#sounds like I will be moving to Scotland if I want anything /half joking

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I need to see Finn and Axlerod's raw reaction to me crying over snow. I need to know how they would react.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

Jmart with 1?

so i made this prompt entirely too complicated. i've kind of had this idea for a while and used this prompt as an excuse to write it lol. i need to put more safehouse fics out in the world, right? also can be found here on ao3

1. things you said at 1 a.m.

It's too cold, after leaving the Lonely. It shouldn't be this bloody cold in London in September—it feels like it's below zero—and Martin's teeth are chattering as they walk back from the Institute. His fingers are freezing. Jon's shivering, too, clutching Martin's hand with both of his, leaning towards Martin as if he is a heater. It feels like they need winter coats, hats and scarves and gloves to block the wind, but the wind isn't blowing at all; Jon Knows, without even trying, that it's really just 10°C outside. 

Martin hasn't completely shaken off the remnants of the Lonely yet. He's out of it, taking long moments to respond when Jon says anything; his eyes are still a faded gray. And he's shaking so hard that Jon can feel the vibrations all the way up his arm. He's tired. He keeps swaying into Jon's shoulder, unsteady on his feet. Hold on, Martin, Jon keeps saying. We'll be home soon. He squeezes Martin's hands. Numbly, slowly, Martin squeezes back. 

They go to Martin's flat, because Jon doesn't have one and the Institute isn't safe. Martin's fingers are numb with cold (Jon Knows without trying), fumbling around his key without getting a good hold on it before Jon reaches for it and asks if he should do it. Martin nods, quiet, and Jon lets them in. 

It isn't any warmer in Martin's flat. Not surprising, as deep as the Lonely had seeped into Martin, but it still hurts Jon a little to see, the cold seeping into his bones. They sit on the couch, vaguely speaking of dinner; Jon isn't hungry, but he knows Martin needs to eat, and so he presses the issue, thinking only of all the times in the beginning that Martin had pressed him to eat or brought him tea. He makes the tea this time, makes it the way he remembers Martin making it once, before the Unknowing, and brings the mugs into the living room. They never do make it to dinner; Martin is quiet, responding numbly, or not at all, to questions, and Jon isn't doing much better. Martin talks of moving to the bed—well, really, he tells Jon to take the bed and Jon says absolutely not, thinks It's your bed and I won't leave you alone —but it never happens. In the end, Martin falls asleep on the couch, his head tipped back against the back of the couch, his mouth half opening, shivering violently in his sleep, his tea going cold on the coffee table. 

Jon finds every blanket in the flat that he can and piles it over Martin, practically cocooning him in them. It's clumsy work; Martin's comforter keeps sliding off, and the afghan from the couch gets tangled in the extra quilts. But it looks warm, and that's all that matters, that Martin is warm. 

(There's fog in the flat, just a little, creeping over the floor. The Lonely is here with them, seeped into both of their bones, but it's sunk deeper into Martin, and all Jon can think is that he won't let him go. He won't let Martin be lost, not again. Not if he can help it.)

There are no blankets left. Jon pulls his own coat over himself, and then—trying not to feel too entirely pathetic—Martin's. It's large and warm, warmer than Jon's own; it smells like Martin, too, Jon's nose pressed against the collar. But Martin isn't gone this time, isn't off somewhere cloaked too heavily in fog for Jon to reach him; Martin is right here. Jon can hear his deep, shaking breaths, feel the comforting weight of him on the opposite side of the couch. 

He fumbles through the layers of coats and blankets and finds Martin's hand again. It is the warmest part of him, as he's falling asleep, his hand in Martin's. 

---

Jon and Martin sleep on the train to Scotland. They're both exhausted, both worn out, and both, somehow, still freezing. They shouldn't be this cold. Jon Knows they shouldn't be this cold. 

Martin's brought blankets, and he insists Jon take one; he's been better today, more there, more… Martin, and he wasn't happy that Jon didn't leave any blankets for himself the night before. Jon's so cold—even in a jumper and a coat, and with the sun coming through the window—that he doesn't argue. (Well. Only a little, only to see Martin's face screw up in mock irritation in a way that might make Jon melt a little inside.) He takes the blanket. It smells like Martin, too. 

They sleep, and Jon wakes up still cold, fingers still freezing, bones aching—except on one side, where he and Martin have slumped against each other, Jon's head on Martin's shoulder, and Martin's head against Jon's. The warmth seeps through the layers of blankets and coats and all of it. 

Jon stays there, leaning heavily into Martin, for a long time after he wakes up, not ready to move away from the warmth.

---

There aren't enough blankets in the safehouse. 

There is only one bed, which helps. One large bed—Daisy must have liked her space. But still: it makes the discussion over blankets easier. (They argue a little over who will take the bed; Martin tries to take the couch, and Jon tries to take the couch, and it begins to get ridiculous. It just makes sense, in the end, to share the bed.) Between the two of them, they pile the sheets, three quilts, and the blankets Martin brought on the bed. It still isn't enough. The bed stays freezing, and Martin stays freezing, too. He's been layering jumpers, scarves, even wooly hats, and pushing the same towards Jon; he looks like someone braving a blizzard, or sick with a cold, and Jon tells him so. He worries, afterwards, that he's crossed the line, made a joke about something distinctly unfunny (reverted back to a version of himself that he'd rather forget), but Martin just laughs a little and says, "If I'd known this would be the effect of working for Peter, I might've invested in more winter clothing." Jon laughs, too, and accepts the scarf and hat when Martin pushes it his way. 

There's a box of firewood out by an old shed. Jon doesn't bother speculating what it might be for. They build a fire in the hearth, that first night, and that helps. Read books they've both packed on the couch, their knees touching through the layers of blankets, and it's the most peaceful Jon's felt in a long time. 

The cold creeps back in, though. Even with the blankets, even with the ancient heating system in the house turned on, even with Martin in the bed with him ( Martin, who Jon has missed tremendously for seven months now). The cold and the fog and all of it; it creeps back in while they are sleeping, when Jon is too distracted to notice. 

He wakes up sometime in the middle of the night, shivering, teeth chattering. There is a quivering in the blankets, a sort of shaking, and Jon knows that Martin is shivering, too. The fog is creeping back in; somehow, the Lonely hasn't left them yet. Jon reaches out and brushes his fingers over Martin's arm; he hisses a little at the contact. One or both of them are as cold as ice; he isn't sure who anymore. 

His mind immediately begins racing, searching for any sort of alternative to the blankets and the jumpers and the socks and scarves. More jumpers in the suitcase, he thinks. The coats. Maybe they can conserve some warmth with the curtains, or some ridiculous thing like that. Anything to keep Martin warm. Somehow, two of the blankets have ended up on his side—Jon isn't sure why—so he attempts to rearrange them, pushing them over to Martin's side, and slides to the edge of the bed, ready to retrieve more things from the suitcase. But Martin's voice, rising blearily, sleepily from the other side of the bed—"J'n?"—stops Jon in his tracks. He hadn't realized that Martin was awake. 

Martin yawns, twisting in the covers, his teeth chattering a few more times. "What… what time s'it?

"1:07 a.m.," says Jon automatically. He shivers hard a few times on instinct, wraps his arms around himself. "I-I'm sorry, Martin, I-I… didn't mean to wake you."

"Mm, wasn' really sleeping anyway…" Martin yawns again, rubbing at his eyes. They look bigger, somehow, without his glasses, dark and soft in the dim light of the room, and Jon loves him so much. 

"I… I wanted to get you more blankets," Jon says, forgetting for a moment that there aren't any others—he revises, "O-or… something else to keep you warm. Something… y-you looked cold, I mean."

Martin blinks a few times in disbelief. Looks out at the blankets at the bed and pulls at the two knit ones from his own flat, like he can't believe they're there. "Jon, you… gave me the blankets back," he says, voice stiff thick with sleepiness. 

Jon chews at his lower lip, shudders all over as another wave of cold hits. "Y-yes, well, they'd… ended up on my side of the bed, somehow, and you… you were cold, as I said, and I…" 

"Jon, I g-g-gave them to you for a reason," Martin says, sounding more awake, and maybe a little fauxly put out; he's clenching his jaw as he talks in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering. " You're cold, Jon. You were sh-shivering in your sleep!"

It's Jon's turn to blink in surprise now, caught off guard by Martin's words. "Yes, b-but you… you need the blankets more than I do, Martin… th-they're your blankets, and you've been freezing since the Lonely, a-and…" He looks out at the room. He can't see the fog anymore, but that doesn't mean it's gone. "I don't want to lose y—" he starts, stops. Martin might not be his to lose. Amends: "I-I don't want you to be lost, not again, a-and I…"

Martin makes a faint sound of what might be disgust. "This is ridiculous, Jon," he says, and Jon allows himself to worry for a second (Has he gone too far, saying I don't want to lose you, assuming Martin wants this kind of contact, when Martin only said he loved Jon, not love?), before Martin continues: "W-we were both touched by the Lonely… we've both been alone for so long, w-we…" He stops, rubs a hand over his face. Jon can feel him shivering from here, all the way across the mattress. (King sized. Why does Daisy need something this big?) 

Martin lowers his hand. His eyes are wet; Jon can see, and he worries still that he's gone too far. But then Martin's reaching across the mattress, his hand extended towards Jon, and saying, "W-we should just… it'd be warmer if we, um…" 

Jon slips his cold fingers through Martin's; Martin squeezes his hand, so gently that Jon's chest aches a little. He says, his voice soft and sleepy, "... C'mere?" 

Tentative, Jon slides across the mattress, through the nest of blankets towards Martin's broad, soft chest. And then Martin's arms are sliding around him. Martin's embracing him, hands soft and just as cautious against Jon's back. And Jon can't help it anymore; he melts into the embrace. Winds his own arms around Martin, pressing as close as he can physically get (arms around his shoulders, face pressed into his neck). It's easy, too easy, because Martin has been gone for so long and Jon just only now got him back—he's thinking of the tapes and Martin slipping away down the hall, Martin being taken into the Lonely, Martin's voice saying he wouldn't be coming back, and it's all too easy to cling to Martin hard as he can. They're both still freezing, skin chilled to the cut, but… Jon can feel it dissipating. Something warm is growing between them, he thinks. Something. 

"How did neither of us think of this?" Martin whispers. There's a quiver in his voice, just subtle enough that Jon can't tell if he's laughing or crying. "Two days we've been freezing, bundling up, a-and throwing blankets at each other like we're jumping onto a grenade… a-and neither of us thought of this?"

"I missed you," Jon whispers. He hears a sharp gasp from Martin, like he might cry, and it only makes him hold on harder. He's never held Martin like this before, never. (They hugged, before the Unknowing, but that was quick and awkward and over too soon, and Jon had foolishly thought there would still be a chance for this when he came back.) He's never held Martin like this before, but he knows he never wants to stop. He presses his nose against the hollow of Martin's neck and says again, "I missed you, Martin. So much. I… I don't think I can begin to tell you how much." 

Martin takes a few trembling breaths. Ducks his head to press his lips against Jon's forehead—Jon leans into the affection of the touch, the warmth. "I've… missed you, too," he murmurs. "So much, Jon, I… staying away from you, a-after you came back… I thought I'd lost you, a-and it… it almost killed me."

"I'm here," says Jon, "I'm here, you're here," and he kisses Martin at the soft spot under his jaw. Presses closer into the bubble of heat they've created, threads his fingers through Martin's hair and adds, silently, I'll keep you warm. 

When they wake, the next morning, the cold is gone, and so is the fog. Like it was never even there in the first place. 

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

50 or 33 with jmart for the smooch prompt list :mimhonk.emoji:

#33 - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it, and #50 - A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck. POR QUÉ NO LOS DOS!

thank you tem!!! :D I had a lot of fun with this one, and because of that it also got Long As Fuck so bear with me on that. Set in the safehouse also! Hope you enjoy ^_^

It’s been a very, very good day at the safehouse. The Lonely has been quiet, lurking almost entirely out of sight rather than clinging onto the both of them, and Martin’s been relaxed and open, happy in a way Jon hasn’t honestly seen him in months. The Eye has been quiet as well, and even Jon’s pain levels have been down today - no small miracle given the chilly weather - and it feels like a day for new beginnings, a day for truths.

So, “I missed you,” is what tumbles out over dinner, over beans and soup and tea.

Jon hears Martin’s breath catch before he sees it, before he looks up to see the stunned smile that takes over his face. “I missed you too,” he replies softly, and Jon pretends not to hear the crack in his voice where the unused muscle of emotion splits the air.

Jon holds his gaze for an admirable amount of time, but even he wavers. He’s never been a brave man, and he looks down at the table before speaking. “There were spiders, while you were gone,” Jon begins, tracing a finger along the grain of the table. “God, I really should have gotten more in the business of squishing them.”

“Yeah?” Martin offers, encouraging. The anecdote feels clumsy, foolish, but Martin is laying a hand across the table to show his patience, and Jon is grateful.

“I never quite could make myself do it though, I guess I just-” He trails off, starts a new thread of the story. “They always made me think of you, in a way. You always cared so much about all the little things. Always insisted on carrying them out. Dreadful things that still deserved kindness in your eyes.” Like me, he doesn’t add. “I always admired that about you. So I didn’t squish them as much.” He finishes clumsily, glancing up with a flash of his eyes before looking down at the table again to pick at the grain of the wood.

Martin blinks at him. Stares at him in silence for what Jon can only assume is an eternity, until he has to look up and make sure he’s still there. And then Martin stands, tea forgotten, maneuvers himself around the table, and darts in and presses his lips to Jon’s.

It only lasts for a moment - half a heartbeat of a touch - but it’s warm and vulnerable and a bit awkward and it sends Jon’s eyes flying wide open in shock.

Martin pulls back just as quickly as he had dived in, retreating so fast he bumps into the nearby counter, his eyes widening, and the first thing out of his mouth is “Oh, shit.”

Jon can’t blame him, he’s utterly dumbstruck himself. His head feels pleasantly fuzzy, but confusion swims up to trump every other emotion until the only thing he’s able to push out of his lungs is; “I- excuse me?”

Martin blinks, his panic floundering in confusion. “I- sorry, excuse you for what?”

Jon’s brows furrow together as he tries to piece his thoughts together. “You... don’t,” he says like it’s obvious, and then hesitates. “I-I mean, you- you said... you did, but not... so why-” Jon looks hopelessly out of his depth as he gestures, not making sense. “Why did you do that?”

Martin stares, the tips of his ears burning dark red. “I don’t what, Jon?”

Jon curls in on himself, shame bubbling to the surface. What has he gotten wrong? What has he missed? “I-in the Lonely. You said you loved me.”

Martin’s breath hitches at his own words repeated back at him - words he doesn’t even remember saying. The fog had been so intense, so much and yet so pointless all at once, it had been so hard to keep anything straight, to hold down any memory or emotion. He hardly remembers saying those words, but they draw a wobbly smile out of him anyways. He supposes it makes sense that he would say them, though. Not much could cut through the fog, but Jon did. Jon always did. He still does.

“Did I? I didn’t know I had it in me to share.”

Jon shakes his head, now looking frustrated. “But you didn’t.” He insists. “You don’t... that means you don’t anymore.” His expression stalls for a second, before something akin to horror blooms on his face, and he scrambles to his feet to face him. “Martin, if you think- God, if you think you somehow owe me this after all that, let me be abundantly cl-”

“No!! No, no.” Martin cuts in, sensing Jon’s building distress and moving away from the counter to rest a hand on his shoulder. “No,” he repeats, softer. He takes a deep breath and lets himself run his thumb over the fabric of Jon’s sweater. “I don’t think I owe you. Not in that way. Christ, of course not.”

Jon is silent for several long minutes, before his voice begins working again, and he stutters back into a sentence. “O-okay. Okay. Good.” He clears his throat. “Then why-? I-I-I thought-” He gathers up what brain power he has left to sort his thoughts. Something like hope tinges his voice, and Martin marvels at how deeply Jon seems to have resigned himself to this truth, while still being eager to save his life and run away with him all the way to Scotland. Love is a funny thing. When he speaks again, his voice is so, so quiet. “After the Unknowing, I thought I lost my chance. Thought you’d moved on. N-not that I would have blamed you, I just- but you-”

“Jon,” Martin says softly, ducking his head to catch his eyes. “I wasn’t quite myself in the Lonely. I didn’t mean that as an ending.” He breaks his gaze away, looks down at his own hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I was mourning something I thought I’d lost.”

“Oh,” The word escapes Jon’s lungs in a rush; several years worth of longing filling up his chest and squeezing his throat like smoke, making his eyes sting. “Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No, no,” Martin shakes his head. “That’s over now.”

Jon presses a hand to his eyes, breathing, letting everything settle in.

“Well. That certainly makes me feel foolish.”

Martin laughs, a free, wonderful sound that fills the air with electricity and warms Jon down to his bones. He realizes he’s staring at him, watching how his shoulders move with adoration, watching the joy radiate from him with nothing short of beauty. A moment of insane courage passes through Jon, and he moves his hand to cover the one Martin still has resting on his shoulder.

He steps closer. “Do you want this then? The way that I do?” His voice is eager, and he’s afraid to breathe.

Martin’s expression absolutely melts, and he sways closer. He Saw Jon in the Lonely, in all his hopeless lovestruck worry, so he knows what he means. “Yes,” he answers. “More than anything. I don’t-” he makes a pained face, and looks down, prepares himself for the undressing that comes before the acceptance of love. “I don’t know how okay I am. Don’t know how much of me is still me after everything with Lukas and- and well, everything, but...”

“I know what you mean,” Jon assures him, running his thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m not even human anymore.” He exhales, in the tone of a joke fallen flat.

Martin squeezes his shoulder. “Exactly,” he murmurs. “But I still want to try.”

“Martin,” Jon exhales, his voice thick and his eyes wet. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Martin tugs Jon’s hand from where it’s resting atop his to press a kiss to his knuckles, and Jon laughs, a quiet little sound, and then he’s moving, leaning back into Martin’s space; his face growing blurry as he gets up close and presses their lips together again. He misses the mark just a bit, the kiss landing a little too high on his mouth, but Martin leans up into it, rearranging their positions, and just like that it’s perfect. Not earth-shattering, not magical, just perfect, in the way that only imperfection can be. Martin lets himself sink into it.

It’s gentle, sweet, and it makes Martin’s head buzz with disbelief. He breaks away to breathe, for a moment, just to wrap his head around what’s happening, and then Jon is tugging him back in, more intentionally this time.

Jon kisses very thoroughly, Martin soon learns with amusement. He furrows his brow and crowds himself into Martin’s space, curling his hands in his shirt, and he moves his mouth in time with Martin’s like he has a purpose to follow, like he’s devoting himself to studying him; focusing on each touch with crystal clarity. He has a single-minded doggedness about the whole thing, and Martin eventually relaxes and just lets himself be kissed, following along with gentle touches and barely held-back smiles.

He raises a hand experimentally to run through his hair, and Jon kisses him deeper in response; open mouthed and wanting, tasting what he can, allowing himself to bite his lip gently. That takes the breath straight out of Martin’s lungs, and the bitten-off sound he makes apparently encourages Jon even more, as he breaks away and kisses him down across his jaw, under his chin, and down the side of his throat.

It’s frantic at first, a desperate attempt to map out as much of Martin as he can in the time he has, but the sense of urgency starts to bleed out of him, and he ends up kissing gentler and gentler the longer he lingers, until eventually Jon’s just nuzzling his nose into his skin and wrapping his arms around him for a hug. The sigh that escapes him makes Martin’s heart clench.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Martin’s shoulder, and later the weight of this will settle on their shoulders. Later they will have to sit down and figure this out, this mess of personalities and supernatural entanglement, this terrible future of fear laid out before them, and the path forward they will choose to carve out together. But for now they can sink into this embrace and breathe.

Martin doesn’t say the words back, he’s not quite there yet, but he doesn’t need to. It’s enough, it’s more than enough to just be here, for Martin to press his nose into Jon’s hair, and smile until his face aches from it.

[fictionalabyss]

Saltine.

Pairing : Crowley x Plussize!Reader

Word count : 1,930

Warnings : AU (Crowley isn't a demon but is super fucking rich), Cam girl, Cam show, drinking, partial nudity

Header by : @sorenmarie87, as always. She's the best and I adore her and her work.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

The internet was filled with so many girls thinking they could get rich quick just by taking off their clothes. Like they were something special, something to behold. But really, they were one in a billion. Forgettable. Nothing different from the next person.

You were one in thousands. Slightly better odds.

Being a BBW, while nothing overly special on it’s own, did do one thing for you. People who ended up in your room knew what they wanted. They wanted a curvaceous goddess in their face. Curves and softness, something you had plenty of. The pool of plus size cam girls was smaller than the pool of everyone else.

Beyond that, you did what people paid you to do. If a guy paid you to fill your room with balloons and pop them one after another by sitting on them, you did it. Rub lotion all over your stomach and then spit on it, sure. Wear clothes that were two sizes too small, why not.

Tonight was kind of like that. Packages from a few regulars had shown up in your PObox, and one of them had contained a bottle of booze. Glencraig, a scotch whiskey you’d never heard of until James showed up in your chat room and paid for a private show where you drank and talked with him for an hour about two months ago. Now you had your own bottle. So you had taken a picture of it sitting between your legs, put it as your profile pic on the site and titled your chat “Me and Craig. Let’s see where this goes.”

Crowley’s bored and frustrated. The office is empty and he’s supposed to be working but he’s pent up. It’s been a long day of morons fucking shit up and he needed a god damn break. Billions of dollars at his disposal and he still couldn’t buy good fucking help to run his business.

