#yes I know it’s a leap year and still February tomorrow

[multiseb21]

F1 drivers as tweets that made me laugh this month 🫡 (part 4)

[acciomalfoy]

liquid luck (bill weasley x reader)

summary: reader is an exchange student that draws the attention of bill weasley just in time for valentines day

a/n: another collab with @fromashescomephoenixes yall already know the drill go follow her she is an incredible author as well as person!

-

Lifting myself off of the stoney floor, I find myself in a comfortable office filled with trinkets. The circular walls are covered with serious looking portraits, their eyes lit by the glow of the warm fireplace I recently fell out of. As I rise and brush myself off, I find myself face to face with a phoenix.

I stare into it's eyes for a moment as they swirl in fiery embers of color, before I snap back to reality. It had been a long journey, and I would have an equally long day tomorrow given I was arriving mid term- on February 13th.

Turning towards the center of the room, I see a small group of people eagerly grinning towards me. I watched as the girl bobbed on the balls of her feet, and the boy stood, completely relaxed, with a welcoming stance.

“Ms. y/l/n, welcome to Hogwarts!” Albus Dumbledore’s voice greets me. I smiled, my nerves eased by the kind welcome that they had prepared.

“We are most pleased to have you here,” Mcgonagal nods towards me. After properly greeting both of them, I turn my attention to the two people my age, waiting to greet me.

“Oh my Godric! I’m so happy to meet you,” The dark brown, curly haired girl greeted me with a soft hug. Her russet brown skin seemed to radiate warmth as she pulled me into a kind hug. “I’m Anya, and it sounds like you’re in my house. So you’ll be seeing lots of me!” She smiled kindly and nodded towards the pale, freckled boy behind her, signalling for him to come up.

“G’day mate!” The boy said in an extremely poor Australian accent. His honey-gold eyes searched mine, hoping to see the laughing twinkle of his reflected in mind.

“Oh good evening dear chap!” I responded without missing a beat in an equally awful English accent. The red haired boy laughed and I couldn’t help but notice the deep brown flecked through his eyes. Almost like cinnamon.

“So, do you play quidditch?” The boy demanded, grinning still. I was about to respond with an affirmative, but I was cut off.

“Mr Weasley! Your name!” Mcgonagal snapped. I grinned, silently laughing at the situation.

“I’m Bill. Nice to meet you,” He held out his hand. Gently, I placed my small hand into his firm one, and shook.

“Y/n,” I responded.

“I’ll have to show you around sometime y/n.” Bill grinned.

“And I’ll have to show you to our dorm!” Anya exclaimed, taking your arm. “You’re a Hufflepuff, right?” I nodded, remembering Professor Mcgonagal’s brief trip to Koolangka, the Australian wizarding school, to sort me. The strange hat was very different to the process at Koolangka, but seemed to work nonetheless.

“Right-o,” I grinned, enjoying the way my words stood out slightly. We hurried through the castle as Anya explained the basics of what I needed to know to me. By the time we reached the basement, I was nearly asleep on my feet.

The soft golden bedding seemed all together much to inviting, and I slept as soon as my head hit the pillow.

•••

I woke up to four girls standing over me, and I yelped in surprise, causing them to step back slightly.

“You’re y/n, right? I’m Amelia Abbott,” A brown haired girl began talking, and proceeded to point at the rest of the Hufflepuff’s. “That’s Ella Finch-Fletchey, that’s Caroline Jordan, and this is Teresa Berg.” She finished, and I waved at the girls in turn.

“Nice to meet you all!” I said as I hopped out of bed, and Teresa instantly took my arm.

“Anya told us you and Bill Weasley hit it off. He hardly ever speaks to girls, but that’s because we’re always drooling over him.” She said, and her blonde locks swung as she spoke.

“He’s nice, I guess.” I said, albeit uncertainly, and the rest of the Hufflepuff’s giggled.

“We can’t wait for you to date!” Ella chattered, and Caroline shook her head.

“You’re scaring her, the poor thing. We’ll let you get changed and meet you down at the common room, you must be starving!” The four girls were off in a whirl as Caroline herded them out, and I shot her a grateful smile.

As the room stilled, I took a deep breath. I was really here, at Hogwarts, in the badger’s sett, the place I finally belonged.

I took my time putting on my Hufflepuff robes, the cheery yellow making me smile. With that smile came the thought of Bill Weasley’s blue eyes, and the odd feeling I had had around him.

“Y/n!” A voice that sounded like Ella called from the common room, and I did a final stroke of the hairbrush through my hair.

“Coming!” I called, and I set the hairbrush down as I looked in the mirror.

I was ready.

The group of girls led me down the hallway, occasionally pausing their giggling and teasing of each other to point out important land marks:

“And that’s where Ella snogged Simon Brown!” Teresa grinned as she pointed towards a particularly large statue of a goblin. Ella slugged Teresa's arm in a friendly manner, and Teresa stuck her tongue out before we continued to move on.

“Oh my! That’s where those third years got in a fight about quidditch last week,” Caroline nudged me, although I doubted whether or not this information would come in useful later.

