sir leave the room and feels irrationally abandoned by her.

“Have you eaten yet?” Andrew says, changing tactics. He leaves too when Neil shakes his head, and the lonely feeling reappears.

Both the cat and his boyfriend come back minutes later, the latter carrying a plate of food and a mug of tea with him. He also has pain pills in his hand. 

“I was assuming that these would help, though I’m not sure how they were going to do that from the kitchen,” Andrew says.

“I have to have them with food.”

Andrew has managed to find one of the fancy trays that Allison bought him years ago and helps him prop himself up against the pillows before placing it down on his lap. There are fresh cut strawberries and bread with honey on his plate, and Neil stares at Andrew while he bustles around the room. He’s so focused on how his hair shines in the sunlight now streaming from his window that he almost doesn’t notice that Andrew’s cleaning the floor so that his wheelchair can move around easier.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Andrew says, but the blush rising in his ears betrays his feelings.

“You didn’t have to come here,” Neil says. 

“What do you do when you’re by yourself and this happens?”

Neil shrugs. “I lie in bed until I think that I can manage moving, and then I take the pills with crackers or something. And then I end up sleeping on the couch most of the day because the pills make me feel weird.”

Andrew thinks for a moment. “Do you need ice? Or a heating pad?”

“Ice would be nice,” Neil mumbles into his tea.

Andrew pauses in the doorway, looking oddly hesitant. He nods to himself before opening his mouth. “Do you ever resent being in the wheelchair?”

Neil considers the question for long enough that Andrew almost leaves without an answer. “I used to. I was really angry after it all, and it felt like I couldn’t do anything by myself. But once all of the bandages were off and Abby had taught me how to do everything, I was really glad for the wheelchair. It means that I can be independent and move around without as much pain as the walker. And there are some benefits,” Neil grins. “I can move around the apartment and still let Sir sit on my lap.”

Andrew turns around, but Neil catches the small smile on his face before he goes.

Half an hour later and Neil is swaddled in blankets, comfortably full, and sandwiched between Andrew and Sir while they watch a baking show that Andrew made him swear that he would never tell Nicky that he liked.

Matt and Dan have always tried to get Neil to call them over when this happened, and now he is starting to see why. He feels safe and almost comfortable, the pain down to a manageable level with the care that he has been given. He wonders what it would have been like if he had admitted to needing help years ago. 

“How would you feel about inviting everyone here instead,” Andrew says suddenly, pushing Neil out of his head. “You don’t have to. We could reschedule movie night, Nicky would understand.”

“Aaron wouldn’t,” Neil says with something close to a pout.

Andrew’s lips twitch upward before he gets control of his expression. “Aaron would understand too.”

“I couldn’t feed them, though,” Neil says morosely. He had been looking forward to this, strangely. Maybe because this time his friends were invited too. It was sure to be loud and chaotic, but Neil thought that it would be nice for all of his favourite people to be in one room.

“Idiot,” Andrew says with too much fondness for it to be insulting. “Nicky and Matt will bring food. And Renee’s doing dessert.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

-

Andrew watches their friends and family get comfortable in Neil’s tiny living room. All of them are holding mismatched plates filled with food and have managed to move enough things around that they could all fit in front of the TV. 

Neil is sitting beside him in the corner of the sectional, legs stretched out in front of him and a plate of fruit in his hands. He still looks pale and tired, but he keeps giving Andrew a brilliant smile and he belly laughed at a joke that Matt made, so Andrew has decided that offering to bring everyone to him was a good idea after all.

Matt and Dan have somehow contorted themselves so that they can fit on the armchair beside the couch, and Aaron and Katelyn are snuggled up on the other side of the couch. Aaron had even given Neil a respectful nod and a booklet of well-meaning advice on how to care for his legs when they arrived. 

(Andrew had seen the way Neil tried not to laugh when he looked through the booklet, and how his muscles seemed to relax at the lack of a rude greeting from his brother)

Erik and Nicky were cuddled on Neil’s comforter on the floor, with Renee and Allison beside them. Kevin was leaned up against the armchair and cheerfully arguing with Aaron about what a proper diet looks like. 

The movie had started half an hour ago, but most of them were talking over it while Nicky shushed everyone.

Andrew’s chest is holding an expanding warm feeling while he watches the mayhem, and when he turns to look at Neil, Neil’s expression mirrors the warmth. 