He’s scrolling through women, looking for someone to catch his eye and quickly realizing he doesn’t think anyone will. They’re all the same. Once you’ve had one, you’d had them all, and he’s had plenty in his time. Fergus McLeod was no innocent. He was the farthest thing from it.

With a grunt of disapproval, he started looking for something different, hoping for something new. Key words being typed into searches, but nothing catching his eye in half of those either. Not for long, anyways. ‘BBW’ was a keyword he’d hit. Not many girls online, some of them into some niche things that he’d honestly consider, but all their pictures were the same. Every single one.

Except one. It had him leaning closer, trying to read the label. Interested enough in that at least, he hit join. What he found inside made his cock twitch.

A dark leather chair, not too different from one he  sat in himself. Smooth thick thighs he found himself wanting to bite into. And between them? The item that had taken hold of his interest, the reason he’d clicked to join. Glencraig. The bottle was freshly opened from the looks of it, about three fingers missing, so probably only on her second glass at most. He leaned in again, trying to get a closer look at the label. A soft curse fell from his lips when he saw the numbers 1974, and then ‘Aged 34 Years’. His cock twitched again, and he found himself reaching down to grip it through his slacks.

It was a close up of the bottle right now, and he wasn’t complaining. No one complained when she went to refill her glass, either. A whiskey glass was brought down to her thigh, then the bottle was brought out of where it was nestled, and a bare pussy was exposed. Chimes rang through his office, followed by a soft giggle as she poured, and then the bottle was placed back down, her pussy hidden once more behind the amber liquid and the black label. Then the camera moved.

It was tilted up more, following the glass as it was brought up to her lips and she took another sip. A shiver ran down her spine as it burned, and Crowley found himself smiling along with her. He heard another chime, then her laugh again. The tip amounted to about 75$, give or take.

“James, don’t be absurd, you already paid for the bottle.” She spoke as she pushed the camera back, giving a full view. Bottle between her legs and that seductive smile on her lips.

A message came up in the chat that read ‘Maybe I want you to be able to get yourself another. Hey guys! Let’s get her enough to order another bottle so we can have another night like this!’

The chat sped up, messages agreeing with the sentiment, and more chimes of tips being given for the cause. Another giggle came from her lips as she brought the glass back up to her mouth.

Not to be out done, Crowley made a donation of his own.

You were smiling, giggling, happy that everyone seemed to enjoy the theme of the room tonight. Glad that James approved of how you used his gift. You tilted the glass back just as a few chimes went off signaling more donations, and one of them made you choke on the scotch and spit it out. You stared at the screen, stunned as the liquid ran down off your chin.

Who the fuck was TheKing, and why did he just drop what had to be about 2 grand on you?

A new alert sounded, and you noticed you had a DM. Speak of the devil.

>> TheKing : From one Glencraig lover to another. I hope you enjoy it, love.

You stared at it, still in shock. In all your time as a cam girl, on here, on BBW specific sites, nothing like this had ever happened before. People bought gifts, sure, but this?

>> TheKing : Breathe, darling. >> TheKing : Don’t forget to breathe.

Realizing you had just been sitting there staring at the screen, you wiped your chin off and licked your lips, trying to collect yourself. The main chat was blowing up, you weren’t the only one dealing with shock and awe with what just happened.

“Uhm.” you breathed out awkwardly, not sure what to say, how to react. Was this real? “All hail The King?” an awkward chuckle followed the words, but the chat room was filled with messages of ‘all hail TheKing!’  “Should I bow.. or..” you joked, with a shy smile.

>> TheKing : No need to bow, love. >> TheKing : Though I wouldn’t say no to a conversation.

A soft smile graced your lips before you typed out your answer.

<< Saltine : We’re having a conversation. >> TheKing : I was thinking something a little more face to face. >> TheKing : I hear your voice, you hear mine.

You licked your lips, the general chat room forgotten for the moment. With money he dropped on you, your undivided attention for a moment was the least you could do.

<< Saltine : I don’t meet people from the site in person. It’s a safety issue, I’m sure you understand.

Three little dots in the corner let you know he was typing almost immediately.

>> TheKing : I wouldn’t expect you to, love. I meant more of a chat where I have my camera on too. Make it a little more intimate. I don’t mind paying for a private show where you don’t need to show anything. I would just like a drink with you.

You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment, considering the offer. Private shows didn’t really happen a whole lot, but when they did, it was charged by the minute so it was worth the time. You found yourself using your thumb to crack the knuckle of your index finger, and then your middle one before you nodded. “Yeah, we can do a private chat.” you spoke, letting the chatroom know your cam would be shutting off in there in a minute.

>> TheKing : You just made me a very happy man, darling. Whenever you’re ready, you let me know.

You were chewing on your lip as you waited for his cam to kick in. It was a moment of black before a bright light seemed to come on, and quickly it shifted. There was black in the middle of brightness, and then slowly the light seemed to adjust. It was a window. A massive window. As the lighting adjusted, you found yourself looking at a man in a suit and behind him, a city skyscape all laid out for him.  Glancing at the time, you wondered where in the world he was. Was it evening like where you were, the sun still holding on and not yet ready to set, or was that a morning glow behind him. Either way, it looked beautiful.

The man himself was something to behold. Not stunningly beautiful, not young and fit like some of the guys who popped up on camera for you, but captivating. He seemed to demand attention, radiating power. He was someone. A few very short hairs touched his forehead, he had a short beard as well, one you had the urge to run your fingertips over. Dark piercing eyes that you felt burning into you as one side of his mouth turned up into a smirk at your reaction of seeing him.

“H-hi.” you stuttered, then curse yourself for it.

His smile only widened. He brought a glass up, and that’s when you noticed the bottle on his desk. The same as the bottle still sitting between your thighs. He took a sip, then placed the glass down on the dark wood. “Why Saltine?” he asked, and you felt your stomach flutter at the accent.

“Because I’m so fucking salty all the time?” You gave him a shy smile. “Why TheKing? What are you the king of?”

“Your dreams.” He answered without hesitation and a fuck ton of confidence. He was cocky, he knew the effect he had on people and how to use it. “If you wish it.”

“Tempting.” you try to tease, lifting your own glass to your lips. “Why me?” you ask before sipping.

“Glencraig. Aged 30 years or more, there is no finer drink, love. It’s rare to find a woman with such tastes.”

“It was bought for me.”

“But you enjoy it, yes?” You gave him a nod. You had to admit, it wasn’t bad. “A woman of taste.” he smiled again. “What other things do you enjoy, Saltine? Money? Things? Travel?”

“Are you offering?” he intrigued you. He really did. Something about him made you want more and you didn’t even know him. “I could use a vacation.”

“Anywhere you want, darling. Where would you like to go?”

“Paris.” You answered quickly, and it didn’t seem to faze him at all. “Scotland.” you added. “England. Ireland. India. Japan. I want to see it all.”

His smile widened again. “Scotland, eh? It has been a while since I’ve been home.”

“I was joking.” you chuckled.

“I wasn’t. In another life, I could’ve given you everything you wanted and more with just a snap of my fingers.” You sat there, stunned again. “Choose a place and I’ll send you there. If you want, I’ll take the time and meet you there. The choice is yours, darling. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this interested in anything.”

“All because of a bottle of Craig?” you asked.

“Everything good in life starts with a quality scots. Be it a whiskey, or a scotsman.” he winked. “So where first?”

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[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Severed

Read on AO3

It always surprised Jamie Fraser, the things that made him think of Claire Beauchamp. Along with the usual triggers—the gut punch when he caught a whiff of someone wearing her signature perfume, the seizing of his heart when his eyes were automatically drawn to messy brown curls on a stranger walking down the high street, the ache in his chest when someone walked past who had the same cadence as her laugh—it was the small, unexpected ones that hurt the most.

He could be walking into the village and see her hair in the colours of the water as it ruffled over the rocks in the burn, so real to him that it felt as though he could reach out and tangle it through his fingers. His carefully curated playlist would end and Spotify would betray him, blasting a song that he had kept at bay, conjuring memories of the two of them dancing like fools on the nights that they laughed so loud that it seemed even the walls shook as they brushed their teeth in the cramped bathroom of their dorm.

It was torture. A delicious kind, but torture nonetheless. One that he had thought to turn into prose—at the recommendation of his therapist. It had been explained to him that grief and loss were themes that could be explored in ourselves if we attempted to write them from another’s perspective. And so here he was now, years after she had left him, sitting at his late father’s desk with a whisky in one hand and a pen in the other, trying to make sense of what had happened and how he had ever been stupid enough to watch silently as her light, his Sorcha, slipped from his life.

On yet another night spent in the same position—the room dark with only a lamp beside him to illuminate the black moleskin notebook—he reclined, the chair creaking under his weight. His father’s old office chair, with it’s worn leather and rusty hinges, wasn’t built to accommodate a man of his size but he’d found that it actually helped to coax the words from his brain, as though the physical discomfort made his emotional pain easier to access. He seemed to need a little nudge to allow himself to sink deeper into parts of his past that he had spent so long trying to keep locked away.

When the whisky finally made him brave enough to open the door, the memories flooded out onto the paper: the sight of her pink lips pouted in frustration as she struggled to lift her belongings from the boot of the taxi on the first day of university, the first time she laughed at one of his terrible jokes (why do the French only use one egg to make an omelette, Sassenach? Because one is an oeuf!), the first time he helped her into her coat and his fingertips brushed the skin behind her ear (their maiden voyage to the on campus coffee house, faces taut in disgust as they realised that their unrelenting back and forth had caused their coffees to go cold). He wrote about falling in love with his best friend and why he had wasted so much time worrying about how to tell her.

Jamie had spent hours, days, months, sitting in his father’s chair, consumed by the fruitless pursuit of trying to plot the points of their relationship. Although he could vividly picture the scenes, he didn’t recognise the people anymore. He had been young, too young by half to know what he wanted out of life and she had been more than he could have dreamed of. He had fallen in love with her instantly, as he was sure most people did at the sight of one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. But that was years ago and they had both changed, she was living her life in Boston as a brilliant surgeon while Jamie languished in Lallybroch, living in his old bedroom while his sister and her family had the run of the house.

The burn of the whisky slipping down his throat was a pleasant distraction but the batch still made his eyes water slightly and he made a mental note to tell Ian that the recipe could still do with some tweaking before it could be sold under the Mac Dubh name. He had made a modest success of himself, that was true, now the creator of the fourth highest selling whisky in Scotland. Broch Tuarach had changed from a small farming village that nobody really knew of to the home of one of Scotland’s largest and most successful distilleries, and Jamie was often credited with bringing jobs and tourists to the village in numbers that hadn’t been seen before. There had been a boom in the local economy allowing the village to thrive and he was seen as a pillar of the community, people jokingly referring to him as Laird, or the more familiar Himself, when he passed them in the street although the official title was held by some landowner that lived down south somewhere and had only stepped foot in the area once.

Still, he thought, this batch wasn’t ready for marketing just yet. Jamie put the glass down, rubbed his tired eyes with his even more tired fingers and decided to call it a night, making his way down the hall to his bedroom. His limbs felt heavy as he went through the motions of getting ready for bed. Finally stripping off his shirt and jeans and crawling under the covers, he cast a cursory glance at the phone he had left charging on the bedside table.

Sassenach

Missed call 23.02

He screwed his eyes shut before opening them again as if to knock some sense into them but the notification was still there. The rough pad of his thumb hovered over it, almost afraid that if he attempted to open it, it would cease to exist. He pressed the lock button once to blacken the screen, paused, and then pressed it again to bring it into view and still it remained.

It must have been an accident, a slip of the hand while she was trying to call someone else. He reminded himself of the time difference, it would be the early evening where she was and she could be tired after a long day or maybe even rushing between surgeries. She probably hadn’t even noticed that she had called him. He had to fight his inflating ego when he considered the fact that she still had his number, but blushed in shame as he recalled the frightened face of the poor spotty teenage lad in the phone shop who he had made swear that he wouldn’t lose any contacts or photos when he upgraded to his new handset.

Realising that he was now sat straight up in his bed, his heart beating a slightly faster staccato than usual, he opened the notification. Just seeing her name (or rather, his name for her) on his screen again did things to his body that he wasn’t in control of. His hands felt clammy while his mouth was dry. This was different than just scanning her Facebook page in the dark, looking at her perfectly posed pictures that she chose to share, and lamenting the absence of candids that he had so loved taking when they were friends. She found one of them once, one he had snapped of her the day that they had taken the ferry over to the Isle of Arran for a few nights. Knowing that she didn’t have any remaining family, he had insisted that she spend the summer break from university at Lallybroch with his family and she had happily accepted. However, after a few nights in Jamie’s massive ancestral home, filled with more Fraser bodies than they could count, he promised to take her away for a few days of peace and had driven her to the ferry terminal at Claonaig without divulging their destination. They had been blessed with a beautiful summer’s day for the crossing to Lochranza and he’d thanked God that he managed to keep his breakfast in his stomach. Or rather, that he almost had until they were in sight of the island. Jamie had burst from his seat and had made it to the toilet just in time for his stomach to erupt, sweat dampening his brow until his wame was empty. Shivering and definitely worse for wear but at least grateful in the knowledge that there was nothing else to come up, he had returned to the deck of the ferry to see Claire out in the sun, her forearms resting on the railing as she looked out over the water. The way that her hair whipped up in the wind made Jamie’s chest tighten and before he knew it, he had taken out his phone and snapped a picture.

Months later, Claire had snagged his phone from the table of the bar that they were sat in, too quick for Jamie. She quipped an eyebrow at him in victory, chastising him that he had yet to show her pictures of his latest niece when she stumbled across the photo. He watched as her throat bobbed, swallowing emotion that he wished he could taste before looking at him straight in the eye. Without being asked, he told her that he couldn’t help himself. And she smiled shyly before cooing about Jenny’s new daughter.

The memory flooded his senses and Jamie closed his eyes, filling his lungs with a deep breath for a count of four, holding it for a count of four and then letting it out for six in a vain attempt at calming his racing mind. His whole body felt as though it was vibrating, alive for the first time in what he could remember at the mere <em>thought</em> of Claire Beauchamp.

It took Jamie a second to realise that the vibration wasn’t coming from his body. Or rather, it was, but from a specific part of his body. His hand, the one that was holding his phone, was shaking rhythmically, the screen bright against the darkness of the rest of the room.

Sassenach calling…

The breath jittered from his lungs as he tried to take a steady breath. Watching, almost as though someone else was moving his body as he thumb accepted the call and he slowly raised the phone to his ear.

“Claire?”

On the other end of the phone, he heard her let out a heavy breath. His heart seized as he listened to her break, all too familiar with the sound of her crying.

“Claire, are ye hurt? Tell me what’s—“

“Frank is dead.”

Ice fell heavy in his chest at the sound of her voice before he even took stock of the words that she had uttered. To hear her voice again.

“Oh, lass… Mo chridhe, I am so sorry,” he whispered the words, truly meaning them as he wished for nothing but her happiness. Anything to bring her from the pain that she was feeling.

“He— oh God, he’s dead. He’s really dead.”

He knew in that moment that he would cross oceans for her simply to bring her peace. He had always known the truth of what they shared, how he responded to her call but nothing had prepared him for the tsunami of pure need that he would experience when he heard her cry down the phone about her dead husband.

“I’m sorry, mo chridhe, I’m so sorry,” he repeated at the sound of her hyperventilating, his shoulders creeping up around his ears as he wished he could bear the pain for her, “What do you need, Claire? Anything.”

“He’s in the ground,” she whispered as though saying it out loud would make it more true, “God, Jamie, I don’t know what to do.”

Hearing his name fall from her lips was a balm that he didn’t know his soul needed. The hairs on his arms stood to attention as a shiver rippled through him, clenching his jaw to steady himself and give her his full attention.

“Do ye have people around ye, Claire? Have ye folk in Boston?”

[wastelandcth]

Better Love - cth

part two: the wild and us

summary: Maeve and Calum meet. The rain outside puts on a show. 

author’s notes: I hope you guys enjoyed the first part of this series! This part had one of my favorite scenes I’ve ever written so I hope you enjoy! 

warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of breakups, mentions of food. 

masterlist || request || join my taglist! 

part one

Staring in the blackness at some distant star The thrill of knowing how alone we are, unknown we are To the wild and to the both of us

"What are you doing in my hotel?" she asked shakily, her wariness prevalent in the way her voice shook as she stared at the man in front of her. 

The towel she was pulling closer to her body felt like nothing in the room with him. Maeve, who had only made it  back to the cabin an hour prior, had expected to be alone. She'd hadn't expected to walk out of her shower to find a tall man sleeping in the bed she'd rented out for the week. She also hadn't expected the rainstorm to be so bad, her weather app claiming her entire week here would be sunny and perfect for hiking, so finding a man in her cabin hadn't been in her plans either. 

And wow was he a sight for sore eyes. 

"What are you doing in my cottage?" he asked, Maeve's eyebrow raising as she heard the trace of an accent, "Mrs. Bagby rented this place out to me, she never said there was someone already staying here," he huffed, his eyebrows furrowing as he studied Maeve's. 

"Mrs. Bagby? Who the hell is Mrs. Bagby? I'm renting this from Mrs. Baird," Maeve said, "I was here first! You're the intruder!"

Maeve, who had always been prepared to debate with anyone, was not backing down no matter how exposed she was in front of a handsome man. She wasn't going to stand for a stranger barging into her space, she needed this vacation more than anything in this world and she'd be damned if she let this ruin it. She watched as the man in front of her opened and closed his mouth, looking like a fish out of the water as he tried to come up with a solution to the very obvious problem. If Maeve was honest, she had no idea how the confusion had happened or how they'd both ended up in this situation, but she didn't have much time to think about it. 

The thunder outside shook the walls of the small cabin, rattling the jars and the decorations on the walls throughout, and it wasn't until Maeve heard the crack of lightning that she realized just how bad the storm outside had become. The view outside the window had been fogged, the colorful autumn trees disappearing behind the wall of water falling from the sky as the landscape blurred into a mixture of grey and orange with red splotches. Maeve, whose attention had switched from the man in the green hoodie to the raging storm outside, had grabbed the pile of clothes she'd left on the dresser. Without another word, she walked back towards the bathroom and made sure to twist the lock before she let out a breath. 

The man in her bedroom for the week had been, breathtaking to say the least. His eyes, although wide and filled with confusion when Maeve had looked into them, were brown and shone even in the gloominess of the weather His hair was short, the tufts of blonde hair curling near the ends. Maeve guessed that his hair had been a darker color naturally, the roots she'd spotted proving her point. He looked like a kind person, maybe he was like Maeve as well, just another person looking for an escape. 

That's all her trip to this cabin was meant to be, an escape. 

Maeve's life had always been simple if you could call it that. She'd been born on a rainy afternoon, her mother liked to tell her it was because she was meant to outshine the sun itself. Her parents, who'd met in Scotland years before she ever came to take her first breath, had always told her about the magic the country had to offer. They told her stories of the forests so vast and large that even the biggest of problems could shrink down into pebbles that flowed away in the rivers. She'd grown up in a small town, dreaming of the wonders that Scotland had for her when she was old enough to see them. 

Maeve had moved when her time at university peaked when her nose was stuck in books that spoke all about the history and the cultures that made up the world. It had been the first time in her life that she'd been away from her parents, from the only home she had ever known, and it had been so thrilling. She went from only traveling to big cities for concerts or when her father had needed to run errands to living right in the heart of all the commotion. The quiet nights that had been filled with only cicadas singing into the night were replaced by the sound of a city, alive and cheerful at all hours of the day. Maeve had never experienced so much at such a fast pace and her life at her university flew by before she had a chance to slow down. One day she was unpacking her bags in her dorm and the next she was accepting her diploma and applying to jobs around the country. She felt the burnout, felt the way her brain tensed whenever she read through application requirements and the thought of having to pack up her life again. She felt the way her eyes forced themself open while riding the train to interviews. She knew that she needed a break, a few days off to remember who she was and what she wanted in life. To make matters worse, her relationship had been going downhill. She'd met James at a social event the school had put on, both of them were in the same program so it wasn't hard to make conversation with him. After too many history jokes and a trip to the campus bar, Maeve found herself awake in his arms as he slept. She'd laid there that first night, looking out at the stars through his window, wondering why she'd felt a pull towards a different place, a different person.

That feeling hadn't stopped since that night, she'd stayed with James, he was a nice guy who made her laugh and kept her company as they both studied. But he wasn't someone she saw herself spending the rest of her life with. She had a feeling that James felt the same way even if they were both too afraid to admit that the spark that had been there before was fiddling out. The arguments were getting worse, the silence lasting longer as time went on. It wasn't until one night when Maeve had been studying for a final exam that it had all exploded. Words were thrown around, tears were shed, and she was left feeling like something was wrong with her. She couldn't understand why she couldn't love James as he loved her, she'd turn distant and pushed him away until all that was left between them was a broken flower vase and tears.

That's why she'd jumped on the opportunity to fly to Scotland when it arose. She'd been sitting at her desk, scrolling through an endless list of applications and teaching opportunities when the email had popped up. She'd read through it a couple of times, making sure she wasn't imagining the words on the screen. Her professor, who'd helped her in more ways than one could count, had recommended her for a teaching job abroad. She would have to visit the school, make sure that it was both a right fit for her and for the administration, but it seemed like they were more than ready to offer her a spot and helping her make Edinburgh her home. 