Finally we reached the great hall, and made our ways to the hufflepuff table. I eagerly searched for some vegimite on toast, or a Ned Kelly pie. But I was sadly disappointed as my friends explained neither of those things exist in England. Instead, Ella plonked a bowl of oatmeal onto my plate.

“Dig in,” she winked. I sighed, resigning myself to the warm slop on my plate. It could be worse I reckon: she could have given me scrambled eggs.

I’m shaken from my silent contemplation of the evils of scrambled eggs by none other than Bill Weasley himself.

“Top of the mornin’” Bill greets in an exaggerated English accent this time.

“Merlin, am I ever going to here your real accent?” I try to look annoyed before slipping into a smile.

“Ay. That depends,” he attempts a Scottish accent this time. I suppose it’s a running joke at this point.

“On what?” I raise an eyebrow, while reaching for my juice. Upon doing so, I realise all five of my new friends are eagerly drinking up this juicy interaction.

“I was hoping to show you around,” he begins looking slightly nervous. I notice he has begun to twist his wand between his strong fingers. I nod reassuringly and he continues.

“But I’m busy with head boy duties and all, so we might have to break curfew...” I nearly leap at the adventure, but pause contemplating. Would it really be a good idea to risk being caught breaking rules already?

“It would be an adventure,” he suggests, smiling while his eyes toil with excitement.

“Well, you’ll have to make it worth my time...” I smirk slightly. He grabs my hand and shakes it eagerly.

“Just you wait y/n!”

•••

I go through the rest of the day eagerly curious for what Bill has in store for my grand tour of Hogwarts.

Although, I can’t tell who is more excited for it: me or the five girls who have discussed the breakfast occurrence at least seven times by now.

“Come on, Y/n! At least promise us you’ll snog his tonsils out!” Ella begged, and I whipped my head round to stare at her. We were currently lounging in the common room, with Amelia checking the time every five minutes.

“He’s showing me around the castle, not planning to pull me into an abandoned classroom!” I squealed, and the girls squealed alongside me, eager at the thought.

"Well he'll have to pull you into an abandoned classroom if he's going to give you a full tour!" Teresa laughed, teasing me.

Luckily, we were finally in our last class of the day. Which we happened to have with the Gryffindors.

“Please partner up!” Professor Mcgonagal announces. “We shall be practically applying our skills at transfiguring human features.” She pauses to allow the buzzing students to partner up. I turn around to see Teresa and Caroline looking apologetically towards me. I face the other way and find Ella and Anya in the same situation.

“Maybe we could have a group of three?” Caroline offers, sounding thoroughly unconvinced of Mcgonagal’s enthusiasm for the idea.

“No need!” Bill grins as he swaggers our way, and leans against my desk. “Partners?” I grin as a slight blush creeps up my neck. Biting my lip I nod and let him brush my hand to guide me across the room.

“Please only transfigure your partner with human features!” Mcgonagal reminds us, and I shiver slightly as I remember the time my brother was transfigured into a part-human part- platypus form last year.

“So, are you much good at transfiguration?” Bill asks conversationally. I take a moment to answer, concentrating on the transfiguration I’ll be attempting.

I decide to give him a beard, perhaps slightly inspired by Dumbledore’s. I flicked my wand in a short line, and smirked as a fiery red beard grew. Unfortunately, I made it slightly shorter than anticipated and...

Fuck. He looked hot with a beard. He raised an eyebrow. “So I’ll take that as a yes?” I giggled.

“Sure,” I admitted. We spent the rest of class firing spells back and forth until I had abnormally long pink hair, with large sapphire eyes. Bill was sporting equally vivid green locks with some slightly scary purple eyes. And a beard of the previously desired length.

Our laughter echoed through the hallway on our way to the great hall. Just before walking into the hall, Bill threw his arm around me as he laughed particularly hard.

The moment was broken as he glanced at his watch, and frowned.

“I’ll pick you up tonight. Some time close to midnight,” he shouted as he walked away. I watched as he walked in a relaxed manner down the halls. Although, I raised my eyebrow as I watched him take a small sip of a strangely sparkling substance.

We were still sat in the common room at 12 o’clock, and there had been no sign of Bill Weasley.

“Maybe he forgot?” Caroline murmured, and Teresa bit her lip as she shook her head slightly.

“We ought to be off to bed, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Filch might have caught him!” She said, and everyone nodded.

“Come on, bed time!” Ella began herding everyone off to bed, and I numbly followed.  I wasn’t quite sure what to think after Bill’s no-show, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it now.

Tap, tap

I woke up out of my light sleep with a start. My owl, Goldie, usually only delivered in the mornings. I took a moment to rub my eyes and nearly tumbled out of bed as I saw that it wasn't in fact my owl, but rather a certain Bill Weasley. Throwing open the window, I tried to keep my voice down so I wouldn't wake anyone else.

"Bill? Why and how are you hovering outside my dorm window?" I asked, sleep thick in my voice.

"I'm here for your tour, pretty girl.” I blushed as he called me pretty, knowing I was anything but with my messy hair and bright pink pajamas. "You might want a jacket though," he frowned, gesturing to the frigid, snowy air.

I quickly pulled on my favorite denim jacket, and some leggings. Then, I went back to the window.

"A broom?" I took in the sight of his fairly muscular form on the broom, and noticed a golden, knowing sparkle in his eyes. As if whatever happened, he was one step ahead of me.