When Neil falls asleep on his shoulder later while Sir kneads his lap, and his brother nods acceptance at him, he knows that this will be his future.

[punkpoemprose]

Cursed- A Kristanna Werewolf AU

Universe: Modern Werewolf AU

Length: 2113 Words

Rating: T (Teen, for now)

Notes: Happy Unbirthday Sara @minnothebunny! Unfortunately I’m not the brilliant @feistypaants (whose unbirthday fic I’m still working on) and couldn’t finish her fic for her, though I too would absolutely like to read that. So yeah. Anyway, I was going to write some werestoff smut, but just ended up starting a whole new werewolf/ little red riding hood AU for you. Whoopsies. Here’s chapter one.

Anna was lost. She admitted it to the chill forest air as it turned her lips blue. She should have never started walking so late, but her day had been complicated to say the least and while she knew that Elsa, holed up in her cabin away from society, probably could have gone a day without fresh eggs and milk, she hadn’t wanted her to stay up all night worried about why she hadn’t come.

Not for the first time she wished that her sister would have stayed with her in their childhood home, and not for the last time her thoughts were interrupted by a voice of reason that said her sister, despite everything had made the better choice. If nothing else, Elsa was warmer and safer than she was right now and that was something of a comfort. She’d be annoyed about being lost in the woods for her sake later when she managed to find her way out of the mess she’d managed to get herself into.

She’d been too distracted when she’d left home to think about grabbing a real jacket, so she did her best to tuck her hands into the sleeves of her flannel. It had been her fathers and while it brought her some comfort it did little against the cold, worn thin by years of use.

“I’m going to die out here,” she said to the wind. It was an exaggeration and she knew it. Sooner or later she’d stumble upon an area of the wood that was familiar enough to take her to either Elsa’s cabin or her own home. The trouble was that nothing looked familiar without daylight to guide her and she’d somehow managed to lose the trail despite its usual well-trodden visible difference to the rest of the forest floor.

“Maybe,” she added to her audience of no one, “Maybe they were right about the family curse/”

She laughed to herself because it was easier than crying. She’d gotten out of worse scrapes than this, and if nothing else she figured frost bite would just be one more sad story to add to the Arendelle family tragedy series. It would be right up there with family fortune stolen, grandfather gone stark raving mad, parents perished tragically in a maritime accident, and eldest daughter a recluse.

Then the basket slipped from her grasp and she could hear the snapping and crunching sound as the eggs cracked. At least, she thought, she’d only been cursed clumsy and dogged. She realized, perhaps a bit too late, as she stooped to pick up her basket, that her curse might run deeper than just that. The cracking sound, she now grasped, was not actually from the eggs. Eggs cracked and then the sound stopped, but the crunching was still coming, and from the wrong direction.

With basket in hand she stood and turned to glance behind and found that she was not quite so alone as she thought.  She had company, company with gnashing teeth.

It was a beast, long shaggy fur and claws and teeth made it quite clear to her in the moonlight, but more than that it was massive and almost like a man in stature. It stood on two legs and looked upon her with a sudden odd, almost human understanding in its eye. Horrified, Anna didn’t stay to see what it meant, what it might men for her.

She gripped her basket for dear life and took off running, hoping and praying that whatever she’d just seen wasn’t going to give chase.

She didn’t see the drop until it was too late, until she was tumbling down it like a rag doll. Her basket of broken eggs and destroyed milk bottles was lost by the time she felt her head strike something solid, and the world around her faded to black.

***

She was warm. She had been so cold, she was sure of it, or at least she was as sure of it as she was sure of anything. Her eyelids fluttered open and she wasn’t sure of where she was, but some small part of her was simply please to not be freezing half to death any longer. She tried to shift, to move enough that she could see more than the wooden ceiling above her. This proved quickly to be a mistake, as when she shifted a jolt of pain shot from her right ankle up to her hip.

She yelped when the pain hit. It was unexpected and damning. She really had been in the woods then, she’d seen something monstrous and had taken a massive fall. She recalled it clearly but had been hoping that it had been a nightmare.

“You’re awake,” a gruff voice noted. Its source, nearby, was unseen and unfamiliar as the ceiling above her.

Anna froze. She still didn’t know where she was or how she’d survived the fall, let along what had happened to the creature she’d seen before falling.