Mrs. Baird, the lovely older woman who had driven Maeve up to the cabin and helped her unpack, had told her that she was glad she'd arrived a few days earlier after Maeve had told her all about why she was visiting Scotland at such an odd time of year. She'd been a curious soul ever since Maeve had stepped out of the taxi that had taken her from the train station out to the main residence Mrs. Baird had seemed to be the owner of. She'd asked Maeve all sorts of questions, which Maeve had taken as to her host just making sure she wasn't escaping from anyone dangerous or anything like that, it was a tough time to be a woman traveling alone.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll love the spot you'll be staying in then. It's very private, it'll be good for you to clear your head and relax before your big interview," she'd nodded as she packed up a few bags with groceries Maeve hadn't recalled reading about on the website. 

"Oh, um, I don't think I paid for anything like that, Mrs. Baird," Maeve chuckled and shook her head, "I was thinking of just popping into town and picking up a few essentials."

"Oh don't you worry, darling! It's my pleasure. Plus, the cottage is quite secluded so it'd take you almost half a day to get to the shops and back," she shrugged, "Let's get going, yeah?"

The drive up to the cabin had been slow and gave Maeve a chance to take in the sights. The forest was alive with colors that Maeve's eyes had craved to see. It seemed like everything her parents had told her about the place they'd met was still the same. The trees still sway in the chilly breeze and somewhere in the distance, a river flowed with a power that only came with years of flowing and receiving rain. The drive itself had been plenty enough to get Maeve excited about her days of rest but the second her eyes saw the stone bridge that led to her home for the next couple of days, she knew her life was about to change. After helping Mrs. Baird with bringing in all the bags and thanking her for the candles she'd also brought, telling her a rainstorm was predicted to pass through the next day, Maeve was alone. 

Her first day in the cabin had been spent unpacking and unwinding. Mrs. Baird had been kind enough to bring a bottle of Scottish whiskey, telling her," when in Scotland" and Maeve had sampled the liquor, letting it burn her throat as she stared out at the river flowing outside her bedroom window. Her trip had been going great so far, she'd successfully beaten jetlag, had managed not to burn the small kitchen down during her dinner, and she had taken a nice and relaxing show when the rainstorm had shown up the next day. She'd made sure to light a few candles around the place, not wanting to walk around in the dark if the power did go out. Then, of course, everything took a turn for the unexpected when Maeve walked out of the bathroom and was met by a man sleeping in her bed. 

By the time she'd walked out of the bathroom again, fully dressed and a little more confident in herself, the power had gone out and the whole cabin had been illuminated with an orange glow coming from the candles. The man was no longer in the bedroom, but the storm outside the window was winding up more and more as the seconds passed. She knew she couldn't make him walk out in the forest during the storm, it was too dangerous and mean in general to kick someone out in the middle of a downpour. So she'd let the guy stay until the storm passed and then they'd both walk down to the main residence and sort out whatever the hell was happening. 

"Calum," he mumbled, looking over as Maeve stepped out into the living room, "I'm Calum."

"Maeve," she replied with a nod, "You're not here to murder me, right?"

Calum chuckled and shook his head, which made Maeve warm and sent a shiver down her spine. His smile was nice, a murderer wouldn't have waited for her to get dress unless he was into that, she thought. She'd smiled at him, tugging the sleeves of her sweater down a bit as she looked around the living room. The candles gave the entire room a moody glow, the storm had stopped the sunshine from coming in through the windows and it had felt later on in the day than it actually was. 

"So...tea?" she asked softly as she motioned towards the kitchen. 

Maeve had found out that Calum, which was a very fitting name for the man sitting across from her watching the rain outside, had been in Scotland for a little over two weeks. He'd been traveling on his own, exploring the smaller cities and seeing what the Highlands had to offer. Maeve had told him about her interview, confessing that she wasn't the most prepared and that these few days before were to help her hopefully calm down. To her surprised, she’d learned that Calum was a professor at a university near his town, both of their widening at the confession of just how similar they were.

"That's exciting, what are you hoping to teach?” Calum asked, his eyes meeting hers in the candlelight, “I specialize in Art History.”

“History,” she nodded, a blush on her cheeks, her eyes glancing down to the cup of tea that had been warming her hands, “I’ve always loved studying it and I want to help others learn about it too.”

“Yeah? I get that. The history department at my school isn’t the best Some older man names Rainer runs it like it’s still warm times,” Calum chuckled, “He’s the worst.”

Maeve laughed, shaking her head as she thought about her fair share of professors who had yet to catch up with the times She thought about what kind of instructor Calum was. It was only his second year teaching so was he the one who made his students excited for lessons ahead? Did he use fun activities and assignments to incorporate them into his plans? Maybe he assigned cool projects, where the main point was to gain a bigger understanding of something a student has been wanting to talk about. Calum seemed like the type and from what Maeve had learned about the man in the short hours she’d known him, she knew he was kind and attentive.

“How was your hike up here?” Calum asked as he set the cup of tea down on the table, his legs stretching out as his head leaned on the back of the couch. 

“Hike?” Maeve asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she looked over at him.

“Yeah, I left around like five and didn’t get here until ten,” Calum chuckled and shrugged, “And somehow you look like you just took a leisurely drive up here,” he teased, sitting up as he saw the look on Maeve’s face, “Oh my god, you drove up here, didn’t you?”

"In my defense," Maeve giggled out, holding her arms up, "Mrs. Baird offered to bring me up here"

"Oh, and she forced me to walk for five hours and fall in the mud!?" Calum whined, shaking his head as he let out a groan, "She's so not getting a good review from me, whatever her name may be."

Maeve laughed softly, watching the way Calum ran a hand down his face and pouted over at her. She was surprised at how easily they both got along, usually, Maeve had trouble getting out of her own head and talking to new people. But with Calum things just felt so carefree. She wasn't sure if it was such a good thing, opening up to a complete stranger who had been booked into the same cabin as her, but the rain outside wasn't letting up and she was more than willing to work out a compromise to share with him until the rain stopped and they could take the quad bike Mrs. Baird had told Maeve about before leaving her in the middle of nowhere. 

"Do you want to go freshen up? I'm sure your five-hour hike up here more than justifies a nice warm bath," Maeve nodded, giggling as Calum glared playfully over at her, "I'll try and mix something up for lunch?"

"That sounds lovely, if the rain doesn't stop soon I'll make us dinner," Calum shrugged, standing up from the couch and walking over to the entrance of the cabin, gathering his bag and a pile of clothes that Maeve hadn't even noticed were on the floor before making his way over to the bathroom. 

The rain had not stopped by the time Calum had gotten out of the bath, much to Maeve’s pleasure since she’d heard his soft voice singing along to whatever song he’d been playing. The rain hadn't stopped while the two ate their lunch, a stew that Maeve had managed to throw together in the tiny kitchen. And the rain had, surprisingly, not stopped while Calum had been bustling around the kitchen a few hours later, making dinner while Maeve read through one of the many books she’d packed with her for her trip If she hadn’t known anything about Scotland before traveling there, she would’ve assumed the Earth was flooding and that her adventure abroad would end before it even started.

It wasn’t until a crack of thunder rocked the walls of the cabin that Maeve realized just how extreme the weather has turned. The window was howling against the windows, shaking the panes with the intensity of it. The power had yet to come back and as the day had gone by, the cabin had only grown gloomier and gloomier. Their only source of light had been the many candles that their host has left them, something Maeve would be eternally grateful for. They crackled and glowed in the darkness of whatever room Maeve would get up to look out the window through. Her shadows mixed with the firelight and danced across the dark walls of the safety she’d come to know in her short stay. The river outside of the house, which was louder now that it was filled with rainwater, had grown taller as Maeve would barely see the giant rocks inside of the river which had caused the small rapids earlier in the day.

It was all terrifyingly beautiful.

Nature had put on a show for her and Calum, letting them in on the secret dance the forest and elements did for one another. The trees danced with the wind, swaying wildly from side to side and switching directions when they pleased. The river water jumped over the stone bridge above it, splashing cold water onto the top and lowering as it sprinkled back down onto itself. The woodland animals, who would be hiding in the safety of their own homes, hidden somewhere Maeve couldn’t quite see but hoped they’d be just as amazed watching the show that the world put on for them. It was all so terrifying and violent, the rain submitting to no one but itself as he disappeared into the river only to come down harder from the clouds in the night sky. It wasn’t until the thunder, which had been singing a song for the forest itself, cracked again that the stone bridge took its final bow.

Maeve watched as the bridge crumbles. It started slowly, one of two big pieces crumbling into the river below as if by accident. But the water was cruel and greedy, splashing upwards and sending more and more stone into its hands. Maeve, who could do nothing more than watch as their only way back out to civilization crumbled and washed away into the river below, gasped and leaned against the window. The glass shook underneath her hands, the wind greeting her palms from the outside and howling in excitement as the once-solid bridge was split into two pieces, never to meet again, as the final act of nature’s show came to an end.

“Did you hear that?” Calum asked as he walked into the bedroom, where Maeve had been watching the show, “Maeve?”

She turned to face the stranger, her wide eyes softening as she was met with the definition of a word she couldn’t place in her brain. Calum had changed into a pair of joggers, the grey material hanging loosely off his hips and only held up by a haphazardly tied knot. His upper half was dressed in a warm green sweater, the color reminding her of the fields of green she’d seen on the train ride to the small town, his board shoulder stretching the fabric a little bit in the candlelight, he looked breathtaking. Maeve knew he was good-looking, it was one of the first things she’d noticed when he’d jumped up from the bed with tired eyes that had been filled with fear. He was beautiful and kind and…stuck with Maeve.

“T-the bridge,” she stuttered out, her cheeks flushing as she realized Calum was still standing in front of her waiting for an answer, “The bridge fell.”

taglist: @hoodhoran​​​ @finelliine​ @moonlightcriess​​​ @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver​​ @calpops​​ @karajaynetoday​​ @notlukehemmo​​ @calumrose​​ @devilatmydoor​ @lyss-xo @lowkeyflop​​  @matchacal​​ @hemmo1996-5sosvevo​​ @myloverboyash​ @2fangirl4u​​ @multistann​

[artificialqueens]

Someone I Genuinely Love (Taywhora) - pureCAMP

A/N - I feel like a broken record but it must be said, I feel like I exclusively write for Ortega at this point and I am not mad at it, I love her more than I love myself. Here is a short little Taywhora for my favourite scottish queen <3

The night - er, morning - was a disaster.

To be honest, Tayce had seen it coming from a mile off, and she had warned Lawrence that inviting both A’Whora and Tia was going to be an absolute shitstorm. They just plain didn’t like each other, which was fine, but A’Whora had trouble holding her sharp tongue at the best of times, and mixing in a bucket-load of alcohol and a pretty cramped house, and you had a recipe for chaos.

(And, really? A house party? Were they still seventeen?)

Nevertheless, it was Lawrence’s birthday, and she called the shots, and she drank the shots, and she got to choose who came to her house to get unreasonably pissed into the wee hours of the morning.

Tia was there pretty early - or, at least, she was on time like most of them. She was stood in the kitchen with a Smirnoff Ice in her hand, happily chatting away to Ellie, wearing a dress that Tayce had complimented, if only to make some brief conversation. It was… passable, really, a half-decent outfit if she went that far, but nothing to write home about. Unfortunately, Tayce knew A’Whora was gonna hate it, and A’Whora with a loose tongue was almost certainly gonna make a comment about it.

The girl in question rocked up late and sloppy, as per her usual style. She stumbled through the front door and leant in the frame with a tipsy smile, plush lips painted pink and dabbed with glitter, eyelashes fluttering. Her skin-tight dress was fuchsia, bright, emphasising her soft tan thighs that the fabric rode up against and clinging to every inch of her. Once neat, her dark hair was messily piled on top of her head, falling tantalisingly in front of her face.

Tayce couldn’t help but feel relieved that she’d decided to come.

“The party can finally start!” A’Whora exclaimed, raising her drink in the air with a flourish and slamming the door behind her with her heel.

“It already started, ya lazy fuck!” Lawrence yelled from the back of the house. Tayce, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking onto the front door, made eye contact with A’Whora and giggled at their friend.

“Isn’t she charming?” Tayce gestured towards the general vicinity of Lawrence’s voice.

A’Whora crept closer, her eyes wide and expectant. “Okay, listen. I saw Tia’s snapchat earlier. Tell me she got changed before coming out tonight.”

Here we go. Tayce bit her lip. “Aurora. A’Whora Borealis. You be nice.”

“I’m not trying to be rude or anything but she looks like a fucking Year Nine at her first party wearing a Pretty Little Thing dress that her mum chose for her. I mean, is she serious about it? Is it like a joke?” A’Whora covered her mouth with the side of her hand, her tone conspiratory and judgemental. 

Tayce rolled her eyes, both fond and irritated. “Whory, be nice. She clearly likes it, let her have fun. She’s not hurting anybody.”

“She’s hurting my eyes.” A’Whora rebuffed, pursing her lips. “Not like you, though. You’re a sight for sore eyes tonight.”

Internally she was pleased, but played it off smoothly. It wasn’t like Tayce had cleverly thought out her oversized blazer and thigh-high boots combo with A’Whora in mind, of course not. It wasn’t like she’d tailored her outfit hoping for a good response from her… friend? What even was A’Whora besides a hot girl she’d known forever who she spent 50% of her time blatantly flirting back and forth with and 50% of her time denying that she was doing it?

Lawrence burst through the corridor in a flourish of colour to greet A’Whora and groaned, fanning herself with her hand. “Fuck me, I am sweating.”

Tayce blinked. “It’s October. There’s no way you’re hot, in October, in Scotland.”

“Not from the heat, fuckin’ braindead supermodel. From the weight of the crushing sexual tension in this room.”

She looked pointedly between A’Whora and Tayce, neither of whom were particularly shocked by Lawrence’s openness, having grown used to it. However, in an embarrassingly same wavelength move, both girls cocked an eyebrow.

“Aye, I’m talking about you, pinchin’ your Botox lips at me Miss A’Whora the Explorer.”

A’Whora shook her head. “The cheek! Cheek of you to suggest that something’s going on here.”

“Not sure where you’re getting your sources from, but I’d consider leaving The Sun’s team out of your investigations,” Tayce added, A’Whora trying and failing to conceal her smile as Lawrence playfully whacked her arm.

“Get to fuck with those accusations. You carry on living out your little Gavin and Stacey storyline and I’ll go ask the Pope if he’s still shitting in the woods or if bears are still Catholic. Have fun ya fucking lesbians.”

As she disappeared back into the living room, where Bimini had started blasting something with a heavy, pulsing beat, A’Whora turned back to Tayce with an offended look on her face.

“Did that William Wallace wannabe just imply that I’d be the man in the relationship just because I’m English?” She asked, reeling backwards. “Fucking cheek!”

Tayce laughed. “Well, you don’t have legs like mine…” She trailed off, predicting A’Whora’s outburst.

“Hey! Listen, we’d be a great Naomi and Kim, so shut your beautiful face and stop seducing me with that gorgeous accent.” She paused for a second, thinking, and then blinked. “I mean Naomi Campbell and Kim Kardashian, I realise that sounded like something different…”

Tayce looped her arm through A’Whora’s and started trudging down the hallway, making their way into the living room with most of the others. “I love that you think you’re anything like a Kardashian, babe. The Kylie lips maybe, but you’re no Kim.”

As the music grew louder and louder in their eyes, Bimini wrapping a drunk sweaty arm around them both and bellowing something inaudible, Tayce leaned in close to A’Whora’s ear and added, “I’d much prefer what you’ve got to what Kim’s got.”

That was the game; cat and mouse, a game of chase and coy avoidance. After that, she slipped away to dance with Asttina, sipping on her drink and trying to hide her eagerness. The next move was A’Whora’s, as they both knew, and she could play it whenever she wanted.

It was after maybe another hour of drinking and gushing with her friends about how beautiful everyone looked and how drunk they all felt that Tayce realised the atmosphere in Lawrence’s living room was a little too kind. Nothing wrong with that, of course, and a house full of drunk girls was basically the club bathroom scenario elevated to an extreme level, but a kind atmosphere meant that A’Whora had clearly gone into another room. Not good.

Making to find her, Tayce got all the way to the doorway before Ellie and Lawrence stopped her to chat about whether or not it would be stupid to play spin the bottle (it would) and whether or not they should all do some more shots (they did). Then I Wanna Dance With Somebody started playing, and by the first “Woo!”, she’d totally forgotten about her earlier mission, and ran back inside screaming and grabbing at Asttina to dance with her. 

She had to give Lawrence some credit, because her playlist was incredible. Nothing but banger after banger after banger.

About half way through Good As Hell, Tayce became aware of what sounded like shouting, underwater and garbled and messy. Though she carried on grinding against Asttina and singing along to Lizzo’s affirmations, her head checked out a little as she tried to focus on the background voices over the blaring music. It proved to be quite the struggle, being as drunk as she was, but as it turned out, she didn’t need to pay too much attention, as she wasn’t the only one that had noticed.

By the time Tia was standing outraged in the living room doorway, all eyes were on her. She looked furious, cheeks red and eyes spilling over, her fists clenched and trembling.

Lawrence quietened the music.

“So, were you gonna tell me that you all think I look like shit or did you nominate A’Whora to be the nasty cunt she usually is?” She looked down at her dress, back up, and choked back a sob. “Fuck off, the lot of you.”

Immediately, half the room started to follow her with choruses of love, their words getting tangled in a web of you’re beautiful and she doesn’t speak for us and A’Whora’s just a bitch and I like it! 

The living room felt significantly emptier with just Lawrence, Ellie and Tayce in it, the three of them frozen staring at the doorway like they couldn’t believe it had finally kicked off. After a few moments, The 1975 now playing at an awkwardly low volume, A’Whora passed the living room, peered inside with brimming eyes, and broke into a run. 

Tayce followed her on instinct, leaving Lawrence and Ellie behind. Her heart sank as she rushed through the house; one part of her took in the group of girls gathered in the kitchen, their arms hooked over a crying Tia, their tongues slicing away at A’Whora’s character with every dirty look that they sent in the direction of the now wide-open front door. 

As bad as she felt for Tia, no one was going after A’Whora. And maybe that made sense, but Tayce had never cared too much about making sense - not when it came to her. 

Luckily, she didn’t have to go too far. A little way down Lawrence’s street, a familiar figure was sitting crumpled over on the curb, her face hidden in her hands, head leaning against the lamppost under which she was illuminated. Like an angel, Tayce thought. Like a sad, stupid angel. 

“Whory. What did you do, babe? I wanna hear it from you.”

A’Whora looked up. Flecks of black mascara stained around her eyes, the shadows beginning to smudge into the eyeliner from her tears, and her lip trembled. She lowered her head, prompting Tayce to sit down on the curb next to her, legs stretched out into the empty road. 

“I told her the dress was fucking ugly, because someone’s gotta do it. I was just trying to help but I know that was an asshole thing to say and I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.” 

Tayce blinked. She hadn’t expected the remorseful part of A’Whora’s answer, if she was being honest. She usually never gave in, never admitted defeat, proudly shrugged off any offence caused while Tayce tried to interject some kindness into her. It never worked, which she’d always found frustrating, but now it was unsettling that it had. 

“I mean, I’m right. She looks like the embodiment of the fucking kid’s section of a TK Maxx.”

Tayce kissed the side of her head, A’Whora responding by resting it on Tayce’s shoulder. “I thought she was the Year Nine girl in her mum’s choice of Pretty Little Thing dresses?” She teased gently. To her relief and simultaneous heartbreak, it received a short, wet laugh. 

“I didn’t expect her to - to rip into me like that. Like she did.” 

“What happened?”

“She stood up for herself. Which is good, right?” A’Whora sniffed. “She told me I’m a vapid self-absorbed little bitch, and that she can change her shitty fashion sense while I’ll be stuck with my fake face and dog shit personality for the rest of my life. And that at least our friends like her, ‘cause they barely tolerate me.”

Tayce squeezed her eyes shut and hugged her tighter. “You gotta understand she’s coming from a place of hurt, darling. I know you know this, but you have been pretty mean to her in the past.”

A’Whora nodded weakly, throwing up a peace sign. “Karma,” She sang, the humour in it betrayed by her wobbly voice. “I deserved it, but… I didn’t realise it would hurt this much. Especially because she’s right.”

“She’s not right,” Tayce cut in immediately, a little surprised by her own fierce defensiveness. “She was just angry and upset.”

A moment of silence fell as A’Whora lapsed into thought, her face still smushed into Tayce’s shoulder. She scuffed her shoes into the stones gathered at the edge of the curb, kicking them into the road and scraping her heels into the gritty dirt. As cold as the night was, Tayce could hardly feel it with A’Whora so close.

She laughed bitterly. “Tay, look at us. Do you see any of our other friends out here? No, they’re all telling Tia how much they love her. Because they do. And I’m the nasty fucking bully that won’t go away so they just put up with me until I give them a reason to talk shit.”

“That’s not true, Whory. Sure, we gotta work on controlling that lip of yours, but the girls still love you.” Tayce paused, and then peppered a few more kisses to the top of her head. “You may be a bitch, but you’re my bitch.”

“Kinky,” A’Whora giggled, softening into her side. “You still like me?”

“I always like you.” Tayce whispered. 

Above them, the orange street lamp flickered and turned off, casting them into darkness. A crescent moon shone just above them, partially covered by clouds, and the night was quiet. Tayce leaned back, pulling A’Whora with her, until both girls were laying down, half on the pavement and half into the road, their arms around one another and heads facing the sky. A lifetime or even a minute could’ve passed as they just watched the stars, endlessly fascinated by the tiny pinpricks of light, but when Tayce turned her head, it struck her that A’Whora’s eyes sparkled better than any night sky she’d ever seen.

