#somehow they lost the form though so i had to refile later (they already got the money though so no fees)
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inkoflethe · 21 hours ago
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Specifically use the IRS Free Files page linked above (though they haven't updated it for 2025 yet) to pick a place!
As mentioned, places are willing to lie and mislead which includes being vague and sounding like they're free. But then, once you've already gone through the annoyance of filling in all your info, turns out it's not :)
(Note: ones approved by the IRS are free for federal taxes, but aren't necessarily free for filing state taxes. My understanding is that it's quite hard to find places that will do state taxes for free--please correct me if that's not true--but of course, some will be cheaper than others. I think the one I use has been $15 when paid by credit/debit/whatever. You can have it taken out of your return, but it's more expensive?)
Another thing: if you go to somewhere like HR block to file taxes, most of their employees aren't really like... professional tax accountants. By which I mean that's not their year round job. It's a temp role. I assume they get some sort of training and of course they have way more experience filing than most people, but my experiences have been straight up infuriating.
The first time (I think it was the first time I files as an independent), I asked if there was some sort of deduction for those in college. She said no. However, there is! Well, actually both of the ones I know of are actually tax credits but either way, they reduce what you owe. One applies for up to four years while you're working on your first bachelors degree (I'd guess also applies to associates but I never checked) and was worth somewhere around $300-400 for me PER YEAR. So this person lost my family about 1k since I only got it once when I was filing the year after I graduated.
The second time, we went to HR block again because we discovered that the year before, the state just like. Lost my paperwork so my mom wanted someone else to reassure us that we didn't need to do more than just refill out the same thing as usual (they did get the check somehow or another so no late fees at least). I had been planning to file online so I had already looked up a bunch of info but okay, sure. If it makes you feel better mom.
I had worked in another state over the summer, but the two states had reciprocal tax policies so I still only had to file in my home state. The tax person was like, I don't think so, but I had grown up and had done the research this time so I was confident. For whatever reason, I ended up being handed the huge reference binder so I found the relevant section and rules and read them out loud. At least the tax person was promptly like, oh you're right! And complimented me.
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loversamongus · 4 years ago
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Coffee, Chills, and Closeness | modern!Zuko x reader
a/n: I was really happy with the way Friends, Fevers, and Family Movies came out so I decided to write a sequel to it in which you now have to take care of a sick, grumpy, little Zuko. I just really love good ol’ fluff.
warnings: characters sick with the flu; some language
words: 2.2k
After a few more days of bed rest and bowls of Katara’s special flu season homemade soup, you were starting to feel much better. The color reappeared in your face, the bounce returned to your step, and clarity chased out the dizziness in your head. Your best friends noticed your change in health and mood almost immediately.
“Must be my soup,” Katara said as you bounced past her in the kitchen to reach your cereal. You couldn’t help but question a knowing look in her eye. You raised an eyebrow in response.
“Or maybe just some good nights of sleep,” she continued. “You’ve had a smile plastered on your sleepy face for a couple nights now.”
“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you’ve been watching me sleep and eat my breakfast now, if you don’t mind.”
But what Katara said couldn’t be completely ignored, no. You don’t often remember your dreams, but recently you’ve been able to remember one recurring image that has appeared in your subconscious for the last few nights in a row. A certain shaggy haired, golden eyed someone kissing your forehead, just the remembrance of the sensation is enough to give you the chills again. Of course, there were cowboy dolls and astronaut action figures dancing in the background so the mushiness of the dream didn’t last too long.
It’s funny how the nostalgia of your childhood could wiggle its way into any dream, conversation, or movie night decision. You didn’t have a particularly cushy childhood but it was stable enough compared to your friends. While little you sat on the floor of your living room rewatching The Lion King for the umpteenth time, Sokka and Katara were mourning the loss of their mother, Aang was shouldering enormous responsibility that isolated him from his grammar school friends, Toph was being sheltered and completely restricted from most activities by her parents, and Zuko. Well Zuko hasn’t shared much about his childhood with you but the parts he did definitely weren’t filled with faith, trust, and pixie dust.
Your thoughtful reminiscing was quickly interrupted by Sokka barging through the front door, carrying three cups of Jasmine Dragon tea. While handing one cup to his sister and one cup to you, a devilish smirk grew on his face.
“You got your boyfriend sick.”
“My what?”
“You heard me. Iroh told me he came in for his shift all wheezing and hacking and snivelly and had to send him home. Sounds a lot like someone I know.”
“I- Sokka, Zuko isn’t my boyfriend. “
“Yeah, yeah, and I’m not the funniest, sexiest, strongest, most talented man on the planet.”
You heard Katara nearly choke on her orange juice and you reached to pat her on the back before grabbing your wallet and house keys.
“Okay well, I don’t have time to unpack all of that with you. I have to get to the diner.”
At this point, Sokka had already made his bowl of cereal and with a very full mouth, he seemed to be talking to his spoon more so than you. “That’s because you know it’s Zuko.”
“What?”
“I said tell Suki I love her!”
With a roll of your eyes, you headed out the door. For a few moments, you grumbled to yourself over the annoyance of Sokka’s teasing. But very quickly into your walk to the diner, a wave of guilt rushed over you. Zuko is sick with the flu. You knew you shouldn’t have snuggled up to him or cried on his shoulder while watching Toy Story 2!
“Okay but it’s not all my fault. He’s the one that kissed me on my feverish forehead. That was a mistake,” you mumbled to yourself.
Once at the diner, you headed to the workroom to get your apron but before starting the breakfast shift, you took out your phone to send a quick text.
hey heard you were sick :( how ya doing?
Not a minute goes by before you get a response.
Uncle exaggerates. I’m completely fine.
Letting out a sigh, you wonder how you could have met anyone as stubborn as you. The small smile forming on your lips is quickly erased by the sound of your manager calling for you to get on the floor. Your sick friend would have to wait.
The morning shift started out the same as it always had, and you were grateful for the routine after being out sick for the past week. A couple of the regulars welcomed you back with warm smiles and kind tips, while you still made sure to avoid small talk with some of the other diner patrons. Seriously, what was up with that cabbage obsessed man? The morning hours seemed to fly by with ease. Just as you were refilling a coffee pot, however, your calm routine was shattered when you noticed a very pale, black-haired man slouched over one of your tables.
“What are you doing here?” you whisper-yelled at him before passing his table to refill one of your other table’s coffee mugs.
“Getting some breakfast,” he whispered back, propping his droopy head up on his hand.
“Well it’s almost lunch now, you idiot.”
“Getting some brunch then.” A dopey smile appeared on his face but you could see in his eyes that he must not have slept well last night.
“Zuko,” you said, almost scolding. “You shouldn’t be here. You have the flu.”
“I do not. I’m just tired. Can I have some coffee, please?”
“If you’re just tired, why do you sound all congested?” you asked as you poured some coffee for him.
“Allergies,” he replied simply but unconvincingly.
“Oh my god, Zuko,” you began to raise your voice but immediately regretted it when you saw your friend raise his hands to his head. A migraine no doubt, the memory of those still fresh in your head from your own bout with the flu. Lowering your voice, you spoke to him again.
“Why did you come here when you’re sick?”
“It’s Tuesday. I always come in for breakfast on Tuesdays to see you.”
Goddamnit. After being out for a week, you completely lost track of what day it was. Also goddamnit again. Zuko really dragged himself out just to keep up this little ritual even though he looks AWFUL. Okay, not completely awful because somehow even when he’s sick, the way he looks at you could give you chills and suddenly you’re remembering that forehead kiss again and--
“Excuse me, miss? Can I get some more orange juice?”
“Yes, of course. One moment please,” you snap out of your thoughts and reply to your waiting tables.
Before going over to satisfy your customer’s request, however, you turn back to Zuko with a gentle smile. “I’ll bring you some toast and some fruit. I’m sure that’s all you’ll be able to keep down anyways.”
It didn’t take long for the kitchen to fill Zuko’s order and once it was complete, you headed back over to his direction. You had to stop right in your tracks for a moment though and take in the picture before you. In the booth sat a sleepy little Zuko still perched up on his hand but his eyes have fluttered shut. Noiselessly, you place down his plate of toast and fruit in front of him and gently nudge his shoulder to wake him up.
“Hey, sleepyhead. Eat as much as you can. I’ve got one more table to take care of before my shift ends. Then you can drive me home. If you can stay awake, that is.”
“Mmmmmm thanks,” he muttered into his hand. 
You left him to pick at his food while you finished up with your last table. When you returned to Zuko about twenty minutes later, you jokingly congratulated him on eating half of his toast and a couple pieces of cantaloupe-- probably more than you had eaten when you had the flu yourself. As you started taking away his plate, you caught Zuko reaching into his pocket to take out his wallet. Knowing what little you actually served him, you stopped him before he could take out more bills than was necessary.
“No, stop. We talked about this. I don’t take tips from friends.”
“It’s only fair and it’s the right thing to do.”
“No. You took care of me when I was sick, that covers it fine.”
“How ‘bout another tip? You should wear your hair up more often. It looks nice like that.”
“Here’s one for you. You’re delirious. Give me your keys, I’m driving.”
With that, your shift was over and you were gathering your things to go home. Zuko did manage to put up a little bit of a fight over letting you drive but once you shot him your “I’m serious, mister” look, he finally gave in. It was a short drive back home but you couldn’t help but glance over at your passenger every now and again. It was rare to see Zuko in such a state as he is always the put-together one in the friend group. That wave of guilt rushes over you again since you were the one that got him sick in the first place.
“No, it was the forehead kiss. His own fault,” you mumble to yourself.
“What?”
“NOTHING. Uh, Katara still has some leftover soup. Why don’t you come up and have some? OH! And we can finish Toy Story 2 since someone didn’t let me finish it last time.”
“I’ll come for the soup but not for the movie.”
“ZUKO. I was cured by the nostalgic joy of my childhood, it can cure you, too!!”
“I don’t have any ‘nostalgic joy from my childhood’ in case you forgot. My mother left, my father scarred my face, and my sister hates me.”
Thankful you had come to a red light, you looked over to Zuko with concern. But he did not look back. His head was leaning on the window and with his arms folded, he avoided your gaze and continued to stare out the window.
“Well, all the more reason to finish the movie,” you tried to say lightheartedly, but the rest of the drive was silent.
Once you’ve reached the apartment, you ordered Zuko to make himself comfy on the couch while you threw some soup in the microwave. You spy a note on the kitchen counter from Katara explaining that she’s out to lunch with Aang and Sokka went to the gym with Suki. You smiled, happy that you could avoid good-natured sibling teasing for the time being. When the soup was ready, you turned to find Zuko sitting on the couch under a pile of blankets and holding the remote for the DVD player.
“I thought you didn’t want to finish the movie,” you questioned, handing him the bowl of soup.
“But you do.”
Your grinned ecstatically, quickly moving to sit next to him on the couch.
“You shouldn’t get too close. You’ll get sick again.”
“I’m immune now, it’s fine,” you said as you reached to share one of his blankets.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. At all,” he replied, but his protests ended there as the movie started back up.
As you were getting yourself comfortable on the couch, your arm grazed Zuko’s and your body shook, chilled from the cold skin. Zuko noticed immediately and looked over at you questioningly.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, you’re just cold. Eat your soup, it’ll warm you up.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Um, I had to take those pills when you watched me so the least you can do is eat some soup.”
With a small smirk, Zuko obliged and ate a few spoonfuls of soup before laying back against the couch. You cuddled up closer to him, figuring if the soup doesn’t warm him up, you definitely could. Once you rested your head on his shoulder, his head gently tilted to rest on yours, a much familiar scene from the time you were sick. Although the roles have been reversed this time around, the warmth of happiness bursting through your chest from this closeness is unchanged. You felt his left arm wrap around you before settling at your waist, and you reach up with your right hand to hold onto his. Sure, Toy Story 2 isn’t a romantic movie by any means, but it makes you happy. Just like Zuko does.
The movie ends with Wheezy singing his rendition of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” and you looked up at Zuko as if to say, “See? I told you Wheezy comes back. I love this part,” but he’s already asleep. It seems like you’ll never be able to get him to watch the whole movie, but you sighed contently anyways. Then, in a fit of sudden boldness, you sat up to inch closer to Zuko and kiss his cheek softly. 
He stirred and looked at you through drowsy, half-closed eyes.
“That’s not fair,” he said. “I can’t kiss you back properly while I’m sick.”
You smiled and leaned in closer.
“I’ll settle for a forehead kiss for now.”
“Deal.” After giving to you what you asked for, he gazed admiringly at you for a few moments before falling back to sleep. You could have sworn he had a dopey grin on his face, too, and you wondered if this is what Katara saw on you the past few nights. You settle back against Zuko’s chest and let his breathing lull you to sleep. The two of you fell into such a deep sleep, while in each other’s arms, that not even the sound of Katara and Sokka double hi-fiving after spotting you both on the couch woke you up.
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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago
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As much as I love Lila cracking under the pressure of such a short timespan for party planning, I love the idea all the nebulous paperwork is just the same few pages having to be redone due to clerical and filling errors just to be class president. Because "I had a week and was incredibly busy just becoming CP" is a good excuse for a sub-par party. (As though Marinette wasn't relaxing because she's done all the prep and like hell will this revote keep her from her party).
Fair enough on the excuse. But let’s be honest about the party matter: if this is how her classmates are going to treat her, I don’t see her wanting to arrange a party for them.
Still, onto the matter at hand... (Because I too find the idea of Lila refilling out the same paperwork repeatedly to be hilarious.)
Say Lila doesn’t have a deadline of a week? What if instead, there’s a timetable all the classes are on to get their various class trips and events in order. And it’s even a contest of sorts to see who manages to come up with the best. Nothing “official”, of course. Just bragging rights.
Marc’s class were working together to set up a trip to a comic book convention.
Aurore’s class had already made arrangements to visit the beach as part of their trip. With scuba diving.
Kagami’s class is set to visit the Chñteau de Vaux-le-Vicomte. Not too far from Paris, but the place is a landmark and the gardens are beautiful.
Now Lila is expected to come up with something amazing for the class.
Not that she actually has anything. But she can fake it. It can’t be that hard, right? She even says as such in one of the meetings when she’s informed of the responsibility.
The other Class Reps just gape at her in horror. Some shudder. One murmurs a quick prayer. And one of them, perhaps in an attempt to be friendly, warns her to get on it as soon as possible. (If you listen closely, you can hear Marinette cackling from far away.)
Let’s pretend for the sake of humor and moving things along that Lila doesn’t just blow off the responsibility altogether. In all fairness, she probably would and then claim some last minute issue to get out of doing anything, but her classmates are really pushing the matter and her position as Class Rep means she now has a number of people watching her. Bustier is following up with her regularly to make sure she’s acclimating and making progress. The other Class Reps seem to be judging her and are just waiting to see what she comes up with and how it compares to what they’ve done for their classes.
So after a couple weeks, Lila can tell people are getting antsy and possibly suspicious, so she decides to just set up a trip to some random place in the area and call it a day. Of course, this means filling out the forms.
The damned forms...
With multiple pages.
What’s worse is that either out of laziness or rushing, Lila didn’t read the full instructions. So she fills out a spot in error, which results in the form not being accepted. She has to do it again.
So she does and turns it in. But wait! The form was filed incorrectly. Oops! She has to do it again.
She fills out another one. Turns it in. But oh dear! It turns out this form is actually the outdated version! She’ll have to do it again with the correct version—which as it turns out is almost an exact replica of the previous one only with a different header.
She fills it out, her eye twitching. Turns it in. Days later, she gets alerted that it was never received. It looks like it got lost and she’ll have to do it again.
Fills it out. Turns it in. But she misspelled the name of the place she said they were going to. She has to do it again.
Fills it out. Turns it in. But the point of contact apparently got married and left suddenly. So now the paperwork has to be redone with a new contact person. Sorry about that!
Fills it out. Turns it in—oops! An unlucky break in that an accident occurs where someone bumps into her while she was carrying the forms. That someone was carrying coffee, which of course falls onto the forms in question, rendering them unusable. She has to do it again.
Fill it out. Turn it in. But in the midst of all the refilling out and refiling, Lila lost track of her lies and just where she said the place they were going to was. She filled out the form wrong and has to do it again.
Now bear in mind that Lila is being kept an eye on while this is all happening. And the teachers and school administration and even her own classmates are getting a bit doubtful over all the issues she’s supposedly been having with the same damn form.
It takes the cake when the next time, Lila comes to school and claims that some sort of dog somehow ate the forms.
And for once, no one believes her.
Meanwhile, Adrien is concerned about Plagg’s grumblings of an inexplicable stomachache.
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snowdice · 5 years ago
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Gaps in His Files (Part 14) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]
Fandom: Sanders Sides
Relationships: Logan/Patton
Characters:
Main: Logan, Patton
Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)
Summary:
Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.
When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?
This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.
Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex
They’re so dumb... just... so... dumb.
Note that I just posted Part 13 a minute before this!! Read that first!!!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13
When Patton arrived back at his apartment for the first time since Tuesday afternoon (though it felt like it had been much longer), he decided to finally take Remy’s advice. He grabbed a tub of ice cream, sat down on his couch, and just cried for about two hours before he finally fell asleep. He woke to the sound of frantic knocking on his door. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled to the door and opened it.
“Put this on!” was the first thing the person on the other side of the door said, thrusting a hanger with a white bag covering its contents at Patton.
“Wha?” Patton asked as Logan shoved his way into the apartment.
“We’re going to be late,” Logan stressed. “We can’t be late, Patton!”
“Late for what? Logan what?” God Patton shouldn’t have left him alone. What was he thinking?
“I forgot about the reservations. How could I forget about the reservations, Patton?”
“Logan?” Patton said cautiously. “Are you okay?”
“I am perfectly well, but we need to be to the park by 6, and I have just remembered all of the ways this could go wrong!” As he spoke, he ripped the bag off his own black suit and hung the other hanger up on Patton’s coat closet door before starting to strip out of his trousers.
Patton paused, hopeful. He seemed
 more confused than he had been since he’d lost his memories, but
 “You remember something?” he asked softly.
“Oh, I remember everything,” he said waving his hand through the air absentmindedly, standing in the middle of Patton’s apartment in his underwear as he grabbed the dress pants and started to struggle into them.
“You remember?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, the coffee shop, the surgery, the dates, you staying over at my place 81.3% of the time because it’s closer to the hospital, the fact that you leave dried up pens all over my living room,” he blathered as he finished fastening the pants. Once he was done with that, he stepped toward Patton and grabbed his face in his hands. “The fact that you will never go along with my plans without some form of argument. Put the suit on Patton!”
Patton gapped at him for a moment before his mouth slammed shut, his hands clenched at his sides, and his eyes started to well with tears. “Maybe lead with that next time,” he spat.
Logan did that double blink thing he did when he was particularly startled by Patton. “Apologies love, you are correct of course,” and oh, how was Patton supposed to stay mad at that? Patton softened, and, when he titled his head up to look him in the eyes, Logan pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I think we may have a lot to talk about,” Logan said softly, and oh. Oh right. Patton hadn’t really thought though the possible consequences of his outburst now that Logan remembered everything. “But right now, we have somewhere we really need to be. I’ve bought you a suit that will look very pretty on you. Will you please put it on for me, love?”
Patton nodded, brain a whirlwind of emotions, but he got another quick sweet kiss out of it that steadied him enough to do as he asked.
The next thing Patton knew, he was literally flying out of his apartment. Logan said it was the only way they’d make it to wherever they were going on time.
Not wanting to be seen, Logan had to land them a couple of blocks away from the busy park in one of the city’s closer suburbs. He kept looking at his watch as he towed Patton by the hand toward the center of the park
“Um, Logan,” Patton said, “it looks like we aren’t supposed to be here. There aren’t any people and it’s blocked off by rope.” He pointed to said rope with his free hand while trying to tug at the hand in Logan’s grip to make him stop.
He paused and turned to Patton. “Dear, please, in,” he glanced at his watch, “five minutes and 53 seconds, I will be happy to do anything you say, but will you just do as I ask for a little under six minutes?”
“I
fine.”
“Good,” Logan proceeded to pull him towards a blocked off area near the base of the fountain. He searched the ground for something and then pointed at a bit of glow-in-the-dark paint. “Stand there,” he said, and Patton did, shooting him a confused look. “Now face me.”
“Okay
”
Logan took a deep breath now that they were in position. “And with over 30 seconds to spare,” he breathed.
“I still have no idea what’s happening,” Patton pointed out.
“I know,” he replied. “I was supposed to have more than 30 seconds. I was going to walk you slowly through the park and buy you a flower from the vender down the street. I was going to distract you enough that you didn’t even notice the ropes blocking people from this spot, but life got in the way. I should have expected it with you being a doctor and me being me. We have busy lives, difficult lives that get in the way a lot of the time. And you said some things the last few days that worry me and we’re going to have to talk about it and where it came from, but I would like to talk about it. Actually, I insist you talk to someone about it even if it isn’t me. Because our lives are complicated and messy and neither of us are perfect in general or even for each other. But maybe that doesn’t matter because despite all of that, we still somehow made it here in time and I think that might mean something. Something really, really important.”
“Logan sweetie, whatever’s going on, it’s alright. You need to calm down.”
“This is traditionally not a calm sort of thing from what I understand. Anyway,” he said, looking at his watch. “It’s time.”
“What are-” At that moment, the fountain next to them started up, the little white lights that had already been lit on it shimmering like little stars in the moving water.
Logan went down on to his knees and pulled a ring out of his pocket.
“Oh my god.”
“Will you marry me?”
“I
” Patton said. “I thought you didn’t want to get married.”
“What gave you that impression?” he asked.
“You
 I asked you to marry me and you didn’t say yes.”
“You did not ask me to marry you.”
Patton stared at him. “I said I wanted to marry you and you said to give you more time.”
He looked like a very confused puppy on his knees in front of Patton. “Yes, for the planning. We had discussed that you would want a dramatic proposal after you expressed a desire to be married.”
“Wha- When did that conversation happen?” Patton asked.
“Two years and 11 months ago in the park by the hospital when we saw a man perform a song to propose to a woman. I had said that those types of proposals made me uncomfortable and you asked me why as you believed they were romantic. I explained that the receiving party would likely feel pressured to say yes in front of a crowd and that such an act could be manipulative. You said we could compromise and that it would be alright if they’d already said they wanted to be married and the other person did it to make them feel loved and surprise them about the day and type of ring, but not the question. You said that would be your ideal proposal.”