"You seem like the type to play quidditch," he shrugged. I grinned, rejoicing at the chance to get back on a broom after all this time.

"You were right," I slid out of the window into the slightly snow covered roof. Wrapping my arms around Bill's waist I let his warmth bleed into my freezing skin. Somehow this felt so right.

"You're warm," I mumbled. I only realised after I spoke how awkward this sounded, but Bill simply smiled and cast a warming charm over me.

"Bet you didn't have much use for those in Australia?" If only he knew how windy my city had been. Although he was right, I never learned a proper warming charm at school.

“Not so much. We spent hours on cooling charms though.” Just like that, I replaced Bill’s warming charm with a cooling one, and he yelped in surprise.

“Y/n!” He shouted into the night’s air, and I laughed as I clutched his waist tighter. It was gone as soon as I cast it, and Bill’s warming charm once again encased us.

“So I’ve been thinking, Y/n. Why’d you come to Hogwarts at the end of January? School term starts in September, you know?” He asked, and I peered down to see that we were circling the quidditch pitch.

“Well my old school, Koolangka, has school from the end of January to mid-December, and every ten weeks we got to go home for two. Every Australian school’s like that, probably because we’re superior.” I said, and Bill turned his head over his shoulder to grin before facing the front of the broom again.

“Say, did you have the sorting hat in Australia?” He asked, and I shook my head before realising he couldn’t quite see me.

“Not exactly. Australia still has the four houses, but instead they’re focussed on air, fire, water and earth. Caeli is Latin for air, ignis for fire, aqua for water, and terra for earth. We have a boomerang that assists in sorting us, and we just have to throw it as fair as we can. Whatever colour it returns covered in is our house.” I explained, and it wasn’t until I finished that I realised how boring it sounded.

“That sounds awesome! I’ve always wanted to go to Australia, but my mum is obsessed with Egypt, so I doubt I’ll get to go.” Bill sounded a bit sad, so I took a leap of faith.

“It’s awesome, Bill! I can show you all the secret spots, and we can visit Numisma, the Australian wizard school.” I said nervously, but I shouldn’t have worried.

“I’d really like that. I might land here on the pitch.” Bill soared down, and I laughed excitedly as we reached the grass.

My feet crunched into the frosty ground, and I spread my arms out as I breathed in the chilly air.

"Imagine playing here," I closed my eyes and pictured the stadium seats full of young witches and wizards, and the sky filled with brooms. Bill saw me and added in background  cheering. I laughed and turned towards him. He grinned, seeing my smile.

"Is this used for anything other than quidditch?" I asked, thinking that this huge space couldn't possibly be used only for quidditch.

"The only other thing held here is the 7th year ball," Bill explained. Instantly my vision of the stadium filled with quidditch fans shifted to a beautifully lit dance floor, filled with laughter and lovely dress robes.

"A ball!" I exclaimed enthusiastically. "Is it very formal?" I felt concerned, realizing I had no idea how to waltz, or swing, or foxtrot or anything...

"No, no. It's not really anything to worry about." He saw my distress, but then his face lit up. "Although I could teach you a few moves," He offered as he extended his hand. I placed my hand gently in his, and let him pull me towards him.

Lumos Maxima Bill whispered, and then whispered another soft spell to play a quiet waltz throughout the stadium.

Slowly and gracefully I let Bill lead me through the steps. Gradually we sped up, and I stopped stepping on his feet so much. His light charm faded, and soon our faces were only illuminated by the stars as we spun and stepped across the cool grass.

Eventually the music came to an end, but I stayed in my dancing position still.

"You're very beautiful," He blushed, glancing away and sticking his hands into his jean pockets. I smiled, although I'm sure I blushed slightly as well. "I er- I just mean..." he stammered a bit.

"The Bill Weasley? Nervous about talking to me?" I teased, and he blushed even redder.

"Well, you see it is Valentine's day," he smiled slightly, and I blushed a little. "And I just thought you might, maybe-" He took a deep breath and collected himself. "Perhaps you would want to go to Hogsmeade with me?" I beamed at him. Despite only knowing Bill for a day or two, I could tell that he was the kind of guy I wanted to know better.

"Of course!" I smiled, and hugged him. His arms wrapped around me, and I breathed in the slightly salty sea air smell about him. "Just one question," I looked up, and he gazed with concern towards me.

"Where's Hogsmeade?" We laughed, and he closed the slight gap to kiss me lightly.

He tasted like the dancing love of liquid luck.

[tirednotflirting]

turn it on in a new kind of bright (it's solar)

in the words of myself to meghna when i sent her the link to the doc for this at like 2.30am this morning: luke opened his mouth again so i opened a google doc

soft sunshine boy the came to mind after listening to startling line for like two hours straight. reminds me of another soft boy i wrote in like february which you can find here

very special tune and i’m very grateful that we all got to experience its release together in this space <3

and if ao3 is more your jam you can find what’s below here

The light breeze blowing through the late afternoon air carries the scent of honeysuckle and the sun shining down on Los Angeles is warm but not hot and Luke is smiling.