“I should apologise to Tia.” A’Whora murmured.

“Tomorrow.” Their voices were barely above a whisper, something unspoken and sacred about maintaining the tranquility of the silent night. “Give her time to cool off.”

“And you promise you still like me?”

Her eyes were wide, hopeful. Their faces were so close it was no effort at all. It never was. 

Not with her.

The night - er, morning -  was a disaster, but A’Whora’s lips tasted like cherry gloss and her touch was soft and gentle, and maybe things didn’t always end badly. Maybe it would be okay as long as Tayce had A’Whora and A’Whora had Tayce. 

Maybe Lawrence fucking Chaney was right.

[mischiefthedreamerx]

To Never Give Up

Summary: By mistake, Loki takes a portal leading him to New Asgard, where he meets Thor who is broken & hopeless after the events of Infinity War. Thor is given some closure and Loki can finally say goodbye.

Pairing: Loki x Sylvie implied.

A/N: Idk how Loki ends up in New Asgard in but that's irrelevant. Towards the end I kind of lost inspiration & ideas so it flopped a bit but I wanted to finish it.

Word Count: 3k

- - - - - - - -

Loki landed ungracefully with a loud 'thud' against a hard cold floor. As he lay down in his new surroundings, the awful smell of the room hit him first, making him scrunch up his nose. Getting up to his feet with an exhausted sigh, he took in the room. It was small, dull and unkempt. Only a slither of light broke through the closed curtains. Empty food packets and cans of alcohol littered the table and wooden floor. Loki saw some controls with wires connecting to a thin rectangular box next to a TV. The stoned-wall room looked abandoned, claustrophobic. How could anyone possible live here? Blankets lay over a gloomy sofa as if someone was sleeping on it too.

Loki cautiously walked around the room for any sign of life, avoiding treading on the litter or touching anything for that matter. He thought whoever lived here would probably not be much of a threat. Outside, he heard the sound of birds squawking and ocean waves.

The next thing he heard was a sudden high pitch creaking sound of a door opening. Loki conjured up a small dagger, eyes narrowing to the direction of the sound. Someone was home. The door closed and within seconds, the resident appeared in front of the room.

Loki’s dagger fell to the floor as he froze in place. He stared openly, wide eyed, trying to process who this heavy figure was. The figure in turn dropped a white plastic bag of food.

"Thor..?” Loki gasped in horror. His brother wore a grubby white t-shirt and a knitted cardigan, hair long and tangled. At first, Loki wasn't even sure it was Thor.

Thor mumbled out a bunch of incoherent sounds before managing to form actual words. "Loki..? Loki! You're alive!" He let out a laugh as he pulled his brother into a tight hug.

Loki was left speechless. Tears prickled in the corner of his eyes, hesitantly placing an arm around Thor to return the embrace. A warmth spread through him. Loki did not wish to let go though Thor eventually did.

A bright smile crossed his lips. “You bastard! You had me fooled there, thinking you'd actually died again! And for good this time. You truly are quite the trickster, brother. " The laughter continued as he pat Loki on the back.

Loki swallowed. "Thor..I'm.." His stomach ached at the thought of telling Thor the truth. "I'm not from this timeline." He guessed since Thor was not on Asgard that their home had been destroyed on this timeline by Ragnarok and Thanos had attacked. Loki placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. "I'm not your Loki." He said softly.

"Wait..this isn't another one of your silly little tricks, right?" He kept up his smile despite the uncertainty in his gaze.

Loki raised both hands in an attempt to calm his brother. "Thor. I need you to listen to me."

But he did exactly the opposite. "Please come in! Excuse the mess. I-i wasn't expecting visitors. Not that I, er, getting any.." Thor mumbled as he hurried in, removing any litter from the sofa and tidying the blankets. Loki turned to watch Thor helplessly, unable to move from his spot. He sucked in a heavy sigh. "Have a seat." Thor spoke.

Loki forced away the numbness in his limps and slowly sat down. "Thor, please. Just listen to me." He said in despair.

"Right. Of course." Thor muttered, siting himself down.

"What year is this?" Loki asked.

"Um.." Thor frowned, scratching himself. "2023."

"I've come from the year 2012." Loki explained. Thor stilled frowned.

"This isn't a joke is it?" His little piece of happiness faltered.

Loki shook his head, a pained smile reached his lips. "I wish it was."

Any trace of a smile left Thor completely. "So.. you're from another timeline..which means.." He sniffed. "..you're still.."

"Dead." Loki said. "Your Loki is dead." Loki felt a heaviness in his chest. Dead.

Thor wrapped his cardigan around himself. "Then why are you here?"

Loki took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's a very long story. I took a portal and by chance it lead me here. To you." His gaze met Thor's. There was no sign of that prideful hero left in those empty eyes. Nothing that once resembled a would be King of Asgard, a saviour to many. Loki wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell Thor about the whole TVA situation either.

“How come you’re alive?” Thor asked.

“After New York, I escaped with the Tesseract. I’ve seen a lot..I saw the events that happened to my future, from the Dark Elves to Ragnarok and the attack by Tha—“

“No. We don’t say that name here.” Thor choked out, cutting Loki off.

Loki nodded. Thor had lost everything and so had Loki too, though in return he found Mobius and Sylvie to help with the loss of his family but Thor was alone. Not even the avengers came to visit him from the sound of it. Loki fought the urge to let his fingers curl into fists.

"Sorry." Loki apologised. "So this is your new..home?" His eyes scanned the living room.

Thor fumbled with his fingers. "It's not much. After the..well, you know, the humans were kind enough to offer us this village. It's a bit fishy but it's all we've got. They even gave us a sign too." Thor forced on a smile. "It's not quite like home." He looked down at his lap.

"Asgard is not a place." Loki said.

"It's a people." Thor said quietly, finishing off the common saying amongst the Asgardians.

Loki knew he should not stay too long, it would only hurt Thor more when he left but maybe this was what they both needed despite not being from the same timeline. Loki told himself to go. Was it selfish to stay for a little while longer? Maybe this was meant to happen?

"Why don't you show me around this new kingdom of yours?" Loki suggested with genuine smile.

"No, I don't really go out much."

Loki stood up. If he was going to stay for a while, he wasn’t willing to be confined in this depressing room. "Well I'll just go ahead on my own, if you don't mind?" He smirked. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

Thor scrambled up to his feet. "I don't think that a good idea. You're suppose to be dead, they'll see you."

Loki chuckled. "No they won't. You still underestimate me, brother."

- - - - - - -

Loki concealed his presence from anyone nearby, though it wasn't too busy, some had gone out on their boats. They both walked along the pier, Loki had conjured up a black coat due to the weather. The sky was hidden behind grey clouds, as a breeze swept across the ocean. Rays of sunlight managed to break through occasionally. Thor briefly spoke about their job with trading and catching fish for nearby villages in this place called 'Scotland'.

After about half an hour of wandering along the pier, they both stood on a hill overlooking the coast and houses of New Asgard. Thor bent down, placing in hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"Are you okay?"

"Don't worry about me. The exercise will do me some good." He said sucking in the ocean air before standing up straight, stretching his back. Loki gave him a moment to steady his breathing back to normal.

"So what are your daily king duties on this fine and wonderful kingdom?" Loki asked in light humour.

Thor scratched his brow in thought. "You know, king stuff, the usual. It's not like I stay inside all day shouting at a bunch of fools on a screen."

"Sounds..exciting." Loki said flatly.

"What about you? Causing chaos wherever you go?"

Loki thought of his words carefully, there was no need for Thor to know all the specifics when he already had enough to deal with.

"Something like that." He smiled. Chaos was too much of a small word to describe what he had gone through. "I've been protecting the sacred timeline." Loki joked with enthusiasm.

Thor frowned but did not question it. "Oh, yeah? And how's that going?”

Loki's facial features tightened. "Marvellous.”

Thor did not have the effort to ask Loki to expand on his response, he probably thought Loki was lying but it did not matter to him.

They both stood together watching the ocean. Loki closed his eyes, tipping his head back as he let the breeze blow against him, prolonging their time together. There was something about the ocean that brought him a sense of calmness. As Loki's eyes remained close, Thor turned to look at his brother who appeared to be so at peace, a feeling Thor had rarely often seen Loki experience.

"You've changed." Thor said absentmindedly, his voice mirroring the calmness between them.

Loki opened his eyes, a warm expression crossed his face. "I know. Seeing one's own life play out on screen was certainly an experience. I finally heard what I needed to hear for so long.” That he was loved.

"I met people I could trust.” Well, it was still an ongoing process for some part of it. “Someone who told me I could be anything I wanted to be, even someone good.”

A tinged of jealousy pinched inside Thor's chest. "Met anyone special along the way?" He nudged Loki with his elbow as he grinned.

"Well," Loki placed his hands in his pockets, letting out a nervous laugh. "it's complicated."

The shining grin remained. "I wish to hear about them.”

Loki shied away for a moment, trying to force his smile back but unfortunately failed to do so. "She's sometimes irritating and very reckless." His expression then softened. "She reminds me of how I used to be..so full of anger but deep down she's hurting, a lot. She doesn't trust, or let anyone in. Or even know what it’s like to love someone.”

"And then you came along with all that charm of yours.” Thor teased.

Loki scoffed. "Cut it out. We're..still figuring things out. I think."

"Truly, I am happy for you, brother. And what is this fair maiden’s name?" She was definitely far from a ‘fair maiden’...

Loki averted his gaze downwards, their last moment that they shared together played through his mind. "Sylvie." He said, almost as a whisper to himself. A name that weighed heavy in his heart.

"Sylvie." Thor repeated, testing the name. “You know, brother, for the first time in my life. I'm actually jealous of you. Who would of thought that?"

Loki frowned. "Jealous? Of me?" This would of once made Loki feel victorious that the roles had been reversed after many years but now it only pained his heart to see his mighty brother succumb to such sadness.

"I mean, look at you! All happy and in love. And then there's me. Barely even a king, I spend every day inside pretending I'm fine, it's not like most of my people haven't died when I was suppose to protect them or-or that half of the universe has been destroyed, that we failed them, failed each other and fell apart..” Thor rambled on. “We lost.”

"If this means anything to you; I still think you're worthy." Loki said softly. Thor turned with tears prickling in his eyes.

"I am?" He questioned, sniffling. “I’m not quite sure anymore.”

"You are forgetting who you are. You can't let Thanos take everything away from you. He is no god.” Loki knew mentioning Thanos would displease Thor but Loki knew the hard way that hiding your pain, forgetting that it exists, only made everything more worse. The only way out was to face it head on. Loki would certainly know.

Thor shook his head. “No, no. Loki, I can't. Not without you. I've lost everything." He trembled in his words. Loki regretted not leaving sooner. He had failed to comfort Sylvie, to save their trust within their final moments, now Loki had to find some way to bring closure to Thor who was possibly past his breaking point. Comforting others was a tricky task, a trait he had not quite naturally inherited from his mother.

"You don't need me. Our paths were destined to diverge." Loki had found a way to move on and Thor needed to do so as well. "All is not so lost, brother." When you live for so long, loss must be something you became familiar with but regardless of long you knew someone, there was never enough time for when you'd be ready to say goodbye.

"I know. I know." Thor mumbled to himself. Despite his larger size, somehow he seemed to cower into himself, making him seem so small.

Loki cleared his throat. "So the Avengers..they disbanded?" He asked.

Thor nodded. "Seemed that way. Not heard from them since the whole 'snap' disaster." They abandoned him, Loki thought in anguish, failing to hide the disgust in his features.

"The mighty so-called Avengers gave up, is that it?" Loki folded his arms across his chest.

"You seem angry, brother." Thor commented out of curiosity.

Loki shrugged. "They call themselves heroes, protectors against evil but when they lose, they go and hide away from their mistakes like cowards.”

"Then what makes someone a hero?"

Loki blinked several times, his annoyance was caught off guard by Thor's question. Someone who blindly follows the rules? Who uses their powers for fame and fortune? Those who believe they are perfect? But it seems after all, that they were anything but perfect.

"I don't know." Loki looked across at the waves, straightening up his posture and gave Thor his answer; "They are selfless, willing to sacrifice themselves for others without question. They don't just give up even when they lose. They keep on going." Loki attempted to keep his frustration under control but tendril of it managed to slip through.

A small smile portrayed across Thor's lips. "So is that who you are now?"

Loki frowned, turning his attention to his brother. "What do you mean?"

"A hero."

Loki chuckled. Him? A hero? He'd never stopped to think of himself as that. Loki had been many things, taken on many roles; the villain, a trickster, an outcast, a prince. But never a hero in the eyes of others or himself.

"Is that really such a bad thing, Loki?"

"I suppose not." Loki huffed out in uncertainty.

"Whoever said you could be anything you wanted to be was right." Then Thor repeated the words he once said to his Loki on Sakaar; "You could be more."

"Thank you." Loki spoke sincerely with a smile. Maybe he was thankful that he had stayed after all. A final chance to see his brother and for Thor to know that on another timeline, Loki was alive and well.

"No need to thank me, brother. I should be the one thanking you. I am glad fate has brought you here to me, to remind me of who I am."

"My pleasure." Loki nodded.

After a gloomy start to the day, the sun had won its battle against the clouds and shone its rays against the ocean, blessing New Asgard with its glorious light and warmth.

"Looks like the sun is finally making an appearance." Loki commented, looking upwards. "This place is rather melancholy to say the least."

Thor's eyes widened in bewilderment, his gaze switching between the sun and his brother. A tear trickled down his cheek. Fate was truly cruel in some ways. Loki noticed Thor's odd expression.

"Thor?"

Thor shook his head to escape himself from his thoughts. "I'm fine. And don't talk badly about my newly established kingdom. It's a...work in progress. Come back in a few years time and we'll have towers across these mountains."

"I'll take your word for it." Loki chuckled, though their happy mood soon faded. Loki would not be back here in a few years time. He would likely not come back at all. Thor picked up on Loki's sudden change of mood.

"Why can't you stay, Loki?" Thor asked despite knowing that he could not stay.

"As much as I would wish to stay with you, I can't. I.. have people wanting for me." He needed to find Mobius and Sylvie, to fix this mess that had unfolded, he will not run away. Thor nodded with a sniff.

"Will you at least come and visit?" He pleaded. Loki did not want to make any false promises, though he so easily could to make this less painful for Thor but in the long run, the guilt would soon eat up inside of him. He had enough of it to deal with already.

"Thor. I can't. I don't belong here."

Thor’s newly found confidence collapsed, hands beginning to shake. Loki made the decision to leave before the pain was too much to bear for both of them.

"No." Thor shook his head. "Don't leave me."

Loki placed a hand on his brother's quivering shoulder. "I have to. People need need me."

"To be a hero?" Thor managed to force smile as the tears shone in his eyes

"Well I guess." Loki smiled back before opening up his arms to embrace him in a hug. He let their embrace linger on.

"Don't give up." Loki whispered until they let each other go one final time. Thor did not have a chance to reply when Loki waved a hand of green sparks across Thor’s tear stained face.

"Goodbye, brother." Was the last words Thor heard before a gentle darkness overtook his sight.

- - - - - -

"Hey, man. You waking up anytime soon?" Said a voice. Thor felt something small and solid hit his face. "You're not dead are you?" Another minor hard object made contact with his cheek.

Thor had awoken, he was inside his beach hut, Korg stood above him catching a rock in his palm. "Sorry, hope that didn't hurt too much."

Thor ignored him, shrugging off his blanket as he stood up, stable onto his feet. There was a gleam of strength in his eyes that had been missing for far too long. A broad smile made an unusual appearance as the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Must of been some good dream you had there, buddy?"

"We need to contact the remaining Avengers." Thor demanded as he strode off towards the front door.

Korg scratched the back of his head. "Why?"

"Because heroes never give up!" Thor beamed.

Thank you, brother.

- - - -

@cazzyimagines @maciswack

[echo-three-one]

Chapter 25

Make some dentist appointments after this chapter. (I'm not sure it applies to all)

Sorry for being late. It's my little sister's birthday today and I opted to eat food.

Table of Contents

Off the Grid

"Alex"

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

The worst part of being stomped on the face is that at the end of the day, your girlfriend would end up seeing it. This was what Alex was worried about the moment he heard the helicopter approached their location. But a part of him wanted to just lay down by the bed under Samantha's care. 

Alex expected Soap to be the first one greeting the women, but he wasn't around. He guessed that after all the chasing and the climbing, he opted to take a rest instead of facing them tired. The house was very accommodating on it's own. He didn't need to worry about entertaining everyone else.

Just as he expected, he already saw the frown on Samantha's face as soon as her eyes met his. The same frown from his imagination was manifested before him.

"Alex, Are you okay?" she ran towards him and touched his bruised cheek. Alex tried to look okay but he couldn't help but hiss at the pain.

"A little. I couldn't lie to you now, can't I?" he managed a chuckle. Samantha held his hair and that signaled Alex to lower himself a little so she could kiss him on the forehead.

"Let's get you healed up." She muttered.

"Not until I'm done helping unload these." He suggested. Samantha wanted him to skip out on helping but Alex's face was eager and she didn't want to argue with that.

"Fine."

"My room is the third door by the stairs… that is if you want us to stay in one room together."

"Of course I do, Alex." She smiled and blew a kiss on the air as his lip was too bruised to receive it.

Alex couldn't help but smile. He could feel his insides do a little dance of joy while he's carrying luggage to the second floor, placing both their bags beside each other. Inside their room, that they're going to share.

He knew they'd done this before, but the idea of getting the room all to themselves was different. They are able to move freely without worrying what they might do. And he wanted to hug her, kiss her and whisper soft words in her ear without making everyone else around them all judgy.

Dinner flew by and Roach took the girls out for a tour, Alex took this time to shower before Samantha would come nurse his wounds. He stood in front of the sprinkling hot water, his face looked up, letting the warm shower revitalize his tired muscles. It was no doubt relaxing as he closed his eyes, cleared his thoughts and let his mind ease a bit.

They're safe, Samantha's got her memories back, and they're together now. The New York attacks were over and both Shepherd and Nero were off the grid. They're planning something big and all they could do was prepare for the worst. He doesn't have to shoulder anything as of now and he should rest and recover.

After a few minutes of meditation, Alex was interrupted by a smooth touch that embraced him from behind. He could feel her skin sink against his as she tightly held him, her cheek leaned on his back.

"Alex." Samantha whispered, he couldn't barely hear it against the sound of the shower.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" she sobbed. Alex raised an eyebrow and held her hand, turning around to meet her beautiful face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, the question echoed against the glass walls and bounced to the rest of the bathroom.

"On the ride here. I took a nap… then I remembered something. Before I even got to that Russian hotel I…" she sobbed. Alex pulled her closer and hugged her, she didn't have to worry. They're going to fix this together.

"I gave them the I.P. Address…" she cried. Her tears mixed with the sprinkle of the shower. Despite being already wet, Alex still wiped it off with his thumbs.

"You didn't do anything wrong… You didn't give it away… They forcibly took it from you." Alex told her, his face was angry toward Shepherd. One day he'll finally get his revenge.

"B-but…" she tried to retort, but Alex cut her off by kissing her soft lips, his tongue immediately entered her mouth as soon as she gave him permission. He kissed her hoping it would soothe her worries away, making her feel that he was there no matter what. Her moans made him comfortable that he's doing the right thing, that he's telling her that he's going to be there. So he pushed her toward the cold bathroom wall, tilted his head and showed her what he really felt towards her.

The next morning Alex and Samantha were tasked to fly Nikolai back home. The guy was missing the colder environment and since they didn't have anything at the moment, it'd be best to let him go for now. The team still owed him a cargo plane which was left back at the S.A.S. base. They'll have to deal with that after all of this is over.

Alex didn't have anything to do regarding this task, Samantha just made a few special calls and the next thing they knew, they were already waving goodbye to the Russian.

"Glad we have him on our side." Alex chuckled, hovering his arm as it reached her farther shoulder. Samantha leaned toward him as soon as she caught him doing the gesture, as they took short steps, Alex's leg clumped against the cement.

"You okay with that leg?" Samantha wondered, looking down then back to Alex.

"I got used to it, really. It's not much of a bother once you get used to it." He smiled, wiggling the fake leg, almost showing off at how good he was using it. 

"Is there something wrong with it?" He asked. Samantha's cheeks started to blush red and Alex had no actual idea what was going on in her mind.

"No no. I'm just curious. That's all… Still… it must be hard walking like an incomplete part of a whole." She consoled to which Alex replied with a laugh.

"What's funny?" She asked as Alex used his already clinging hand on her shoulder to pull her closer for a kiss.

"You already complete me, Samantha." He said. His face was too serious to be joking and yet Samantha laughed.

"You know what?! All these corny and cheesy dialogue is my thing. You complete me too, Alex. I…" she paused, staring at Alex's eyes. Alex quickly saw through her gaze, there was a particular sparkle in her eyes. The same sparkle he'd been noticing every time they got intimate. It made his heart beat so fast that he could almost predict what she's going to say next.

He placed a finger on her mouth to stop her from talking. He wanted to say it first. He wanted to be the one whose life changed because of her and not the other way around.

"I love you, Samantha Coleman." he said. Tears. Tears were the first thing he saw once he let out those words. 

"How dare you… finish my sentence." she croaked. She had the idea of cracking a joke between the sweetest of moments. He really liked that about her.