“Logan that was our second date.”
“Yes.”
Patton sighed. “Oh honey, I love you. I think we really need to work on our communication skills, but I love you.”
“I would agree after the last few days,” Logan said. “I also love you very much.”
Patton looked down at him still on his knees
 because he was proposing. Right. “Oh! And yes! Of course, yes!”
Logan smiled at him softly and Patton wanted to jump up and down, but he also wanted to cry a bit and maybe sorta wanted to throw up a little and not just from the entire tub of strawberry ice cream he’d eaten a couple of hours ago. But the thing he most wanted was what he could tell he was about to get. Logan put the ring on his finger (Patton made a note to actually look at the thing sometime later) and got to his feet before sweeping Patton up into a kiss.
Patton drew back from the kiss feeling lighter than he had in days though not nearly completely perfect. He looked around himself. “Oh, wow,” he gushed. “This is so pretty! You’re so pretty! I’m so pretty! I love this suit. Oh, can we take pictures somehow before we leave?”
Logan laughed at him softly. “I hired photographers of course,” he informed him, preening a little bit, “They doubtlessly got pictures of the proposal and the kiss. We can have them take more if you’d like.”
“Oh, those are going to be wonderful pictures with us in front of the fountain like this. This is the most perfect thing I could ever imagine. I love you so much.” He started to get a bit chocked up. Logan pulled him into a hug and gee, that was even better than the kiss had been, especially because they didn’t have to pull away to breathe for a hug. Logan never even tried to pull back even though Patton kept him wrapped up in his arms for far longer than most hugs ever went. He just pressed a kiss to the top of his head and rubbed his back until the ache in Patton’s chest eased enough for him to feel comfortable pulling back himself.
(And then Patton goes to therapy for 5 years and they both go to relationship counseling for 2 years as I have mentioned in Labels Shift. I do plan to eventually do at least a one-shot of Patton in therapy, but I wanted to end on a happier note.)
Want to read more? Here’s the Epilogue.
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healinghurtssometimes · 4 years ago
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The Cycle (Pt. 1)
I’m not really sure where to start, so I’m going to opt for my current situation and how I got here. This blog isn’t meant for attention, but rather a way for me to get my experiences out in the open. Maybe some people will find this, relate, and somehow become my tribe. Let me tell you, I need good people. If you stick around long enough, I’m certain you’ll quickly start to see that. With that being said, I’m going to start with a very rough outline of the past 14-15 months.
For just a brief back story, I got offered the best paying job I’d ever had in January of 2017. A lot of stuff had happened (which I’ll cover another time) and I would have been stupid not to take the job when it was given to me. After 2 years, I got my Real Estate License since the company required it for all Property Managers, and I got promoted. The problem was that we were used to running our office with 3 Admins - one had been taken to fit a different role months earlier and still hadn’t been replaced, and I was the second one to be moved while the company STILL did not make an attempt to refill those roles until AFTER my promotion was finalized. I got stuck doing my job as an Admin AND my new job as a Property Manager with all training put on hold until those roles were filled, while also being expected to heavily assist in training the new Admins they hired since I had been there longer than the last Admin standing and was damn good at my job.
I then spent months filling multiple roles, being asked to train people coming into the new roles (including another Property Manager when I STILL wasn’t trained), and being asked regularly to go out of my way to do things face-to-face with/for my residents that was not being asked of my peers (many of which took up a substantial amount of time, like delivering portable AC units and having to walk through someone’s whole house with our Field Manager for maintenance complaints that I had no authority over). I BEGGED for help getting the new Admin team to fulfill the tasks I was trying to delegate to them, begged for training, begged for clarity on expectations that were never laid out. I begged for help for 6 months, and was consistently met with “we don’t have the resources,” “we aren’t properly staffed,” “there isn’t time,” etc. I was buried up to my nose from the day I took the position, and not one person agreed to help me dig myself out of the dirt. Instead, they buried me and then fired me for not being able to fulfill the role to their expectations (while the other two Property Managers weren’t expected to do ANY of the extra stuff they’d put on me to deal with). That was early September 2019. I filed for unemployment, and my now-former supervisor dug up information from my role as an Admin that had been approved by the District Manager at the time until they both got in trouble for letting me slightly stagger my schedule to make sure I could take care of my kids and be able to pay my rent after a HUGE change in the custody and child support of my children (a situation I’ll cover at another time). I didn’t get the notice letter for the unemployment appeal meeting until after it had taken place, about a week before Christmas, at which point I was VERY depressed, stressed, and couldn’t begin to fathom taking on a multi-million dollar company on my own. I now owe the state almost $900 in “overpaid unemployment benefits” that I have yet to be able to pay back.
I spent the next few months trying to find another job. Hoping to find something still in the world of Property Management, even if it wasn’t the same role or anywhere near the same pay or if it didn’t come with the same benefits. The company I worked for is well-known and very disliked by the ENTIRE property management community in the area I lived in at the time. They’re a very young company that is buying up houses left and right and helping make rent prices SOAR for those that aren’t able to buy a house (or just like renting instead of owning the home they live in for whatever reason) - they make it their goal year over year to increase renewal rates as much as they can get away with, knowing many people won’t do the research, question their numbers, or walk away from their house...they’ll just pay the rent increase and keep moving through their complaints of how high their rent is for the lack of improvements the company makes and their poor excuse of a maintenance department that’s directed to penny-and-dime every vendor and look for any reason the resident could possibly be held responsible for higher priced maintenance items. They’re in 20 different states and their maintenance department for their entire operation runs out of ONE state with a local “liaison” at each office that’s function is only for vacant homes. Hopefully they’ve changed some of this in the past year, but I don’t have any reason to believe they would have made things better for anything outside of their own bottom line. I won’t use their name because I don’t want to get sued, but if you know, you know.
I had to take the name of the company off of my resume, replaced with the word “Confidential,” in order to start getting call backs for interviews with other property management companies...all of which ended up being for apartment complexes where I was used to single-family and the two worlds are vastly different from one another. I had ONE company that actually offered me a job sometime around October/November 2019, and it turned out to be an absolutely awful situation to be in. They lied about what they offered for health insurance in my interview, treated their residents like garbage, their property manager played favorites and treated other staff like they were incompetent toddlers, leasing staff and maintenance weren’t allowed to communicate with each other outside of breaks and absolute emergencies, and operated with a LOT of drama. One situation got brought into our leasing office (while open to the public) where their outsourced IT guy and management proceeded to yell at each other in the lobby, calling each other things like “fucking liars” and just generally making a big scene, which made me incredibly uncomfortable to be around. I was already dealing with not having my much-needed anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications, and the way this company was operated was making my already spiraling mental health WORSE. So after a few weeks, I left knowing that they were not a good fit for me nor I for what they apparently needed. I applied for literally hundreds of jobs, got a few interviews, and never got offered another position.
All this time, I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to pay my rent (my now ex-boyfriend’s parents were paying our $1500 monthly rent and all of our utilities at this point so we wouldn’t get evicted with my kids), how I’m going to pay my phone bill or my car payment, dealing with being uninsured and ashamed of the situation I was in, debt piling up all around me with no way out of it, no health insurance, battling withdrawal from my heavy dosage of SSRI drugs. I know I haven’t talked much about them here, but all of this was really starting to affect my children - who were only 5 & 7 at the time - which was really making the entire situation SO MUCH WORSE to deal with. I was self medicating with marijuana and was high 98% of the time, or in the process of getting high. While weed by itself is not an addictive drug, I developed a dependency on it like I had come to depend on my mental health medications, because it was numbing the reality of the situation I was in and helping keep me somewhat functional and kept me from falling deeper into the darkness as my world crumbled around me.
At the end of January, I finally decided that I couldn’t justify staying in the place I’d lived my whole life anymore. I had lost my job, all of my income, my health insurance...I was on the brink of losing my car, my relationship was failing due to financial strain (though I was also done with the relationship beforehand and started cheating on him before I lost my job anyway and was really only with him at that point for convenience...not a moment I’m proud of by any means), I wasn’t able to support myself or my kids and was no longer able to hide the situation from them for what it was. The only thing I was able to protect them from was KNOWING I was always high, which I’m sure from my own experience with my parents, they’ll end up figuring out when they’re older and weed is legal across the board. So I started thinking “what’s next, how do I change this situation?” 
By January 2020, I’d been back in contact with an old high school boyfriend for a number of months. Not only was he an old boyfriend, but he was also one of my best friends in the whole world. I trusted him with every fiber of my being, he is the only soul that knows me the way he does, and he has stuck by my side through all of the mud trudging I’ve gone through since I was 15 other than our own disastrously messy breakup. He was roughly 400 miles away from my hometown, and was the only viable option for me to ask for help in the form of a roof to look for work and try to get myself back up on my feet. So I took my kids to their dad (who is a very petty and ugly human) because he is/was at least financially stable, packed a few things, and went looking for work 400 miles away. 3 days in, I was offered a menial serving job...but hey, working on 6 months of no consistent job or income, it was better than what I was working with back home. I started that job the end of February. For anyone that’s been alive this year, you know what’s coming next...4 weeks later, the restaurant was shut down for COVID lockdowns, and I immediately started looking for another job to take on once those shutdowns were lifted. So now, I’m 400 miles away from my kids and my family, and I’m also unemployed.
I thought I found one doing leasing with an apartment complex. I got the job offer, the offer letter, was working on finalizing a start date even though some of their requirements were ridiculous (like not being able to how any semblance of a tattoo or piercing not in your ear and only being able to wear black and white on the job). Then I asked what they were doing to protect their employees, residents, and potential residents from COVID. I lost that opportunity for asking questions, because they were the ONLY complex locally that was not observing any pandemic-related precautions, and had referred to a colleague as a “titty baby” for simply asking them to step up their game by providing hand sanitizer and a thermometer for their offices. I opted not to go back to serving over precautions for COVID so I could still go home and see my kids again at my dad’s house, as my step-mom was dealing the return of her Breast Cancer after nearly 2 years in remission and no way of getting treatment until the doctors decided it was safe again for her to be in a hospital or cancer treatment center.
Realizing now that I’ve only gotten to sometime around April/May, I’m going to leave this post for now and come back for a Part 2. If you’re still reading this and are planning on returning for the next installment, thank you for taking this journey with me as I lay my life out one piece at a time in the hopes of healing.
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snelbz · 6 years ago
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Lovely, Chapter 1 {ACOTAR}
A new joint project we’ve been teasing you with for months! @tacmc and I will be writing this mullti-chapter together. The posting will be similar to our last joint fic, Tending to the Fire. Just like TTTF, we will be alternating when posting chapters and there will be links on both of our Master Lists, so you’ll be able to read the whole thing, no matter who’s page you visit! The main difference from TTTF is the writing style.
Rather than trade off on writing chapters, every chapter will be written together. Whether that’s different POV’s, brainstorming via FaceTime, or literally picking up in the middle of the sentence the other was just working on, this entire story will be written as a team. We’ve talked about doing this for years and I’m so glad we’re finally getting the opportunity to make one of our dreams come true!
Now please, enjoy the first chapter of Lovely!
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The sun was slowly creeping along the floor when Azriel’s alarm went off. As he rolled over to stop the incessant chirping, a small form stretched out from under the blankets and emitted a quiet noise of contentment. He lifted the sheet to see his small, black cat snuggling back up against his side. He gave the cat a light scratch on the back of her head and she opened her golden eyes a crack to look up at him before rolling over and snuggling back under the covers. Azriel laughed before throwing the covers off of the bed and standing up.
As he made his way down the stairs, he heard Nyx’s small paws hit the floor as she jumped from the bed and followed him, her bell jingling the entire way. The bell was an absolute necessity, seeing as the cat seemed to be made of shadow, appearing only when she wanted to. Reaching the kitchen, he scooped some food out of the bag and refilled her near empty bowl. She immediately set to devouring the food, the only noises her tiny bites and her bell clinking against the glass bowl.
As he poured himself a cup of coffee, he turned on the tv and mindlessly flipped through the channels, settling on a news station that was currently showing the traffic in Velaris.
One of the perks of owning your own business? You got to make your own hours. One of the perks of owning a tattoo parlor? Those hours were usually later in the day than most people. He never had to deal with traffic, especially since he only lived a mile and a half from his shop, but since he had some things that had to be done this morning, he’d be running around town and didn’t want to get stuck behind the accident that was currently causing a backup on I-24.
He decided to forego breakfast for a shower and headed back upstairs, still hearing Nyx’s bell ringing dully as it tapped the glass bowl. When he walked out of the steam filled bathroom and headed to his closet, he found her fast asleep in the same spot she’d been in earlier. His lips quirked up in a half smile as he dressed in his normal attire of all black, but rather than the hoodie and jeans he usually wore, he put on his black suit, with a black button down beneath. He gave Nyx a quick scratch behind the ears, much to her delight, and made his way back downstairs, stopping only to grab his keys and was out the door.
Sliding into the driver seat, he popped open the mirror and ran a tattooed hand through his messy hair one more time. He couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be different, that something monumental was going to take place. He didn’t know what it was, but he was going to be prepared for anything.
“Mr. Draeven, my client isn’t going to give up any of her days with your son, but is willing to give you an additional visit, supervised, of course, once every other week.”
It took everything in Azriel not to slam his fist onto the mahogany table before him. He lifted his eyes to the prick in the suit before him. It was designer, high end. The lawyer was clearly paid for by her father. Even with the ridiculous amounts of child support he paid each month, she wouldn’t be able to afford this man’s hourly rate on her own. Before he could say anything, his own lawyer spoke up.
“Azriel has done nothing but lost visits with Asher since Ms. Hamadi started this pointless custody battle,” Helion said, standing and walking around to the other side of the table, looking out the window at the Valeris skyline. He turned his back on the Armani clad man and Azriel watched as his face turned a bright shade of red. He had to stifle a laugh.
Azriel was absolutely lost in the midst of this custody battle, something that should never be happening if his son’s mother wasn’t hellbent on keeping Azriel from Asher. Helion had gone to high school and college with Rhysand and had become a friend of his own. If it wasn’t for him, for him being willing to take his case on pro bono, Azriel would lose any chance he’d have at time with his son.
When the papers has been served and Azriel didn’t know what to do, he called Helion and his friend immediately dropped what he was doing and was at Azriel’s home within minutes, looking over the papers with him.
She was trying to take Asher away from completely, no visits, no contact, on the grounds that he was unfit. Nevermind the fact that Azriel was a business owner, made charitable donations to the city, and actually had a job, unlike- unlike her.
Helion encouraged him to counter her, to claim that she was an unfit guardian. He knew she still went out and partied, spent most of her time at the bar, club or anywhere she could get fucked up. If she hadn’t still been living with her parents, parents he was sure were really the ones taking care of his son, she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.
Rhys told him what he already knew, that she was still out drinking and leaving with different men every night. He didn’t like using his best friend as a spy of sorts, but since he was a bartender at her usual spot to pick up her latest prey, he did what he had to to build a case against her.
That was how all of this had started, how he even had Asher in the first place. He’d been drinking at Rhys’ bar, enjoying a long weekend with his family. Her teal eyes captivated him from across the bar. He was drunk enough that he silently slipped away from his group of friends, new shots being poured in front of him, and made his way over to her. He learned her name and asked her to dance. He’d spotted them watching him as she ground against him, Mor’s eyes burning into his own, but he was too far gone to care. She’d asked him to come home with her after that and he agreed, deciding this was a one time thing.
He didn’t meet random girls at the bar. He didn’t let them touch him like he was letting her do. He didn’t go home with them. But he made an exception that night.
And it was only once. They were only together once, but they awkwardly exchanged numbers the next day as he fumbled to get his clothes on and get out the door. Both claiming they would call, both knowing they never would. Azriel thought he’d never see that mess of blonde hair again. But he was wrong.
She came into Rhys’ bar all the time, somehow not realizing that the bartender was his best friend. She even hit on him quite a bit, an invitation Rhys politely but firmly turned down. Azriel always made eye contact with her but never acknowledged her, and she never seemed to even act like she recognized him. He knew it was better that way. No strings. It was done and over.
Until she stopped showing up at the bar for a few weeks and then one day his phone rang.
She was pregnant. She was pregnant and she was sure it was his.
He’d been at Rhysand’s when she called, had stepped out to the back porch to take the call. He’d vomited his lunch up onto the concrete slabs. His family - because that’s what they were, closer than friends - rushed out and watched him, his skin white as death, as he finished the conversation and ended the call, slipping it into his pocket.
“She’s pregnant,” was all that he said, and none of them had to ask who he meant. They had all seen them together that night.
So began an extremely frustrating 7 months for Azriel. He wanted to be a part of his child’s life, but she did everything in her power to keep him out. He’d call her almost daily, to find out when her next doctor’s appointment was. She’d lie, tell him a bogus date and time, and he’d show up at the OBGYN, only to find out her appointment had been the day before. She’d just claim she’d gotten the dates mixed up. He constantly asked what she needed for the baby and she’d say her parents had it covered. When he asked about the gender, she went ghost. He couldn’t get ahold of her for weeks and he nearly went out of his mind. She even kept him from the birth of his son, only finding out when a mutual friend shared a picture on Facebook.
He never tried to have a relationship with her. He didn’t want one and it was clear that she didn’t either. But just because he didn’t want a relationship with her didn’t mean she could keep him from having one with his son, his own flesh and blood.
After his meeting with the lawyers, which she just happened to never be able to make, he headed off to his parlor. He pulled off the interstate and started through town, passing Rhys’ bar and his apartment. The open sign was on and he debated stopping in, not for a drink but just to see his friend, to tell him about the latest mess she’d caused for him. He kept driving though and when he was less than a mile from his shop, he saw a red convertible pulled over on the side of the road. The hood was up and smoke was pouring out of it. The girl leaning against the trunk with her head in her hands looked so downtrodden that he felt it in his soul. He’d had a shitty day, too. Maybe he could help someone else’s be a little better.
He pulled his truck over to the side of the road behind her. She immediately lifted her head and looked up at him. This wasn’t a girl. This was a young woman. And she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
His hand froze on the door handle and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. They were mesmerizing. Her hand fluttered to her chest and that small movement spurred him into motion. He hopped out and asked her, “Are you okay?”
His words seemed to snap her out of a trance of her own. She blinked once, twice and glanced back towards her car. “I- Yes, I’m okay. I was on my way back to work and my car just...stopped. It died.” She ran a hand through her brown hair, the sun bringing out the strands of gold. “I have to get back.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and Azriel’s eyes snapped to her lips.
“I can give you a ride, if you want,” he said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, towards his truck. He saw the hesitation on her face and gave her what he hoped was a soft smile. “Or I can take a look at it, if that would make you more comfortable.”
“Would you?” She asked, excitement ringing through her light voice.
“Of course,” Azriel said, removing his suit jack and tossing it in the passenger seat. He rolled his sleeves up, revealing the black ink that covered almost all of his body. He saw her eyes snag on whirls and swirls and made his way to the front of her car.
“I’m Elain, by the way,” she said, holding out her hand. He took it, shaking it once. “Better to do the introductions before you get all dirty.”
He laughed and nodded. “Agreed. I’m Azriel.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Azriel. Thank you so much for helping me.”
He blushed slightly. “It’s no problem. I couldn’t very well drive by without seeing if you were okay.”
She rolled her eyes and a small snort left her mouth. “It didn’t stop the rest of Velaris from doing so. I’ve been stuck here for almost 30 minutes”
He couldn’t explain why that made him angry, so instead of responding, he began exploring her car’s engine. He wordlessly moved hoses and opened caps carefully, letting the steam out as slowly as he could. He saw the gaping slash on the hose and stepped back, leaning a hip on the fender. “Well, do you want the good news or bad news?”
Her face paled. “Bad. Always start with the bad.”
He nodded. “Your radiator hose is busted. Not a hard thing to fix, but you definitely won’t be driving this back to work. The good news is it’s a really cheap fix.”
She groaned, face up-tilted towards the sky. “Of course.” She glanced back down at him, watching as he carefully lowered the hood. “Is that offer for a ride still available?”
He smiled at her and opened the passenger door. Elain glanced at the height into the cab and Azriel raised his brows, understanding dawning across his features. “Oh, sorry. It’s kind of a climb.” He grabbed a rag out of the back seat and whipped his hands off. After making sure his hands were absolute clean, he glanced to her waist. “May I?”
“Oh,” she blushed. “Sure.”
His hands wrapped around her slim waist and he lifted her up onto the bench. He made to shut her door and she said, “My purse!”
“Where is it?” He asked, already stepping toward her car.
“In the passenger seat, would you also grab the bouquet from the back?”
His eyebrows rose. “Sure.”
Heading to her car, Azriel thought of the reasons she would have a bouquet of flowers with her. She didn’t mention that she was on the way to the hospital, so condolences didn’t seem right. Same for the cemetery, though it wasn’t too far from here. He tried not to think of the most obvious reason, especially with how heart-stoppingly gorgeous she was: that she had a boyfriend. As he opened the rear passenger door, it became clear that had to be the case. The fluffy mass of peonies and buttercups was so lovingly made he knew it had to to cost a fortune. Only someone who cared for another so tenderly would be willing to pay that much for flowers.
Opening the door and stepping up into the truck, Azriel handed Elain her purse and flowers. He suddenly didn’t know what to say. Not that the short conversation they’d had was stellar by any means, but it had been easy.
“So,” he began, starting the truck. “Where am I taking you?”
He mentally slapped himself as he realized how rude that sounded. It didn’t seem Elain noticed though, gazing at the flowers, adjusting petals here and there.
She answered cheerfully, “You can just drop me off at Nova CafĂ©. I was planning on stopping there for lunch anyways, and I can walk to work from there.” She looked up and beamed at him. “Would you care to join me? My treat, for the ride and for looking at my car.”
Azriel only blinked at her. “I don’t want to cause any problems.” Now it was Elaine’s turn to stare blankly at him in confusion. “With your boyfriend,” Azriel clarified.
Elain laughed, placing a hand on her chest and blushing. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Azriel turned to look at her. “I just figured- With the flowers 
” he trailed off.