He’s sitting in the grass, the blades tickling his fingers, and his face is tilted up to greet the sun as it starts in the direction of its daily descent. His grown out curls dance in the wind and he can feel just a touch of soreness in his neck and nose that tells him he’ll wake up tomorrow more blushed than normal. But sacrifices must be made for beautiful summer days sometimes.

Behind him he can hear laughter and splashing in the pool and the sizzling of a grill. They’d made a habit of days like these as summer returned to the city and the world started to feel like it was turning once again. He hears the barking of a few canine friends that tells him Michael and Crystal have likely arrived. He’ll get up to greet them in a moment. Right now he’s having a moment to thank the sun.

It’s been the longest and shortest year of his life. It scares him, how close he is to 25 when he feels like he’s been 24 for twenty minutes and twenty years. Both Ashton and his mom try to assure him that 25 will bring enough adventure to fill far more than the year he feels as though he’s missed but he’s not sure that that’s the point. He hardly remembers being 23 now. That scares him a little, too.

But he knows it does him no good to dwell on the fear of things he can’t control so he’s trying to be better about looking forward. Though it feels important to him to be thankful for what’s carried him through it all. The boys, his family, Petunia. The fruit tree he’s been taking care of in his backyard, the smell of his home studio, the feeling of Ashton’s arms around him. And the sun.

Even on the days that feel darkest, there are beams of light shining into his living room and warmth provided by a star so so far away from the spot he sits in currently in Calum’s backyard. When he felt like he was stuck on pause with no way to move forward or back, the sun would still rise and fall every single day. Each morning and evening brought gorgeously painted skies that no artist could ever dream of replicating exactly, no camera able to draw in all the light just right. Luke is no astronomer so the science of the beauty the sun creates is lost on him. Though he thinks he’s alright with considering it somewhat magical instead.

Sometimes he considers shouting his thanks up into the sky. He wonders if he yells loud enough if maybe the sun might hear him. He knows it’s a silly thought but he can’t help but want to show his appreciation somehow. He thinks about the early mornings he would spend on the porch with a mug of coffee, watching the sky turn from purples to reds and oranges to a bright, brilliant blue before he’s even made it to the bottom of his mug. He thinks about the rays of light shining through storm clouds after a spring rain to shine a rainbow across the sky. He lets out a sigh as he thinks about evenings out on walks with Ashton when they would circle the block a half a dozen times until they were covered in twilight and the lateness of the day.

Luke recalls the last year, the last several months especially, and he’s thankful for all of the beautiful things he’ll be able to look back on as he heads forward in life. The drives down the highway with Petunia sitting shotgun, the Polaroid pictures Ashton’s covered his fridge with of the boys together in the studio, the flowers in the window in his kitchen he grew from tiny seeds his mother sent in a care package. It’s the little, tiny things that make up the whole of a person, of a life. Reflecting on it, Luke almost feels like that should be obvious. But it wasn’t until his life slowed to a stop that he was really able to see it. He wonders if he’s allowed to be thankful for that. He hopes he is.

A wet nose brushes against his hand and he turns from his friend in the sky millions of miles away to greet the creature behind him. Duke stares up at him with his typical look of confusion before padding around to sit in Luke’s lap. A bright laugh escapes his lips as he sits up to run a hand through the small dog’s fur. 

A few minutes later a dragonfly darts over the grass and it’s enough to have Duke leaping from Luke’s legs in the direction of its path, his shrill barks calling out to warn the party of the intruder. Luke is watching him run around the far side of the pool and doesn’t notice the footsteps crunching through the grass until they’re just behind him.

He turns and squints up to face whoever has come to join him. He smiles up at Ashton and reaches a hand out. “Join me?”

“I was sent to fetch you to come join everyone else, technically,” Ashton laughs but he accepts Luke’s hand and takes the spot beside him. Orange hues are just starting to paint their way across the sky and Luke takes a deep breath as Ashton’s head drops to rest on his shoulder. He threads their fingers together and lets them rest in his lap while his thumb traces circles against the back of Ashton’s hand. 

“Were you talking to your best friend up in the sky?” Ashton questions. Luke’s told him about his silent (and sometimes not so silent) conversations with the sun. Ashton compared it to meditation or praying the first time he mentioned it but Luke figures it’s something between the two.

“Yeah, we were just having a quick chat about how nice it is that everyone was free tonight.”

“It’s very nice, yes,” Ashton says with a sigh as he turns to press a kiss against Luke’s neck. “I was telling Calum we should make it more regular. Like weekly family dinner?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Luke says and a smile pulls across his cheeks. He notes the soreness there as well and tries to remember if they have any aloe back at the house. 

Ashton sits up then and turns to face Luke, his free hand lifting to poke against the bridge of Luke’s nose. He laughs as he replaces his fingertip with his lips. “You’re going to be all pink tomorrow.”

Luke shrugs. “It suits me.”

“It really does,” Ashton agrees as he pushes himself up to stand. He reaches for Luke’s other hand to help him do the same. “Let’s go help Michael set the table.”

Luke hums as he lets Ashton guide them in the direction of the house. Before they hit the patio, he takes one last moment to focus on the feeling of the soft grass below his feet and the honeysuckle perfume in the air and the pinks being added to the palette being brushed across their LA evening. Between the world all around him and the people he’s with tonight, he can’t help but think he’s probably the luckiest man alive.