"I wanted to say it first." He whispered, inching his face closer once again. Samantha's eyes were already half closed and Alex knew what he needed to do. He planted another chaste kiss on her soft lips, but this time, Samantha surprised him by gently biting his lip, making the former CIA flinch. He chuckled and kissed back once again, pushing her toward the gazebo until they found her pinned on one of its tougher beams.

"Oh." She giggled as Alex's hand trailed on her side, squeezing her soft skin gently. Alex's smile beamed wide as he knew her reaction. 

"Are we really going to cause a scene here? Mr. Alex-?" She teased, her train of thought paused after not knowing his last name.

He chuckled in a lower register, low enough that he could feel Samantha react to it.

"It's Alexander Collins. But please, just call me Alex." he muttered, planting a kiss on her neck, Samantha moaned inappropriately, sending Alex on an excited rush.

"All right Mr. Collins. I think we should stop now. Our audiences are feeling a little uncomfortable right now." she turned to France, Maxine and Roach, who were watching 'respectfully'.

Alex waved and smiled apologetically, noting the almost embarrassed expression on Maxine's face, the slightly smirking Francine and Roach's hidden thumbs up.

"I'm sorry guys. We'll be off now." he said, escorting Samantha back to the house.

The day went by and Alex was more than happy that he got to spend the rest of the day with Samantha. Hell, even the thought of waking up spooning her was more than heavenly. 

Now, he lay gently on his bed while Samantha was out to cleanse his bruises.

"Ow. Careful nurse, I'm quite vulnerable..." he winced playfully.

"Now, now, my little patient. This will just hurt a little." She played along, wiping a soft cotton ball on his bruised cheek.

"Will there be any sort of injection? I hate injections." he groaned, fake sobbing.

"Oh? You hate injections? I personally thought you were amazing administering them?" She teased, slightly blushing at her green joke.

Alex quickly caught wind of her joke about injecting and immediately burst out laughing.

"I can't believe you said that." he said, laughing in between his words, almost choking.

"Kidding aside… I almost forgot something…" She said, setting aside her medical tools. She got up and gently straddling on his body, making Alex groan a little and hold on to her waist.

"What could you have possibly forgotten?" he asked, his face full of curiosity.

She leaned in closer to him and whispered three words that made Alex smile in delight.

"I love you." she whispered and a kiss followed. Alex knew from that moment on that he was more than willing and ready to spend the rest of his life.

Next Chapter : What's Behind Door Number Two?

Notification Squad my Beloved

@samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @enderio @whimsywispsblog @ricinbach @beemybee

[haberdashing]

i want you to straighten out my tomorrow (4/?)

The last thing Jon remembers is working into the night in the Archives in early 2016. Now he’s in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Scotland, with Martin Blackwood as his only companion. Obviously Jon’s missed something along the way here…

Inspired by beloved of jon, though it can be read separately.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

on AO3

“It’s alright, Jon, it- it’s really not as bad as you seem to think-”

Jon closed his eyes as he pressed his hands against his face. “How bad is it, then? How much danger are we in? And we’re just- just sitting around talking, eating breakfast like nothing’s wrong-”

Jon’s voice started to quicken as his speech went on, his breaths quick and shallow. He was panicking, that much was clear, but he also didn’t especially see a reason to stop.

“Well, for one thing, odds are good nothing’s going to happen right this minute, we, we’ve been here for almost two weeks and nothing’s gone after us yet-”

“But something might go after us.” Jon couldn’t bring himself to unbury his head, to go back to looking Martin in the eye just yet. “Like Daisy.”

“Probably not Daisy, honestly. She was a hunter, yeah, but she was on our side. She, er-” Martin let out a strange sound somewhere between a wheeze and a laugh. “She was your friend, I think.”

“She tried to kill me, and now we’re friends?”

“That’s right, yeah. Trust me, it...” Another one of those strange sounds. “It seems odd to me, too. And it took some time.”

If Martin thought it was odd, and he was there, he remembered all of it happening... god, how much deeper did this rabbit hole go?

Jon opened a gap between two of his fingers just wide enough for him to be able to peek out, though he wasn’t sure if Martin noticed as much. “If not Daisy, who?”

“There’s the hunters I mentioned before. They came all the way from America to the Institute to go after you--you specifically, I mean. Actually, come to think of it, both of them come up in statements early enough you might know the names--Trevor Herbert and Julia Montauk ring a bell?”

Jon gave up all pretenses at hiding then, put his hands back down at his side so that he could more effectively stare at Martin in disbelief. “The vampire-hunting tramp and the serial killer’s daughter teamed up in America to become hunters that want to kill me?”

“Oh, you do remember them! That’s about the long and the short of it, yeah. Apparently you stole something from them after they kidnapped you?”

Jon’s mind was swimming again. If this was all a giant puzzle, evidently it had even more pieces than he had initially thought.

“Wait, Trevor Herbert... didn’t he die? I thought you said he died of lung cancer.”

“Oh god, not this again.” Martin muttered under his breath, the sound quiet enough that Jon wasn’t quite sure if he was meant to hear it.

“Again?” Jon repeated.

Martin’s face turned a bright pink. “This came up before once. I thought I’d heard that he’d died, but I must have mistaken, given that the guy’s still around... and, you know, out to kill you.”

Jon sighed, tempted to get in a dig about how Martin couldn’t even manage such basic research but instead only voicing a frustrated, “Great.”

“Though upside is, at least this time you’re not using that mistake as a reason to accuse me of murder.” Martin paused for a moment, and when he spoke up again, his words were softer, his voice subtly shaking. “You’re not accusing me of murder now, right?”

Jon nodded silently. He wasn’t sure how much he could trust Martin right now, whether his ramblings were haphazard lies or just flawed attempts at explaining a complicated truth, but even if he let his paranoia run wild, murder wasn’t on the list of misdeeds he could imagine of Martin at the moment.

“That’s... good. Certainly better than the alternative, anyway.” Martin let out a short bark of a laugh.

“Why did I think you killed someone, anyway?”

“Good question.” Martin laughed again, but there was no humor to the sound this time. “After I found Gertrude’s body, we weren’t sure who killed her, and you got all paranoid thinking someone you worked with was the killer, and that they’d be after you next. Which wasn’t entirely wrong, I guess, since Sasha’d just... gotten replaced.”

“Is that, that Not-Sasha thing the thing that killed Gertrude too, then?”

Martin shook his head, and Jon was struck by the sight of his wild red hair moving to and fro, how his streak of white strands mingled with the rest as it fell around his face. “No, that was... now, this might sound a bit crazy-”

“Because the rest of it hasn’t already.” Jon muttered in a low voice, more for his own benefit than for Martin’s.

Jon wasn’t sure whether Martin could make out what he had said, but he was greeted with a weary stare just the same. “-but I promise it’s true--Elias killed Gertrude.”

“Elias?” Jon furrowed his brow. “Why would he kill Gertrude Robinson?”

“Because she was planning on destroying the Archives, and him in the process. Almost self-defense, in a way, if you want to be generous towards him, which I really don’t.”

“Gertrude was the Head Archivist; why would she want to destroy the Archives?”

“Because they’re evil, Jon!” Martin threw his hands in the air. “Because we work for an evil organization dedicated to an evil fear power, and the Archives are the worst of it--well, besides Elias himself, anyway. On top of killing Gertrude, and then killing Leitner and framing you for it, he’s the one who made the Institute such a mess in the first place.”

Once again, Jon was finding a lot of information being thrown at him in a short period of time. Martin had mentioned Leitner before, but not that the man was dead, a murder Jon apparently was framed for--was that why he’d been “on the run” before, or was that a separate, equally-chaotic brush with the law?

(Also, some small, dark part of Jon that had hardened in place when he was eight years old was a little bitter that he wasn’t the reason Jurgen Leitner was now dead and buried.)

But that wasn’t what first came to mind when Jon opened his mouth to make a rebuttal, though whether he cared more about proving his knowledge or simply clarifying the situation Jon couldn’t say.

“From what I’ve seen, it sounds like the Institute was a mess well before Elias got a hold of it. If anything, Jonah Magnus should get the blame there.”

“Yeah, yeah he should, you’re not wrong! But the point’s moot, because Jonah Magnus is Elias.”

“...what?”

“He’s been, been swapping bodies or whatever for two centuries now, keeping a hold on his precious Institute.” Martin made a series of vague hand gestures to accompany his words, though their exact meaning eluded Jon. “Probably has some master plan involving the place. He was James Wright, too, and whoever was the Head before that, but now he’s Elias Bouchard. The whole Institute exists just to be some creepy monument to the Eye, to suck in power from his fear god.”

Jon’s head was starting to hurt something fierce, and as he realized one of the many implications of this latest tidbit of knowledge, his heart started to pound almost as fiercely as his head.

“...you said I have powers from the Eye, too, because I’m the head archivist. The same ‘fear god’ Elias has, according to you. Does that make me evil, then?”

Jon had hoped that Martin would eke out a quick “No,” maybe add in a bit of comforting reassurance, move on from the question quickly enough.

Instead, Martin hesitated for a long moment, and when he spoke up, it wasn’t to give Jon the simple “no” that he so dearly craved.

“I mean, not exactly, but... it’s complicated. You certainly can do evil things, or, or unnatural ones, with your powers--make people spill their deepest secrets, I think you cut off your finger once and it just grew right back?--but I know you try not to do that sort of thing... most of the time, anyway. You’re not just some amoral monster like Prentiss was when she attacked--I mean, obviously not, or else we’d be having a whole different conversation--but you’re also not... entirely human, thanks to your connection with the Eye. I wouldn’t say you’re evil, but the Eye is, and sometimes it’s hard to tell where you end and it begins.”

“...Christ.”

“Yeah, I know, this has to be a lot to take in, and I’m here to support you however you need me to...”

Jon looked around at his mostly-empty plate, at the dreary weather outside the window, at the safehouse and its thrown-together furniture and the half-done jigsaw puzzle on the far table, and his head swam as he tried to take it all in.

“Does that ‘support’ include you doing the dishes? I think I need a nap.”

Martin looked at Jon quizzically, though he obediently started clearing the table. “Jon, you just woke up.”

“Yes, and I’m going to take a nap now. I think I could use it; my head’s hurting pretty badly right now.” It wasn’t a lie, not exactly, but also Jon just wanted some time to himself, to think things through without Martin’s presence or input.

“Need a paracetamol? We’ve got a few in the bathroom cabinet.”

Jon noticed the way Martin casually, unblinkingly referred to the two of them as “we,” implying that their possessions were one and the same, but he didn’t have the mental energy to parse all the implications behind that single word right that moment.

“Maybe after my nap. We’ll see.”

“Alright then. Just... just come calling if you need anything, alright? I’m not going anywhere.” Martin shot Jon a weak smile as he finished that last sentence, and Jon wondered if there was something he was missing there, some inside joke or connection that was lost to him now.

“Will do.”

The bedroom was still small and awkwardly-decorated and the bed was still far too big for Jon alone, but as he lay there, trying his best to mentally put together the pieces to this convoluted puzzle, Jon was glad that he had some space to decompress on his own, tiny and awkward though that space might be.

[scone-lover]

@findingniamho​

HAHAHAHA thank you so much for this ask!!! ❤️ This is exciting. Honestly the Egghead fight was one of the most entertaining scenes to write. (Coming up with all the puns was an egg-celent time.) Rereading it just now was like an out of body experience 😂 

Link to the original chapter here - passage & commentary below the cut!

So I have to start with how this scene was born. This is a Simon scene. He’s had a couple fight scenes with Vampire, but I wanted to show him off as the superhero of the city. What was he doing before Vampire appeared on the scene? What are his strengths and weaknesses? Despite the scene’s silliness, it’s also one of the first where we start to get a sense of what Mayor Mage is up to. 

So I knew I wanted him to do the typical defending-the-city thing, and showcase him and Penny as the dread companions power duo.

Besides the plot stuff, my main goal was to make this scene as ridiculously, stereotypically comic book-ish as possible. 😂Hence, Egghead the Villain.

Most of the credit for Egghead goes to my friend -- they’re really into DC and helped me with a lot of the plot stuff in this fic and making things semi-realistic. (Every time you read a clever plot point, it was probably them. 😂) For this non-Vampire fight, my friend suggested a gangster who was doing crimes and bribing the police. Hence this exchange--

“Okay, okay, um-- fuck. Did you call the police?” She huffs. “Yes, and I think they’ve been fucking bribed, because they pretended they didn’t even know who Egghead was! Can you believe that?”

I made him a repeat villain because honestly, I just thought it was more compelling that way. They know who he is already, Simon can grumble about him, they have egg-themed quips at the ready, etc. 😂 

As for the name, Egghead. I love how it came together because Simon is a baker, and I was able to work a couple baking jokes in there eventually. But in reality, it was me begging my superhero expert friend (named t below) to help me out with crafting this villain and coming up with some witty exchanges. A transcript of our conversation with the brainstorming and some of the rejects--

t: the gangster has a nickname right? he has to if he’s a supervillain t: make it a gimmick t: like if he has a red outfit call him mr. red or something t: he has a flamethrower and call him dragon (this made it in, later) me: Vampire already has a flamethrower t: they can be forced to fight him together me: Vampire is at home studying bc he’s a NERD t: ok he can be bald and simon can call him egghead me: THANKS I HATE IT t: simon throws him on the ground at the end of the fight - that was over-easy me: I hate you where do you get this shit t: I mean it’s typical superhero stuff t: he wears yellow and white and deals crack me: This fic is so food themed I love it t: that’s your villain. that’s it. t: listen, if the Flash can have an ice skating villain, YOU CAN HAVE EGGHEAD. And he was born.

(And yes, The Flash does have an ice skating villain. AND SHE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE ICE POWERS.)

Okay, let’s do this! Warning that this is definitely going to go through more than 500 words of the chapter. 😂 

Men dressed in black suits with bright yellow pocket squares. And larger men around the perimeter, wearing grey and holding flashlights. It looks more like a business transaction than anything; there are briefcases and money being passed back and forth, hands being shaken. “Hey!” I call. There are six men, and they all turn to stare at me, and then make a run for it. The flashlight beams dart wildly and I hear a few of them clatter to the floor. Everyone starts yelling at once and looking for an escape.

I basically watched an episode of Brooklyn-99 and crafted the warehouse drug deal based on that. 

“Don’t move. There’s only one exit,” Penny says in my ear. “And you’re standing in front of it.” I stand my ground, but no one comes near me. The suited guys stay slightly behind the muscular ones. Finally, one of them steps forward. “Mage’s Head Boy. Come to tell us off?”

This scene was also an opportunity to have Penny in Simon’s ear! I wanted them to work together more closely than just talking about superhero stuff - I wanted Penny to be invaluable to Simon’s superhero success and in on the action, too. She’s kind of modeled after Oracle from Batman throughout this fic. 

Mage’s Head Boy is a pretty transparent CO reference. 

There are times when I’m grateful for my ability to just have muscles and growl at people and make them disappear, and there are times when I wish I was witty like Vampire. This is definitely the second. I can’t think of a response to that. Luckily, I have a best friend with a head full of wit. “Tell them to fuck off,” Penny says. Then again, maybe not. What would Vampire say? I get hot and frustrated in the face of danger. He seems to get cooler the higher the stakes get. I fall into a fighting stance. “You wish.” The guy takes a step backwards. “But since I can’t bring you to the police, I suppose I’ll just have to teach you a lesson.” “That was good,” Penny says in my ear.

I obviously had to work a bit of Baz jealousy / crushing into this. I like the idea of Penny being super blunt. She’s smart and sometimes witty, but more often she just says it like it is. “Cooler the higher the stakes get” was a direct reference to the similar line in Carry On. With Simon’s last line - this scene was all about showcasing him as a “typical” superhero that you’d find in a comic, fighting a classic comic book villain. So I gave him one of those cheesy lines.

I’m surrounded. There must be fifteen or twenty of them. Eight huge muscular guys, and the rest in suits. They form a loose circle around me. Almost all of them wield knives, but I don’t see any guns so far.

I knew from the outset I wanted this to be a one-against-many fight. At this point in the story I’d set up a good dynamic for Blade vs Vampire, but not so much Blade vs. other city threats. What makes him a trustworthy hero? Simon’s origin story is that he got news attention by fighting off a group - so putting him in this group fight setting was a chance for him to shine.

A man steps out from the shadows. He’s bald, with a straight, dark mustache, and he’s wearing a pristine white suit and a shirt the colour of an egg yolk. “Egghead,” I say in what I hope is a threatening tone. The name sounds absurd. I’m glad the mask covers my mouth, because I don’t think I can keep a straight face. Penny coughs. Benedict Eggerton, better known as Egghead, is a drug lord who wears yellow and deals… crack. (I know.) (He got into crime early; his parents were poachers.) (Okay, I made that one up. I can’t help it.) I put him in jail earlier this year, but he escaped and fled north.

I was laughing so hard while writing this. You can see in the text exchange above where the suit and nickname came from. I was trying to come up with what his first name might be (my first idea was Sunny). I was so amused when I finally thought of Benedict. 😂 The poachers line is also from my friend T, and the “north” is a reference to Scotland, which comes back later as the Scotch Egg joke.

I draw my weapon, trying to look as menacing as possible. “I remember your blade being bigger,” he says, eyeing my kitchen knife. “Is it too cold for you in here?”

PFFFFFT I LOVE THIS JOKE okay so. I originally made Simon forget his sword because I thought the fight would be too easy - and going back to what I said above, he’s kind of returning to his “roots” with this fight - that spark he has that makes him a hero. And then I wrote the line “I remember your blade being bigger.” TO BE CLEAR, this was not originally intended as an innuendo. 

And then my friend said something like ‘he should turn up the heating in this warehouse then’, and I was like OH DING DING DING PENIS JOKE! 😂I’m oblivious sometimes. I’m glad I realized in time because this is honestly one of my favorite villain lines I’ve ever written.

I really, really wanted to give the “too cold” line to Vampire. It would be perfect for him. But Simon always has his normal sword with Vamp, so Egghead it was. And he instantly became an icon. 😂 

I twirl the knife between my fingers. “I can crack you anyway.” “Good effort,” Penny whispers. “But a bit rough on the delivery. 'Take a crack at you' might have been better...” “Sword or no sword,” I continue, “you’ll be an egg wash by the end of this.” “What?” Penny says. “Is that a baking reference?” Egghead cracks his knuckles, and his men rush me.

Much like Penny does later in the scene, I had a tab open of egg-related words up while writing this. I had to work in the baking reference. But a terrible one. There’s a French term for whisking eggs that basically translates to “beating eggs into snow” - and I wish it was a thing in English, because, you know, Simon Snow. Oh well. 😂 

I Google a list of ways to make eggs. Simon needs to win this fight, but more importantly, he needs to get some egg-themed one-liners in there to show them who’s boss. Chances like this don’t come around very often. 

Listen, Penny is very dedicated. I love the idea of heroes just being quick-witted and coming up with these ridiculous quips on demand. But ultimately, I thought it was funnier - and more in character for Penny - to do this. (Even though her Superhero name is Quickwit, oops.) She has the world of Google at her disposal. Egg puns may not seem important, but superhero image and reputation is half the battle.

Simon is being attacked from all angles, but he fights like a whirlwind. The bulky guys attack first, mostly with their fists. Simon kicks their legs out from under them. He throws them across the floor like they weigh nothing. “Behind you!” I say. Simon spins around and disarms the man behind him, twisting his arm, and I hear a shout through my earbuds. He grabs the guy’s knife and kicks him in the stomach, sending him sprawling. Simon Snow faces fifteen men with nothing but two knives, looking like he’s ready to explode.

I loved writing this from Penny’s POV. I am used to writing fight scenes from the POV of the person fighting, so this was definitely a cool challenge. It’s part of why I brought Penny into the scene in the first place - so I could show Simon in third person. Almost like we’re watching a movie and getting some overhead shots. From his POV, you don’t realize quite how awesome he is. So getting to showcase him like this was really fun.

I still have to wonder how Shepard knew… well, everything. 

Don’t tell anyone but I didn’t know yet either

“He’s Scottish,” I tell Simon. “Scotch Egg.”

I know. This one’s bad.

He’s a blur of gold and white in motion. He throws his knife—I have no idea where he learned to do that—and it embeds itself in one of the men’s legs. He rolls across the floor, picking up two more discarded knives.

I don’t do a ton of plotting/outlining with fight scenes, but one thing I decide in advance is where and how everyone gets hurt. I didn’t want Simon to win the fight too easily, but I did need to injure him somehow. So it wouldn’t be too easy, but also to serve as a counterpoint to the socks thing later.

I watched a lot of action sequences to write this fic, especially with the trickier one vs. many scenes. 

Simon tosses him like a sack of flour.

Couldn’t resist the baker!Simon reference.

“Hard or soft boiled,” I whisper. “Which way is it gonna be, Egghead? Hard or soft boiled?” Simon shouts. He whispers to me, “That was stupid.” Egghead raises an eyebrow. “Last chance to leave us alone, Blade.” I consult my list of egg dishes. “Give up before you get scrambled.” Simon twirls his blades. I love it when he does that; he looks like Deadpool. “It’s your last chance to surrender before you get scrambled.”

I loved the hard or soft boiled line at first. And then I wrote it down and said it out loud, just to check, and it sounded SO DUMB. 😂I almost took it out, but then figured—Simon is probably not going to think this through, either.

Maybe the Deadpool line was a bit on the nose here, but I wanted to give readers some really vivid imagery of what Simon looks like right now with these dual wicked blades kitchen knives.

“I prefer my eggs… poached,” he says. 

Even though Egghead has turned out to be quite a serious villain—there are guns, drugs, and a backstory—he is, after all, original master of the egg puns. He would never turn down this opportunity.