“Oh, these aren’t for me,” Elain said, awkward laughter causing her the pitch of her voice to raise slightly. “No, I’m just delivering them. I did make the bouquet though.”
“You made that?” Azriel didn’t hide the surprise in his tone.
“Yes, that’s what I do,” Elain laughed. “I’m a florist. I own Bespoke Floral Boutique.”
The name was familiar in Azriel’s mind, but he couldn’t pinpoint how he knew it. “That’s amazing.” A genuine smile graced his features. “Lunch would be great.”
Nova CafĂ© wasn’t far from his shop, so it worked out well. They grabbed a quick bite to eat and chatted, the conversation flowing easily between them. Before he knew it, he looked down at his watch and noticed it was nearly 12:15. Elain had barely made a dent in her sandwich.
“I have an appointment at 12:30, so I’m going to have to get going” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Elain had been taking a bite of her sandwich and covered her mouth as she chewed before asking. “Appointment? Are you a doctor?”
The incredulity on her face didn’t offend him, it just made him laugh. “Definitely not. I’m a tattoo artist.”
“Oh,” she said, understanding lighting up her brown eyes. “I can definitely see that. I don’t have any tattoos.” She lifted her arms up, showing off perfect, pale, creamy skin.
“Well if you ever want to change that, gimme a call.” He smiled at her as he stood.
Elain blushed but looked down. “How can I do that when you haven’t given me your number?”
Azriel’s eyes went wide. A blush began to creep across his face as well. Elain pulled a pen out of her purse and scribbled her number onto her napkin before she handed it to him. “It was nice to meet you, Azriel.”
“You too, Elain.” He gave a her a dazzling smile, and a wink as he slid the napkin into his pocket, before heading out to his truck and heading to the shop.
As he parked the truck and looked back to make sure it locked, he saw why her flower shop had seemed so familiar.
Across the street, in a building so unlike his own, hues of pink and yellow and orange contrasting the black and greys of his own, was Bespoke Floral Boutique.
Cassian had a love/hate relationship with the night before he went back to work for the school year. He loved the idea of getting his instruments out of the closet, cleaning them all up, and setting up his room for the months to come. He loved the excitement that thrummed through his veins when thinking about the hopeful students that would be walking through his door in a week’s time.
But, he hated that Summer would be ending and he couldn’t sleep in until noon or spend his days by the lake with his friends.
He decided to spend his last night at the bar, sitting alone, on his third beer, chatting with the bartender.
“Where’s Az?” Cassian asked, taking a tip from the cold, glass bottle. “Have you talked to him? I called about an hour ago. Never answered.”
Rhysand shook his head while he poured a dozen shots of tequila for the bachelorette party a few seats down. “No, which probably means it didn’t go well this morning.”
Cassian grunted. He hated that Azriel couldn’t see his son. The whole situation pissed Cassian off to no end. Azriel didn’t like to talk about it, though. None of them pushed him to talk about it, but they could see the toll it was taking on him.
“Maybe I should go check on him,” Cassian said, draining his bottle and tapping the bartop for another.
“Don’t,” Rhysand said, popping the top off another and placing it in front of his friend, his brother. “He doesn’t want to be bothered. Enjoy your last night of freedom.”
“You make it sound like I’m going to prison.”
Rhysand chuckled as he dismissed his friend to tend to a tall blonde at the other side of the bar. Cassian checked his phone. Still no text from Az, and it was getting late. He had to be at work at eight.
It was time to go.
After a brief wave to Rhysand and a quick chug of his beer, Cassian was hurrying out the door and was tossed into the bustling streets of Velaris.
Although a Sunday night, the city was still crowded with groups of friends and giggling couples captured by the beauty of the Sidra.
Cassian breathed in the fresh air, shoving his hands into his pockets. He had a high alcohol tolerance but still liked to walk to and from the bar, just in case. Besides, he didn’t live too far away from the building in which he spent most of his nights - at least the nights that Rhysand worked.
The stars were bright, shining through the quickly growing crowds. Typically, in the cities, the stars were diminished by the bright lights of the streets and the buildings, but not in Velaris. Cassian tilted his head back and watched as he strutted down the sidewalk.
“Watch it, asshole!”
Cassian felt it before he saw her.
His eyes darted down to his foot, which was on top of a small, heeled black boot. When he met the eyes of its owner, he cringed.
With eyes like ice, a young woman about a head shorter than him was glaring.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping back. “Wasn’t paying attention.”
“Obviously not,” she muttered.
She attempted to step around him but he followed her lead.
She took a deep breath as Cassian asked, “What’s your name?”
“Can’t your overly large feet take you somewhere that isn’t an inconvenience for me?”
Cassian grinned. “You know what they say about big feet.”
“They’re attached to idiots?”
As Cassian laughed, the woman once again stepped around him but this time, Cassian watched her go.
“It was nice to meet you!” he called.
She gave him a vulgar gesture before turning the corner behind Rita’s, into an apartment building.
Feyre didn’t even realize, as she picked at her boring salad, that she was tuning Tamlin out. Something about hearing him gloat about the major investment he secured at work for the thousandth time wasn’t as exciting to her as it was to him.
“Isn’t that right, Feyre?”
She jerked her head up, looking around at the table of his colleagues. His grass green eyes were boring into her own. She could read the annoyance in them, the aggravation that she wasn’t fawning over him like the other broker’s wives and girlfriends were. She’d been content to sit this dinner out, to stay at home and paint.
Tamlin had told her, in less than sincere terms, that wasn’t an option.
“I was just telling Dagdan,” he motioned to a dark haired man down the table, “that one more deal like this and there will be a ring on your finger.”
A year ago and that thought would have filled her with joy. A year ago and nothing would have excited her more than the prospect of being Tamlin’s wife. But things had become different between them lately. More strained. More tense.
He had begun to treat her more as an object than as the object of his affections.
The declaration drew her up short. “We’ve never discussed- Tamlin, I-.”
The woman sitting directly to Dagdan’s left, Brannagh, if her memory was correct, chuckled under her breath. The woman was near identical to Dagdan. Twin, sister, lover? Feyre couldn’t tell.
“Is something funny?” Feyre asked, setting her fork down.
Brannagh’s eyebrows rose and she looked like a cat that had just spotted a fat mouse to play with. Play with, before it consumed it bite by bite.
“Nothing is funny,” Tamlin interjected, quickly turning the conversation into safer territory. As they spoke about their work, Feyre again tuned the group out. She moved her salad to the side and began to pick out a piece of chocolate cake. She didn’t eat it, just mashed it to pieces and began to use her fork to make intricate swirls of icing on the plate. She brought the fork to her lips to clean it off.
The fork was snatched from her hand, the plate removed from in front of her before she could realize what was happening. She looked up to find Tamlin moving it down the table. His coworkers were all finishing up and it seemed as if they’d finally be leaving soon.
“What are you doing?” She asked, incredulity slipping into her tone.
“You don’t need that,” he said, and threw a brazen glance at her body. “You should probably start running with me in the mornings, too.”
That quiet chuckle from Brannagh again and Feyre was seeing red.
“Excuse you?” she whispered.
“Need to take care of your body, especially if we’re going to be getting married. I need you to look your best, baby.”
In a flash, Feyre was on her feet, glass of wine in her hand. And then...it wasn’t.
Then it was in Tamlin’s face. And his hair. And his crisp white shirt.
Without a word, Feyre grabbed her purse and walked out of the restaurant.
Her phone started buzzing before she’d even made it 20 feet from the door. She let it it ring and ring, surprised he hadn’t physically come after her. She continued to walk, trying to put as much distance between herself and the restaurant before he could decide to follow her.
It wasn’t long before the clouds that had been rolling in all day decided to finally open up and all at once, it began to pour. Feyre cursed and looked around, trying discern where she could go to get out of the rain.
A doorway was nestled into an alcove and Feyre saw the neon open sign was lit. She ducked inside and leaned against the wall.
She was drenched. Absolutely and totally drenched. Water dripped off of her dress and ran in rivulets down her legs. She ran a hand over her face and looked around. It was only then that she noticed she was in a bar. A completely empty bar, not even anyone behind the counter to mix drinks.
A glance at her watch told her why. It was 8:45 on Sunday night. Most people were at home with their families. Most people would be gearing up for the work week or ready for school.
The thought had Feyre walking farther into the room and sitting at the bar itself. She held her head in her hands and tried her hardest to keep the tears from sliding down her cheeks.
“I’m never one to assume, but I think you could use a drink.”
The alluring voice a few feet to her left startled her and she quickly sat up, looking in its direction. Violet eyes stared back.
He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
“Do you want a drink?” He asked, quietly, hesitantly.
Feyre’s voice cracked as she whispered, “Please.”
He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what she wanted as he turned around and poured two quick shots of whiskey, a glass of Coke, and set them down in front of her. He picked one of them up. “What’s your name?”
She picked her shot glass up and said, “Feyre.”
He clinked his glass against her own and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Feyre. I’m Rhysand,” and tossed the shot back.
592 notes · View notes
seenashwrite · 5 years ago
Text
There But For The Grace
Word Count: 3.3K Category: One-shot; Introspection; Mystery; Choices; Life journeys; Redemption Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Michael, Reader/O.C. Female, and
 just read the story. Pairing(s): Read. The. Story. Stop wanting the endings at the starts, impatient young'uns Warnings: None Faux-Warning: There’s no banging, so now that I’ve lost 80% of you
 Author’s Note(s):  *This is a re-post minus tags & links in an effort to get it to show up in searches*; I’m told you’re not a true fanfic writer unless you’ve done a coffee shop meet-up fic - kindly let me know if I got it right; more post-story Overall Summary: An archangel takes a break from his reconnaissance.
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The list grew by the minute, and he had to admit to himself that the mundane task of collecting all his reasons was turning delightful.
The other world hadn’t progressed to this level of corruption; likely it would’ve, had it not been for the brimstone, but that was neither here nor there. The worlds were identical, he’d learned, at least in the ways that mattered. Time nor space made a difference. Humans were, to be sure, utterly predictable.
Case in point: his most favorite time period from recent past had unfolded in precisely the same manner in both places, so much so he came as near to astonishment as he’d ever been. The roaring twenties were rife with sin, the pompous prohibitionists and the lust-filled liquor vendors, the mobsters with their massacres, and the bankers with their bloated greed. His distaste aside, it was beautiful. It was art, the way they crafted their depravity. Granted, it was nothing compared to his favorite time of all, but this was understandable; little could live up to Sodom and Gomorrah.
See there, hunter? I’m a salt-and-burn aficionado.
He’d successfully lulled the man whose body he’d snatched - no, that’s not right. He did not steal. Theft is sin. The hunter had agreed to act as a vessel, it was witnessed, and while there was deception involved, one in his position must think of the greater good. And it should be noted that he did exercise benevolence. Angelic vessels did not fare well, exponentially so for archangel vessels, and it was poor form to run through them quickly.  
He knew firsthand how his brothers handled their hosts. Raphael would woo the humans with promises of a glorious afterlife, then promptly expel their souls the moment he got a foothold. Gabriel would talk them into giving up the ghost voluntarily (as Gabriel could talk practically anyone into anything), in an effort to keep himself guilt-free. And as the fall crept closer, Lucifer took to keeping them wide awake, poking, prodding, picking, til slowly but surely the glow faded to embers, finally snuffing them out upon growing bored.
But not him. He was the best of them all, no sense in being humble. He was different, so he did things differently. He pushed the hunter to the farthest reaches of the mind they shared, threats to family quelling the belligerence surprisingly easily.
Are you plotting? he’d asked early on, receiving no answer; they both knew it was rhetorical.
As their time together grew, he’d talk to the hunter on occasion - not aloud, of course - when he marveled at the things he observed, breathing it all in. It had been ages since he’d walked the earth peacefully. It was wonder he felt, and he knew it, and it bothered him. He had been tasked with protecting them, once upon a time, and it was easier then, they were more readily awed, or maybe just malleable. He’d begun to consider if subtlety and manipulation might be ideal this go-round, effective as plagues and floods and annihilation had been, albeit temporarily.
He’d been raised by a vengeful God, the new redemptive version that came with the birth of the prophet never quite sitting right with him, but he was an obedient son, absence or no. He was his Father’s first son, he who was of God, the first angel there ever was, no matter what differing legends over the millennia might’ve said. The offenses the rest of the children, celestial-born and earth-bound alike, committed upon God’s creation wouldn’t have been tolerated back then.
Before. Before it all changed, right under his supposed watchful eye. Before he’d laid waste, in heaven and on earth. Before he’d gotten wrapped up in his plans, let his guard down. Before he lost all three of his beloved brothers in one way or another. Before he’d started paying attention again.
He wouldn’t miss anything else.
And so it was that on his fact-gathering strolls, more and more he found himself slowing his pace, pausing, coming to a halt, damn near freezing in place when something would catch his eye, or touch his ear, or invade his nose, the latter of which stopped him cold this evening, just as twilight eased across the buildings around him, and streetlights flickered on, up and down a nondescript street in a nondescript town on one nondescript walk amongst many.
He went further down the sidewalk, and up the block, and continued around a corner, and there it was, the answer to the question of what heavenly smell had wafted his way.
.
Hallowed Grounds French and Italian Coffees est. 1922
.
In his experience, the fates were indeed fickle. On the other hand, he’d done enough surveillance that week to allow for brief relaxation, be someone else for a spell. Seemed the rough-and-tumble hunter had smoothed edges made ragged from eons spent on another plane, made him fractionally more flexible. Teaching lessons could wait one more night, he told himself.
Meant to be, don’t you think?
There wasn’t need for food or drink, but the hunter was practically a junkie on both fronts, and the palate was wide. This body was stronger than most, better equipped for him, as tailor-made things are, of course, but he had not anticipated how demanding it could be, how it would crave indulgence. Undisciplined. Annoying. Distracting. It was for that last reason he’d give in, keep bites small and sips slow, and the moment there was a sense of satiation, off he - they - would go, back on mission.
African coffee was the best, this was not merely a belief but a fact; French he’d always found bland, somehow; Italian was tolerable. He ordered an espresso, tipped well, and the barista behind the former bar said they had servers milling about, one would be by to check in, see if he needed anything else. And despite knowing he’d swallow less than a quarter of the brew, he took a seat at a table, back to people-watching. Not a one was interesting in the least.
He’d noted the woman carrying the steaming metal carafe walking briskly in the direction where he sat, but had already let his eyes roam away by the time she’d gone behind him, and she only had cause to cross his mind when a loud CLANK hit the air, and the sensation of a third-degree burn called out from his lower right leg and ankle. Several gasps erupted from close-by patrons, someone moaned “Oooooh!” in sympathy, and then came the babbling.
It was the woman, the server, and she was alternating under-breath curses with self-deprecation - Such a stupid klutz! - Why’d I take this fucking job? There wasn’t an apology to be found, not a lick of repentance.
She had his attention.
As she made her way around, the carafe - retrieved, now dented and empty - was plunked on his table, causing the espresso to slosh, and she surveyed the mess on the floor, closed her eyes, rubbed them, took a deep breath, then exhaled it far too quickly for it to have been of any use. Her eyes popped open. They instantly lit on his soaked trouser cuff.
“Jesus,” she muttered, flat forehead going to a frown in a nanosecond.
And he frowned, too. Not that he’d been particularly impressed by or had much use for the prophet, nor had he bought into all the trinity talk - he’d found it offensive that any would be placed by the Father as an equal of sorts - but this was in the ballpark of blasphemy. Well, then. Another sinner joins the collection.
Now she’d dropped, and he arched an eyebrow as his head tilted down, feeling her rubbing - aggressively - on his shoe, sopping up the spilt coffee with a rag she’d had tucked in her apron’s waistband.
“That pot was still hot as hell, it didn’t get you, did it?” she asked, looking up at him from her kneeling position.
“No,” he lied.
“Oh, thank God. I’d have been
 if you’d been burnt, I would’ve
 I am so sorry, sir.”
Penitence looked lovely on her.
“You seem anxious, why don’t you sit, rest for a moment,” he suggested, and gestured to the empty chair across from him.
He kept his eyes locked onto hers; she gave him an odd look in return, but didn’t have time to answer. Another table called out to her, so she broke the stare, told him she’d check on him again later, see if he wanted a refill - anything he wanted, on the house, she added - before rising and leaving his side.
He took her up on it. He paid for the one that followed. And he waited until the patrons had nearly cleared and the lights were being dimmed and the brooms were coming out. Someone else was sent to collect the fee for the still-full third.
Take a hint.
He followed the advisement - whether it was the hunter’s or some sort of self-prompting, he couldn’t say - and exited, though he didn’t carry on with his reconnaissance, instead going down the tiny alley that led to the back of the building, leaning against a telephone pole that was partially in the shadows, settling in, keeping an eye on the side door of the coffee shop.
The hunter spoke up.
You suck at this.
Pray tell?
Trying to pick up a chick, get laid.
Orgasms are insufficient reasons for risking the creation of another abomination.
Go comb through my greatest hits, then we’ll talk about risks and rewards.
It took a half-hour of darkened silence before he began to grow irritable, and he stood from his lean, was straightening his overcoat when the door opened. She spotted him, pretended like she didn’t, so he took a few steps in her direction. He was just about to speak when she whipped around, jerking something from her pocket. She immediately squirted a caustic fluid onto him, which did nothing, save prompting a confused expression to come across his now damp face.
Oh, for crying out—-
Hush.
She coughed several times as a breeze carried the mist her way, though a subtle wave of his hand served to make it disappear, and soothed her stinging eyes and scratchy throat. He pulled out his handkerchief and blotted the moisture coating his cheeks. She watched, not moving an inch, her mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Please forgive me.”
“That’s the strongest mace on the market,” she muttered. She looked at the tiny tube, sneered, then tossed it down the alley, where it hop-skipped out of sight. Turning her head back to him, she spoke again, this time warily. “You need money or something? You’re not dressed like you need money.”
He returned the handkerchief to his pocket, met her eye. “You think I waited here to rob you?”
“I don’t
 well why are you here?”
“I enjoyed your company and hoped to extend our time together.” A pause, then he added, “I have no desire to have sex with you.”
“Gee, thanks?”
He began to respond, hesitated, then opted to go with, “I’m told I’m not
 not very good at
 this.”
“Making friends?”
“Mmmm.”
“Well, it’s
 it’s late.”
He glanced at his watch. “So it is.”
“And I don’t even know your name.”
“Michael.”
“Michael. Okay. I have a brother named Michael. Mikey, if I want to piss him off.”
“Were your parents religious?”
“What?!” she exclaimed, though she chased it with an amused grin. “You ask the strangest questions. Um, no. Not really.”
“And your name?”
“I, uh
 don’t give out my name to strangers.”
“Wise. But I need to call you something.”
“Hmmm
 I don’t really
”
He waited.
She snapped her fingers. "My family nicknamed me Grace. The way they talk, I’ve been clumsy since the womb.” She rolled her eyes.
“That sounds cruel.”
She laughed, but it was short, clipped. “Nah. Annoying, maybe. But they didn’t mean anything by it. Your family not have a nickname for you?”
He shook his head. “No. They called one of my brothers the star. He
 shone a little too brightly.”
She nodded. “I have a friend like that. Drama queen. Sucks up all the air in a room, as my mother would say.”
“May I call you Grace?”
She laughed again, the full version this time, and said, “I ruined your pants, so I owe you. Yeah, sure. Go for it.”
He walked her to her car, but they kept chatting - the coffee shop began as a speakeasy, he informed her, and a two-way mirror once hung over the bar so as to keep an eye out for the police. And the conversation drifted with them as they meandered down the street, ended up in a park, sitting in swings sandwiched between a slide and a sandbox, lazily letting their feet trail through gravel, him allowing her to think he was a history buff, her telling him how she’d been born in another nondescript town in another nondescript state. How as the years passed, it had started to feel like another world.
And when it was her turn to ask about the past, it called up from within him the desire to lie to her - protect her - for the second time that night. So he chose his words carefully.
“I had assignments. One that was the most
 I was supposed to guard people. Defend them, when needed. And
 and I did a good job for quite awhile. My commander was pleased. But then things
 happened. I let an enemy invade. I wasn’t strong enough. Not enough to stop him.”
“You don’t have to go into detail if you don’t want to,” Grace said quietly. She laid a hand over his.
“People died.”
“Oh.”
“They saw me as a protector. There was a time when some practically worshiped me, thought I was worthy of it.” He made a scoffing sound. “I started to believe I was.”
He’d never had a single regret, never let himself fall into the abyss of memories. But even he could be brought - broken, more accurately - out of his routine. And the most immediate period of his existence had done just that, making times of calm a desire, while in the same moment making times of silence an irritant.
He looked down at their hands, flipped his, threaded his fingers through hers, and she didn’t stop him.
They sat, unmoved, no words, for several minutes; three-point-two-one-six, in fact, because he counted them. His mind never rested, even when the hunter’s did, but he liked how she didn’t feel the need to fill the emptiness with idle talk. Made for a touch of calm. Even with the silence.
It held a bit of irony - he was the silent type, everyone said so. He’d found it often communicated intent better than any words could’ve. And more descriptions piled on: Imposing. Intimidating. Towering. Threatening. Some had called him “Beast” long before it had been applied to their once-adored morning star.
So there it was - there’d already been a second lie, and he hadn’t even noticed.
“I don’t mean to frighten you,” he told her, staring at her intently, but this time she didn’t look away.
“You said that already,” she replied, a solemn smile on her lips, not too wide, not too thin, just the right sort, and he hoped he reciprocated in kind. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, saying, “Michael
 I mean, my Michael —–”
The hunter’s belly stirred.
“—– you know, my brother, he’s in the service. He’s a Ranger. He doesn’t tell our family a lot of stories from when he fought, but he’s told me some. So if it’s anything like that, then
 I can understand. I can try, I mean.”
“I led the entirety of our legion.”
“You’re
 you seem a little young to be
 what would it be, a general, I guess? Or do you mean you led your division? Or squadron? I know some of the terminology, you don’t have to dumb it down for me.”
“I’ve offended you.”
“No, it’s
 don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.”
“It very much matters. How people treat one another. People can be vile, sadistic, horrible creatures.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I guess. But we’re the only ones here. And I’m not horrible, and you’re not horrible, soooo
”
“You’re right,” he lied for the third time, and with one of the hunter’s brightest smiles.