Optimistically, she thought that maybe the creature had simply become bored by her and had run off, the voice that had spoken, in this particularly fantasy, belonged to a kindly hunter or forest ranger or someone who had stumbled across her and brought her to safety. Maybe a woodcutter? Optimistic as she was trying to be, it seemed a stretch.

Nothing so lucky ever happened to her.

“Am I dead?” she asked, knowing that she wasn’t of course, but also imagining that she should be after what she went through.

Her host seemed to share the opinion.

“You should be. Why would you be out in the forest at night without a jacket?”

He sounded a bit annoyed and the made her flush a bit. She wasn’t used to being judged based on her choice of outerwear of all things.

Knowing better than to try to move her body, which now radiated the tell-tale soreness that she associated with a deep bruise, she turned her head to get the best possible look at the man in the room with her. Even that much motion was protested by her muscles. Her head hurt and despite now feeling fully awake, everything was still a bit fuzzy around the edges.

He was facing away from her in the large room. She was in a cabin if all the wood was anything to go by. Wooden ceiling, log walls, what she could assume was a wooden floor that she couldn’t actually see. It all added up. Furniture in the space was sparse. She was on a bed, he sat at a table. There was a chest of drawers and some cabinets and counter space, a sink, a stove, a bookcase, and little else. She built the catalog in her head, simply to help herself process that she wasn’t in unfamiliar territory.

He was the most interesting thing in the room and between her head swimming and his being turned away from her, that was saying something.

He dwarfed the chair he was sitting in, a hulking figure with broad shoulders and a mess of blonde hair that was being illuminated by the sunlight from the window above the sink.

Anna felt small in comparison. For a moment she allowed herself to be logically concerned about such a fact. He was large and seemingly quite capable to d anything that so pleased him. She was slight and clearly a fair bit banged up if her whole body and more than likely sprained ankle were any indication.

She took some small comfort in the fact that he could have axe murdered her while she slept if he’d wanted to. She told herself that the fact that she was still breathing and wasn’t chained to a radiator or something probably meant that he didn’t mean her any harm.

“I hadn’t realized my fashion choices were going to be criticized,” she retorted, never knowing whether she should speak her mind with people or not was one of her many odd talents. Almost dying in the woods was another if her current condition was any indication.

He laughed.

She thought that with a bit less of an uncomfortable situation, she might have liked the sound. It might have also helped his case if he hadn’t been laughing at her instead of with her.

“Next time I find a girl at the bottom of a drop off in a flannel in 30-degree weather, I’ll be sure to leave her there. I’d hardly want to ruin good fashion.”

She tried to let out a sarcastic laugh in return, but it made her ribs ache. He seemed at least somewhat gruff to her and she didn’t like the idea of letting him have that teasing over her without a fight. She was glad to not be dead, but she wasn’t going to take his chiding laying down. Well, at least not in a figurative sense.

The laugh fell flat even as she tried to press it out against the pain. It hurt to make the attempt.

He stood from the table then and though she still couldn’t really get a good look at him it reinforced her estimation of his size. He was tall and broad and generally built like a man who worked physically and did so often.

“What were you doing out there anyway?” he asked, still not facing her but instead busying himself with something on the stove.

She huffed out a sigh. She supposed there really was no harm in telling him. He had saved her from freezing to death and after all if he’d wanted to do anything to her, he could have done it already.

“My sister recently moved into a cabin out there and I was bringing her some fresh food. I got a late start and got lost. She’s probably worried sick about me right now.”

She added the last part because it was true, and because she figured it wouldn’t hurt to make sure he knew that someone would indeed go looking for her. While she’d mostly ruled out the possibility that her host was some kind of murderer or sex pervert, she figured that it would be enough to stave off any other potential deviancy she was able to think up.

“Yeah?” he asked sounding interested, “I think you lost whatever you were bringing her when you fell, but I could go and tell her you’re alive at least.”

He was dishing out two bowls of whatever was on the stove and it smelled heavenly. Her stomach growled against her will and she wondered how long she’d been out for. She considered his words for a moment and frowned.

“I’ll just head that way myself and let her know,” she said, “If you could just direct me to the North Mountain trail I’ll…”

He laughed at her.

Anna gritted her teeth in annoyance but found that it just made her headache worse.