Egghead scrambles (ha) to his feet

I think Penny is just me in this.

“Over-easy,” I whisper.

“That was over-easy,” he says.

Not my best. But it had to be in there.

I’ll skip the serious bits, since the plot there is pretty self-explanatory, to this:

I wish he’d asked what we serve, because I have so many egg puns at the ready. Eggs-ecution. Hash-ing out justice. Karma served hard.  

My beta ashspren gave me this line, and I could not be more grateful. Imagine the chapter without this. It would be a shame.

Here are a few egg puns that didn’t make the cut, SADLY:

You're washed out, egghead

*Egghead gets angry* hey, it was just a yolk

I had to go "beat" some eggs

*uppercut* Sunny side UP!

I'll bash in your Eggnoggin’

Some people are just bad eggs

Sorry this is so long—this has been a purely self-indulgent experience. Thanks so much for this ask, I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you like it! ❤️ 

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling at the Seams

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OFC, Henry Cavill/OFC Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW Rating: M Length: Multi Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: I started this two years ago, found it again, and decided to make something of it. 

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr for the header :D 

Catch Up Here

Wednesdays for the last month and a half had been absolute hell, nearly twenty hour days, non stop costume changes and repairs, a steady flood of people coming and going out of the mid sized trailer serving as a dressing room on wheels. Nell Stewart had become accustom to the chaos and frantic pace that her job provided each and every day, grabbing a cloak from the rack labeled “Ubbe” she held the soft fur in her hands, marching it to the man who would display the glorious piece on screen.

“Thanks, Nell.” the smooth mix of Scotland and Australia met her head on.

“No problem,” Nell smirked “and Jordan, this time, don't drop it until after the shoot.”

“I make no promises.” Jordan chuckled, glancing down at the woman who fastened the broach on the grey and tan fur.

“All set, go on with ya.” Nell waved the actor out of her “office du jour”.

Next up to dress would be “Ivar” - the name always made her smile thinking of her son's not so far off name of Ivan. Ivar was undoubtedly one of the best characters to create, and one of the most annoying actors on set. Nell sighed, fingering through the pages on the cupboard before her. One last glance over the costume that she would be putting on the young Danish man.

Alex tried, he really did, yet somehow he always ended up offending the woman. How was he to sit there while she dressed and prepped him, and not want to talk to her? He had watched her with the other actors and crew, she was obviously sweet and a gentle soul. Somehow every time he got close to Nell, she ended up looking like she wanted to beat him with whatever heavy object was closest.

Taking his chances, Alex cautiously stepped into the costume trailer. He had been here seven hours and had another ten to go. Such was life, for anyone who thought acting was glamorous, fools. Whistling a merry tune with a pep in his step despite the hours he had spent crawling around in the mud on set, Alex was determined to make today different.

This was going to be the day that he got Nell to laugh with him, not at him, or worse stand stone faced while he attempted to make jokes.

“Hey, Ne...” He was met with a glare from the costume designer, her phone to her ear. “Sorry.” he muttered softly standing by the door, not daring to step any further with the mud on his costume. He had been lectured before about dragging mud through the trailer.

This woman treated him like he was her son, not somebody she worked with. A disappointing scenario.

“Are you still there, Janelle?” The man on the phone called her attention. She hated when he called her by her full name, more so she hated the feeling of electricity it sent racing through her.

Nell glanced at Alex, lowering her eyes and voice. Her private business didn't need to be aired through the entire lot.

“I can't talk right now, I'm at work.”

“I will only a take a moment, I promise. Is Ivan with you?”

“No, he's at school. Why?” She found the pants, cloak, and jerkin she would need in order to dress the man waiting for her. Handing them to Alex, she motioned for him to use the space on the left. It was the easiest room to clean later. “And don't get mud on the new costume.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. Continue.” She returned to her call.

“I only wanted to speak with him, see how he is doing. How's school, the usual. I don't want to take your time, but I wanted to let you know that I have a bit of time off and...”

“And you wanted to see him?” Her ex had a habit of doing this to her. It was always the same story, they would go months upon months without seeing him, then he would call her and ask for a visit. In truth, she couldn't really complain about a man making an effort to see his son, but it would be nicer if it wasn't a once a year thing.

“If I could, yes. He can come to me, or I can come to you. Whichever works. Think on it and let me know.”

Nell tried her best to hide the sigh.

“Send me the dates. I don't want him missing school.”

“It would be next month. I believe he is on holiday then. I will have the dates sent and we can discuss it, when we're not sneaking away to take calls at work. Chat soon?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Freshly dressed from his base layer to the hooded wool cloak, Alex emerged after giving her a breath or two alone to regroup, her call hadn't sounded pleasant. He didn't want to pry, yet he felt sorry for the single mother. Alex knew her son, the bundle of energy that would sometimes tear through the trailer, accompanying his mother to work. Ivan's dark curls were as wild as he was. Alex liked the kid, he was funny.

“Alright, what do we need to adjust?” Nell turned to Alex, her phone in her pocket and her mind somewhat on work.

“It feels good.” Alex raised his arms, bending at the waist, and moving about to prove his point. “The boots, tough.”

Nell nodded. “What about them?”

More than once she had accidentally pulled the wrong boots, trying to fit Alex's feet into a pair meant for someone else.

“I can never get these done up, can you?” Alex blushed at the confession. The boots were double laced and the laces in the back were his kryptonite. Nell instructed him to sit and keeled down to assist. As a mother dressing someone was a second nature.

“You know,” Alex glanced down as she fitted his boots. “We've worked together for almost two years, I know nothing about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Her focus was on the laces of the knee high boots.

“Mmm.” He nodded, his dark hair escaping his pony tail. “Let's play a game. Three things about our self. I'll go first,” Alex made his suggestion. She was shocked he could put his phone down long enough to chat. “When I was a little boy, I wanted to be a doctor. I love anything to do with Space, and my best memory is a family trip to the beach, when I was eight.”

“Such detail.” She mocked, a smirk gracing her lips.

“I reached deep for those,” Alex nudged her with his foot. “Your turn.”

“Fine.” She huffed, sitting back on her heels. The second boot could wait, while she found three things to shut him up. “I have worked in costume design for four years full time, I hate small talk and nosy people, and I hate cake.”

“You hate cake!” Alex exclaimed wide eyed with disbelief. “What? What do you have on your birthday?”

“Pie.” Her answer was flat.

“Huh.” Alex mused, he couldn't get over the last statement. “Do you at least make cakes? You know, for when your family or friends want a birthday cake?”

“Nope.”

“Never?” She shook her head. Alex huffed. “Not even when your son asks?”

“He doesn't like cake either.” Her voice softened.

“He doesn't like it, or you don't let him have it?” It was Alex's turn to smirk. “You know, since you hate it and all.”

“You're annoying.”

“When's his birthday? I'm going to buy him a cake, a big one! Loaded with frosting and chocolate, sprinkles galore.” Alex continued his chatter. Mainly to hear himself speak.

“Look,” She sighed, finishing up the boot lace. “I enjoy working with you and I like my job, but can we leave my son out of this? Please.”

“O-Okay.” Alex frowned. “I'm sorry.”

“It's just...it's complicated and the last thing he needs right now is...forget it.” Nell rocked back on her heels. Admiring her handy work with the costume.

“I'm sorry, truly.”

“It's fine. I've just...never mind. You're good to go.” Nell stood up, wiping her hands on her pants out of instinct.

Alex sat for a heartbeat, trying to find another way to express his apology. The crease and frown on Nell's face told him to quit while he was ahead. He could take a hint. Rising to his feet, he cleared his throat and thanked Nell for helping.

Alone with her thoughts for a moment, Nell rubbed the heels of her hands across her eyes. It would be another late night. The push to get these scenes filmed in the last season, in order for the cast and crew of Vikings to take their short term summer break. Her initial plans for the few weeks off was to pack up Ivan and take off for a vacation home.

A few weeks visiting her parents and the rest of her family, back in Canada would be ideal. She hadn't been back since Easter, when Ivan had gone to spend time with his father's family, and she wanted her son to visit his grandparents. So much for that plan, after the phone call from his father; Ivan wouldn't want to do anything other than visit his father for a few weeks.

Despite the unconventional relationship, her son idolized his father. As a boy should.

Why did he make everything complicated? This man's name came up and as if by some curse everything in Nell's world would begin to fall apart, all over again.

“I see your boyfriend was in.” Nell pushed her hair out of her eyes and slowly looked up at her co-worker. She hadn't heard Rayna come in.

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head at the teasing. “He's not. He is however annoying.”

“Aww, he's just trying to get your attention. Come on, Nelly, throw the kid a bone.” the seasoned designer laughed, handing Nell a cup of shitty set coffee.

“He's too young.”

“You're not exactly an old maid.” Rayna continued to laugh.

Nell shook her head, daily she endured a teasing from the other woman, among others on set. Alex Høgh Andersen turned into an absolute fool and a puppy around the costume designer, everybody but Nell seemed to notice his affection. What she passed off as annoying banter, was the Dane's way of flirting. A skill he needed to work on, with women who were immune to actor's charms, and on older women in general.

Thirty was far from old. So Nell was constantly told.

It had to do with having a son at twenty three. She had grown old and boring faster than she had ever wanted. Another resentment that Nell held toward her ex, he had gotten to go off and do whatever he pleased, while she had raised their son. Whoever said older men were more mature was full of shit.

“Whatever, we have work to do. I need to finish mending those dresses for next week. I don't think our extras want to come in and be naked all day.”

“Some of them might.” Rayna joked, sitting her coffee down and grabbing her sewing kit.

Throughout the day Nell continued to dress cast, principal and extra alike. She enjoyed her job, the creativity and the structure. The pride and joy when a new costume was put together, nothing beat seeing her work on the screen and in the media.

She'd once been asked why she wanted to design costumes, simple. Without a good costume, nothing would ever be accomplished. There would be no life or charisma to a story being told on the screen. Costumes had been a last resort once, when she'd auditioned for a school play and was rejected for a role on stage. Even the chorus didn't want her, leaving her to help the costume department.  Nell got hooked.

Alex had gone out to set, coming back only twice that Nell had been in the trailer. He tried his hardest to strike up another conversation, but the two times they were in the same proximity, Nell was too busy to chat. He felt horrible for making her feel like he was prying earlier and needed to tell her.

Wisely, advised against it, Alex kept his head low. For now.

Knocking off nearly twenty one hours after arriving at work, Nell stretched her arms and groaned. Tomorrow was a later start for her, which meant she would be able to walk Ivan to school and spend a little time with him. He was in bed when she'd left and would be in bed when she arrived home.

Thank god for their Bridie. Nell would be lost without the saint of a woman.

Dropping her keys on the stand inside the door, her bag was next. Letting go of the bag felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her body. The house was quiet and smelled delicious. Bridie was in the kitchen, tidying up when Nell poked her head in.

“He's in bed, has been since eight.” the well put together blonde woman smiled affectionately.  She looked like she should be a CEO or investment banker, not a full time live out Nanny.  “Long day?”

“Extremely. I am going to run up quick. Thank you!” Nell held her hands together as if in prayer and smiled.

Tiptoeing up the short flight of stairs she followed the path to her son's room. Her bedroom at the other end of the seven foot hallway beckoned her. Not yet. Soon, bed, soon. As expected, Ivan was sleeping soundly, a Captain Underpants book fallen open on the floor and his blankets half tossed off. Her son slept like whirl wind.

Picking up the blanket and draping it over her son, Nell smiled. Dark curls sprung across his head and his tiny arms were wrapped around his pillow, snoring away somewhere in dreamland. As adorable as he looked, it hurt her heart to be gone all day. Since the final season had been announced to the cast and crew, the days at work had become longer and the time for anything else seemed nearly impossible.

Only a few more weeks and Nell would be home for a break. Except...She wanted to groan, instead opted for an eye roll.

Ivan stirred, shifting around in his bed but not waking. Tucked in and kissed by mom, he was good to resume his slumber uninterrupted.  Slumber. In the hall, Nell heard her bed calling once again. A loud Siren Song.

Soon!

Downstairs a cup of tea waited on the counter, while Bridie fished around for a plate to put the freshly made sandwich on. Nell's heart swelled and her shoulders sagged, overwhelmed by the gesture. Bridie was here to look after Ivan, bless her for always watching out for Nell, too.

“I know you're going to say you've had dinner, but you need something hearty.”

“Actually, I missed dinner. I had a fruit bar and an orange that one of the lighting guys shared with me.” Nell slid onto the stool at the breakfast nook, accepting the peppermint tea and chicken sandwich. Not at all embarrassed by the moan when she took the first bite, causing Bridie to laugh.

“Pleased that you like it.” Bridie winked. “There are some muffins in the container next to the toaster, blueberry. I made his lunch up, and yours, for tomorrow. Left over shepherd's pie.” She listed off a few other details from the day. “When should I return?”

“I don't go in until eleven, I'll need you to pick him up then you can bring him to me. I'm in the office studio all day tomorrow.” Nell instructed. “Thank you, for all of this.”

“You know I love doing it.” Bridie gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“I know and I love you for loving it.” Nell chuckled. Tucking her hair behind her ears, “Oh, Ivan doesn't know, but in a few weeks his father wants to visit him. I'll let you know when he has the dates sent. I think it will be while we were supposed to be gone, anyway.”

“That sounds...” Bridie paused, watching Nell's face to gauge the reaction.

“It's a good thing.” Nell tried to assure her nanny and herself. “It will be good.”

Fingers crossed.

“Well, if you need me for anything you know how to find me.” Bridie would help hide a body, no questions asked. Nell was certain of it.

“Thank you, but I think we'll be okay.” Nell stood to hug the older woman. “Now, go home. I am sure Joe is missing you like crazy. Tell him that you're his for most of the day tomorrow.”

“Good night, Nell.” Bridie waved disappearing toward the door. Nell heard the final click of the lock, signaling that she was on her own until Ivan woke for school.

Dirty plate in the sink, resting until Nell had the energy to do something about it, the cup of peppermint tea joined Nell on her way to bed. Too tired to shower or move, she kicked off her clothes and reached for an old tshirt to wear. The weather was growing warmer as summer approached Ireland.

Summer in Ireland was majestic, really any season in Ireland was majestic. Nell thought as she crawled into her bed. She had decided that the first year she had come here to be an intern. How giddy and naive she had been back then. How different life had been in 2007. How different Nell had been in 2007.

Something about Ireland and that majesty.

Phone down to charge and her alarm set, she was ready for sleep. Slipping under her duvet, she barely had time to get comfortable before sleep over took her.

@funmadnessandbadassvikings , @kawennote09, @smutgoblin , @nickysurfer28 , @peaceisadirtyword, @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @lif3snotouttogetyou, @akamaiden @angelaiswriting, @neeadinghugs, @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly, @ilvebeenabad , @naaladareia, @imgoldielikehawn @tephi101, @sdcyumyum @unacceptabletatertots, @sparklemichele , @titty-teetee , @smolasianwinterbean , @capitanostella , @captstefanbrandt @bloodyivar  , @normanallthewayforever  , @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme , @imyourliquor-youremypoison , @nikky-the-writer  , @seremedyxiii , @laketaj24 , @deleteidentity , @tornupandbored , @hoeghfabulous , @ateliefloresdaprimavera  , @mydarlingwhim , @kenzieam , @jar-of-love ,  @angelswannawearmyredshooz , @manuugxlvis , @lizency , @lost-in-my-thoughs , @ivars-snowflake , @lisinfleur , @fumblingthroughchaos @pebblesz892 , @angelaiswriting , @nelson-and-murdock , @nothingeverdies, @bluearchersstuff  @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone, @ivarlothbroks, @badassbaker  @cris101071 @fucktrucks @ohjules @mrsadrianraines  @angelic-kisses13 @marthasantos95 @atlanticowe @hows-my-hair @omgshuddupmeg @moviegirl50 @havenoffandoms @gearhead66​ @happydaysandersen​ @rekdreams-fandom​ @lovemylife2618​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @geekandbooknerd​ @carlya65​

[eldritchteaparty]

After the Lonely, Part 4

Master post (CWs)

Martin took his time, and the electric kettle had just boiled when Jon showed up, stretching his arms, still in his boxers and undershirt. Martin, who had dressed back up to his sweater, shook his head. He couldn’t help but remember when he had been staying in the archives after his first incident with Jane Prentiss, and Jon had reprimanded him for not wearing trousers. Of course, that had been very different, and a long time ago now… Things change, I guess.

“Good timing,” Martin said. “Kettle’s hot. You want to make yours?”

Jon yawned, broad and comfortable. “I don’t.”

“I knew it,” Martin said, turning to pour water carefully into two mugs waiting on the counter. “Coming after me, bringing me back here… it was all because you missed how I make tea.”

He turned back to find Jon had made his way across the very small kitchen to stand in front of him. “I’m pretty sure I just missed you.” He was close enough that Martin could feel he was still warm from the bed, from their bundle of sheets and blankets and limbs. Martin wanted to reach for him, to bring that warmth in close again—could he? Would that be ok? What if—if he leaned down, if Jon met him part way—

“Oh, you’ll need yours to go.” Jon was gone again as fast as he had appeared, and Martin exhaled, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. “Basira’s on her way.”

Martin’s pulse settled while Jon dove into a cabinet, and a moment later it occurred to him that had been… odd. “Wait—Jon—did she text you?”

“No, she really doesn’t bother anymore. Normally”—Jon seemed amused at some private joke as he set a thermos on the counter— “normally I would have noticed earlier.”

That was only technically an answer to his question, but Martin decided to live with it. “So then… where is she taking me?”

“Oh. Your place. I’ll pack up here, and then I suppose we’ll be on our way.” He absentmindedly headed back down the hallway, leaving Martin to call after him.

“So we’re leaving today?”

“If we can,” Jon called back, “unless there’s anything you need to do. The sooner the better, I think.”

“I guess there’s not.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “I mean, I didn’t fill out my leave forms yet.”

A beat passed. “Was that a joke?”

“Yes, obviously that was a joke.” Martin shook his head.

“Ha,” Jon shouted down the hallway.

“Don’t laugh now, it’s too late.”

“I’ll try to be quicker next time.”

Martin smiled. “So where are we going?”

“Daisy had—has—a cabin. In the Highlands. It’s… it’s secluded.”

I’ll bet it is. He stared for a minute or so, watching the tea steep while his thoughts did the same. So they were going to Scotland. Hiding in Scotland, really. And they were going together.

I slept in Jon’s bed last night.

“Uh, Jon?” Martin was already cringing at what he was about to ask, but he pressed ahead.

“Yes?”

“I realize the timing is a wreck and this is a really stupid question, but…”

There was no answer for a moment, but then Jon reappeared, still not dressed, hanging on the kitchen doorway. “It’s all right.”

“Jon, what… what is this?”

Jon was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Martin, I…” He stopped, then started over again. “I love you. I’m not sure when I knew it, but… I do. And I don’t want you to be away from me again. What that means—well, that’s really up to you.”

“Oh.” Martin stared.

“I should… before…” He swallowed hard, and Martin realized that Jon was having as much trouble with this conversation as he was. “Well, I know it’s… office gossip, maybe you know already, but… I—I’m…”

Martin didn’t mean to be quite so blunt, but it just came out. “You’re not into sex. You don’t have sex.”

Jon went a bit pale. “Right.”

Martin shrugged. “I know. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Jon, still pale, tried again. “Martin, I know you mean well, but—”

“Jon, really. I… I’ve had time to think about it.” Maybe that was revealing too much, that he’d thought about it, but it was out there now—and he was about to pile on. He took a breath. “I mean… ok, you should know, with everything… we’ve all been through it now, right? And like, after everything… I’m saying, even if I wanted to—I don’t think I could. Um, with sex, I mean.”

Jon knitted his brows together. “I’m… I’m sorry.” His concern was sincere, despite his trepidation.

“No, don’t be. I think maybe it would be weirder if… well, and I mean, I know this is different from—from your situation—"

“Yes, it is. It is different.”

“—and that’s exactly why I’m saying this, you should know that’s where I am—but my real point is that even if it weren’t that way, or isn’t again, I don’t think I’d—” Oh god, I’m rambling, he thought, but he couldn’t stop now. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me, maybe it does to you and that’s why you should know, and I understand if that makes you—oh Christ, I’m saying this all wrong. I keep saying it doesn’t matter to me, but it actually matters a lot, I want you to be happy, at least as much as you can, and—what I’m saying is, I really do love you. That part of you, too.”

He finally ran out of words. He pleaded silently for an answer, even if it wasn’t one he wanted, anything to make him shut up.

Jon nodded, slowly. “Ok.”

“Ok,” Martin echoed even though he wasn’t sure what it meant, his face still burning, and he turned to finish their tea. He heard Jon head back to the bedroom. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, forcefully exhaling. Why? Why had he pushed like that? Had they really had to have that conversation right that moment? After all, he’d gone years without needing anything from Jon, he’d been ok with waiting, he was good at waiting, waiting for—

For what?

That was it, wasn’t it? He hadn’t actually been waiting at all, had he? For all of his efforts to protect Jon, for all of his attempts to keep him safe, for all of his daydreaming when he’d dared—he’d never actually imagined Jon would be for him. Now, maybe… if he didn’t ruin it…

He poured milk that was miraculously not passed the expiry date into their cups, watching it swirl into the translucent brown of the tea. He was still staring into it when Jon entered the kitchen again, dressed. Martin sighed and turned to face him.

“Jon, I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to push just then. It’s just… this. It’s a lot.” He kept his eyes to the floor. “Please just forget about it.”