It’s nice, Luke thinks, that as everything goes back to something like the way it was that he won’t lose this. These beautiful sunsets were there before, during, and will be there everyday after. As he turns to head into the house, Ashton’s fingers lazily tangled with his own, he’s glad that he’s learned to start seeing it for the magic that it is.

*

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Twenty One

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

February 14th, 1999

Remy sighed. Another Valentine’s, another reminder that he was alone and couldn’t ever tell his parents why he never came home with any girlfriends. He hated Valentine’s for years, now, ever since he realized that his parents saw being gay as “bad” and that he wouldn’t be accepted if he brought home a boyfriend.

Toby had called briefly to say hi to his parents, but Remy didn’t get the chance to say anything. This sucked. He felt well and truly alone. Would there ever be someone out there who decided he was worth the trouble? He doubted it.

He didn’t even know why he was bothered. He didn’t want friends, so significant others were definitely out of the question. He just needed to focus on studying. Then maybe he could get out from under his parents’ thumb.

  February 24th, 2001

Remy couldn’t say he had been surprised by Emile’s reaction on Valentine’s Day. Honestly, he was more surprised that Emile said he still wanted to be best friends than the fact that Emile wasn’t interested. That had come out of left field, to be sure.

Lying on his back in bed, Remy contemplated the merits of getting up. He had no shifts today, which meant if he wanted to he could just sleep the entire day. But no, Emile probably wouldn’t like that, so he got up and out of bed.

He walked into the kitchen and sighed, looking around somewhat despondently. Emile had taken the weekend to spend time with his parents. A two hour drive both ways, Remy doubted he would ever be that dedicated to stay in touch with his family. But if Emile needed a break from him, well, Remy wouldn’t exactly blame Emile for that.

Of course, without Emile there, and no shifts at work, Remy was left with nothing to do, and he was restless. Too restless to even go help at the shelter. He’d be pacing around or getting caught in his own head and he definitely didn’t want to make the people at the shelter have a harder time than necessary.

He passed most of the morning just by pacing the apartment. By the early afternoon, he grabbed his coat and decided to walk outside, if only so that he didn’t wear a hole in the floor.

Time passed a little quicker as he explored the town. There weren’t a lot of places to go, but he was focusing more on the getting there, anyway. And besides, if he was going to live here a while, he may as well learn where everything was and how long it took to get there on foot, because affording a car wasn’t an option just yet.

He ignored when tears welled up in his eyes from the remaining grief he was getting from this whole situation. He ignored the utter ache in his chest when he thought about Emile’s smile. He ignored the braided string of anger, jealousy, and devastation when he thought about Emile’s affections going to someone else. Emile didn’t want him. He had to accept that and move on. And the sooner he got over it, the sooner he could have a different relationship. One with a guy who genuinely loved him, and wasn’t just trying to spare his feelings.

After a while, the sun had started to set and Remy’s stomach was snarling. He walked to the nearest fast food place, grabbed something quick to eat, and moved on. He found himself gravitating towards the buildings just off the college campus. He knew they were having parties virtually every night. Maybe he could find someone to take his mind off Emile.

Maybe he could drown his sorrows in alcohol. After all, that was what would happen if he drank, and he wasn’t known for his self-control.

He laughed. He really was messed up. He didn’t want to start abusing alcohol, especially when he wasn’t even twenty yet.

As he walked past most of the houses, he saw someone dash out of one of the doors. “Yo, Remy!”

Remy turned to see a guy who he didn’t recognize jogging up to him. “You are Remy, right? Emile’s friend?”

“The friend thing is debatable right now, but yeah, I know the guy,” Remy said.

“Thought so!” the guy said triumphantly. “The two of us share a psych class. I needed the credits in social sciences, and he seems to be really into that kind of stuff, and we kinda hit it off. He talks about you a lot, man.”

“Does he?” Remy asked, feeling like his voice was hollow but unable to do anything about it.

“Yeah,” the guy said. “He talks about you all the time, like he’s super proud of you. And according to him, you seem like a pretty cool guy. What has you wandering the streets tonight?”

“Emile and I share an apartment, and he’s visiting his folks today and tomorrow. I don’t like the silence in our apartment,” Remy said.

“You two...a thing?” the guy asked in a low whisper. “I don’t wanna out you, but I know he’s bi, and between the two of us, I’m questioning.”

Remy laughed. “No. I wish,” he said. “He’s cute, and sweet, and kind. But he’s not interested in me.”

“That sucks, man,” the guy said. “Name’s Theo.”

“Nice to meet you, Theo,” Remy said with a sigh. “Any particular reason you came out here yelling my name as you saw me pass by, or were you genuinely curious about why I’m on a walk?”

“Well, some of my friends and I are having a party in like, twenty minutes,” Theo said, pointing over his shoulder to the house. “If you don’t have anywhere to go, and you don’t want to be alone for the rest of the night, you’re welcome to hang out.”

Remy considered. This was a chance for him to make his own friends, do his own thing. He relied on Emile’s social circles too much, most of the time. His therapist Kim said he should get out more, find his own people. This could be his chance. “You know what? Sure, why not.”