He stopped laughing anyway and to Anna’s great surprise he actually apologized.

“Sorry… I uh…” he paused, “You’re pretty banged up and I guess you wouldn’t know, but we got the first snow of the season while you were out so you’re not going anywhere. I didn’t bring you here to let you head back out and die of exposure or of another fall or something. My Ma would kill me if I let that happen.”

Anna relaxed a bit at that. Any man who still feared his mother, regardless of his hulking stature, was probably safe enough. Though she did have a history of bad judgement calls.

He picked up the bowls and turned her way. She couldn’t really see him well still, but she could keep her head clear enough to say. “And as much as I appreciate that and everything, I need to tell my sister I’m okay and look, between you and me, you probably don’t want me to stick around too much longer. I’m cursed.”

He’d come close enough now that she could start to make out his features. He had an unintimidating look about him despite being built like a brick shithouse. His brow was strong, and his nose was large, but it wasn’t at all unattractive. As he approached, she could start to tell that he was smiling.

“Is that so?” he asked, clearly holding back a laugh.

For a second, she was confused. She didn’t really think that it was that funny, even if he didn’t believe her.

Then her breath caught in her throat because her eyes caught his and she found them familiar in the most heart stopping way possible.

Of course, he’d laugh about her being cursed. He was the creature.

[wyattvsmusic]

Conway - La Maquina ALBUM REVIEW

Even though they constantly put out music, I will always welcome a new Griselda release. Conway’s new album La Maquina was announced not too long before its release date and marks his second project of the year already and we are not even halfway through the year. In February, he put out an EP with Big Ghost called If It Bleeds It Can Be Killed which sonically is in the same vein as their first collaborative EP, 2020′s No One Mourns The Wicked. Conway has always been on a consistent run of projects but lately he has turned that up to a new level. La Maquina does not sound at all like the Big Ghost projects; it is more along the lines of his fantastic official debut album From King To A GOD which he also put out last year. FKTG showed Conway displaying a lot of versatility and new flows that he had never showed us and is one of many projects that has been promoted as an appetizer for his Shady Records debut God Don’t Make Mistakes, which has been pushed back a thousand times. Though I rank FKTG highly among Conway’s catalog, I think I honestly like this album more and the production on this album is a big contributing factor. Conway generally has a great ear for beats and even though the production is nothing groundbreaking or unlike anything he has rapped over, these are some of the best beats that he has rapped over. Conway is perfectly capable of holding down an album on his own but a lot of the features really did steal the show on certain songs. Artists Jae Skeese and 7xvethegenius from Conway’s new Drumwork record label make appearances and I don’t remember them rapping like this on the FKTG deluxe songs because they really shined on this, especially Jae Skeese. Blood Roses and Grace are two of my favorite songs and Jae Skeese really came through with some outstanding verses and hooks. The production on Grace reminds me of the kind of east coast Hip Hop songs that I grew up loving. 2 Chainz makes an appearance on the slower 200 Pies, which has an Alchemist-produced beat reminiscent of his Scottie Beam beat that he did with Freddie Gibbs. Westside Gunn and Benny The Butcher show up on the last song SE Gang for an amazing album closer with a guitar loop that reminded me of some older Griselda songs like Bob Backlund and Moroccan Waters. They used to rhyme over a lot of guitar loops when they were starting out and this song brought some of that older Griselda energy back in that way. I love this album and the only critique I have about this album is the song Scatter Brain, which sounds out of place. I don’t really like the beat that much but I still liked the way Conway was flowing over it. I know I’ve been harsh on Jid in the past but even his verse was good and Ludacris also came through with a pretty good verse. I think the beat was what made me not really not like it that much. I don’t really know how to explain this, but Conway has a certain energy on this album that he hasn’t brought to other projects recently even though he’s always been rapping his ass off so I think the production just brought a lot of great qualities out of him. Conway isn’t really displaying anything new on this album but the bars are there, the production is there and one thing I really like about this album is that the songs themselves are really great. What I mean by that is a lot of Conway’s mixtape catalog is just him rapping which I always welcome but album Conway is bringing great songs to the table which I think is great and hopefully God Don’t Make Mistakes brings more of that. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get more Conway albums before that one comes out.

Fav Tracks: Bruiser Brody, Blood Roses, 200 Pies, Grace, S.E. Gang