Which made Grace shine.
Go.
The hunter did as he was commanded.
Michael thought she tasted like sin.
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“Okay. Tomorrow. I’m off work, but we can meet at the coffee shop, figure out what to do from there
 around noon sound good?”
He nodded. “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Grace.”
She nodded in return, got in her car, and gave him a little wave as she pulled away.
Is this your plan, hunter? How you think you’ll undo me? Making me more like you?
Hey, I haven’t been driving for awhile now. Ass.
Hmmm.
You kissed her.
What makes you say that?
When you let me leave the bad boy corner, I could tell. Or else you’re putting strawberry lip balm on my—-
Apple.
Huh?
It’s apple.
He waited at her apartment, this time deep in the shadows where he wouldn’t be spotted, made sure she got inside safely, listened for the click that told him she’d locked the door. He began to leave, then thought better of it, decided to play guardian for old times’ sake, placed warding here and there to keep any would-be harm away. And back to walking he went, considering how to kill the hours til they met again.
May as well strike up a conversation.
Now that we’ve spent some time together, tell me - Why didn’t we do this sooner? What’s it been for you, about a decade?
You’re a douche.
Fine. But comparatively?
There’s not a douche scale, dick.
So I’m altogether irredeemable?
Uh - is there some universe where you aren’t?
Perhaps.
So prove it! Let me go! And LEAVE ME ALONE.
Fair enough.
If he were to put a not-so-fine point on his reasoning for not meeting her the next day, that about summed it up. He’d disappoint her, she’d disappoint him, and if she didn’t, that was no good. Probably worse. Better to keep unattached when it came to what the future
 what he
 would likely bring.
Even so, he found himself once more standing apart, likely imposing, always watching, this time through a window, across hallowed grounds, looking for his grace. He spotted her at the very table he’d been at when they met, scrolling through her phone, occasionally sipping on a latte. Then there’d be a sigh, a glance to the large clock on the opposite wall as five, then ten, then fifteen minutes passed by.
What say after this, we head to the cage, check on that counterpart of mine?
This time, he received an unusually placid response.
Why?
To ensure he’s paying for what he’s done.
Like you haven’t been thinking of nuking this world. You’re still jonesing for your apocalypse. You know you want a do-over.
The world could use some cleansing, true. There’s reasons. But, no. That’s not why.
Then what?! How many times are you planning on dragging me over there, making sure he hasn’t popped the lock so you can keep up your stupid act? They’re gonna figure it out soon, Cas or Sam—-
I thought of all people, you’d understand.
Understand WHAT? It’s payback? ‘Cause the first thing *he* did was make a beeline to take you out?
He killed my brother. With my own sword, no less. And that above all, Dean, I will not abide.
Grace picked up her bag, left a few bills on the table, and as she walked out the door, placed a phone call.
“Yeah, he stood me up
 no, no, I’m not
 Seriously! I’m not mad, I’m just, you know
 yeah. I thought he was different
 No, you’re right, and I’m sure he had a good reason, and I told you he didn’t have a phone with him, right? So it’s not like he could’ve
. oh God, no he wasn’t lying, why do you assume every dude
. Anyway, maybe I’ll see him again. I think that’d be nice
”
Well, then. Not so predictable, after all. Not this one. At least, for now.
Teaching the world a lesson could wait for just one more day.
.
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Author’s Note #2: Per request, there’s a walkthrough on the inspiration for the title/plot points, the theology droppings, and the “clues” for the ending twist-a-roo, if you’re interested! Just look for this story on my Master Post (see below) and it’s linked at the bottom of the story.
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Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.
Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘
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thebrochtuarachs · 6 years ago
Text
Arranged: Chapter 3
Modern AU. Set in 2018. Where Claire and Jamie are arranged to be married.
CH: 1 - 2
AO3
A/N: Sorry it took a while to write this. The past month just has been incredibly weird and strange. But I am happy this is up now, I had a wee writers block on how to make them go forward but I think I found the way. So excited to write what's next. Hope you like this chapter and it's always good to see and hear your comments and suggestions <3
CHAPTER 3: The First Afternoon
It was the morning after the dinner, Claire was on the bus heading to uni to start another day. Usually, she’d spent the 10-minute ride browsing through class notes but today, she found herself staring out the window and watching the city scene go by. Musing with recent events, Claire can’t help but think about Jamie.
Jamie Fraser wasn’t a stranger in her life. On the contrary, she cannot remember her life without him.
Looking back, she remembered their days, growing up in their family dinners. Jamie was two years ahead of her, he was basically in her life even before she knew it and they practically grew up together.
Sure, Jenny and Willie were also there in that scenario as well but with the recent arrangement, she focused on the times she was only with him. Before any of this, she only thought of him as a really close family friend but didn’t think they were really that close. But the more she thought about them, the more wrong she found herself.
She remembered playing in the green fields of their backyard, stealing toys from each other or playing tag; carpooling to and from elementary school for some years, heading straight to either of their house until a parent can come and pick them up; watching the same cartoons, singing the theme song together once it was on; how they would take afternoon naps after watching said show and be woken up exactly at 4PM for some afternoon snacks; how all of them - her, Jenny, Jamie and Willie -  would all play house or castle rescue, and how her and Jamie were always deemed the “king and queen” combo or the “prince and damsel” duo, where in the end, he would always save her; In some days, they would even have wedding scenarios played out as part of the story of happily ever after. It was all very innocent and fun, and at the time, no one thought any malice into it. It was just pure childhood fun.
Everything sort of changed when they entered high school. Jamie and Claire went to exclusive boys and girls catholic schools and naturally, they had their own circle and friends and their interactions were limited to their family dinners. Heading off to college, Claire took a pre-med course and Jamie took-up a pre-law course and now, she’s in medical school while he’s busy running the family’s publishing house business. Although they both stayed in Edinburgh, their paths never crossed as often as one would think.
However, despite growing up and somehow, maybe, growing apart, when they do see each other, they would talk and interact as they normally do – the long-time friends they are – and update each other on the status of their lives. All very civil, normal and nothing more.
What’s even more puzzling to Claire, now, is in these times and nobody ever teased them about the “what ifs” of them ending up together. Nobody ever spoke to them in that way, nobody gave an inkling about this merger ever happening. Nobody had a rumored crush on anyone. Nobody gave them any thought and no one gave her any indication to. As far as she knew, Jamie Fraser was and will always be just a long-time family friend in her life.
The shock of the engagement was wearing off but Claire was determined to get to the bottom of this. Jamie was right – their parents aren’t impulsive enough to set this up lightly. There is a deep, real reason for it and she will know it and put a stop to it.
-
“Darling, there you are!” Frank called as she stepped out of the car, breaking her thoughts of Jamie.
Frank – her very new and current suitor. They’ve been seeing each other for over a month and Claire was totally smitten with the professor right from the moment they met at the university library when he helped her carry her loads of medical books from the shelf to the table.
He make a joke – she can’t remember it anymore – but it made her laugh in what was a stressful exam week and she was charmed by his aristocratic elegance and wit. They got to talking after that and she found out he was a history professor and almost a decade older than her (though she thought he didn’t look like it).
She hadn’t told her parents about him because of what they might think of her dating a much older man and how it can affect their position in the university. She was a student (she can argue that she’s in medical school and not some undergraduate bimbo) and he was a teacher – that scenario doesn’t look good in any way, shape or form. Also, she wasn’t entirely certain of him yet -  so she’s taking her time to get to know him a little bit more before she allows him more into her life.
As they met in the middle of the courtyard, Frank noticed her somber aura. “What is it, Claire?” he asked, concerned.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just got up in the wrong side of the bed” she lied. He took it at face value and thought nothing more. Clearly, he doesn’t know her yet as he hadn’t caught up with the jig.
“Okay!” He said, really not noticing it. “I gotta run to class. I’ll see you in the afternoon?”
“Yes – No! I forgot I have a group meeting later and don’t know how long would that be. Uhm
maybe just call me later and see where I’m at?” She said. Frank just nodded and went on his way.
-
It was technically a groupmeeting – they were two people, that counts. She was going to see Jamie in a nearby coffee shop and start this ridiculous quest. The day went by with Claire mostly working on autopilot student mode. Her mind ran scenarios on where they should start to investigate, people they can ask favor for to look into their family company. They should also fix their schedules and think about how this will affect their studies. This investigation was going to take over their lives and both seem to be in agreement with it – Claire, simply, wants it to be over.
He was already seated when she arrived, her favorite beverage, hot and waiting, on the table. “Sorry, I’m late. The bus was late and there was so many people waiting in line
” Claire explained herself. “It’s no mind, Claire.” Jamie stopped her before she went on a long narrative. She just smiled and took her seat across from him.
“Oolong Tea” Jamie pointed to the cup. “I hope ye dinna mind me orderin’ for ye. I canna choose which pastry ye’d like today though, so I’ll let ye choose that one.”
“It’s fine. That’s what I was going to drink anyway and I’ll order the bread later.” Claire thought about how Jamie knew her drink but with their long history, she thought she shouldn’t be shocked about it. After all, she knew his drink even though the lid of the coffee cup hid its contents ïżœïżœ it was black, three sugars.
“Where do we begin?” she asked, hoping it’ll shift her thought from their apparent familiarity.
“Well, what did yer parents say to ye again?”
“That this was a business merger of some sort, which honestly, doesn’t make sense. Your business seems to be fine, ours is as well. Do you have any idea about the financial status of your company?”
Jamie shrugged. He already knows falling numbersis not the problem but this was the ruse. As much joy it was to spend with her, it equally pained him for it to be this way. “I guess we can start there?” He suggested. “Let me call Rupert and Angus Mackenzie from Finance, I’m sure they can discreetly hand me the finances since
2010? I’ll just go that far back just in case.” Real reason was to accumulate as much paperwork to get lost themselves in.    
Since the Frasers and Beauchamps are both stakeholders in each other’s company, they both had access to the numbers for both companies. Acquiring the data was not that hard.
“Hi, Rupert! I’m okay, just settling back” Jamie said as he called Rupert. “Rupert, I was wondering if you could send me the year-end numbers of our company and the Beauchamps dating back in 2010? Yes, - No, I would just like to study the trends
”
“No need to explain. I got you, Jamie! I’ll send it in an hour.” Rupert answered back with a knowing laugh, interrupting Jamie’s ramble of an explanation. His parents must’ve set this up too. Jamie sighed hopelessly, thanked Rupert and ended the call.
“Files will be sent in an hour” Jamie said.
“I guess we got time to kill. Would you mind if I did a bit of studying? We’re already here and we gotta wait.” Claire asked.
“No, no, go ahead. I was just going to ask the same thing.” He replied with a smile as he started pulling out his stuff from his bag.
They were occupying in a four-seater table, the space just enough for each of them to claim a side. Claire put out her laptop, two medical books, a notebook and lots of pencils and ballpens. Jamie, also, pulled out his laptop, three novels, a notebook and lots of highlighters. Both silently went on their respective study sessions.
A little over a half hour in, Jamie disrupted Claire’s thought with a question. “Claire, do you need a refill?”
She looked up, a little disoriented. “Hm, what? Oh, yes, please, thank you.”
Jamie took her cup and went to bar to fill her tea with a fresh pour of hot water. He refilled his coffee too. As he set down her cup, Claire inadvertently let out a question. “How did you know I refill?” She was curious as to how much Jamie really knew her. She saw him turn a little shy in her question as he placed a hand on the back of his neck.
“Well, ye’ve been drinking Oolong tea since we were wee bairns and ye always made sure that the tea bag is always well-used and that meant two, maybe three, uses until it lost its flavor for ye. Also, you’re doing that eye-scrunch thing when ye’re thinking so hard of a thing ye canna or tryna figure out. Thought it a good time to distract ye.”
“Well, it was. Thank you” Claire said monotonously as she took a sip of her tea. “I see you’re still coloring your books with highlighters.” She said, pointing at his many colors of markers on his table.
“And I see ye’re still placing wee snacks on each paragraph in yer book.” Jamie retorted back and they shared a small laugh.
“It’s been a while since we studied together but it seems like some things never change”
“Aye, some things never do, Sassenach” Jamie said tenderly, looking straight into Claire’s eyes.
“Hey, you haven’t called me that in forever!” Claire exclaimed excitedly. “What does that mean again?”
“Och, nothing. It just means Englishman, or in yer case, Englishwoman. An outlander, not from Scotland”
“Right, right! That’s the only name you’d call me growing up, I almost forgot my own!”
“Really?” Jamie never knew the name meant possibly more than Claire let on and he was curious to know the story behind it. However, a ding on Jamie’s computer alerted them back to the task at hand.
“Ach, the email is here” Jamie informed Claire and she quickly got up, went over to his side, pulled out a chair and sat beside him. She peered so close at his computer their cheeks were almost side to side.
“Open it, open it!” Claire said, waving a hand to Jamie to hurry up.
“Patience!” he chuckled as the file filled the screen.
Both simultaneously groaned when the file they got was filled with so much number, just pure numbers, neither of them can make it out. Rupert must’ve made it so complicated, they’ll never figure anything out.
“Seriously, Rupert!” Claire rolled her eyes, annoyed.
“I’ll call him –“
“No. He might get suspicious if we ask so much and so frequently. We, erm, we
can figure this out”
“How about we call it for the day? We got the file, we can look at it tomorrow instead.” Jamie said, looking to prolong the evidence. If they start on this now, Claire will never stop for the rest of the afternoon and probably evening. “I got an exam I have to study for anyway. Unless, you want to have a go at it?”
Claire shook her head. She’s got to study too. “No, you’re right. I have to study too.” She sighed. “We have to talk about a schedule where this research is not going to interfere with our studies – which is our top priority”
Jamie just nodded. “How about we meet here every after class and maybe spend 2-3 hours looking at this, then we go back to our studies? Sounds like enough time to balance our day?”
They reached an agreement and let the investigation stop for the day. Claire reached for her stuff to pack but when she noticed Jamie didn’t move and just continued to go back to highlighting his pages. “Aren’t you going home or somewhere else to study?”
“Och, I’m already here and the ambiance is good, thought I’d stay until the evening.” Jamie replied with a sheepish smile. Claire looked around and the atmosphere was good. The smell of the coffee was inviting, the people were quiet, and a change of scene was probably what she needed to focus. It wasn’t bad either that she’s with Jamie, they were friends after all. With that, she put her stuff back on the table and decided to stay as well. Jamie stayed silent and they went on their own business but she saw the small tug in his lips and he smiled.
-
A loud ringing of the cellphone brought them out of their space. It was Claire’s phone and Claire’s mother calling.
“Hello, yeah – I’m sorry. I’m on my way home. No, just got lost in studying” Claire rapidly explained as Jamie could hear her mother’s rapid line of questioning. “Yep, I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Love you, bye”
“Ye’ll be there in 5” Jamie said. “I’ll take ye home”. It was already 8:00PM and they were going to miss dinner.
“What? No, Jamie. It’s fine. The bus by this time are probably not that full.” They were quickly packing their stuff while, also, quickly negotiating their travel plans.
“I have a car and we live in the same neighborhood. Ye canna argue with that logic, Claire.”
Claire grumbled but relented. It was certainly easier and convenient and again, Jamie was no stranger. On some unsurprisingly absurd level, she trusts him completely. She reasons it’s probably from the years they’ve known each other. Nonetheless, if Jamie acts inappropriately, she’ll just tell him to their mothers.
The drive home was quick and Jamie, being the true gentleman he was, insisted that he open Claire’s passenger door and walk her right in front of her doorstep. She was about to protest but his actions were quicker and for the fourth time that day, she let him
erm
look out for her.
“Thank you for a lovely afternoon. For the tea, the records, the study time, and the ride home” she said as she turned around to bade him goodbye. They were standing in a respectable distance from one another, just as friends do. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s the least I can offer for the tea.”
“Ah, no. My family is waiting on me too. I’ll have my hide if mam doesna see me on the table”
“Well, then, goodnight, Jamie.”
“Goodnight, Sassenach. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
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burnsopale · 6 years ago
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Burgeoning, Ralf/Johnny
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Title: Burgeoning, part 1 Pairing: Ralf/Johnny Rating: G for now Summary: Ralf has a hedgehog problem. The hedgehog has a Ralf problem.
Author’s note: I’m very excited to get to post this (and hopefully continue it) as this is the origin story for Ralf and Johnny’s relationship that forms a rough backdrop to all my other fics.
Ralf had long since mastered the ability to eat without looking at his plate. He found mealtime boring, the ceremony of sitting down to dinner a waste of time, and since Johan insisted that Ralf at least had his breakfast and dinner in the dining room, Ralf usually brought a book. This evening was no different.
He didn’t even look up when Johan entered, assuming he had come to clear a dish or refill Ralf’s glass. Instead, the aging butler remained standing just inside the door until Ralf, irritated at this irregularity, looked up.
“Yes?”
Johan’s impressive brows were furrowed, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes that Ralf was decidedly not paying him for.
“We have a guest, sir.”
“We never have guests, Johan.”
“We do today, sir.”
Ralf put his fork down but kept his book optimistically open. “Well, who is it? The press? A fan? 
 It’s not my aunt, is it?”
Johan shook his head solemnly. “Master Ralf, I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your meal for anything so trivial.”
Ralf put the book down, realising he was being teased. “How would you describe them, then?”
Johan considered it, wiggling his moustache. “I'd say the hedgehogs are awfully big this year, sir.”
Ralf rolled his eyes and rose. “Very well, I’ll come see. There’s no need for this silliness.”
He proceeded Johan down to the entrance hall, but when he pulled the large front door open, he found the porch empty. A frosty March wind blew straight through his thin shirt. "Johan."
"Yes, Master Ralf."
"There's no one here."
"I suppose he wandered off, sir."
"If it wasn't dinnertime," Ralf said as he got his shoes and jacket out of the closet. "I would suspect you of trying to get me to go for a walk."
He threw on a scarf and headed outside, jogging lightly down the stairs to the gravel path and looking left and right for the mystery guest.
"He probably wandered around the house, sir," Johan said from the doorway. "Having come this far to see you, it's unlikely he'll give up without results."
This person sounded more unpleasant by the minute.
Ralf turned back to ask why Johan hadn't simply gotten the broom and taken care of this already, but the butler had already shut the door. Ralf sighed and headed into the garden.
Years later, the memory of what followed would take on a rosier tinge. The sun, though not very strong yet in early spring, would seem very bright in the pale sky, and the hedgerows would be green, and thinking of the boy he had found chucking stones at a stained glass window would make Ralf smile.
But it was not years later. It was now.
"That window is an important piece of family history and I will thank you to cease this instant before you do irreparable damage to it!"
Johnny McGregor halted with his arm pulled back for the throw. "That's more words than you spoke to me the entire tournament," he said, let the stone fall and put his sore, red fingers into the pockets of his jacket. "I was beginning to wonder what I'd have to do to get your attention."
"What do you want?" Ralf demanded. "And make it quick; I was in the middle of dinner."
The boy was the same as when they had parted, autumn-red, cotton candy hair standing straight up on his head, pale lavender eyes full of determination, irritating pointy little nose poking into Ralf's business.
"I want a rematch," the boy said.
"You can't have one. Goodbye." Ralf turned on his heel, happy to have settled the matter, and began walking back towards the entrance.
"Oi! Come back here or I'll make that window sing!"
Ralf stopped and turned, glaring. "What more do you want?"
The boy pulled his Beyblade from his pocket and held it out. "I demand a rematch! I'll defeat you and reclaim my honour." The sun shone in the bit chip and for a moment Ralf imagined a brush of fire against his skin.
"I don't give rematches, McGregor. You fought well, but in the end you lost. Fallen warriors do not rise again."
"I’m not a bloody fallen warrior!" The boy was getting agitated.
Ralf turned away again, determined to get to the door this time. "Go home, McGregor." He heard the sound of a stone being picked up. "If you scratch that window I'll release the dogs."
He was all the way to the staircase before the boy suddenly jumped in front of him, throwing his arms out to block the way.
"I am not leaving until you battle me!"
There were hectic red spots in his cheeks. Again, years from now the memory would strike Ralf with nostalgia. Johnny in his heavy boots and with his bare knees, mouth pinched childishly, big eyebrows lowered over his lovely eyes. But at the time, Ralf's sweeping glance was more dismissive than admiring.
"Get out of my way."
"Battle me!"
Ralf took a deep breath, fixed the boy with his eyes and began to slowly ascend the stairs, forcing the boy back with the force of his glare. "You have five minutes to clear my property before I release the dogs. At best, Mr McGregor, you might return from the dead to face me again in some future tournament, but otherwise I do not waste my time on losers."
The boy's heel caught on the last step and he fell on his ass, leaving Ralf room to walk past him and open the door. He shut it resolutely behind him and turned the key.
"I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE ANY DOGS!" came a shout from outside.
"Well, he's got us there, sir," Johan said, helping Ralf off with his coat.
Ralf unwound his scarf, kicked off his shoes and walked determinedly back towards the dining room and his book. "He'll leave once he realises it's futile."
Several hours later, Ralf was in the larder with Beate going through the supplies. As usual, she had listened politely to his arguments for dialling back the food budget and making the menus simpler, and then proceeded to ignore him, walking along the shelves and making notes on her clipboard, the ribbon on her apron jumping as she clucked and tutted to herself.
Ralf was picking out a bottle of wine to bring upstairs, when Beate turned and said, "Old Johan told me about your guest, Master Ralf. I noticed him when I arrived. Should I perhaps make him something? He looked cold, the poor thing."
Ralf stared at her for a moment. "HE'S STILL HERE?"
A minute later Ralf and Johan were leaning out of a third story window and looking down at the stoop of Castle Jurgens.
"Mein God, he's still out there."
Ralf leaned further out, as if proximity could somehow reveal the huddled figure on the stairs to be something other than the boy.
It didn't.
"He is quite tenacious," Johan said, moustache twitching over a small smile. "No wonder with the fight he gave you in the tournament."
Ralf was getting a headache from all the glaring he was having to do today. "He did not give me a fight, Johan, I defeated him quite easily."
The look Johan gave him in return was so frankly disrespectful that Ralf was left gaping like a fish.