Theo grinned and slapped Remy on the back, guiding him inside the house he and his friends shared. Just by looking at it, Remy could tell it was more of a fraternity than just a couple dudes splitting rent. One guy was hooking up speakers, another was working on making punch. Theo guided Remy to the couch.

They talked a little bit, mostly about Theo’s classes and how he was graduating next year. Remy nodded along, occasionally asking a question or two here and there.

People started to trickle in, and Theo went to grab a beer, but the two of them kept talking. Remy liked Theo well enough. He was sweet, but also a little cocky. He had the confidence to pull off anything he wanted, but the morals to keep him from just destroying anyone who came across his path, and Remy respected that.

As Theo drank more, his stories got more outlandish, causing Remy to laugh. The more they talked, the closer together on the couch they were. Other people would come and go from where they were sitting, mostly to use the other half of the couch to make out for a minute or two before finding somewhere else to continue.

Theo had his hand on Remy’s knee and was telling the story about how he first realized he might be bisexual because of some jock on the football team. Remy was laughing as Theo went into a rather in-depth description of the guy. The kind of guy Remy would have drooled over in high school. But as his laughter died down, and Theo was chuckling softly, he noticed they were close enough that Remy could feel the heat radiating from Theo’s body. He looked at Theo’s eyes, sparkling in the dim light from the kitchen. Theo was looking back at him, and both pairs of their laughter trailed off completely.

Remy tilted his head to the side, and Theo leaned in a little more, and their lips came together in a desperate crash. Remy’s lips moved in time with Theo’s, and Theo was laughing again, causing Remy to giggle, and as Theo wound up being more on top of Remy than anything else, Remy gently pushed him off. Theo was briefly confused, until Remy whispered in his ear. “Do you have your own room? Somewhere a little more...private?”

Theo grinned at Remy and nodded, grabbing his hand and guiding him upstairs. His room was at the end of the hall, and as soon as Theo closed the door Remy was kissing him again. He was wild, and desperate, and needed the distraction. “Tell me you have protection,” Remy murmured in between kisses.

“That, and lube, don’t worry,” Theo said, trailing kisses down Remy’s neck. “I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Remy was pulling at Theo’s shirt, desperate to feel a little more skin, to feel the heat radiating from his body. His build felt wrong, nothing at all like what he imagined Emile to feel like, but this wasn’t Emile. This was a one-night stand that neither of them needed to do anything about after the fact.

Theo pulled down Remy’s pants and Remy felt his heart leap into his throat. “Wait...wait,” he breathed.

A little reluctantly, Theo pulled back. “What’s up?”

“It’s...um...this is my...uh...”

“First time with a guy? Mine too, but I know how this works,” Theo said, moving back in to kiss Remy.

“No...no. Theo. Stop. It’s my first time. Ever,” Remy said.

Theo pulled back. “Really?” he asked.

Remy swallowed and nodded. “I’ve...like...done stuff by myself, but never with...with anyone else.”

“You’re a virgin,” Theo filled in.

“I...yeah,” Remy agreed. “And I’m a little...scared.”

Theo pulled back completely, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Oh. I don’t want you to be scared your first time, man.”

“I mean, isn’t that normal?” Remy asked.

“Nervous? Yes. Scared? No. You shouldn’t be scared about your first time, or any time after that, for that matter,” Theo said. “Pull your pants back up.”

Remy did so, turning crimson. “I’m sorry,” he stammered out. “I thought...I thought I could do this, I’ve seen it done often enough, but I just...”

“Hey, Remy, it’s okay,” Theo said softly. “Let me give you some advice. No matter if you’re gay, straight, bi, whatever? You shouldn’t be scared over having sex with someone. It’s something...super intimate. It’s seen as special in just about every culture out there. So of course, you’re going to be nervous when you do it with someone new, especially if you grew up in a strict household, or you had to find out that you were gay through the Internet. Nervous is normal. But you should never be scared. If you’re scared about having sex with someone, you’re not ready. And that’s perfectly okay.”

“What...what should I feel, then, for my first time?” Remy asked.

“Like I said, nervous is normal,” Theo said. “But your confidence should outshine those nerves. You should be sure that this is something you want, that you’re okay with sharing this part of you with someone else. That you don’t mind being vulnerable around them. And some people can be that comfortable with someone for a one-night stand. Some people can’t. And both ways are fine.” Theo put a hand on Remy’s shoulder. “When you’re ready, you’ll know. And whether that’s with a one-night stand or a significant other, whether it’s your first time or your thousandth, you should always feel sure of yourself.”

“I...okay.” Remy swallowed. “I really am sorry.”

“No hard feelings, Remy. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I can always find another guy...or girl. You just make sure you’re okay after this experience, all right?”

Remy swallowed but nodded. “Thanks. For the advice, and for being understanding.”

Theo nodded with a smile, and kissed Remy softly, one last time. “If you ever decide you want to have a little fun when you’re ready, feel free to stop by. Or, you know, talk to Emile and see if he can pass the message along, if it’s before the end of May.”

Remy nodded. Theo left the room, and Remy followed, breathing shakily. He had thought he was ready. He thought being a little scared was normal. But apparently, he needed more time. Theo said that wasn’t a bad thing, but it had Remy thinking. How would he tell when he was ready with someone? Who would that someone be? He had no remote clue, and that terrified him.