“You didn’t push.” Jon reached out to touch his shoulder. It was comforting, although Martin still couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “It’s a lot for me too. It just—it can’t be helped. It’s the way things have to be. For now, anyway. And we can talk again.”

“Sure.” At least Jon didn’t seem particularly put off. Martin grabbed one of the mugs from the counter behind him, pressing it into Jon’s hands. “Tea’s ready.”

“Thank you.” Jon didn’t move away, blowing over the top of the mug to cool it before taking a sip. He sighed, a sound of genuine contentment that finally allowed Martin to raise his eyes from the ground.

Jon inhaled deeply for a moment before carefully setting the cup carefully on the counter. “Basira’s almost here.” He grabbed the thermos he’d retrieved earlier, along with the remaining cup of tea still behind them, but stopped just before pouring it out.

“Is this ready?” he asked, puzzled. “There’s no sugar in it.”

There it was again. “Jon, um… maybe you should try not to do that so much? That… thing where you know stuff, I mean. If we’re trying to… well, I don’t know, it just seems…”

Jon sighed. “You’re probably right. It can’t… it can’t be helping anything.”

There was a longer pause as Jon stood with the thermos and mug in hand, and Martin realized he hadn’t actually answered the question.

“Oh, I don’t put sugar in mine.”

“Really?” Jon frowned.

“Yeah. I try to avoid it.” Jon cocked an eyebrow at him, and Martin snorted. Fair enough. “Except when I don’t, all right? Look, I’ve just—I’ve been trying it out. It really isn’t good for you.”

Jon shook his head and smiled as he poured the tea into the thermos, a real smile, and Martin couldn’t help but do the same. God, I’ve missed him so much. He moved to take the thermos when it was offered to him, but Jon didn’t let go, even pulling it back toward himself.

“Jon, look, if you—” He didn’t get any further than that, though, as Jon leaned up and pressed their mouths together. Martin closed his eyes and didn’t dare breathe, choosing instead to concentrate on the warmth of their faces held close, the slight scratch of Jon’s beard against his own smooth-shaven skin, the way they just seemed to fit—

There was a loud knock and Jon pulled away, leaving Martin holding the thermos and leaning awkwardly into the space where he had just been.

“Come on, Jon—it’s been ages since you’ve made me knock.” Basira was clearly annoyed, even with the door between them muffling her voice.

“Sorry, I was… distracted,” Jon said offhandedly as he let her in, and Martin wondered how he always seemed so calm now. His own heart was still racing. “I’ve told Martin you’re taking him to get packed. And where we’re going. Please tell him anything else you think is… relevant.”

“Right, whatever.” She glanced at Martin as he entered the front room, then really looked at him, like she hadn’t seen him in a while. “Martin, you look better. Like, a lot better.”

“Uh… thanks?” Martin rallied up half a grin in her direction.

“So… you over that ‘leave me alone, go away’ bullshit?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.” His half-grin grew into a full one as he grabbed his jacket from the couch where he had tossed it the night before. “It’s good to see you too, Basira.”

“Right. Well, come on. The sooner we get this going, the better.” She gestured toward the street through the open door. Martin nodded and pulled his jacket on as quickly as possible while maneuvering with the thermos. He could feel the chill from the outside air again now, and he wasn’t looking forward to heading back into it.

“Wait.” He turned toward Jon again. “Um—are we safe out there? Me and Basira, I mean?”

Jon thought. “Yes, you should be. Daisy’s nowhere nearby, and well… none of them are.” So Daisy really was a them now. He didn’t like that. He thought he saw Basira shift her stance just a little, out of the corner of his eye, but maybe he imagined it. She wasn’t like him; she was tough. “And Jonah, well—I don’t know where he is, but I don’t think it matters. I have a feeling whatever he’s planning is going to be a bit more… subtle.”

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to ask this next question, but he did anyway. “Jon—are we—all of us—going to be ok? I mean, if we do this?”

“Probably not.”

There was a moment of gloomy silence among the three of them, which Basira shook off first. “Yeah, all right, but we’re still going to try. Let’s get going, Martin.”

“Yeah. Right, of course.” He clutched his tea tightly to his chest, already craving the warm barrier against the cold morning. “Um… bye, Jon.”

“Don’t be away too long.” Their eyes met one last time before Jon closed the door, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

[ficstoreadagain]

Prayer in hell, pt. 4

On the train, the first-class travel was ridiculously lavish. You almost felt out of place, but still followed quietly behind Sebastian. He stopped in front of a closed-off cabin, knocked on the door, and then let himself in before motioning you in. 

“I apologize, my lord. They seemed to have overbooked 3rd class, leaving no room for Miss (Y/L/N)- if it’s no-” Sebastian started, but was just interrupted by the young Earl. 

“It’s fine, just sit down. Took you long enough.” Ciel scoffed, looking you both up and down as Sebastian took a seat across from the Earl. You took the seat beside your lover as he began preparing tea. 

“Yes, we were postponed by a rather adamant train attendant, but we got everything taken care of.” Sebastian divulged as he scooped out tea leaves. Ciel nodded and hummed in indifference.

“When we arrive in London, we’ll go straight to the townhouse. I’d like to have a late lunch, as it will be a long day and probably a long night.” Ciel decided, to which Sebastian agreed “I’m sure, Sir Arthur will be so pleased to see me.” 

The Earl smiled bitterly at his joke and Sebastian smirked as he poured a cup of tea, “Oh, he always is, young master.” 

__________

The rest of the journey was rather uneventful, and by 2pm the three of you were ascending the stairs to the townhouse. Ciel was complaining about the absurdity of moving for the season- which you didn’t disagree but let Sebastian offer empty comforts of peach and quiet as he opened the drawing-room doors. 

The sight that greeted you was shocking: Ran-Mau had her lower half sticking out of a cabinet while Lau had his head in a vase, Madame Red was rummaging through drawers and Grell was shaking a book as if it would reveal something. 

“Honestly, where do they keep the tea around here?” Madame Red lamented. 

“Madame Red? Lau? Why are YOU here?” Ciel demanded, gathering their attention. They looked up calmly, ceasing their search. There was some idle chit-chat but you simply glared at the Butler Grell. Since Madame Red had left him at the manor, you had nothing but distaste for him. You didn’t trust him- he definitely wasn’t human, humans didn’t have eyes like that. His incompetence never helped you frustration either. 

“Let’s move to the parlor, I’ll serve tea,” Sebastian suggested, sharing a look with you. You understood what he meant immediately and waiting for the group to leave. You had work to do. 

____

It took fifteen minutes to straighten up the mess those buffoons had made, and then you could start your real task. Warding the townhouse. You began by unwrapping the wound from that morning, flexing your palm was enough to reopen it. Allowing you to place sigils in hidden areas all around the townhouse. 

“My, my, what an artist. I love the red.” A familiar voice sounded from behind you as you finished your last sigil. You jumped, startled, before turning around to meet the phosphorescent green eyes of Grell Sutcliffe. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Yes, anything for my master.” You nodded, loosely wrapping the bandage back around your palm. 

“(Y/N), if you're done, we will be heading to the crime scene now,” Sebastian called out, walking in on the tense exchange. As usual, he eyed Grell curiously, who blushed under the demon’s gaze. “Grell, I believe Madame Red could use your assistance.”

“Oh, of course, Sebastian.” He nodded furiously before scurrying off. Sebastian turned his eyes to you, with a raised eyebrow. 

“Sometimes, I think you enjoy bleeding.” He sighed, bringing you hand to his mouth, tongue licking the excess blood off your hand, causing his eyes to flash ruby. 

“Sometimes, I think you enjoy when I bleed.” You remarked, mocking his tone as he kissed your palm, wrapping the bandage properly before licking the last bits of your blood off his lips. 

“I also don’t know why you let him get so under your skin.” Sebastian teased, guiding you down the stairs. 

“Can’t get a good read on him- but he’s not human, don’t trust him.” You answered gruffly. Rolling your eyes at Sebastian’s chuckle only fueled his teasing. 

“I’m not human, and you seem to trust me quite a bit, my love.” He teased, not even looking down, only watching you from the corner of his eye. 

“Yes, and remember how long that took?” You questioned, quirking an eyebrow.  

“One year, 4 months, 5 days, 7 hours, 36 minutes.” He listed off, obviously quite pleased with himself.

“Damn demon.” was all you growled in response.

____

Despite his best efforts, Ciel couldn’t dissuade the rest of the group from joining. Which created quite the interesting march as you approached the crime scene. Sometimes you forgot not everyone knew the importance of the child that walked in front of you, other times you were rudely reminded. Like when a fresh-faced Scotland Yard inspector halted the young lord’s approach. 

“Sorry my boy, I’m afraid this crime scene is no place for a child- why don’t you run a long home.” The inspector smiled warmly, tipping his hat. Ciel was unaffected. 

“I’m here to see the victim’s body.” He informed, waiting to be let through. The inspector took a flabbergasted step back- which told you this was going to be an annoying amount of back and forth. Instead, you looked back the inspector and into the crime scene- you couldn’t see much except for blood, so much blood. And then you saw her, the victim, standing over her body. Only this version of her was much paler, somewhat see-through, and very very angry. Looking around the crowd, you could see other spirits who soaked up the victim’s anger like sponges. Your eyebrows furrowed, this was going to be tedious. 

Ciel snatching the papers from the newly dubbed Aberline brought you back to the present- quietly you read over his shoulder just as Sebastian did. Before Sir Arthur snatched them back. 

More back and forth, and you zoned out again- feeling eyes boring into the back of your head. Turning around, you saw two pitch-black eyes watching you from within the crowd. 

“We see you.” He mouthed as he backed into the crowd, almost immediately get lost in the moving crowd. You looked to Sebastian who apparently noticed as well, but before anything could be discussed Ciel motioned to leave. And as dutiful servants, that was all you could do. Well, almost all, Sebastian casually slipped you in front of himself, so he could see both his mate and his prey, as they walked back to the carriage. 

Inside the carriage, Ciel couldn’t openly talk to you about the paranormal- not with Lau, Ran Mau, and Madame Red with you. Instead, he just shook his head. The young lord seemed irritated but kept silent as he stared out the window. 

“What now dear?” Madame Red asked, her eyes softly narrowed onto her nephew. Ciel looked to her, his classic determined look on his face. 

“Now, we go see someone who may prove useful.”  He announced. In response, Lau tensed up and his face showed almost fearful astonishment. 

“My lord, you mean-” He gasped. Ciel nodded.

“Yes, indeed.”

_______

All seven of you stood outside the Undertaker’s parlor, and to your annoyance, you heard Lau’s chipper voice. 

“So, where are we?” He asked, looking around. Madame Red immediately jumped on him.

“You don’t know- then what the hell was all that about?” She hissed, with an irritated expression. Sebastian seemed to tire of the group's banter, as he stepped forward. 

“It’s a funeral parlor run by an acquaintance of my lords.” He explained as he guided the group inside. 

Madame Red shivered, looking up to the sign, “The Undertaker?” 

The Earl breezed past his Aunt, “If we’re looking for answers- this is the place.” 

Inside, the Undertaker went through his usual amount of repartee: asking to fit Ciel and you for coffins, alluded to his latest customers, and then demanded jokes as payment. You always got the same vibe off Undertaker that you did Grell- but didn’t mind the former as much, as he was always very helpful on you cases when you lived in London. 

While Lau and Madame Red tried their hand at making him laugh, you looked around- while everyone else was distracted you subtly looked around for information, read over his notes and diagrams on the last victim.  Madame Red’s vulgar gossip momentarily distracted you, causing you to involuntarily curl your lip in disgust. Fortunately, the undertaker stopped her before she went too far.  

“Now, my lord, seems like you’re the only one left. I gave a special discount last time, but I’m not going to do it again.” The Undertaker smiled wildly. Ciel groaned, readying himself before Sebastian stepped forward. 

“It can’t be helped.” Sebastian sighed, shaking his head and adjusting his gloves. The Earl questioned his butler, and Undertaker just hmph-ed in response, “Everyone, please wait outside, no matter what happens, do not attempt to listen to this.”

You rose an eyebrow at the demon as he ushered you, along with the group out of the parlor. He didn’t answer with anything other than a mischievous glint in his eyes as he shut the door. 

Outside, you took note of the beginnings of the sunset before checking your own pocket watch. It was getting late, and you still had so much to do today. Glaring at the four extra people, you sighed and snapped the pocket watch shut. You were ready to begin your own investigation. 

Suddenly, sounds of insane laughter reverberated throughout the street, loud enough to shake your very bones. Not a moment later, Sebastian emerged victoriously and held the door open, “Please do come back in now. I believe he will tell us everything we want to know.” 

As you filed in, the undertaker was still coming down off his high of laughter, “Oh, my heh, I’ve now seen the face of ultimate bliss.” 

With a sigh, he motioned you to the back- earning curious gazes from the rest of the group. You ignored them as you went to examine the body, as you normally did when you visited the Undertaker- something that often told you more than anything else. 

You could tell Undertaker was in the process of embalming her, the scent of formaldehyde burned your nostrils. The silver-haired man has stitched up many of the worst wounds but had very extensive notes scrawled into an open journal. You thought to yourself, reading the notes, ‘Heart still there, the liver still there, uterus missing, kidney missing- but was apparently sent to the Yard. Slit throat, many lacerations, almost all blood was drained.’ 

What was there and missing, usually told you a lot about your culprit and who you were after. But this just enforced your original notion that these were committed mostly by humans. But something still didn’t feel right, some of the stab wounds and lacerations had more force behind them than any human could muster. 

“(Y/N), are you quite ready?” Sebastian asked, walking into the back room to see you leaning over the body, taking special notice of the dried blood that painted her lips like lipstick. You furrowed your brows,  but straightened up with a nod. 

“Yes, back to the house, then?” You asked, following him out to the carriage. He nodded, closing the parlor's door. 

“You don’t have a very accepting audience, anything for me to report to the young master?” He asked, placing a hand on the small of your back as you crossed the street. 

Nodding, you quietly told him, “Killer is definitely human, but they’re being assisted by something not human.” 

The butler narrowed his eyes at the information, offering you a hand up into the carriage before following behind you. The carriage was rather cramped, you were squished between Lau (who had Ran Mau on his lap) and Sebastian who naturally took up a good bit of space. Not that you minded pressing yourself to his side, and the momentary smirk told you he didn’t mind either. As the carriage lurched into its journey, they began discussing how to proceed.  Finally, Sebastian decided his course of action. 

“We will conclude this investigation quickly.”

“Impossible.” Lau scoffed. Sebastian simply smiled. 

“I should be able to do this much at least, otherwise what kind of butler would I be?” The demon questioned, bowing his head as he stood, and opened the carriage door.  “I’ll make up a list of viable suspects and begin questioning for you, my lord. Now if you would excuse me.” 

With that, he simply stepped out of the quickly moving carriage. Madame Red gaped at the sight, immediately moving to stare out of the back window.  “He knows we’re moving, right?” 

Ciel disregarded the question, “Sebastian will take of it for now. We can head home and have a cup of tea while we wait.”

____

Upon arrival, the group ascended the steps to be greeted by Sebastian opening the door, “Welcome back everyone, I have awaited your return. Afternoon tea is ready for you in the drawing-room.” 

Madame Red once again gaped at the butler, and they had at least seven minutes of back and forth before getting to actually useful information. Sebastian placed a gloved hand over his chest, “See, my lady, I am simply one hell of a butler. The Viscount Druitt: also known as Alester Chambers- graduated medical school but never gone into practice. This season, there’s been several parties that hide more intimate gatherings. There’s one last party this season, tonight, and I’ve obtained our invitations.”

Ciel grumbled something under his breath before looking to you, “Very well. (Y/N), I know you have business to attend to- you shouldn’t be needed tonight. You’re dismissed for the evening.”

“Thank you, young master.” You replied, bowing your head, turning to walk towards your quarters as they went to the drawing-room.  Finally, I can get out of this skirt. 

It didn’t take you long to slip on a pair of trousers, tuck in a white blouse, shove your feet into a pair of boots, and pull your overcoat over yourself. Then, just as quickly, you put all of your supplies into your various pockets- salt, demon knife, holy water, etc. Finally, you grabbed a hat that would hide your hair, a woman in man’s clothes would attract too much attention, but short hair helped give the allusion of fitting in as a young man. Feeling much freer, you left your quarters in order to stop through the kitchen. You hadn’t eaten since you left the manor, and your stomach was growling in protest. 

Fortunately, Sebastian almost always left a bit of food (extra of whatever he made for the master) out for you in the kitchen. As always, he didn’t let you down- finger sandwiches, fruit, and even a small slice of cake, along with a cup of tea, and a glass of water. Relishing every bite, you quickly scarfed down the meal. 

You felt his presence behind you before he spoke, so you turned around to meet Sebastian’s eyes. You raised your eyebrows at the corset draped over his arm as he carried an empty tea tray under his other arm. “If that’s supposed to be for me... I’m pretty sure we’ve had this conversation before.” 

“Not for you, this time.” He assured with a teasing smile, moving past you to set the tray onto the counter. “Honestly, you’re disguised as a boy, the master will be disguised as a girl- my world is turning sideways.” 

You giggled slightly at the thought, knowing the demon found more amusement in this than he was letting on. You took a sip of tea before retorting, “Somehow, I’m sure you’ll find a way to carry on.” 

You reached for the grapes on your plate, when suddenly a gloved hand slid the dish out of your reach. Your head snapped up to glare at Sebastian only to be met with dark, scolding eyes. 

“Are you sure it is wise to be out on your own? I’m contractually bound to my master- and I don’t like the idea of choosing between my mate and my meal.” He questioned, voice stern as he edged closer you, finally trapping you between his arms, chest, and the edge of the table. You met his eyes, setting a determined look on your own face. “I can’t be in two places at once- if you need me- I might not be able to get to you.” 

“Sebastian, I’m fully capable of keeping myself safe. Besides, I’m only investigating the unruly spirits in the East End tonight.” You tried to reason, but his eyes narrowed in. 

“You know I’m not worried about the spirits. You’re every move is being watched, and they’ll notice if you’re alone. It’d be a perfect opportunity for them to attack.” He growled, grip on the table tightening so much it splintered the wood. You knew he was just being protective, with a sigh, you reminded yourself that this was just part of loving a demon. 

“I’ll be careful. And if I’m not back by the stroke of midnight, you are more than welcome to tear the city apart.” You promised, placing a hand on his chest and softly smiling up at him. He sighed, and didn’t look the slightest bit convinced as he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow and disapproving stare.  

Instead of trying to appease him with more words, you rose to your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling against him as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” You growled in response to Grell’s voice. You couldn’t see him due to Sebastian’s large form blocking your view, but you knew that annoying voice anywhere. 

“You’re rarely not.” Sebastian muttered so quietly that even you barely heard him, but just smiled politely at the brunette butler as he moved stepped to the side to reveal you. Grell’s expression cringed at your outfit before evening out to confusion. Sebastian just went on to ask, “Is there something you needed, Grell?”

“Oh, yes, yes, right. The Young Lord refuses to let my mistress help him get ready.  He’s demanding you do it.” Grell informed, still looking back and forth between the two of you. Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Very well, I’ll be there soon.” Sebastian agreed, glowering after the other butler. With another sigh, he worldlessly scooped your hair up and placed your cap over it. “Do try to come back in piece. I don’t have the time to plan an elaborate rescue or revenge.”

“Careful, Sebastian, someone might assume you care about me. Not very demonic of you.” 

_______

taglist: @inumorph

[bee-kathony]

Kneading Love | Ch. 5 “Undone”

a/n: thank you so much for reading! I think there will just be one or two more chapters! thank you as always for the moodboard @julesbeauchamp

Chapter One |  Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four 

April 28th, 1946

Claire’s flower shop was opening in three days. But there was still one thing left that needed to be done, and frankly, should have been done a long time ago — painting the exterior.

At the moment, the outside of the small shop was a dingy brown, which wasn’t very welcoming to anyone that wanted to come and buy flowers or herbs. So Claire had bought a very pale light blue that would hopefully entice people to stop by.

Thankfully, it wasn’t too hot — but it was Scotland so it was really never too hot. Claire was wearing an old green cotton dress with buttons all down the front. Her helper once again, Jamie, had come dressed in old looking trousers and a plain white button down.

“You do realize that shirt will not be white when you leave,” Claire smirked, pointing her paint brush at him.

“Well, it willna wi’ ye behind the brush,” Jamie laughed, dodging her brush. Claire was thankful that Jamie had come back to help her with this task considering he was tall enough to reach all the spots that Claire couldn’t. She was working on the lower half of the wall, while Jamie focused on the top.

“When we’re all finished here, I’ll let you pick out some flowers to take home to your mother,” Claire said, squatting to paint near the front door. “I think she’d like some of the roses. I saw the roses at your house.”

“Aye, she loves them,” Jamie smiled fondly. “She planted them herself when they first moved in to the place. You can always find her tending to her roses on a sunny day.”

“I’ve been thinking about asking her to help me with the shop,” Claire said and looked at Jamie to gage his reaction. His face was always unreadable to Claire, whereas she was an open book whether she liked it or not.

Jamie stood on the tips of his toes to reach a difficult spot. “I think ye should, Sassenach! It would give her somethin’ to do. No’ that she doesna have enough to do wi’ the farm, but she enjoys yer company.”

“And I enjoy hers,” Claire smiled up at him and he smiled back. “That’s settled then. When she comes to the opening on Wednesday, I’ll ask her.”

“Wednesday ye said?” Jamie asked.