After a moment, Johan inclined his head. "Of course, Master Ralf. Shall I take the bottle?"
"Leave it. I want to read."
"Very well, sir. Then, if there's nothing else you need, I'll turn in." Johan left. His joints ached in the cold, so he usually went early to bed in winter time.
Ralf smiled after him, feeling the melancholy affection one has towards elderly friends and family, the kind where love is sharpened by the knowledge of their decline.
Then he turned to once again look down at the splotch of colour on the grey stoop. It was about to become properly dark, and the temperature was falling further and-Oh!
If Ralf had been one for skipping, he might have done so as he hurried down the hallway to the nearest broom closet, from whence he intended to fetch a bucket. He knew just the thing to make his unwanted guest give up and go away.
As he filled the bucket with water, he had time to consider that this was not going to be terribly honourable.
On the other hand, he told himself as he carried the sloshing bucket down to the second floor, it was his peace being disturbed. All he was doing was getting rid of a trespasser. Wasn't this even somewhat reminiscent of the knights of old pouring boiling oil from the parapets to hinder invading armies?
With this happy thought in mind, Ralf emptied the bucket of water out of the second story window and listened with grim satisfaction to the shriek that rose from below.
"YOU SHITE! YOU ARSEFACED NUMTPY! GET YOUR SCRAWNY ASS DOWN HERE SO I CAN KICK IT!"
"Get off my property!" Ralf yelled back.
"NOT ON YER LIFE!"
Apparently the shock had changed the boy's accent. Ralf distinctly remembered it being English until now, but the thick Scottish brogue certainly made the insults a lot more effective.
Ralf didn't bother to bandy with the boy any further. McGregor would leave once it got cold enough. Ralf left to replace the bucket.
He spent the evening finishing his book, eventually fell asleep in his chair, woke in the morning hours and dragged himself to bed, having forgotten the boy for the moment.
By ten o'clock he was in his private gym room, doing his morning exercises. A knock on the door surprised him; Johan rarely had any reason to disturb him before breakfast.
"Come."
It was indeed Johan. "Good morning, sir."
Ralf put his barbell down and stretched. "What is it, Johan?"
"I was wondering if I should bring Mr McGregor breakfast?"
For a long moment, Ralf just stared at his butler.
"Yes, sir, he's still-" "HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE!"
For another moment they stared at each other.
"There's some soup left over from yesterday," Johan said eventually.
"Heavens, no." Ralf picked up the barbell again and started on the other arm. "If you feed him, he'll never leave."
"Soup it is."
"What-No-You-!"
Johan left.
"Someday I will fire you!" Ralf cried after him.
"Not if I retire first," came Johan's reply from down the corridor.
Ralf was just wondering if he shouldn't get some dogs after all (Johan could walk them), when Johan returned, looking troubled.
"I'm afraid the boy cannot leave, sir."
Ralf sighed. "Alright, we'll get some dogs-wait, what do you mean cannot?"
"You should see for yourself, sir."
McGregor was curled up on the stairs in a fitful doze, his breath ragged and broken by shivers.
Johan knelt by him and touched his forehead. "He's got a bad fever. Did it rain last night? His clothes are damp."
Ralf cleared his throat. "Not that I noticed."
Johan rose. "I'll call the doctor. Will you carry him, sir?"
"Carry him?" Ralf looked uncomprehendingly at the old man. "Just get the ambulance to come get him. What do I care if-."
"Master Ralf!" There was no trace of humor on Johan's face now. "This boy is all alone in a foreign land and he is sick because of us. I will take care of him, but I request that you lend him a bed if nothing else; it's not like we don't have them to spare."
Ralf stood shocked and ashamed while Johan walked around him to hold the door open.
Johan never scolded him. Not like this.
He looked at McGregor, just as another hard shiver rocked the boy's body and made him scrunch up his face in pain.
Ralf exhaled. He knelt down, worked one arm under the boy's back and another under his knees and lifted him with an effort. Once he was steady on his feet and had the boy balanced in his arms, he turned to Johan and manoeuvred them through the doorway.
They walked in silence up the stairs to the guest rooms.
"m'not leaving..."
McGregor was stirring, eyes open just a sliver. They were hazy.
"m'not ..."
"I'll have you out on your ear the moment you're well," Ralf mumbled back. "I haven't forgotten what you called me last night."
 Sometime later, Ralf was jogging through the forest that bordered his estate. The sun came dazzling through the leaves, and the only sounds were his fast steps on the soft path and his own measured breath.
He kept thinking back to putting Johnny McGregor to bed, helping Johan discard the boy's wet clothes and getting him into a nightgown that had belonged to Ralf's father. McGregor was strong, broad over the shoulders, arms and legs like young trunks, but mostly he was soft. Soft thighs, soft stomach, soft cheeks red from fever.
At this moment, he was sleeping in one of Ralf's beds, back at the castle, watched over by Johan. His autumn-red hair on one of Ralf's pillows. Breath ragged from the cold Ralf had caused him.
Ralf sped up. He'd outrun these strange, unwanted feelings. Let the boy rest for a day, and as soon as he was well he would be out of Ralf's house and out of his hair, and Ralf would never have to see him again.
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damn-aesthetic-blog · 7 years ago
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d.u.i
Wind howls in the midst of the night; light posts whirring with little conviction. Trees absentmindedly sway from their roots - mocking the cold winds. Lights are off in the buildings close by, no one brave enough to stray from the morning lights: thus letting them be comfortable enough to roam about. The only lights on where street posts and the lone bar in Hawkins - empty besides the bartender muling in their own sadness and lack of energy.
  Most nights are like this. For ten years the town of Hawkins has been a place of silent brewing. The events that took place at the Hawkins lab were released to the public but at disclosure of the Police department. It was a relief that there wasn't more corruption forming in Hawkins, but the damage was still done.
  For starters, Eleven had sacrificed herself to save the Dungeons & Dragons group - this extending to potentially Hawkins and bigger masses of life.  The AV club was able to (through much shock and drained minds) go back to their respective homes. Able to recover from that of the Demogorgon. But Will Byers was traumatized. He couldn't go outside by himself for extending periods of time without fear of being taken back by the Demogorgon. Joyce Byers wouldn't let Will go anywhere without knowing his location, or let him leave Hawkins for the fact that he wouldn't be in safe enough premise. Over the years, Will gained more independence from his home thanks to counseling and relief finally settling in with the Byers.
  Dustin and Lucas were okay enough - some anxiety was stirred, but not permanent. Lucas often felt guilty for being negative towards Eleven, and Dustin for not appreciating her as much as he could have. Besides that, they were able to function and progressively become much more social and successful over the years. They both attended university in Indiana and studied engineering.
  Micheal Wheeler was another scenario, though. After the events in 1983, Mike was in worse shape than Will. With Eleven disappearing after saving Mike, he couldn't accept himself and so he blamed himself for her death. Instead of going to University with Dustin and Lucas, he stayed in Hawkins and sulked. Hell, after 1983, Mike stopped going to D&D nights and stopped the game altogether. He tried hanging out the AV club members but eventually stopped hanging out with them in general. Later on, once they had started high school, he had already quit the AV club and changed his whole demeanor. What was once the nerdy, tall, and lanky Mike turned into a lone character who wore black and was taller and skinnier than before. When the others tried to call Mike to ask what was wrong or why he wasn't  talking to them anymore, all he would reply with was "My name's Micheal.".
  Mike, for the whole following year, for 351 days, he tried to call Eleven on his walkie-talkie in hopes she'd still be alive. That maybe she didn't die when she saved him, but instead was hiding from something, or maybe she was nearby but couldn't reach out for help.
  Throughout high school, the AV club continued to grow closer to one another, while Micheal Wheeler went farther down the whole than he ever had. By graduation year, he was one with the Popular Crowd. While Dustin, Lucas, and Will were focusing on school and science fairs, Mike was quickly raising his alcohol tolerance. He was constantly going to parties and getting shit faced. The AV boys dated and found relationships all through high school and college. This was the one area that Mike never dabbled in. For as many parties Mike attended, and as many girls would hit on him he never once showed any interest -  instead, becoming irked and leaving whatever he was doing.
  So when Mike found himself with the opportunity of a university, Mike didn't go. He stayed in Hawkins; but not for long. Three months later, Mike (after a rough night of extensive beer pong) packed all of his belonging and flew out to California to escape the hell which was his home. He still couldn't forget about the girl he fell in love with first; her curious gaze, her fair skin, or her timid smile. At the same time, though, he didn't really expect to. He wasn't sure if he even really wanted to forget, either.
  What he didn't expect nor want was to later find himself getting pulled over by Chief Hopper in the town of Hawkins.
Driving through the main street of Hawkins, Indiana was an old, yet familiar rush for now 22-year-old Micheal Wheeler. He had returned due to the excessive begging of his Mother and sister, Nancy to attend Christmas with the rest of the Wheeler's due to missing holidays with them since his Senior year of high school. They weren't expecting him until the following week, but he figured he mind well go as soon as he could - hence as soon as the population starting to blare Christmas music in the malls and start the deal, he decided to pack his car full of his clothes and belongings; deciding to shack up with his parents as long as he needed until he was able to afford a new place time. He'd grown tired of the blaring sun and decided he wanted to go somewhere colder. New York, Maine, somewhere different.
Mike also looked much different than high school. He was somehow even taller before; chillingly somehow skinnier, too. His hair was shaggy and it's usually straight demeanor changed to wild curls. His cheekbones had hollowed out. He was practically the real-life Edward Scissorhands. He was dressed in loose sweats - a sad attempt to hide his thin frame and lack of mass.
As he was nearing one in the morning, he saw the glimmer of the bar. Deciding to grab a beer to loosen up from his long journey from the West, he pulled up to the curb; half attempting remembering to shut the car's door behind him. Upon entering the bar, he was met with two simple things. One is that he was the only one who seemed to be alive due to the lack of activity. The second thing is that the bartender looked a hell of damn familiar.
Walking up the counter, Mike was meet with the tired face of Steve Harrington. With a faint smirk, Mike shook his head in silent laughter and sat at the counter. As Steve raised his eyes to finally address his only customer, he jolted slightly in surprised and let out a gasp-like noise.
"Micheal? Are you telling me Micheal Wheeler just walked into my bar after God knows how many years since you just left? And you're skinnier than before too? Damn, Wheeler. Only you could manage that too, huh?" Steve ushered as he leaned over the counter and embraced Mike.
  During Mike's more 'adventurous' times and moments, he had grown close to Nancy's ex-boyfriend Steve Harrington and a newer male figure introduced to Hawkins by the name of Billy Hargrove. Besides the bickering and ego-based fights between Billy and Steve, the three proceeded to become Hawkin's most notorious for trouble and the party scene. Whether it was graduation parties, or getting arrested for fights at the cinema over pride, they were the most talked about through Mike's grade. Even with his new friends, though, Mike was still troubled. Once he decided to leave Hawkins, he didn't tell anyone he was leaving; no exception for he newfound male companions.
Letting out a chuckle, Mike hugged Harrington back. "Yeah, I did I guess."
Pulling back to look into his old friend's eyes, Mike looked back towards the bar's counter and nodded towards one of the beer kegs. "Pour a glass for your old pal?"
Looking back to where Mike was looking, Steve understood what Mike was implying, he shook his head as he moved over towards the keg with a somewhat distressed laugh.
"You haven't changed a bit since your youth, huh?" Steve said as he handed Mike the brew.
Throwing it back, Mike placed the now empty glass on the counter and looked Steve in the eye with the same look he's projected since his Freshmen year. "Of course I've changed, Stevey Boy. There aren't many different ways to be addicted to alcohol though, is there?" Mike barked with a huff.  
Steve huffed back and looked at Mike until he met his eyes.
"Micheal, why did you leave Hawkins four years ago?"
Looking at Steve with an unknown emotion, Mike moved his eyes to look at his empty glass and starred for a moment. Sighing in exasperation, he pushed the glass back to Steve and nodded to him. "For the same reason, we even know each other, Harrington. For the same reason, I hung out with Hargrove. For all the same reason I did anything in Hawkins. Because I couldn't stand this place, Steve. When I look around, all I saw was how alone I am. Yeah, I've got my buds and my family, but it's still not right, man. Even now, I feel out of place. Like I'm not in my body".
Like she's still here. Like I should still be looking for her.
Steve shook his head once again and went back to cleaning the glass he was cleaning before Mike had come inside. Refilling Mike's glass, Steve went back to cleaning the bar here and there - this continuing for several rounds of beers and small talk for the two men to catch up with one another.
After an hour more of this, Mike gave Steve his new phone number and promised him that 'they'd hang out soon' and promising he was fine to drive due to his 'iron stomach', Mike stumbled to his car with no eyes to witness. Throwing himself ungracefully into his car's driver seat, he started up his engine and continued to swerve into the driving lane.
Trying to keep a steady wheel but not being able to be fully focused due to his physical state, Mike began to swerve in the road; entering and exiting the opposite driving lane for oncoming traffic. With tired eyes, Mike's vision started to blur and he felt himself drifting off while he was still in town - getting lost due to new streets and road signs; confused as to where his family home was.
Mike was jostled from his current state when blue and red lights entered his vision and the sound of sirens blared into his eardrums. Pulling over as steadily as he could, Mike cursed as he put his car into park and slammed his hands into his steering wheel out of frustration.
With his heart thumping in his chest, he was directed to look to his left at the knocking on his window with a flashlight shining into his car. Mumbling curse words to himself in half-annoyance, half-pain due to the bright light, he rolled his window down and peered at the officer that pulled him over.
Or to be more accurate, the Cheif that pulled him over. None other that Cheif Hopper had pulled him over, and Mike's own shock was mirrored by Hopper.
Clearing his throat, Mike put on his most believable poker face and nodded to the Cheif. "Why, hello, Hopper. How are you?" Mike said with the least amount of slurring that he could conjure.
Grunting at his poor excuse for hiding his alcohol-ridden influence, Hopper yanked open Mike's car door and didn't even bother with his Miranda Right's. Shacking Mike into handcuffs, Hopper dragged Mike out of his vehicle and shoved him into his police car with some effort due to his limpness caused by being wasted.
"You know, Wheeler. I wasn't expecting to pull you over tonight. Nor was I expecting you to ever become this stupid. Fucking hell, you've really let yourself go. The high school you was smarter than this. Fucking hell, you're somehow lighter than you use to be."
Trying to talk was useless since at this point, all Mike could muster was grunts and groans; slowly slipping into a slumber that he couldn't fight off anymore.
-
this idea came to me today and i decided i mind as well write it. hope you enjoyed this somewhat. reblog and all of that stuff for an update, if y'all want one.
 damn-aesthetic
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makemydayvn · 7 years ago
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#kindness #collection What's your story of the kindness of strangers? ================================== #1728 "I'm in 11th Grade and a girl. My History teacher is a very beautiful lady and loved by many students. Unfortunately she doesn't teach my class. So I asked to be in her academic selected team *actually I don't really like history huhu* So I got to spend more time with her and hang out several times too :3 Lately I have lots of exams to prepare for so I've been given permission to take extra classes off and don't see her much anymore. Today, on my way to the schoolyard during break time, I passed through the office and saw her looking at me. But I didn't get to say hello as my friends kept pushing forward. As I took a few steps pass the office, she ran out to me from the room, shouting my name !!!! I turned around around to see her opening her arms saying "Let me gimme a hug! I haven't seen you for so long I miss you!"~ I turned really red, and ran to hug her without thinking. I didn't care how everyone was looking at me, I only knew I was very happy, I have never been so happy." #1729 "So I went on a long trip with my bestie that day, but we only realized we forgot our cameras once we got to the place. Our phones were broken and couldn't take photos either, so she insisted on going back home to fetch the cameras. We got home, took our stuff, and our bikes ran out of gas so we visited a gas station near my place. I remembered that I had 50k with me, refilling her bike took 30k so I should only have 20k, yet for some reason when the staff lady asked me how much I wanted to refill, I said "50k". Naturally I was 30k short. I was so embarrassed and was telling her to wait for me to get more money from home, when someone suddenly said "here, take this". I turned around and saw a guy, probably a student, handing me some money. I was so shocked - I just took it and thanked him. He then turned his bike around and just sped away, while I was left dumbfounded. I even turned to my friend, after having paid and everything, "Who was that??? Why was he so nice?" She smiled and said she thought he knew me. That made my whole day. There really are still kind people in this world. I was so shocked I didn't get a good look at him then, I wonder if I'll ever meet him again to return the favour." #1730 I sneaked off to Ho Chi Minh city for a FC meeting last year. The money I put away in my backpocket got dropped somewhere, and my phone was out of battery. So I was wandering around at an intersection, worried, flustered, not knowing what to do, when a man, who probably just got off work, stopped by and asked if I needed a ride. His bike was quite old, his bag worn out. My mind was already a mess, and I was so scared, my face was probably showing all sorts of emotions. I eventually got on his bike after he persuaded me some more, since I honestly didn't have enough time for a ticket back to Vung Tau anyway. He talked to me on the way and gave me a ride to the station, and even got me a ticket home. He even gave me an extra 100k to spend on the way (I refused but he kept insisting). When I got on, he waved goodbye and even cried, like I was his family. I cried too, for some reason. It still warms my heart to think of it now. This world still has lots of kindness to it. #1731 "I have just been to Saigon for a few days, I have so many things to deal with, from getting a flat to getting a job. When I applied for a job in Long An Province, near Route 50, I could barely find a bus to get home in the middle of the countryside. Out of nowhere came an old dark man with thick eyebrows. He rode a Honda toward me and said: “Come on, I will get you home”. Dunno what I was thinking, but I jumped on without hesitation. After a while though, I got scared and thought “How can I live now if I lost a kidney to him after this ride
” so I begged him to stop and drop me off. He scolded me “I saw you applying for a job in that factory so I decide to give you a ride home. I won’t ask for money, my wife takes good care of me already” The old man gave me a ride all the way from Can Giuoc to Fifth District, enough for a lot of chatting between us. I wanted to thank him with some money and a cigarette pack but he refused. Oh Saigon, you melt my heart." #1732 Today I and my grandma visited Uncle Ho’s Mausoleum. Since grandma is old, there was a guard accompanying us. At first, my grandma asked him and got to know he is from Hung Yen. While talking with my grandma, he used a lot of body gestures and I started to think “wow, how can a guard look so much like a child, just so carefree”. When we came to the stairs to go up, I turned back to take my grandma’s hand to help her but instead, I saw the guard already did. Now his actions made me think he was so cute. Later, on the way out, there was someone riding a motorbike on the pavement and while I was finding a way to avoid it, he suddenly dragged me inside. Dear Mr. guard, I was going to say thank you but I missed the chance when you left so quick. If by any chance you read this message, please comment so I could know where to send my gratitude. #1733 It was a terrible day for me, as if it couldn't get any worse! When in Vietnam, I could have called my bestie and ran to her so we could eat some duck eggs to get rid of bad luck. Now I am now halfway across the earth from her, I have to deal with it by myself on days like this. After a football match that evening, I got sad and lonely seeing people going home together with laughter, while I was there by myself, waiting for my host to pick up, when it was 4 degrees outside. I have been waiting for my host for almost an hour, was on the verge of tears when this car pulled over. A man inside shouted out “Hey! Do you need a ride?”, he only left once he knew for sure that I had anybody to drive me home. It was so cold that I could not think straight - I only realized I was laughing like crazy after he had left fot a while. All the sad things in the evening were all gone somehow. #1734 That day I went to get some banh mi for breakfast, and the store was super crowded. Just when I thought I'd be late for class, a lady called out to the store owner: "Make one for this kid first please, needa get to school"; the others in line also stepped aside for me. The best banh mi I've ever had ^^. #1735 "At the end of the year Sai Gon was so crowded. People kept honking. Cars kept taking over motorcycle lanes. Usually it takes me 20 minutes but yesterday it took me an hour to get home with countless times having my bike's tail bumped, being yelled at for suddenly stopping at red lights, being cut.. god it was so tiring. Then in the evening when I was going to buy Hue beef noodle soup and struggling to back my bike because it was heavy, all of a sudden my bike felt so light and I could pull it out easily. I turned around to see an uncle with a big belly helping me - he must have just got back from exercising since he was wearing sport clothes. He looked at me then smiled and left. I don't know if he even heard my thank you. There, one doesn't need to have six packs to be a hero :)) During one's most tiring hour, a kind little gesture is enough to save one's soul, my friends :)" #1736 "That afternoon, I got to Math class and realized I forgot my notebook at home - I even did my homework in it. Afraid that the teacher would check our work I hurriedly asked my class president to excuse me while I went home to get it. While running down I saw the teacher walking up with other teachers. I came up and told her what happened, she suddenly said: "áș„here is your house? DonÂŽt go then, the streets are dangerous, what if something happens to you?" I didnÂŽt agree because I had already done my homework in there TvT I told her my house was nearby, and I had my homework in the notebook. But she insisted that I not go, told me to just write the work on another note then hurried me to class :š>" #1737 "I usually visit a Ministop near my school to buy breakfast. Because my weekly allowance is only 100K, sometimes I'd only buy a can of coffee if thereÂŽs a Math class or a 10K rice ball on a normal day. That day, the beautiful short-hair staff said to me while I was buying the 10K rice ball šWhy donÂŽt you buy more to eat, thatÂŽs not enough to fill your stomach. How can you focus on your studies without enough nutrition?" when she said so I really wanted to buy more too but I only had 1K left for the parking ticket." #1738 He and I both work at a cafe. I'm a new employee and have only started here a few weeks ago, while he has worked here for a year. There was once I worked at night shift and hadn't eaten anything for a whole day. I was really tired but my shift was almost done so I tried to finished everything. Suddenly he came from the bar, placed a cup of hot chocolate in front of me and said: "Drink it, otherwise you would have hypo-tension". Then he just stood there to watch while I drank all the hot chocolate, then he took the cup to get more for me. Aaaaaaa my face felt hot, it was so embarrassing!! After that day I suddenly have this passionate love for hot chocolate, may be it is because I like the one who gave me the drink? #Submit https://goo.gl/forms/AseDSsrHPRAXiKnz1 #Tumblr http://makes-my-day.tumblr.com/ #Support https://www.patreon.com/makemyday
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settle-down-frohike · 8 years ago
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OHOHOH! Can you please do the “Welcome to fatherhood.” prompt?