He left the party soon after, walking home alone in the cold night. He hoped that Theo had a good time tonight with another guy...or girl, like Theo said. Remy knew that he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

[starwalker42]

And The World Keeps Spinning [1/2]

This is for the X-Files Fluff Exchange by @xfilesfanficexchange, which was a huge leap out of my comfort zone but I’m so glad I signed up to! My prompt was “something fluffy around Mulder and Scully spending Valentines together either as a new couple or maybe not a couple yet” from @kristinsauter, and I really hope I did it justice! Part 2 to follow x (Link to A03)

This is all my fault. Frohike would probably disagree, but he wouldn’t have been able to talk me into this if I hasn’t had those beers, so I only have myself to blame, really.

It was barely a week after New Year’s, and it shouldn’t have surprised me that with only one drink down I was already talking about that night; every morning since, I’d woken with the memory of Scully’s lips on mine, and despite my best intentions I’d found myself dreaming about it during the day, too.

Originally the guys had been ecstatic, but when it became apparent that was as far as we’d gone- and that we hadn’t discussed it since- praise quickly turned to exasperation. Frohike gave the most world-weary sigh I’ve ever heard, Langly started off on one of his lectures- dude, are you serious, what the hell- and even Byers looked unimpressed.

“You can’t kiss a lady when the world’s about to end and not take her out for dinner,” Frohike commented around his beer.

I can’t remember what exactly my excuse was- probably something about it not being the right time, about how she was my partner, not just some random hookup, and that it wasn’t as easy as ‘taking her out for dinner’- but I don’t think they listened anyway.

“You can’t leave her hanging, dude.”

“I know you’re nervous, Mulder, but you should ask her.”

“Just take her to Casey’s-”

I shot down Frohike’s idea almost before it was out of his mouth. “My first date with Scully is not going to be Casey’s.”

“Unless you get your head out of your ass I don’t think it’ll happen at all.” Langly drawled, and that did it.

“I’ll do it! I’m going to ask her out for Valentine’s.”

“Why the wait?”

In my mind, it was to leave enough time for this conversation to be forgotten and for the guys to never bring up the subject again. But of course, that didn’t happen, and last week they were the ones reminding me about what I’d said. I’d promised I’d ask her when we were out of town on this new case with the VCU.

I haven’t.

I’d meant to, several times, but the moment was never right: the words just hadn’t come out, or we’d been discussing the case, or been standing over a skinned corpse… you get the idea. So now we’re in the office, on the 13th February, having worked non-stop for seven days, and I’m trying to delay my inevitable exit my packing my bag as slowly as humanly possible while Scully finishes filling in her report. She always takes longer; she has to be precise and make sure everything’s filled in right, can’t just scribble stuff down like I can.

Normally I love that about her- today I just want her to hurry up so she can leave the office and I can stay down here in my self-created loneliness for the rest of my miserable life. The guys are going to have a field day when they find out about how badly this has gone.

“Penny for them.”

I glance up and meet Scully’s smiling eyes. She raises her eyebrow expectantly and I find myself unable to come up with a suitable lie. The words come out on top of each other.

“I was just wondering if you want to come over tomorrow night. For dinner.”

I have to look away, can’t stand to see the unavoidable pity and rejection in her face.

“Sure, sounds great.”

I almost feel the floor fall from under me. My cheeks are on fire as I feel my face break out into a smile I can’t stop.

“Uh, okay, cool.” My bag almost falls from my hand as I fumble with it. “See you at seven?”

“I’ll be there.”

Is that my heart pounding?

                                                           xXx

Mulder grabs his coat, stops briefly in the doorway to run his hand across the back of his neck, and says to the floor, “See you tomorrow.”

I stop trying to decode his behaviour. It’s been a long week. “See you tomorrow.”

And then he’s gone.

Tomorrow is Monday, which would normally mean we’d be in each other’s company for a good ten hours or so in the office, but after this past week Skinner’s practically begged us to take a few days off so I’ve threatened Mulder that on pain of death he must not step foot in this building until Wednesday at the earliest. I know it might be just as hard to keep me away.

I’m looking forward to a few days off, of course I am- I haven’t had a bath in lord knows how long- but the longer I’m away from the office, the less I can relax. Okay, that’s not true- the longer I’m away from Mulder would probably be a better way of putting it. As pathetic as it sounds, if I’m away from him for much longer than a day it just feels wrong. I feel wrong. I’m sure some would call it dependency, and while I’m not sure about that I know that when I’m away from him, even if I know exactly where he is and what he’s doing, even if he’s only a phone call away, I’m lonely. I don’t know when but somewhere along the line it became clear that I’m happiest when I’m by his side; that I’m safer, more comfortable, and somehow more whole when I’m with him. I feel like myself.

Our classic method of hiding what I’m beginning to suspect is a mutual need for contact is anything can hide behind the safe veneer of a night in between friends, more often than not in the form of a takeaway and a terrible movie on Mulder’s couch. It’s happened enough times that at this point I’m expecting it at times like this, so I’m a little shocked that Mulder thinks it necessary to have to make pre-arranged plans. Surely he knows he could call me at 6 tomorrow night and I’d be over in half an hour?