“Yes, the first of May,” Claire said and then moved to the other side of the door. “You know that old saying, “April showers bring May flowers”. I thought it was appropriate to open it on the first of May.”

“Aye,” Jamie said and Claire thought he sounded a bit funny. “We’ll be there,” he grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

They continued to paint until they had only one part left — a small section on the left side of the building. Claire squatted down again, dipping her brush into the paint as Jamie reached above her. A moment later, Claire felt something drop into her hair. When she reached up and pulled her hand back, it was pale blue paint.

“Oh Christ,” Jamie said immediately. “Oh God, Claire, I’m so sorry! I didna mean to get any in yer hair. Ah Dhia!”

Claire wanted to be upset, she wanted to be furious that she now had paint in her hair that would most likely be very difficult to get out, but she started to laugh. Apparently her silent laughter looked like she was crying and Jamie bent down to wrap his arms around her gently.

“Sassenach, I’m so sorry. I canna believe what I’ve done,” he said, sounding worried. “Will ye forgive me?”

Claire laughed audibly this time, and looked up at Jamie with tears in her eyes. “Forgive you? Oh Jamie,” she laughed. “It’s perfectly all right! It’s just hair after all. It’s actually quite funny.”

“What?” Jamie sat back on his butt. “Tis really okay then?”

“Well, it’s not okay,” Claire said, motioning to her hair. “But it’s fine, Jamie. Don’t worry yourself over this. Because I’m going to have you help me wash it out!”

“Aye,” Jamie laughed now, taking another look at his handy work. “I suppose we really should have thought over me painting over ye, mo nighean donn.”

“What does that mean?” Claire asked.

“Oh,” Jamie’s cheeks turned red. “It, um, means my brown haired lass.”

Now it was Claire’s turn to blush a crimson red. “I always thought brown a rather dull color.”

“Nah,” one side of Jamie’s mouth lifted up into a small smirk. “It’s like the water in a burn. The way it ruffles down the rocks,” he lifted his hand to touch a stray curl near her face. “The dark spots wi’ wee bits of auburn. Tis beautiful, Sassenach.”

“Well, we better keep it beautiful by washing out this paint,” Claire smiled.

Jamie stood to his feet and held out his hand for Claire. They still had one small spot of paint to finish, but Claire’s paint covered hair was a more pressing matter. Claire led him into the shop and up the stairs. This would be the first time that Jamie would see her room.

It wasn’t much. Just a small room above the shop, complete with a stove, sink, bed in the corner and a bathroom fit with a clawfoot tub.

“I’ll just lean my head over the water, and if you can use the shampoo to help get the paint out?” Claire held out a bottle of homemade shampoo.

“Aye, of course,” he took it as Claire knelt down and turned on the warm water. “Let’s just hope I dinna mess it up more than I already have.”

Once the water was warm, but not too hot, Claire placed her full head under the rushing water. Realistically, she would have taken off her dress before doing this, but with Jamie here with her, she thought it best to keep it on for the moment. Seeing that her hair was wet, Jamie poured a nice dollop of shampoo into his hands and reached down to Claire’s head.

His hands were large, and covered her skull as he massaged the shampoo into her hair. Despite the slight crick that she was getting in her neck, it felt heavenly — it always did feel nice to have someone else wash your hair.

“Tell me if I’m bein’ too rough,” Jamie said and Claire nodded. “The paint is bein’ a bit stubborn.”

Jamie continued to work the shampoo into her hair, rubbing out the paint and washing it slide down the drain. Water trickled down Claire’s neck making her shiver and Jamie pulled his hands back.

“Ye okay?”

“Yes,” she said softly. In all reality, she was more than okay.

Finally, the last of the paint came out of Claire’s hair and she told Jamie where to find the towels in the cupboard. He brought one back and Claire wrapped her hair into it, twisting it so it rested tall on her head.

“Well, thank you,” she smiled. “I bet you didn’t think you’d be washing my hair when you stopped by today.”

“No,” he chuckled, rubbing his neck with his hand. “I canna say I did.”

“You know,” Claire said shyly. “If you wanted to kiss me again, you don’t need an invitation.”

One of Jamie’s brows arched in surprise before he grinned and leaned down to kiss her. His large warm hand that had just been in her hair touched the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

“Are ye cold, Sassenach?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Not cold at all.”

There were no words that needed to be spoken for what they both wanted. As they looked into each other’s eyes, Jamie’s hand touched the towel on top of Claire’s head and untwisted it, letting it fall to the ground. Then his hands went to the first button on her dress.

“Maybe we should step out of the bathroom?” Claire suggested.

“Aye,” Jamie laughed with pink cheeks. He backed up slowly, not wanting to take his eyes off of Claire. They came to stand in front of the bed, and Claire stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him.

“Are ye sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in all my life, Jamie,” Claire whispered against his lips. His large hands returned to the buttons on her dress, unfastening each one. Now, Claire wished she had worn something that didn’t take so damn long to take off.

“That’s a lot of buttons,” he joked as he bent down to reach the bottom ones. He stayed on his knees as the last one came undone. He slowly ran one hand up the back of her leg, feeling the smoothness of her skin.

Claire’s breath caught in her throat. She shook off her dress and let it flutter to the ground around them. Jamie looked up at her, his mouth partially open. She was wearing a bra and panty set she had bought in Paris — a light cream silk.

“Christ,” Jamie muttered and returned to his full height. “Yer the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Claire.”

“Thank you,” Claire blushed. “But I do feel slightly under dressed.”

He glanced down at himself, realizing that he was still fully clothed. Not bothering with all the buttons on his shirt, he yanked it over his head once the first few were undone. That’s when Claire gasped.

“Oh, Jamie,” she said softly as she looked at him.

“I meant to tell ye,” he said, looking down at his left arm. It was burned. “This is why I couldn’t fight in the war.”

“What happened?” Claire reached out and carefully touched his arm, feeling the bumpy and healed over scars.

“I was in the bakery alone one day,” Jamie said, his eyes shut as he remembered. “I was still new to everything. Our oven had been acting up and I had noticed a few sparks earlier in the day, but I thought nothing of it.”

Claire ran her finger tips lightly over his skin, seeing gooseflesh rise in their wake.

“When the fire started, there was nothing I could do,” he continued. “It caught on my shirt and I was in so much pain that I just fell to the floor. That’s when my Da ran in — he heard my screamin’. They managed to put out the flames, but it was too late for my arm.” He turned now, showing her his back. “It burned the top half of my arm as well as a bit of my back.”

“I’m so sorry,” Claire said softly, feeling her chest tighten at seeing him this way. “I can’t even imagine what that must have felt like.”

“Twas the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” Jamie said and turned to face her once again. “But yer touch, Sassenach…” he cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb against her lip. “It makes the pain disappear.”

Their lips sealed, gentle and slow at first, but quickly became hungry. Jamie pulled his trousers off, tossing them somewhere in the room and he wrapped both his arms around Claire. She fit perfectly against him, and they both moaned whenever she flexed her hips and felt how hard he was.

“I need you,” Claire said and took a step back, all while unfastening her bra and letting it fall to the ground. She took a seat on the edge of the bed and Jamie fell to his knees before her to worship her, love her, touch her.

His hands slid up along her bare thighs, touching the silk of her panties before moving up her stomach. Claire could hardly breathe as she watched him, his eyes exploring her body with a look between lust and love. Her legs were on either side of his body, and he lowered his lips against her neck, softly sucking.

“Jesus,” Claire muttered under her breath. For almost two months now, Claire had been wondering what it would feel like if he touched her with his tongue. Now that she knew, she never wanted him to stop. He kissed his way down to her collarbones, flicking his tongue out as if he was saying a prayer.

When he reached her breasts, he pushed his hands underneath them, weighing them as he caught his breath.

“Ye have no idea how beautiful ye are, Sassenach,” Jamie said.

“I do believe you said that already,” Claire laughed, sliding her right hand into his curls.

“I’ll keep sayin’ it until the day I die,” he smirked and then bent his head back down and placed a gentle kiss to her left breast. Her nipples became hard and he closed his mouth over one of them, his tongue flicking the bud. For such a large man, he was quite a gentle lover.

The scruff of his beard made a tingling sensation shoot all over her body and Claire began to squeeze her thighs around him. Jamie pushed her breast further into his mouth, beginning to suck harder. Moans left Claire’s lips as he did the same to the other one. She would have happily sat here for hours with Jamie between her legs and his mouth at her breasts, but her belly was tight and she needed to feel him.

“Take these off,” Claire tugged at his boxers and Jamie reluctantly pulled off of her chest, leaving her nipples red and swollen.

As Jamie removed his boxers, Claire moved backwards on the bed, taking her panties off as well. She reached beside the bed and grabbed a condom, laughing to herself that it was finally coming to use.

Her eyes trailed greedily down Jamie’s long body as he climbed onto the bed. She couldn’t help the wetness that was between her legs whenever she saw his cock for the first time. It was hard, pressed against his stomach, and with one long throbbing vein.

Jamie moved between her legs, positioning his forearms on either side of her chest. Claire reached between their bodies and rolled the condom on, watching as Jamie’s eyelashes fluttered at her touch.

“Yer goin’ to kill me, a nighean,” Jamie said softly. He cupped her cheek, and Claire turned her head slightly to capture his thumb in her mouth, sucking lightly. “Christ,” he mumbled.

Their bodies were flush, warm and Claire flexed her hips, communicating with her body was she so desperately needed. Jamie leaned up and he took himself in hand to guide into her slick folds.

“Oh God!”

“Mmmph.”

Claire hooked one arm around his neck, letting her body adjust to him inside of her. Once he was pressed fully against her, he pulled back until just the tip was inside of her before pushing forward. His belly pressed down against hers and soon he began to roll his hips in a steady rhythm.

Feeling like something would explode inside of her at any minute, Claire moved her hands along his back, feeling the light sweat that covered him. Her hand lingered on his hurt arm, squeezing lightly as he hit a deep spot inside of her.

“Jamie,” she whispered, searching for his lips. Their moans died in each other’s mouths as he rolled his hips again and again. With a final thrust, Claire came absolutely undone underneath him, her body twitching and as her walls clenched around him, Jamie followed her into the abyss.

They lay there for quite some time. Jamie’s head on Claire’s chest as their hearts returned to a normal rhythm. Claire’s hand found his curls, running her fingers slowly through them. His breath was hot against her skin. A smile formed on her lips as she glanced down at the state of them — one of Jamie’s legs covering her as he lay on his side, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“This is no’ what I thought would happen at all,” Jamie finally said a few moments later.

“Oh, you didn’t think you would end up naked in my bed?” She chuckled, tugging on his hair. “Because that’s exactly what I planned on.”

“I don’t put it past ye,” Jamie smirked and kissed her neck before moving to rest his head on his hand. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here wi’ ye in my arms.”

Claire felt like anything she would say wouldn’t be enough, so she just sealed their lips together and rolled into his side.

“I fear your mother and sister will know exactly what we’ve been up to once they see us again on Wednesday,” Claire buried her face into his chest.

“Oh aye,” he laughed. “I have no doubt they’ll give me a hard time for it. There’s nothin’ that those two women canna figure out.”

Claire felt positively wonderful, and it didn’t matter to her that she and Jamie weren’t married or that they hadn’t waited until their wedding night. There was nothing in the world that could have stopped them — not a priest, a disgruntled mother or a natural disaster. There were forces working together to bring Jamie and Claire together, that she was sure of.

“Speaking of Wednesday,” Jamie said, letting his fingers trail slowly down Claire’s arm. “Tis my birthday.”

“What?” Claire abruptly sat up and looked down at him. “Your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

He shrugged, “I usually dinna go all out for my birthday, and I’d rather spend it wi’ ye and seein’ yer shop open.”

“I can change it to Thursday,” Claire said. “It’s really not a problem. I don’t want to take up the day!”

“Nah,” Jamie brushed his finger over her nose. “Seein’ ye happy is all I need on my birthday. The first of May is the perfect day and ye willna change it, I won’t let ye.”

Feeling like it was pointless to argue with a stubborn scot, Claire fell back against him. She placed a kiss to his neck and Jamie squirmed.

“That tickles, Sassenach,” he laughed.

Claire did it again, flicking her tongue against his neck. He kept wiggling underneath her and Claire moved until she was sitting on top of him and kept kissing his neck just under his ear. Jamie’s hands gripped her sides, trying to pry her off of him as he laughed. Quite unintentionally, his cock brushed against her, making them both stop.

Silently, they stared at each other. Claire placed one hand on his chest and with her other, she intertwined their fingers. They were both still aroused and so Jamie pushed his hips upwards and slid inside of her. Claire’s hips rolled as she adjusted the angle. Jamie sat up, his hands sliding down to grip her lower back.

Both of Claire’s legs wrapped around him as they slowly and tenderly pulled each other apart. There in Jamie’s arms, Claire gave her heart to him, feeling that there was no safer place in the world for it to be stored.

[glare0322]

h.i.v.e. head canons

just some character and relationship/friendship head canons :)

laura

- plays the piano and quite well. she doesn’t want to play much at h.i.v.e. because it reminds her of scotland and her family. after book eight, she plays a lot more frequently cause she really sees h.i.v.e. and the people there as her home.

- is not organized in anything but school and files on her computer. her brain runs a million miles an hour which leads to things getting messy fast.

- becomes a lot closer with raven after the greenhouse since they now have a bit of shared trauma especially in the fact anastasia favored to torture both of them.

- still sucks at driving even after h.i.v.e.

- after h.i.v.e. laura goes and lives with her family for a month back in scotland. they talk about h.i.v.e., shelby and her other friends, whats been happening here, and other general catching up topics. mary (mrs. brand) takes a special interest in meeting otto and laura reminds her mom every day not to make a big deal about it. yet she still counts down the days until she gets to meet her daughter’s boyfriend.

otto

- gets very frustrated when he can’t grasp certain concepts or master specific skills. he is known as the boy genius after all.

- went through an edgy phase while at h.i.v.e. not emo, but he would throw in more hurtful quips towards shelby during their usually playful spits and his jokes were just a little too dark. otto got a lot more detentions during this time and even the thought of trying to escape again reoccurred in his mind. he eventually noticed how wing was not a fan of it and slammed the breaks. of course everyone still makes fun of him for it.

- if you don’t think otto wouldn’t cry at the sight of his newborn child/ren then um...you’re wrong

- he looks back on his little prime minister scheme with pride and cringes terribly at it. on one hand, it was his beginnings and the device he made not only worked but was something like no other. and then he remembers how he made the prime minister moon everyone. when he was younger it was hilarious, now that he’s a tad older otto hates the fact he did that. there is just something immature and lacking taste about the whole thing.

- lives in sweaters/jumpers. i know this one is random, but something about them just suits otto.

wing

- has a gentle singing voice. he only sings lullabies to his kids and if one of his friends needs it. besides that wing does not sing often. it’s always a treat when he does.

- wing is really scared to be a dad. the thought of being like his father is incredibly scary to him.

- i really can not see wing becoming a villain but an antihero, now that i can definitely see. his methods are immoral in the sense he is still technically a murder, but he only goes after truly evil corporations. like human trafficking kind of evil.

- he teaches his kid/s self-defense and martial arts.

- trilingual and speaks english, japanese, and mandarin. the first two are canon to the story but i feel like his parents probably would have taught him at least some mandarin.

shelby

- shelby hated how laura would stay up for hours in the night tapping away on her computer. however when she moved out, it seemed weird not to fall asleep to the sound of a typing keyboard.

- if there is a h.i.v.e. gymnastics team/program (since there is a water polo team) shelby would totally do it. she waves to her friends before her round and even sometimes blows a kiss to her supportive boyfriend who is always there to see her.

- after h.i.v.e. she pursues gymnastics professionally. it provides the same wealth she was used to back with her parents, she likes to do it, but most importantly it’s an amazing cover up for why she’s traveling so many places around the world. (to steal of course) it also funds these trips and gives her, and wing for that matter, a great public image. plus she likes the spotlight a bit.

- i’ve said this before but shelby eventually gets lessons from raven. i just love this idea with my whole heart especially because how different these two are.

- had a bit of affluenza before h.i.v.e. which played into her desire for stealing diamonds along with her crappy parents. (my theory on shelb’s parents is right here)

laura and otto

- otto adores laura’s piano playing. there is something peaceful about it to him which he finds really comforting.

- they go to university together in scotland and help each other get through it. the two live in an apartment together go to school then see each other after classes at home.

- laura has some zero ptsd and it occasionally effects her relationship with otto in the sense she gets flashbacks and is genuinely scared. otto completely understands this though and is super patient with her. obviously it bothers him since he’s not zero, but he understands why she’s experiencing this and loves her enough to put his annoyance aside for her.

- these two wanted their kids’ names to be after someone. so if they would ever have a daughter her name would be lucy and the middle name of their son would be wing. laura wanted to include shelby but it just didn’t fit anywhere.

- if otto can’t find a shirt, then laura is wearing it. she wears his clothes super frequently and he won’t complain. she looks cute :,)

laura and shelby

- shelby likes things to look pretty, so she ends up being the one that keeps their room tidy, makes the beds, and other cleanly stuff like that. especially when they live together outside of h.i.v.e. she does the dishes pretty often, keeps their room looking nice, and stocks their fridge. laura is messy, but it doesn’t effect her much cause shelbs takes care of it. she doesn’t mind and only teases laura when people are over to embarrass her (all in good fun).

- laura doesn’t like girly things (we been knew). shelby tried for a while to get her into these things and a few stick on: nail polish, very light make up, and shopping. but never and i mean never would shelby make laura do something she didn’t want to. of course laura introduces shelby to her more geeky/nerdy stuff. they watch superhero shows together, shelbs has a black widow t-shirt in her closet now, and even some basic hacking codes.

- laura didn’t like shelby at first not only because of her nasty personality, but because she was a lot like the girls who would talk about laura behind her back.

- basically canon, but shelby was the number one ottra shipper. she had been rooting for them since day one of h.i.v.e. laura comes to her for advice with otto and shelby consoles her when lucy and otto get together. they both were disappointed the two didn’t get together.

- laura is really good at baking and shelby asks her once to help her bake something for wing. (she was really trying y’all) long story short, even laura couldn’t help shelby’s terrible baking skills and they set off the fire alarms in their apartment along with the sprinklers.

wing and otto

- otto wanted to do one of wing’s workouts despite his best friends many warnings it would be rough. it was safe to say otto underestimated the intensity of the workout.

- oh god the scene where these two will eventually leave each other to go move on past h.i.v.e. is just absolutely gut wrenching. they both acknowledge how the other had such an influence on their lives and hope to see them prosper in life. honestly this is like a rare moment where i can see wing legitimately crying.

- so we all know how wing has half the overlord protocol necklace (he has yang) if shelby doesn’t get the yin half then otto should because he kinda fits the yin meaning and is best bros with wing.

- for wing’s “bachelor party” they honestly just get all the guys from h.i.v.e. together and hang out for a couple hours. after, however, he and otto go out and go have some fun doing morally gray criminal activity.

- they still sometimes speak in japanese to each other on missions and stuff or if they need to plan something without anyone else knowing.

shelby and wing

- they move permanently to america, but visit china and japan quite frequently.

- one of the first things shelby does after she and wing get out of h.i.v.e. is watch a bunch of disney movies and american movie classics so he can understand the pop culture references she has been making for the past five years.

- i totally think shelby gets the other half over otto, or at least a replica. there’s kinda set up for this as well, the other half (yin) is known as the feminine half.

- if they would ever have a daughter her name would be mei or raven.

- she always knows exactly what to get him as a gift or even just in general. she’s observant and can pick up on what he needs before he does. wing has mentioned before shelby is a little...less predictable but he tries his hardest and oh my goodness does shelby appreciate his efforts. of course it irritates her, but she knows her slightly emotionally-unavailable boyfriend is trying an insane amount to sort through her emotions right.

shelby and otto

- they totally bond over how wing is great, but have an urge to smother him in his sleep because of the obnoxiously loud snoring

- menaces to the public when these two are together. i couldn’t even begin to tell you all the crafty things that would conspire between these two. pranking teachers, seeing who can steal the answers first, racing in stealth or in fitness classes. (wing beats both of them in combat/fitness so their efforts are often pointless)

- when they first came to h.i.v.e. shelby was taller than otto, by quite a margin too. she teased him into another galaxy about it. so when the day came that otto was officially taller than her, she mourned the countless jokes that could no longer be made.

- asks a lot of those “wait who logically thought to make butter?” questions. they also argue whether these people were geniuses or a new level of stupid. (seriously who thought to mix together milk until it gets to a solid consistency and then eat it?)

- they have to live together for one month after h.i.v.e. in the beginning, they like wanted to choke each other, but by the end of the month they were upset to not live with each other any more. (fic is dropping soon 🙈)

wing and laura

- after the greenhouse incident, laura went to wing asking him to teach her some martial arts since she felt really weak physically while in there. he doesn’t initially think it’s the best idea, but laura convinces him it will be okay.

- they’re a lot better friends then people would initially think. she hugged him like twice in the first book alone and is grateful for him saving her life. laura and wing seem like the two that just relax with each other. no shenanigans, no combat, honestly just vibing. they drink tea and watch murder mystery shows while catching up on the latest things and theorizing about the show.

- the entire gang goes to tokyo all together at one point in their life. laura and wing go to all the historical places in the city and chat about them for hours.

- they go on hikes together. that’s it. i’m right and you know it.

- i always imagined at least once wing decided to try and take the high road instead of cheating by asking laura to tutor him. it worked pretty well for him and now whenever he needs help with work, he just goes to laura and they work through it together.