For the promp #37. “Welcome to Fatherhood”, and inspired as well by this lovely gifset courtesy of @wholeperson
Sorry I’m just now getting to this, anon. I try I really do, but I’m slow. 
Also I’m southern, and the linguistics are too. Apologies in advance. 
Paternitas
 Gordon County Hospital, GA
9:23 pm
 I lean against the wall of the break room, trying to center my thoughts and calm my breathing. 15 years as an L&D nurse and cases like that one never ceaseto shake me up. I need a cigarette. My heart is beating out of my chest and myhands are still shaking. It’s just adrenaline, I know.  I haven’t eaten since before I left home and my sugar is in the toilet. {I need food, not acigarette}, I think as I absent-mindedly rub the patch on my upper arm. {For the kids.} I’m doing this for the kids.  
 A debbie cake and a bottled water later, I pad down the hall to check on my patient.She’s out of surgery now, and it went well. God, just one tiny sliver ofplacenta can wreak so much havoc.  So much blood
. I wonder what in thehell happened to bring her in in such a state. A home birth gone wrong, maybe?No. She wasn’t even dressed in a nightgown. I guess it isn’t important now. Herpoor husband looked about as frightened as I’d ever seen. I think I heard theyarrived by chopper?? Not medevac, though.  Important folks, apparently.  They looked like they’d bothjust come from work, truth be told.  This patient assessment is going to be interesting.  
 When I get to the room the husband (? No ring I see) has exchanged his blood-saturated suit for a set of standard issue ‘dad scrubs’, and is sitting by her bed, studying mom’s face intently. He strokes a lock of hair from her face, leaning in and murmuring something unintelligible. He sits back down in the guest recliner, still holding her hand as he brings it to his lips for the mosttender of kisses– once, twice. The gaze on her face is not broken. I wonder if he even blinks.
 He’s cute. Very. I shake my head at my inappropriate thought and proceed to the bedside with her chart in hand and a load of questions to ask, feeling contrite.
 Flipping back through my notes at the nurse’s station I kick off my crocs and hear mytoes crack. I’m only 40.. just, in fact, but tonight I’m feeling everyone ofthose years.  FBI
.Huh. And his name isFox? Suits him
 {Jesus, Susan. Get a grip.} This one’s clearly taken, old girl. What’s gotten into you? I need sleep, that’s it. I’m getting punch drunk already. This usually doesn’t happen til the end of my shift

*Clearly* taken.
He never let go of her hand throughout any of the inquiries. He stroked her thumbcontinually with his, startling and glancing her way from time to time as ifhoping she’d stir, maybe thinking she had. I’ve seen my share of jittery new dads– but this one seems, I don’t know, for lack of a better word
.. spooked.  Lost. Thrust into a foreign universe and flailing. It’s clear who is his anchor here.
When I asked if he was the father (he’s listed as such on the chart, but I’mrequired to ask for my notes) his eyes went wide and expressionless, and helooked at her again, as if waiting for an answer.  “Yes, yes” , he repeated,nodding, testing the words and lookingto her. I wrapped up my initial assessment, vitals strong, although her BP could come up a bit, capillary refill: good.  Bowel sounds present. No distension. No hint of fever or infection. All good signs. She could be out as early as a couple of days. Dad sits quietly close by, giving me space to work but not much more thanthat. His knee bounces with anxiety.
I finish quietly, wash and unfasten from my clipboard the standard pamphlets andliterature: birth certificate form, social security, “Getting to Know Your Baby”, “Welcome to Fatherhood”, “Mommy and Me: An Introduction to Breast Feeding”.  I hand them overwith a small smile and he glances down non-committedly before placing them onthe bedside table. He scoots the chair back close to her side and again strokesthe same wayward lock of hair from her closed eyelids, and again, kisses her hand.  The tender expression of adoration convoluted with worry is so profound and unabashed that I find myself staring, my face growing hot, but I thankfully recover quickly and begin to go over hercondition, letting him know what to expect when she wakes
 she’s a fallrisk
she’ll need help to the restroom
.call a nurse if you need one
he nods,nods.  I hope that at least some information will give him his bearings, a comfort perhaps, but I get the sense it has no effect at all. He hears me but I get the sense he’s just waiting on her.His eyes plead with her to wake, to tell him what to do. Apparently she’s an M.D., so she should pretty well know her way around things, at least until they bring the baby in.
Parenthood is tricky. No one really ever knows it all.  I think back to the birth of my first daughter. The elation, the fear, the absolutely necessity to have her at my side immediately and at all times.
He hasn’t yet asked to see his son.
Once they wheeled her in for the d&c he took off like a shot to the nursery,shouting questions of where and why over the child but I sense it was more for her knowledge than his need. He was a sentinel,utterly at her service, unconscious as she was, but he was also her proxy in every sense of the word.
He hasn’t been back there since, though.
Baby from what I hear is fine; APGAR was a 9, nuero: solid. Good thing, too. Had hiscondition deteriorated we would have had to transport him to a bigger facilitywith a NICU. Somehow I sense that separating these 3 would prove problematic. Thankfullythe nurses have been able to tending to the boy here with no trouble. Her milk is starting to come in though, and if she doesn’t wake soon I’ll need to requisition a pump.
2:30 am
 Time for vitals again. They’ve wheeled the baby in I see. And now there’s a man outside their room. A broad guy, balding and with glasses, looking stern but exhausted as well. I’m assuming a friend but he looks and acts like a bodyguard. He gives me a polite nod, but a suspicious once over as I enter the room. Dad is still at his station. Wide-awake. He should sleep, if he knows what’s good for him. Real life is about to hit and newborn induced sleep deprivation is entirely another animal.
 But, God, the way he looks at her. Utterly besotted. The intensity of his love  is all around him, a thrumming, golden aura, even as his body has begun to sway lightly in exhaustion.
 I hate to disturb them but her BP is still a bit low for my liking. We’ll need tocontinue pushing fluids. 
 "Hi there. Me again,” I smile apologetically. “Baby boy has joined y’all, I see?“ 
 "Yea, I uh, I wanted him to be here when she woke up.“ 
 I don’t comment that she may very well be out for the next 12 hours or so.
 "Well, the nurses fed him I’m sure, so you should have a few peaceful hours. Theymostly just sleep and eat at this stage. And poop.” I chuckle, but thejoke falls flat. 
 I need to make sure the baby’s nurse comes back for a diaper check. This guyisn’t ready.  I note the various monitors and change her bag. 
 "Would you like to hold him?“ That gets him to look right at me, with an unidentifiable expression.  He looks overat the bassinet, back to me and his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He’s blinking furiously.  Bless. Indecisionand panic are clear as day in his eyes. But something else, too. He looks
guilty. It’s the strangest thing. I can sense that he wants to hold the baby but can’t bring himself to.
 He lowers his chin to his chest, pauses and swallows. “Um
no
 I
 I don’t wantto wake him."  All of my maternal inclinations are screaming at me to hug this poor boy, who isn’t a boy at all. I tamp down the urge, and decide instead to turn my attention to the baby.
 I lean over the to take a glance. They’ve got the room fairly warm so he’s loosely swaddled in addition to a hospital issued t-shirt and diaper. His arms curled above his head, snoozing away. He smells of clean laundry and lavender baby shampoo. Just a dusting of strawberry blonde hair, long lashes of the same shade. He’s got his daddy’s chin. I watch his lips and cheeks mimicking the suckling reflex. Oh heavens. I do miss this. "You won’t, don’t worry. Babies love to be held.  He might even sleep sounder that way.
Again he swallows. I won’t push.  
 "Y’all have a name picked out?“ I want to make friendly conversation, because Ifeel like this guy could use a friend, but mostly I want to leave. I feel awkward and oddly intrusive. Something about his room feels sacred in a way I haven’t encountered before.  And I’m trespassing.
 He blinks. As if the idea just occurred to him. "Um, no. No not yet.”
 "Well, never mind that. No hurry. He’s just precious,” I hug my clipboard to my chestand flash a nurturing southern grin, “Congratulations.“ Lord what a drawl.My accent really does get worse at night, especially deep into a shift. But I domean that, wholeheartedly.
 His eyes flit over to the baby, who’s begun to stir and whimper and then he glances up atme, alarmed. I walk over and place my hand on the tiny human’s rapidly rising and falling belly, and place a firm but gentlepressure there. I lightly jiggle and ‘shhhh
’ softly. He settles instantly andresumes his slumber.
I feel dad’s eyes on me. Yes, he loves this baby. His paternal, protective instincts are unmistakable .  And yet he holds back.  I smile over at him again, reassuringly. “See? Nothing to it, “ with a wink. No need for any hardcore parenting truths right now.
 As I gather my things and wish him a good night, tell him I’ll be back in a coupleof hours to recheck her vitals but I’ll try not to wake them, in case he wantsto rest his eyes for a while.  Somethingtells me he won’t.
He thanks me routinely and I turn to walk out. At the threshold of the door I hearthe plastic of the chair crack and I turn around, wondering if he needs anything.  His attention isn’t on me, but the baby, walking over to the clear bassinet and peering over. He hasn’t touched him yet, only gazes down at the newborn. Earnest curiosity quickly blooms into boundless wonder, and finally, an expression of such heartbreaking devotion that I feel my eyes begin to burn and a lump lodges behind my throat. I freeze. He gently mimics,exactly, his movements from earlier. He strokes the baby’s face, no hair to move but along side his cherubic cheek just the same. Then places a finger in the baby’s palm, which instinctually grips his father’s outstretched digit. He leans close, so carefully close, and places an impossibly soft kiss on the tiny hand, lips trembling.
Â ïżœïżœïżœHi.”He mouths.
His face begins to crumple slightly and he gathers his entire bottom lip in histeeth, desperately trying to contain what’s so obviously a flood of emotion.
Feeling truly instrusive now, I make my exit asquietly as I can and scurry down the hallway.
 The whys and how’s of their appearance at this lonely small town facility are inconsequential, really. They are just parents now. New parents. With vast, phenomenal, uncharted waters lying ahead of them. And yet, something tells methey are well equipped for such territory. Call it experience, call it optimism, call it hope, call it what you will.
{Good luck you two}, I think, walkingtoward my station and yearning for my shift to end so as to return to my owntwo sleeping babies at home. 
Fin
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grifalinas · 8 years ago
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Forgot what I was looking for so I gave up, but I did find this thing that I had apparently started writing at some point and never got any farther on.
I wonder what I was writing...
-./-
Winter in Silvermallow was Saun's favorite time of year. With Prince Darius Richard off at the capital with his father, the estate was devoid of all but the bare minimum of servants required for upkeep. His mornings were spent tending Prince Darius's beloved horses, but his afternoons were free to do whatever he wished.
Often he would venture into the village, to the Sleeping Bear tavern. Though Silvermallow had little to offer in its own right, its strategic placement, roughly a day's walk on either side between two large cities, made it a high-traffic area for travelers. Bards, minstrels, harpers, and other performers had long used the Sleeping Bear as a venue and it could always be counted on to be packed with eager patrons seeking rest, food, and entertainment. Even as he approached, Saun could hear the steady hum of conversation as the current inhabitants enjoyed an early supper. A lute was playing in the background, but the real performance wouldn't start until after the mealtime died down a bit. In the tavern, Saun sat at a table to one side of the large dining room, preferring to stay out of the proceedings for the moment. He hailed Finaldra, the pretty barmaid, to bring him a plate, and settled back to wait. Only a few minutes went by before Finaldra arrived with his food, giving him a wink as she swished away. He ate in silence, watching his fellow diners with his usual keen eye, looking to see if there was anyone interesting. The crowd seemed the usual fare of deliverymen and merchants, the only ones who would make the two-day journey between the cities in the dead of winter, as well as locals, looking for a bit of entertainment at the end of their day, and performers, who often took up residence in the tavern over the coldest time of year. As he looked on, Finaldra had a whispered argument with a red-headed man in the corner. She was trying to keep the argument silent, but Saun was able to pick up the occasional bit here and there- it seemed the stranger had insulted her somehow, though he couldn't catch how. The stranger said something in an attempt to calm her, and Finaldra threw down the tray she was carrying and grabbed his mug, throwing his ale all over him before storming off. Saun laughed and shook his head. The man was clearly new to the Sleeping Bear; anyone else knew not to annoy Finaldra, who ran her father's tavern with an iron fist. With a last laugh, he called for a refill of his own drink- from Sanui, Finaldra's sister; he wasn't fool enough to tease Finaldra just yet- and leaned back in his chair to watch the lute-player, who had begun to play in earnest. The blizzard struck quite unexpectedly an hour later. Those who lived in the nearby houses hurried off to make it home before the snow became too blinding, leaving in groups and groping along the buildings to avoid getting lost in the storm. There was a rush for rooms among those whose homes were too far away to walk; Saun was one of the last to sign on and would be staying in a top floor room in one of the far wings, sharing his room with a huntsman he vaguely knew as Jyris. The festivities and playing continued well into the night, as most of the patrons were unwilling to retreat to the cold rooms they'd be staying in and opted to remain in the dining room, where the large fireplace and the gathering of bodies provided warmth and comfort from the howling winds outside. However, all good things must end, and eventually only a small group remained in the dining room, listening to the same musician of before strum his lute quietly, weaving soft melodies into the sleepy atmosphere. Saun had stood and was getting ready to go up to bed when he was stopped by an old woman grabbing his arm. He tried to wrench out of her grasp, but her fingers were surprisingly strong, and she merely tightened her vice-like grip. "What do you want?" Saun demanded. The woman wagged her thin, bony finger in his face and grinned at him. "I have a message for you," she said. "A message? Who from?" "From beyond," she crowed. "The voices, they send me messages for people. They send one for you now!" Saun rolled his eyes. She was one of those, then. Bad weather always seemed to draw them out. "You want the message?" There was only one way to deal with her sort. Just hear what she had to say and then leave. He nodded. "All right then. Let's here what you- that is, the voices- have to say to me." "A conversation shall occur near a river when the first flowers bloom. A reversal of fortune will not occur or she will decide with the confused gambler in the spring. The charming stableboy shall not kick with the mysterious unicorn. The cobalt hummingbird shall famish after the first thaw." When she'd finished her odd spiel, she stood back and beamed proudly at him. Saun gaped. It was nothing more than a string of words, loosely connected and making no sense whatsoever. He also had no idea how it applied to him; yes, he was a charming stableboy, but what was all that about the unicorn, and the cobalt hummingbird? He shook his head, and pulled away from the woman, who had already loosened her grip and was muttering to herself, no longer interested in him. He headed upstairs to his room, confused and annoyed and very tired to boot. (o/o/o) Jyris was already in the room when Saun arrived. He was standing by the window with his back to the door; at Saun's entrance, he glanced around and only granted Saun a nod of greeting before resuming his intent staring. Saun joined him the two watched the snowfall in silence. It had gotten heavier in the last hour, and showed no signs of letting up before morning, which meant Saun would be stuck for at least part of tomorrow, if not longer. "We should get some sleep," Jyris said finally. "If the storm has ended by morning, the villagers will need all the help they can get in clearing the roads." Saun agreed, and with one final glance at the swirling snow falling against the window pane, the two men began preparing for bed. (o/o/o) Several floors below, a figure on a horse rode slowly into the courtyard. She was small, made smaller by hunching as low on her horse as possible. She was muttering to herself as she guided her horse forward, knowledge of shelter being the only thing pushing either of them onward. As they fought through the storm, she muttered to herself angrily. "Oh, you've really made a mess of things this time, Jidi," she said. "Why don't you ever think things through before you do them? Honestly! Just cause you're the Queen of Storms or whatever they call you these days doesn't mean you can get through a blizzard no problem. Next time get where you're going and then call up the blizzard. A-ha! Here we are, then, Baraya!" They had arrived at the stable. She guided Baraya to an empty stall and settled her in, then made her way as quietly as possible to the far end of the stables, where there was an entrance to the main building. (o/o/o) Once in the corridor, Jidi took a pinch of glowing golden dust from her pocket and tossed it into the air with a mutter. It hovered in midair for a moment before forming an arrow pointing her in the direction she needed to go. The inn was silent and cold in the corridors. She could hear the soft breathing of sleeping patrons from the rooms as she passed by them, the occasional murmur of voices from those not quite asleep. At the stairs, she once again cast the golden dust, and headed up as the arrow directed. The room she finally arrived at was at the end of the corridor on the top floor. She listened at the door for any sign the occupants were awake; there was none. She pushed it open slowly and slipped inside. The two men slept soundly, but she threw some of her dust over them just to be sure. The dark-haired one snorted and rolled over, throwing his arm haphazardly over his bedmate; Jidi held her breath, but he didn't wake. She let the breath out slowly and got to work. "Okay, boys," she said quietly, "I'm really sorry to do this to you, but it's important, okay? The fate of the entire kingdom of Asum depends on you finding this amulet. But don't worry, okay? You won't be completely unprepared. For you, Jyris, my good hunter, a bow which will allow you to see through illusions. And for you, Saun, charming stableboy, a pair of vambraces that will allow you to talk to animals. Use them well, boys. I went through a lot of trouble to get them." She pulled aside her cloak and took out the crossbow and vambraces she'd mentioned, laying them on either side of the sleeping men. She took out more of her magic dust and held up a handful of it. "May the gods be with you," she said quietly, and blew the dust over them. The dust settled on them, and for a moment it seemed as though it hadn't worked. After a moment, though, the dust began to glow, and a wind picked up, swirling it around them. Seconds later, the bed sat bare and empty, only two indents in the sheet any indication that they had been used at all.
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hanasaku-shijin · 8 years ago
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When Morning Comes
A/N: From here on out, you'll find out how Izetta and Finé will be living their lives now that Izetta no longer possess any magical abilities.
Sorry for the wait! I finished it several weeks ago but forgot I never finished posting it....
Previously: || The Things She Gives You || Come What May || The Light At Her Side || Half Her Strength || A Place Of Refuge || From Dawn To Dusk || Whatever It Takes || The Greatest Magic || Your Name And Hers || 
Read on FFnet!
|| Patreon || Commission info ||
--------
When Morning Comes
The second you are conscious, you can tell right away that something isn't right.
But it's not an immediate or crushing sort of panic.
Finé lies beside you, breathing softly, still wrapped in the combers of sleep. She is all right, so already, the sense of dread is cut in half.
When you inhale, you can't feel any congestion or pain, so you know you aren't sick again. There are no loud, uninvited noises, no explosions from outside, no yelling - nothing of the sort.
It takes you a long moment to realize exactly what's wrong.
Rather than noisy and active, the world actually seems... a little less lively. Or a lot less, when you really think about it.
Because the magic is gone.
You can't feel it anymore – not even an ounce of it. The ley lines that once pulsed with subtle magical energies are now stagnant and can never be refilled.
You've never realized it until now, but you'd always been able to sense that energy, even when your powers weren't activated. There'd always been something there beneath the ground, like the veins of the earth radiating with life force.
But now it's gone.
That isn't to say the planet is dying, it's just... dishearteningly less magical.
And you knew this would happen. You'd known from over a month ago, when you'd started tearing the ley lines up from the ground and using them as your weapons, pouring out every last drop of magical energy that was left. All except for the bit that had allowed your final flight with her last night.
You'd felt it yourself, watched it yourself, as that final glow of green dust had faded. You just hadn't... actually expected it to be true.
But now, there is no mistake. The magic is gone, and it isn't ever coming back.
Perhaps, that is for the best.
And yet... it feels like a part of you has died. Something that's always been there for as long as you've been alive. Something that's always surged with life and energy. Something that's protected you and the people you love.
It's all gone.
So you don't even make an effort to prevent or stop the tears this time.
They aren't heavy or bitter tears, and they don't call for loud sobs and wailing. You weep softly into your pillow now. The ache that fills you is akin to feeling as though you've lost something that was never really yours to remember.
Softly, quietly, you tremble beneath the blankets.
And of course, it's only seconds before Finé is stirring, turning herself over to face you, her eyes already open and full of worry.
"Izetta?"
Right away, before she can ask, you shake your head.
"Finé... the magic... it's gone..."
And that's all that needs to be said. She understands.
So she opens her arms, and you drag yourself into them, burying your face into the side of her neck as she caresses your hair, hushing you gently.
"I'm sorry..." she whispers, as though it's her fault. "I'm sorry, Izetta..."
You shake your head, sniffle, and cling more tightly to her nightgown.
It's a quiet, fragile morning as she helps wipe your tears away, kissing the warm trails they've left behind on your cheeks.
By the time Lotte knocks on the door, it's hardly discernible that you'd been upset at all.
Together, Finé and Lotte help you into your wheelchair. Once you've been changed into finer clothes, you're brought down the hall for breakfast.
And as soon as you see all of their smiling faces, and hear their familiar voices, you forget all about the absence of your magics.
------------
The next several days and nights pass by much the same as the ones before them have.
When Finé is called away to attend work and business, Lotte steps up and takes on her roll as your official caretaker.
She brings you around the courtyard gardens, letting you enjoy the warmth of the sunlight and the scents and sights of the flowers. Much of the property had been damaged in the war, but over the weeks since you've woken, you've been able to watch things repair themselves bit by bit. The charred grasses and bushes are coming back to life, the little buds and bulbs are beginning to pop up once again.
But today, Lotte has a surprise for you. She stops rolling your wheelchair beside a bushel of plants that are just beginning to regrow.
"Izetta-san!" she chirps. "Would you mind waiting here for just a moment? I've got to go and fetch some things."
You're curious as to what exactly she could need to bring all the way out here. Lotte isn't a forgetful girl, so you can assume she'd been planning to do this all along. So you smile and nod.
"Of course."
With that, she dips her head and scurries off across the grass.
This is the first time you've been left alone outside since the war has ended. You lean back, tilt your face to the sky, and close your eyes.
You can no longer feel the tickle of magical energy flowing around you, nor the flow of it beneath the earth any longer.
But you can feel something else.
There is a different kind of energy.
It's much more natural, much more subtle, but it's there.
It is the energy of growing things, the energy of life itself.
You can feel the plants as they struggle to push their way up from beneath the soil, feel the tiny seeds as they stretch their roots far below the surface.
Everything is in motion, everything is alive.
Feeling as much brings you comfort and relief.
You savor these feelings for a few minutes until Lotte's footsteps bring you to open your eyes once again. She's carrying a bag full of supplies, and when she stops next to you and opens it, the contents are revealed.
Little garden shovels, gloves, bags of seeds and all other tools.
Your eyes widen just a little, and the smile is forming on your lips just as she makes her declaration.
"Izetta-san, how would you like to help me do some gardening today?"
A wave of joy and nostalgia rises up in your chest.
"Yes! I would love to!"
After weeks of being bedridden, and constant professional confirmation that you'll likely be an invalid for the rest of your life, this is exactly what you've needed.
A purpose, a job, something to do. Now you can feel useful again.
Carefully, Lotte helps you out of your chair and onto your knees in the grass. She ties an apron around your back to prevent your clothes from getting too dirty, then hands you a pair of gloves.
You spend several hours of the afternoon sewing new seeds into the gardens. You always feel bad to cut away or dig up the dead plants, but the satisfaction of planting new ones that have a much better chance of flourishing is twice as high.
By the time you've both finished, a good section of one of the gardens has been redone, the soil smoothed out and concealing lively new seeds just inches below.
When your stomach starts to rumble, Lotte helps you back into your chair and cleans everything up, then rolls you back inside. After a bath, you're dressed in your nightgown and brought to supper, where Finé is just arriving as well. A smile lights up on her face instantly as she makes her way to you and sits beside you for the meal.
Rather than talk about the business she's been dealing with, she wants to hear about your day.
And for once, you're more than eager to tell her about it.
She's enraptured by the idea of your gardening with Lotte, and you can tell she's relieved that you aren't feeling upset over having nothing useful to do around here.
But there is a slight anomaly about her demeanor, something even you can't place right away. She seems almost nervous somehow, but it's so fleeting you can't really be certain it's there at all.
You mean to ask her about it later before bed, but by the time she enters the room and lays down beside you, you're already half asleep. You can't be bothered with anything more than pulling her into your arms and pressing close, and it's clear there's nothing else she'd rather be doing, either.
You kiss goodnight, and sleep comes more quickly than usual.
-------------
The next few days are much the same.
When the sun is out, Lotte takes you to the gardens to plant. When it rains, you spend most of your time in the library reading books, or in the office once again appreciating all of the gifts the people have sent you.
It is on a rainy day like this when a knock comes on the office door, and to your surprise, Finé steps in. You turn your chair around to face her as soon as you can.
"Princess!"
You still tend to call her by title when other people are around. She smiles back and makes her way over.
"I thought I might find you here. Do you think you could come with me for a while, Izetta? I'm finished with my work for today, and there's something I want to show you."
"Again?" You look around the room at all the flowers and letters. "More from the citizens?" you guess.
But she shakes her head.
"No. This is something very different. Something you'll know right away when you see it."
There's a hint of excitement in her tone and a sparkle in her eyes. It rubs off on you and makes you eager to see what she wants to show you.
"Then yes. I'm not doing anything in particular for the rest of the day."
"Excellent." She walks behind you to grab the handles of your chair, then calls over to Lotte. "Lotte, you're relieved of your duties for today. I'll be staying with her."
"Yes, ma'am!"
With that, Finé begins to push you across the room, then out the doors Lotte holds open for you. As she brings you down the hallways, you try to relax, despite your excitement.
"Finé?" Now that you're alone, it feels much easier to call her by name. "Can you tell me what it is?"
"Hmmm..." She contemplates with that charming little hum of hers. "Nope! You'll just have to wait and see!"
"Okay..." You pout playfully, and she reaches over to pat your head.
She brings you to a door you recognize as Bianca's office. She knocks, and seconds later, Bianca opens the door.
"Please come in."
Finé wheels you inside and stands next to you. Though you haven't the slightest clue as to what's happening, Bianca seems to know. She dips her head respectfully and excuses herself from the room before you can say a word. Tilting your head back, you seek lilac eyes.
"Finé... What's going on?"
"It's just like I'd said," she explains. "I've got something to show you. Well... perhaps now I should say someone." She crosses the room, and your eyes follow her to another door.
"Someone?" you parrot. "A person is here to see me?"
"Mmmm not exactly." She turns back, winks, and then opens the door before her.
You can't see much of what's inside, but it looks very simple. There's only a small couch and a few chairs, but there are plenty of blankets and rugs on the carpet.
Before you can ask more questions, Finé steps inside and out of sight for a moment. You can only hear her now, her voice soft and gentle as she murmurs inaudibly to the supposed occupant of the room.
You can't possibly imagine who's inside. The room is exceedingly humble, considering it's part of the royal palace, and there's no reason as to why Finé might keep any guest waiting in such a room.
Eagerly, you lean forward in your chair, trying to catch a glimpse. You can just see the back of her dress and discern she's kneeling. A few seconds later, she stands once again.
"There we go. I know Izetta will be thrilled to see you, too."
At last, she turns back and approaches you once again, and the mystery is revealed in her arms.
Your jaw drops while at the same time your lips rise up into a huge smile, your eyes going wide as an excited little beat passes through your heart.
A small, chubby, brown-and-white dog sits in her arms, also smiling with her tongue lolling out. Finé walks back over to you, cradling the dog before kissing the top of her head.
You're speechless for a long moment as Finé kneels down in front of you now, cuddling the little old dog just as her name finds its way back into your memories.
"Dorotheé..."
The dog's ears perk up and she yips softly. Finé laughs.
"Yes, that's right! You remember her!"
"O-Of course I do! She was always with you..."
Naturally, you reach out your arms in a silent request to pet her. Finé leans forward and carefully transfers her into your lap. Another surge of joy rushes through you as the little dog sniffs your hands in turn before licking them.
"Dorotheé... I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"I can't believe it hasn't come up all this time," Finé says. "But there's just been so much else going on until now. That's Dorotheé's room." She nods back to the door in the wall. "We used to let her roam around the palace, but she's getting old, and she likes to sleep. Bianca or one of the maids always take her outside every day, but somehow, in all that's been going on, you two have just always missed each other."
By now, the corgi is rolling over in your lap, and you gently run your fingers over her soft belly.
"Wow... so all this time she's been alive... I'd always thought..." It seems wrong to say it now that you know it isn't true. But Finé catches your eye and nods in understanding.
"I know. But she's a tough old girl! Last month when the Germanians bombed the palace, everyone thought for sure she'd been killed. But after the war ended, and repairs were put into action, someone found her running around the perimeter of the property. She must've escaped somehow and was hiding out all this time until it was safe." She reaches out to scratch the old dog's ears. "I know it's been so long. But I thought you might like to see her. And it's clear she remembers you, too."
"Yes. She's a very smart girl. I'm glad she's all right."
For a moment, you both sit there and spoil the dog, rubbing her belly and scratching her ears as she tries to lick you both at the same time.
Finé soon stands and wheels you over to a nearby couch. You easily slip out of the wheelchair and settle on the cushions as she helps you get comfortable. Dorotheé turns over in your lap and is asleep in minutes.
Finé pulls you in by the shoulders and coaxes you to lean against her for a moment. You close your eyes and let out a sigh of content as your hands lazily stroke through Dorotheé's fur. You feel a kiss being pressed to your temple, then a breath against your ear.
"You know," Finé murmurs. "Dorotheé is getting old. Living in the palace is getting too hectic for her. There are always people moving about, important guests coming over, and there isn't much space for her here. It doesn't seem fair..."
"I'm sure she doesn't mind!" you assure her. "Dorotheé is just happy to be around you and the people who love her!"
"I suppose that's true."
You can't see her face, but you can hear a hint of sadness in her voice. Another moment of silence ensues. You hear her exhale again, and it's shaky. Briefly, you recall the nervous look you'd seen in her eyes before and can assume something is still bothering her. You straighten up a bit, pulling away from her so you might see her face.
"Finé... Is something the matter?"
You know her well enough to expect her to brush it off and deny it.
But whatever's troubling her now must be so burdensome she can't even manage to do that. She flashes you a guilt-ridden look, and it sends an immediate pang of worry through your chest.
"Izetta... Dorotheé isn't the only one at risk staying here."
You feel your shoulders slump; you'd thought it might be something like this.
Finé reaches out to take your hands in hers, tracing the pads of her thumbs over the backs of your knuckles.
"As I said... there will be people coming in and out much more frequently in the future. Eylstadt is going to be making many new trade partners and allies. And we just can't risk people seeing you. Do you know what would happen if they did?"
She leaves it open-ended for you, but your mind can easily fill in the blanks.
If people discovered you now, hiding away in the Archduchess' palace, confined to a wheelchair instead of soaring around using your magics to defend the country, they'd surely take an interest.
Like the Germanians, they'd want to run experiments, find a way to call back or reuse the magical energies you've lost, find out ways to breed more witches and create more weapons for battle.
You hate to think that some of the people of her country might be this way, but you know it's far too likely to be the case. When human beings encounter something they've never been exposed to before - something new and powerful and harboring great potential - their natural curiosity kicks in.
They want to learn about it. They want to use it. They want to exploit it.
They want to show other humans that they are the most powerful.
To some degree, it's a matter of self-preservation and protection.
But it very quickly and very easily becomes something much less understandable than that.
If anyone outside the palace sees you here, there'd surely be an uproar, not only in Eylstadt, but all across the planet. The world would want to know more about the descendant of the White Witch who had singlehandedly ended the war.
All in all, it wouldn't be a very pleasant future for you, for Finé, or for anyone else.
Once you've considered it, the clarity must begin to show on your face, because she soon continues in a quiet voice.
"People would be at our doorstep daily, demanding answers. In fact, it's sort of been this way ever since you ended the war. Until now, everyone has assumed you've been in recovery. We're keeping up the act that you're still in a coma. Only the palace workers and staff here know the truth.
"But the citizens are getting anxious, Izetta. It's a gamble to keep telling them you're unconscious. If you stay asleep forever in their minds, they might take it as a symbol of defeat, that their savior during times of war never woke up. It will cause grief and prove to be disheartening."
She pauses, takes in a breath, and looks down to the floor. "That's why... we've been coming up with something to tell them in order to keep them happy, and to keep you safe."
She stops again, and you know she's troubled simply by considering the idea, let alone saying it out loud. To help her find her conviction, you reach out to squeeze her hands this time.
"Finé. It's okay. Please tell me."
For a moment, she wavers, teetering on the borderline of uncertainty until she steels herself at last.
"We plan to tell the people... that you've finally woken. That you've seen their gifts, and appreciate their support and love with all your heart. We'll take a photo together, you and I, just to prove to everyone that you're really awake and well. That will revive their hope."
That word sinks into your heart. All this time, Finé has been your hope, from start to finish. You'd never really considered that you might've been the hope of the people of Eylstadt. It makes you smile, just a little bit, before she goes on.
"However, after we release the photo, we're also going to release a statement. From you. We plan to tell Eylstadt and the rest of the world that you don't feel it's right to remain here. That you've done what you'd intended to do. That you've served your purpose.
"But you don't want magic to have any influence on humankind any longer. Magic has already interfered far too much in our history than it ever should have, and you don't want to risk it happening again.
"So that's why... we'll tell them you've chosen to go away. Very far away. Somewhere... where magic won't be able to have an influence on human beings any longer. This way, the people still know you're alive. Their hope is still alive.
"But you won't be at such great risk. If they know you – as a witch – have gone into hiding, they won't bother to go through the effort of looking for you. The few who do will think you've gone off far away, and they'll never find you."
She takes another breath, and finally lifts her face. "They won't find you. Because you'll be staying here. On palace property. Just... not within the palace itself."
It's a lot for her to explain, and a lot for you to take it. Clearly, she's been thinking this plan through for a very long time now, and she's gone through such lengths as to fill in every possible crack.
Telling the people you've woken and appreciate their support will keep them happy. Showing them a new photograph of you will prove you're alive and well.
Declaring that you plan to go into hiding makes sense, coupled with the proclamation you don't want magic to interfere with human history any longer. The people won't know you've already lost your magics, that you can't even fly, that there are no magics left in this world. They won't be able to see you fly off; you'll simply disappear without ever being seen in person again.
But you'll still be alive to them, a fleeting mystery, a wondrous heroine.
It's all making sense to you.
All except one part.
You shift a little closer to her on the couch, careful not to rouse Dorotheé in the process. You move in until your shoulder brushes Finé's, allowing her to lean against you a little.
"Finé... That sounds like a very effective plan. I understand every aspect of it. And it really will keep me safe, and keep the people satisfied. But... about that last part... I won't be able to stay in the palace anymore...?"
Your voice is full more of confusion than of hurt or anything else. She doesn't lift her eyes to meet yours when she nods in response.
"Yes. I've discussed it with everyone, and we think it's for the best if you... don't stay here. As I told you before, there will be many people from neighboring countries visiting from now on, sometimes for days at a time. And we can't just lock you in a room somewhere like a prisoner. I refuse to have someone frantically hide you and lock you up every time an ambassador or representative comes here...
"There is a small house located on the property. It's been there for many years uninhabited, but it's still in pristine condition. It was built to be a safe house, mainly for myself if I ever needed to quietly go into hiding for a few days, but still stay near enough to the palace to be able to conduct business. But I think it's best if you were to go there now. I hope you understand, Izetta."
Her words make perfect sense. You wouldn't want to be paraded away and kept in a room for days on end until her visitors left.
Your presence in the palace would always provide a risk that someone might stumble upon you, when you were supposed to have left human civilization. Not only would it cause problems for you and for Finé, but likely for all of Eylstadt as well if the rest of the world found out the small country was keeping you secretly.
Retiring to a small, quiet house that's far enough away to keep you safe, yet close enough to keep you near her, sounds like the perfect solution.
And so you accept.
"Yes. I understand perfectly, Finé. This is what's best for everyone."
Softly, she gasps and lifts up her head, lilac eyes swirling with shock and grief.
"You... Izetta... a-are you sure? You... just like that, you agree to these terms?"
"Yes! If you think this is what's best for me and for everyone, then it must be! You've thought it through for a long time, I can tell. And it sounds like the perfect idea to keep everyone safe and happy. So I'll gladly accept it!"
You say as much with a smile, and squeeze her hands once more.
But she's almost in disbelief, and she's yet to show such happiness.
"Izetta... Are you sure you...? I... I just..." Again, she looks away, and you really wish that she wouldn't.
But you soon realize it's because there are tears dripping down into her lap, onto the backs of your hands.
"I didn't want you to think I-I'm doing this because... y-you're a burden... or because you... you've served your purpose to us, and now you're no longer needed... that's not it, Izetta..."
Her voice tapers off, and the sobs surge up her throat, raking her body. With a whimper, you lift your hands and wrap your arms around her, pulling her in close.
"Finé..."
Obviously, the possibility that you'd think she might be trying to get rid of you, or hide you out of embarrassment for what you've become, has been eating away at her for days. She'd probably meant to make this proposal a while ago, but couldn't bring herself to do it for fear of your reaction.
She's always been putting you before herself and her own feelings. That hasn't changed in all this time.
You stroke through her hair and allow her to hide in the crook of your neck. She stifles her tears and weeps into your clothes for a moment, until you're certain she's calmed down enough to listen to you.
"Finé... I don't think that at all. Perhaps, in the past, I might've felt that way. I might've felt you were trying to get rid of me because I was a burden to you..."
Again, she shakes her head, just to try and tell you that's not how she'd intended it. You hug her closer, soothing her fears with a whisper.
"But now I know that's not the case. I know that, Finé. Because... Because I know that you love me just as dearly as I love you. A-And I know that... you'd never think of me that way, because I'd never think of you that way, either."
This time, she nods against your shoulder, her hands reaching out to clutch at your sides.
"Yes..." she sniffles. "That's exactly it, Izetta. I-I would never want you to think... I was only doing this to get rid of you. I was so scared... you might think that was the case. I was so scared you might... resent me or..."
"Never!" you cry out. "F-Finé, I would never-!"
"I know." She swallows and draws in a deep breath. "I know that now, Izetta. And I'm sorry for ever doubting you. For ever doubting you'd understand. Because I know how much you love me, how much you trust me. I've always known. I'm sorry..."
"It's okay."
By this point, you're sniffling too, and a few tears have slipped down onto the back of her dress.
You both take a moment to compose yourselves, breathing together, chest-to-chest, until your heartbeats match. When you ease back, there is finally a smile on her lips.
"I'm so glad, Izetta. The cabin isn't as luxurious as the palace. But Lotte's been having lessons with our chefs during her free time. She's going to take good care of you. And you'll be able to care for Dorotheé in return."
"I'd be honored to!" you grin.
"And don't worry. You can still go into town. You'll just need to wear a hood or a hat. But no one will suspect who you are, especially once we announce that Izetta the White Witch has gone away. We plan to send out that news on a day when you'll be in town with Lotte, so people will see you when word goes around. The both of you will just be two more surprised, unknowing citizens with bittersweet feelings about the witch's departure."
"That actually sounds like it could be fun," you muse.
"And don't worry. Everyone within the palace who knows the truth about you has been sworn to secrecy. Should rumors start circulating or if anyone betrays that oath, they'll be sent away, and I personally will advise the people to disregard whatever they might have heard. That's how serious we are about this matter. That's how serious I am about keeping you safe."
You're touched by that notion in particular. You know none of these trusted and loyal people by her side would ever betray her or you, especially not with this plan. But to know that, if someone did, that Finé would personally dismiss them without a second thought, even after years and years of companionship...
It speaks to just how much she loves you.
She'd never just loved you because you were the White Witch.
She's always loved you because you are Izetta.
You can't think of any words of gratitude to say to her for that.
So you merely pull her into another embrace. She rests her chin on your shoulder and continues speaking - soft, wistful.
"You may have to stay in that house for a while. Perhaps even a few years until everything has quieted down. This was a stupendous victory on our part, so I know it's going to be the center of political events for quite some time now.
"But I'm not going to keep you in that house forever, Izetta. Once things have quieted down, once we've figured out a way to tell people, we'll reveal the truth to them. We'll show them you've come back, but lost all of your magics, that magic doesn't exist any longer in this world. We'll wait a while, until a time when such news won't have such a major or chaotic effect on people. They'll take it with a grain of salt, but most of all, they'll just be happy you're back, even if it's not as a witch.
"But you'll still be their heroine, and in time, you'll return to them. Until then, you get to relax. To live a quiet life away from all the excitement and politics. You'll be free to do whatever you please, and Lotte will help you do it."
"Mm, it sounds wonderful. It really does..." You sigh into her hair, but your smile soon fades. "It's just..."
You feel her tense up right away at the notion of your hesitance.
"What is it?" she asks.
You let out a timid whimper.
"I'm... going to miss you, Finé..."
Another beat of silence passes, and you assume she, too, is regretting her future absence in your life.
That is, until she starts to chuckle softly.
Puzzled, you sniffle once and pull back, your tone raising with the question.
"Finé...?"
"Oh, Izetta!"
She smiles and tenderly cups your cheeks with both hands. She leans forward and rests her forehead against yours, bumping your noses together.
"Izetta... you didn't think... we weren't going to be able to see one another at all, did you?"
You sniffle again, swallowing it down to try and remain composed.
"W-Well, I... Since you're going to be so busy... a-and I'll have to start living a new life, I thought-"
"Izetta!" She cuts you off by pulling you in to another hug, cradling the back of your head and petting your hair gently. "Izetta. I would never arrange all of this for you without the intention of coming to see you as often as possible.
"When Lotte takes you into town, I'll know about it either from the guards or I'll see you going myself. If I'm free at the time, I'll disguise myself and go as well. How easy it'll be for us total strangers to accidentally bump into each other and spend time together at the marketplace, or at the lake, and no one will suspect a thing!"
As she mentions each thing, it makes perfect sense in your mind. She's disguised herself a million times before when going into town, and only ever had her true identity revealed once by accident.
But she's absolutely right. You two will be able to meet up outside palace property just about whenever you please.
"And," she continues. "As we both now know, my guards will follow me if I venture out. So they'll always be close by. You'll have nothing to fear."
She cranes her head, brushing her cheek against yours to press a gentle kiss to your temple. "And that certainly isn't all, Izetta. In town isn't the only place we'll be able to meet. The house isn't a far walk from the palace. Ten minutes at most. I'll be coming to visit you whenever I have a free moment."
She eases back a little bit more, until you're able to see the determined honesty in her eyes. "And I really do mean that, Izetta. Every moment when the opportunity presents itself, I'm going to come see you. I can promise you that."
Here, she lets one hand drop down into your lap, reaching over Dorotheé's sleeping body to find your hand. She coaxes your fingers apart just enough so she may loop her pinkie around yours.
"I promise," she repeats. "That I will come and see you every chance I get, Izetta."
She seals that promise with a warm kiss, one where you can feel the smile on her lips, but still taste a bit of salt from her tears.
This future she's proposing is a bit of a complicated one, but it's going to be the best option in order to keep the both of you safe.
She will be able to work as she needs to, and you will be able to live a quiet, peaceful life.
As a human. Just as you'd always truly wanted.
Of course, it will be difficult not to sleep beside her each night, or be around her quite as often as you are now. But you believe you can make due somehow.
When the kiss finally ends, she pecks your nose, keeping her voice as light as the contact.
"And of course, you'll be able to visit me here whenever it's possible. While there will be many times I'll be away or when I'll have people visiting to discuss important matters, there will be just as many times when the palace will be as quiet as it is today.
"Of course, you'll be able to come by whenever that's the case. We can still walk through the gardens together and have our meals together. We can still be together, Izetta. It'll just be a bit more of a challenge."
And if there's anything at all the two of you have proven by this point, it's that no challenge can stand between you.
If forbidden magic, political chaos, and an actual war haven't managed to keep you apart, a few lonely nights and a ten-minute walk can hardly be considered obstacles.
She's done most of the talking until now, and you feel it's only right if you respond, to make sure she knows you've been listening and that you agree with her ideas.
"It... almost sounds like it could be fun," you muse. "Going out to meet up in secrecy. Only seeing each other when no one else is around."
When she sees the smile on your face, she allows her own to stay.
"It's rather romantic, isn't it?"
"Yes!"
A mutual chuckle fills the space between you, and before long, your foreheads are pressed close once again.
This time, you initiate the kiss, a seemingly small action, but one that reassures her of your willingness to accept all of this.
She squeezes your hand a little harder, keeping your pinkies entwined as she lifts them up to her chest. It isn't much, but you can just barely make out the feeling of her heartbeat fanning against the back of your hand.
As the kiss comes to an end, she sighs, letting some of her anxieties go with it.
"It isn't going to be easy," she admits. "I'm going to miss you. I'm going to worry about you. Just as much as you'll miss and worry about me, I'm sure."
You bite your lip to keep back another wave of tears, but nod your agreement.
"Yes... But I'll do it. I'll do it... because it won't last forever. And even if it did, I'd continue to do it if it's what's best for us."
"It won't last forever," she reassures you again. "But thank you, Izetta. I'm so relieved you're all right with this, and that you understand my reasoning for doing it."
She lifts your hand from her chest to her mouth, tattooing the creases of her lips into those of your palm. At the same time, you lean in to tuck a stray lock of golden hair behind her ear, kissing her cheek in the process. Her voice reaches your ears once again, reserved and steady now.
"And don't think you'll be spending so many nights alone. I'll let you stay here with me as often as possible. On quiet evenings, you can have supper with me as always, and we'll stay here. Lotte can always take you back to the house in the morning. Or I'll make my way to you whenever I can to spend the night. Even if it means I need to sneak out." She winks a little mischievously, causing you to blush a bit.
"F-Finé, you don't have to do that..."
"But I will!" she assures you. "For you, Izetta, I absolutely will."
"...Thank you."
"And on nights when I can't be there, Dorotheé will keep you company." She pats the dog's head, scratching one of her ears. "We'll make it work, Izetta. And of course, if there's every anything you and Lotte need, all you have to do is send us a call and we'll have it sent over right away. The house may be small, but it'll come with all the same services, benefits, and protection we experience here in the palace. So you won't ever need to worry about a thing."
"I know," you reply. "You're going to so much trouble for me, Finé."
"I'm sorry if I'm repeating myself. I just... I want you to know how serious I am about this, Izetta. I'm going to do everything within my power to keep seeing you as often as possible. I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't feel left out or-"
You silence her with another kiss. Whatever fears and fretful things she was about to address melt away between your lips. She sighs again as you pull her close and keep her there.
"Finé. Don't worry. I know you'd never purposefully do anything to make me feel sad. I know you'd never do anything to make me feel unwanted. You're always trying so hard for my sake. You do everything you can for me, and more.
"And I know you'll always do whatever you can for me. Because I'd do the same. Because... I love you, a-and I know you love me, too."
You feel her draw in a deep breath, then let it back out.
"Th... That's right..." she whispers. "It's because I love you, Izetta. I love you so much. I... should tell you that more often."
"You don't have to tell me," you remind her. "You show your love in everything you do for my sake. Just like this new arrangement. That's an embodiment of your love for me, and I understand that. I can't begin to thank you enough, Finé..."
"You don't ever need to thank me," she murmurs. "Izetta, you've saved my entire country. You've saved so many lives, not just mine. You've done more in a few months than thousands of people could have done in years. You did all of that... because you love me, and because you love Eylstadt. I'm just trying to do my best to show you my love in return."
"I understand. I can feel your love, Finé. Every second of my life, I feel it. Whether you're there beside me or not."
"It's the same for me, Izetta."
Your eyes meet hers, and for a long, long moment, everything you've ever been through together flashes through your minds.
From the moment you'd awoken on that airplane and grabbed her hand...
To the time you'd first stepped foot into the palace...
To the time you'd gone to town and eaten pie with her...
To every battle you'd ever fought for her...
From the first fight to the last.
Everything you've been through together since you'd met so many, many years ago as children, when you'd pranced through those grassy meadows, walked beside those colorful lakes, and danced inside that dusty old barn.
Every painful, sorrowful, fearful memory...
Every magical, emotional, ethereal experience...
Every warm, affectionate, tender moment...
It's all there - if not in her eyes, then in yours.
You feel her palm on your cheek and move yours to her hip, leaning closer until you can feel her breath tangle with yours.
The kiss is strong and certain, setting it apart from many of the others you've shared in the past. You want all of them to feel like this from now on.
At long last, you've finished discussing everything, and conveying all you've needed to. With great care, you curl your arms around Dorotheé's sleeping form and lift her from your lap, gently transferring her into Finé's arms. She dips down to give the dog a brief kiss as well before she gets up from the couch and carries Dorotheé back to her room.
A moment later, she is back by your side to help you into your wheelchair. Once you're settled, Finé lingers, gazing down into your eyes. Her hand comes up to your face, fingertips brushing your bangs to the sides a little. She looks like she wants to say something, but you can read it in her expression easily enough.
Everything's going to be all right.
Once you know what she means to convey, you return her soft, reassuring gaze, hoping she'll understand the same thing.
It's going to be rough at first, getting used to that new way of life without her always so near.
But it's a very plausible prospect, one you'll soon both get accustomed to, by the sounds of it. Time and repetition ensure that even the most foreign of routines can become familiar before long.
But you've still got one night left with her here.
She wheels you back to her bedroom, where she helps you change clothes, and then changes herself. She brushes your hair for you, wets a cloth in the sink, hands it to you so you may wash, then brings you back to bed.
Once again, she helps you up and onto the mattress, where you curl immediately into her side. She strokes down your back, rubs your shoulders, and kisses your cheeks.
Your last night together like this feels the same as any other, only with much more meaning.
You savor it, relish it, engrave it into your very soul.
And then, when morning comes, you'll start heading towards a new tomorrow.
-------------
A/N: The next chapter will be the last.
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seenashwrite · 7 years ago
Text
There But For The Grace
Status: Complete Word Count: 3.3K Category: One-shot; Introspection; Mystery; Choices; Life journeys; Redemption  Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Michael, Reader/O.C. Female, and... just read the story. Pairing(s): Read. The. Story. Stop wanting the endings at the starts, impatient young'uns Warnings: None Faux-Warning: There's no banging, so now that I've lost 80% of you... Author’s Note(s):  I'm told you're not a true fanfic writer unless you've done a coffee shop meet-up fic - kindly let me know if I got it right; more post-story Overall Summary: An archangel takes a break from his reconnaissance.
* ETA: FYI - Do NOT look at the comments before you read this, there’s been some spoilery stuff given away there! * 😉
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. The list grew by the minute, and he had to admit to himself that the mundane task of collecting all his reasons was turning delightful.
The other world hadn't progressed to this level of corruption; likely it would've, had it not been for the brimstone, but that was neither here nor there. The worlds were identical, he'd learned, at least in the ways that mattered. Time nor space made a difference. Humans were, to be sure, utterly predictable.
Case in point: his most favorite time period from recent past had unfolded in precisely the same manner in both places, so much so he came as near to astonishment as he'd ever been. The roaring twenties were rife with sin, the pompous prohibitionists and the lust-filled liquor vendors, the mobsters with their massacres, and the bankers with their bloated greed. His distaste aside, it was beautiful. It was art, the way they crafted their depravity. Granted, it was nothing compared to his favorite time of all, but this was understandable; little could live up to Sodom and Gomorrah.
See there, hunter? I'm a salt-and-burn aficionado.
He'd successfully lulled the man whose body he'd snatched - no, that's not right. He did not steal. Theft is sin. The hunter had agreed to act as a vessel, it was witnessed, and while there was deception involved, one in his position must think of the greater good. And it should be noted that he did exercise benevolence. Angelic vessels did not fare well, exponentially so for archangel vessels, and it was poor form to run through them quickly.  
He knew firsthand how his brothers handled their hosts. Raphael would woo the humans with promises of a glorious afterlife, then promptly expel their souls the moment he got a foothold. Gabriel would talk them into giving up the ghost voluntarily (as Gabriel could talk practically anyone into anything), in an effort to keep himself guilt-free. And as the fall crept closer, Lucifer took to keeping them wide awake, poking, prodding, picking, til slowly but surely the glow faded to embers, finally snuffing them out upon growing bored.
But not him. He was the best of them all, no sense in being humble. He was different, so he did things differently. He pushed the hunter to the farthest reaches of the mind they shared, threats to family quelling the belligerence surprisingly easily.
Are you plotting? he'd asked early on, receiving no answer; they both knew it was rhetorical.
As their time together grew, he'd talk to the hunter on occasion - not aloud, of course - when he marveled at the things he observed, breathing it all in. It had been ages since he'd walked the earth peacefully. It was wonder he felt, and he knew it, and it bothered him. He had been tasked with protecting them, once upon a time, and it was easier then, they were more readily awed, or maybe just malleable. He'd begun to consider if subtlety and manipulation might be ideal this go-round, effective as plagues and floods and annihilation had been, albeit temporarily.
He'd been raised by a vengeful God, the new redemptive version that came with the birth of the prophet never quite sitting right with him, but he was an obedient son, absence or no. He was his Father's first son, he who was of God, the first angel there ever was, no matter what differing legends over the millennia might've said. The offenses the rest of the children, celestial-born and earth-bound alike, committed upon God's creation wouldn't have been tolerated back then.
Before. Before it all changed, right under his supposed watchful eye. Before he'd laid waste, in heaven and on earth. Before he'd gotten wrapped up in his plans, let his guard down. Before he lost all three of his beloved brothers in one way or another. Before he'd started paying attention again.
He wouldn't miss anything else.
And so it was that on his fact-gathering strolls, more and more he found himself slowing his pace, pausing, coming to a halt, damn near freezing in place when something would catch his eye, or touch his ear, or invade his nose, the latter of which stopped him cold this evening, just as twilight eased across the buildings around him, and streetlights flickered on, up and down a nondescript street in a nondescript town on one nondescript walk amongst many.
He went further down the sidewalk, and up the block, and continued around a corner, and there it was, the answer to the question of what heavenly smell had wafted his way.
.
Hallowed Grounds French and Italian Coffees est. 1922
.
In his experience, the fates were indeed fickle. On the other hand, he'd done enough surveillance that week to allow for brief relaxation, be someone else for a spell. Seemed the rough-and-tumble hunter had smoothed edges made ragged from eons spent on another plane, made him fractionally more flexible. Teaching lessons could wait one more night, he told himself.
Meant to be, don't you think?
There wasn't need for food or drink, but the hunter was practically a junkie on both fronts, and the palate was wide. This body was stronger than most, better equipped for him, as tailor-made things are, of course, but he had not anticipated how demanding it could be, how it would crave indulgence. Undisciplined. Annoying. Distracting. It was for that last reason he'd give in, keep bites small and sips slow, and the moment there was a sense of satiation, off he - they - would go, back on mission.
African coffee was the best, this was not merely a belief but a fact; French he'd always found bland, somehow; Italian was tolerable. He ordered an espresso, tipped well, and the barista behind the former bar said they had servers milling about, one would be by to check in, see if he needed anything else. And despite knowing he'd swallow less than a quarter of the brew, he took a seat at a table, back to people-watching. Not a one was interesting in the least.
He'd noted the woman carrying the steaming metal carafe walking briskly in the direction where he sat, but had already let his eyes roam away by the time she'd gone behind him, and she only had cause to cross his mind when a loud CLANK hit the air, and the sensation of a third-degree burn called out from his lower right leg and ankle. Several gasps erupted from close-by patrons, someone moaned "Oooooh!" in sympathy, and then came the babbling. 
It was the woman, the server, and she was alternating under-breath curses with self-deprecation - Such a stupid klutz! - Why'd I take this fucking job? There wasn't an apology to be found, not a lick of repentance.
She had his attention.
As she made her way around, the carafe - retrieved, now dented and empty - was plunked on his table, causing the espresso to slosh, and she surveyed the mess on the floor, closed her eyes, rubbed them, took a deep breath, then exhaled it far too quickly for it to have been of any use. Her eyes popped open. They instantly lit on his soaked trouser cuff.
"Jesus," she muttered, flat forehead going to a frown in a nanosecond.
And he frowned, too. Not that he'd been particularly impressed by or had much use for the prophet, nor had he bought into all the trinity talk - he'd found it offensive that any would be placed by the Father as an equal of sorts - but this was in the ballpark of blasphemy. Well, then. Another sinner joins the collection.
Now she'd dropped, and he arched an eyebrow as his head tilted down, feeling her rubbing - aggressively - on his shoe, sopping up the spilt coffee with a rag she'd had tucked in her apron's waistband.
"That pot was still hot as hell, it didn't get you, did it?" she asked, looking up at him from her kneeling position.
"No," he lied.
"Oh, thank God. I'd have been... if you'd been burnt, I would've... I am so sorry, sir."
Penitence looked lovely on her.
"You seem anxious, why don't you sit, rest for a moment," he suggested, and gestured to the empty chair across from him.
He kept his eyes locked onto hers; she gave him an odd look in return, but didn't have time to answer. Another table called out to her, so she broke the stare, told him she'd check on him again later, see if he wanted a refill - anything he wanted, on the house, she added - before rising and leaving his side.
He took her up on it. He paid for the one that followed. And he waited until the patrons had nearly cleared and the lights were being dimmed and the brooms were coming out. Someone else was sent to collect the fee for the still-full third.
Take a hint.
He followed the advisement - whether it was the hunter's or some sort of self-prompting, he couldn't say - and exited, though he didn't carry on with his reconnaissance, instead going down the tiny alley that led to the back of the building, leaning against a telephone pole that was partially in the shadows, settling in, keeping an eye on the side door of the coffee shop.
The hunter spoke up.
You suck at this.
Pray tell?
Trying to pick up a chick, get laid.
Orgasms are insufficient reasons for risking the creation of another abomination.
Go comb through my greatest hits, then we’ll talk about risks and rewards.
It took a half-hour of darkened silence before he began to grow irritable, and he stood from his lean, was straightening his overcoat when the door opened. She spotted him, pretended like she didn't, so he took a few steps in her direction. He was just about to speak when she whipped around, jerking something from her pocket. She immediately squirted a caustic fluid onto him, which did nothing, save prompting a confused expression to come across his now damp face.
Oh, for crying out----
Hush.
She coughed several times as a breeze carried the mist her way, though a subtle wave of his hand served to make it disappear, and soothed her stinging eyes and scratchy throat. He pulled out his handkerchief and blotted the moisture coating his cheeks. She watched, not moving an inch, her mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "Please forgive me."
"That's the strongest mace on the market," she muttered. She looked at the tiny tube, sneered, then tossed it down the alley, where it hop-skipped out of sight. Turning her head back to him, she spoke again, this time warily. "You need money or something? You're not dressed like you need money."
He returned the handkerchief to his pocket, met her eye. "You think I waited here to rob you?"
"I don't... well why are you here?"
"I enjoyed your company and hoped to extend our time together." A pause, then he added, "I have no desire to have sex with you."
"Gee, thanks?"
He began to respond, hesitated, then opted to go with, "I'm told I'm not... not very good at... this."
"Making friends?"
"Mmmm."
"Well, it's... it's late."
He glanced at his watch. "So it is."
"And I don't even know your name."
"Michael."
"Michael. Okay. I have a brother named Michael. Mikey, if I want to piss him off."
"Were your parents religious?"
"What?!" she exclaimed, though she chased it with an amused grin. "You ask the strangest questions. Um, no. Not really."
"And your name?"
"I, uh... don't give out my name to strangers."
"Wise. But I need to call you something."
"Hmmm... I don’t really...”
He waited. 
She snapped her fingers. "My family nicknamed me Grace. The way they talk, I've been clumsy since the womb." She rolled her eyes.
"That sounds cruel."
She laughed, but it was short, clipped. "Nah. Annoying, maybe. But they didn't mean anything by it. Your family not have a nickname for you?"
He shook his head. "No. They called one of my brothers the star. He... shone a little too brightly."
She nodded. "I have a friend like that. Drama queen. Sucks up all the air in a room, as my mother would say."
"May I call you Grace?"
She laughed again, the full version this time, and said, "I ruined your pants, so I owe you. Yeah, sure. Go for it."
He walked her to her car, but they kept chatting - the coffee shop began as a speakeasy, he informed her, and a two-way mirror once hung over the bar so as to keep an eye out for the police. And the conversation drifted with them as they meandered down the street, ended up in a park, sitting in swings sandwiched between a slide and a sandbox, lazily letting their feet trail through gravel, him allowing her to think he was a history buff, her telling him how she'd been born in another nondescript town in another nondescript state. How as the years passed, it had started to feel like another world.
And when it was her turn to ask about the past, it called up from within him the desire to lie to her - protect her - for the second time that night. So he chose his words carefully.
"I had assignments. One that was the most... I was supposed to guard people. Defend them, when needed. And... and I did a good job for quite awhile. My commander was pleased. But then things... happened. I let an enemy invade. I wasn't strong enough. Not enough to stop him."
"You don't have to go into detail if you don't want to," Grace said quietly. She laid a hand over his.
"People died."
"Oh."
"They saw me as a protector. There was a time when some practically worshiped me, thought I was worthy of it." He made a scoffing sound. "I started to believe I was."
He'd never had a single regret, never let himself fall into the abyss of memories. But even he could be brought - broken, more accurately - out of his routine. And the most immediate period of his existence had done just that, making times of calm a desire, while in the same moment making times of silence an irritant.
He looked down at their hands, flipped his, threaded his fingers through hers, and she didn't stop him.
They sat, unmoved, no words, for several minutes; three-point-two-one-six, in fact, because he counted them. His mind never rested, even when the hunter's did, but he liked how she didn't feel the need to fill the emptiness with idle talk. Made for a touch of calm. Even with the silence.
It held a bit of irony - he was the silent type, everyone said so. He'd found it often communicated intent better than any words could've. And more descriptions piled on: Imposing. Intimidating. Towering. Threatening. Some had called him "Beast" long before it had been applied to their once-adored morning star.
So there it was - there’d already been a second lie, and he hadn't even noticed.
"I don't mean to frighten you," he told her, staring at her intently, but this time she didn't look away.
"You said that already," she replied, a solemn smile on her lips, not too wide, not too thin, just the right sort, and he hoped he reciprocated in kind. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, saying, "Michael... I mean, my Michael -----"
The hunter's belly stirred.
"----- you know, my brother, he's in the service. He's a Ranger. He doesn't tell our family a lot of stories from when he fought, but he's told me some. So if it's anything like that, then... I can understand. I can try, I mean."
"I led the entirety of our legion."
"You're... you seem a little young to be... what would it be, a general, I guess? Or do you mean you led your division? Or squadron? I know some of the terminology, you don't have to dumb it down for me."
"I've offended you."
"No, it's... don't worry about it, it doesn't matter."
"It very much matters. How people treat one another. People can be vile, sadistic, horrible creatures."
She raised her eyebrows. "I guess. But we're the only ones here. And I'm not horrible, and you're not horrible, soooo..."
"You're right," he lied for the third time, and with one of the hunter's brightest smiles.
Which made Grace shine.
Go.
The hunter did as he was commanded.
Michael thought she tasted like sin.
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"Okay. Tomorrow. I'm off work, but we can meet at the coffee shop, figure out what to do from there... around noon sound good?"
He nodded. "That sounds perfect. Thank you, Grace."
She nodded in return, got in her car, and gave him a little wave as she pulled away.
Is this your plan, hunter? How you think you'll undo me? Making me more like you?
Hey, I haven't been driving for awhile now. Ass.
Hmmm.
You kissed her.
What makes you say that?
When you let me leave the bad boy corner, I could tell. Or else you're putting strawberry lip balm on my----
Apple.
Huh?
It's apple.
He waited at her apartment, this time deep in the shadows where he wouldn't be spotted, made sure she got inside safely, listened for the click that told him she'd locked the door. He began to leave, then thought better of it, decided to play guardian for old times' sake, placed warding here and there to keep any would-be harm away. And back to walking he went, considering how to kill the hours til they met again.
May as well strike up a conversation.
Now that we've spent some time together, tell me - Why didn't we do this sooner? What’s it been for you, about a decade?
You're a douche.
Fine. But comparatively?
There's not a douche scale, dick.
So I'm altogether irredeemable?
Uh - is there some universe where you aren't?
Perhaps.
So prove it! Let me go! And LEAVE ME ALONE.
Fair enough.
If he were to put a not-so-fine point on his reasoning for not meeting her the next day, that about summed it up. He'd disappoint her, she'd disappoint him, and if she didn't, that was no good. Probably worse. Better to keep unattached when it came to what the future... what he... would likely bring.
Even so, he found himself once more standing apart, likely imposing, always watching, this time through a window, across hallowed grounds, looking for his grace. He spotted her at the very table he'd been at when they met, scrolling through her phone, occasionally sipping on a latte. Then there'd be a sigh, a glance to the large clock on the opposite wall as five, then ten, then fifteen minutes passed by.
What say after this, we head to the cage, check on that counterpart of mine?
This time, he received an unusually placid response.
Why?
To ensure he's paying for what he's done.
Like you haven't been thinking of nuking this world. You're still jonesing for your apocalypse. You know you want a do-over.
The world could use some cleansing, true. There's reasons. But, no. That's not why.
Then what?! How many times are you planning on dragging me over there, making sure he hasn't popped the lock so you can keep up your stupid act? They’re gonna figure it out soon, Cas or Sam—-
I thought of all people, you'd understand.
Understand WHAT? It's payback? 'Cause the first thing *he* did was make a beeline to take you out?
He killed my brother. With my own sword, no less. And that above all, Dean, I will not abide.
Grace picked up her bag, left a few bills on the table, and as she walked out the door, placed a phone call.
"Yeah, he stood me up... no, no, I'm not... Seriously! I'm not mad, I'm just, you know... yeah. I thought he was different... No, you're right, and I'm sure he had a good reason, and I told you he didn't have a phone with him, right? So it's not like he could've.... oh God, no he wasn't lying, why do you assume every dude.... Anyway, maybe I'll see him again. I think that'd be nice..."
Well, then. Not so predictable, after all. Not this one. At least, for now.
Teaching the world a lesson could wait for just one more day.
.
Author’s Note #2: Here’s a walkthrough on the inspiration for the title/plot points, the theology droppings, and the “clues” for the ending twist-a-roo, if you’re interested!
Author’s Note #3: This was gonna be snarky & involve a continued barrage of insults on the infamous freeze-that-shall-not-be-named-frame, but the gif  turned out too lovely & I'd feel guilty using it for nefarious purposes.
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