I again remind myself to stop trying to work out my partner, and try to be content with the knowledge that I understand him a hell of a lot better than anyone else. The thought makes me smile as I grab my keys and leave the office.

It isn’t until I’m driving back home and see, of all things, the Victoria’s Secret window display, that I realise what day it is tomorrow. It’s not just Monday. It’s Valentine’s Day.

It’s fucking Valentine’s Day.

My first thought is to dismiss it as a coincidence: Mulder forgets even my birthday, and it’s been a long hard week, and if I forgot then it’s likely he did too… but then I remember the way he couldn’t meet my eyes, the way his cheeks flushed, the relieved smile he gave when I said yes.

He knows what day tomorrow is.

And I’m pretty sure he’s asked me on a date.

And I’ve said yes.

Holy shit.

                                                            xXx

It’s not until the doors to the elevator close behind me that I allow myself to breathe.

Holy shit.

I just asked Scully out. On a date. A Valentine’s date. And she didn’t roll her eyes, or oh brother me, or deck me one in the face. She said yes.

Holy shit!

I don’t know how to do this. How long has it been since I was on a date? Should I book a restaurant somewhere? Is it acceptable to get takeout? What the hell am I supposed to wear? My the time I’m at the garage I’ve managed to talk myself into a spiral of panic, and I’m very close to calling Scully and cancelling before I remember that ultimately, that’s who I’m doing this for. Scully.

I don’t have to dress up or create some fake-perfect evening for her, because that’s not our thing. And tomorrow is about us.

On my way back, I stop at the store and buy a bottle of wine- one of the expensive ones that Scully never admits she has at her place- and decide to risk forgoing takeout and buying ingredients in the hopes that I can still remember how to cook carbonara. I don’t know what I’d even begin to write in a card, so I don’t even glance at them, but at the flower display I have to stop. I’ve only ever bought Scully flowers when she was in hospital, but if there’s any time to break a tradition it’s now. Red roses are too forward, and too traditional, and everything else seems to be the same shade of pink that I know Scully will hate. I’m about to give up when I see the smaller bouquets at the front- well, one in particular. It’s a beautiful mix of what look like white roses and a whole mix of others that I can’t identify apart from their colour- blue. They’re almost exactly the same shade as Scully’s eyes, so close that it almost takes my breath away.

They’re the ones.

The cashier doesn’t seem surprised by my purchases- I assume she’s used to harried customers buying last minute Valentine’s gifts- and a few minutes later I’m back in my car and driving home. I feel my face breaking out into a ridiculous grin, and don’t try to contain it.

                                                           xXx

I’ve been on edge all day. I’ve tried going for a run, having a bath, reading some of my book, but I can’t relax. It’s now 4pm and I’m judging that to be a suitable time to start getting ready, especially because if I leave it any longer I think I might scream. Also I’m likely to need another three hours just to work out what the hell I’m going to wear, and how to come across as completely relaxed about this entire situation. How long has it been since I went on a proper date? How long since I’ve been on one and actually enjoyed it?

Ed Jerse comes to mind, but deep down I think I know that I didn’t really enjoy it, that what I enjoyed was the concept. Letting go and getting away from myself in the way that no one would expect from straight-laced Agent Scully. But even at the time, I wasn’t enjoying it. I remember closing my eyes and trying to imagine it was Mulder inside me, having to bite my tongue so I didn’t cry out his name. It occurs to me that if things go to plan tonight, I might actually end up in the place I’d wished for those years ago. Mulder and I might have sex tonight. Okay, now I really need to go and have a shower. A cold one.

I can’t get the picture out of my mind, though. If I’m being honest, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind for a while now. And our kiss on New Year’s didn’t exactly help things in that regard. I’m pretty sure it’s no longer a question of if but when we cross that final line, and if it hadn’t been for Mulder’s injuries, I think we would’ve crossed it that very same night.

But maybe it’s better this way; at least now I can prepare somewhat. I straighten my hair for what must be the third time today, and try to work out how best to do my makeup without looking like I’ve been thinking about it too hard, which ultimately means that I redo it several times before I’m happy. I second guess myself on what to wear about a dozen times as well, going between completely casual (jeans and a t-shirt) to the frankly overdressed (an evening gown I’ve had for years and never worn), and everything in-between.

In the end I opt for a V-neck sweater that Melissa bought for me all those years ago, one that I’ve only worn a handful of times and only never out of the house. It’s gorgeous material, cosy and soft, but it was clearly either designed for someone with bigger breasts or with a bigger load of self confidence because on my chest it’s somewhat loose, and definitely not the kind of thing I’d normally wear. If it wasn’t that Melissa had bought it for me I think I would’ve got rid of it by now, but I’m glad I didn’t. I can’t wait to see Mulder’s face.

                                                          xXx

There’s a knock on the door ten minutes before seven. I’m not even surprised: it’s Scully, of course she’s early. In a way I’m glad, because dinner is almost ready and part of me had been dreading the point where minutes after minutes went by without her showing up until it became clear that she was never going to.

Now as I hear her knock on the door I allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief that all of this- making dinner, buying wine, cleaning the apartment, putting on one of my best shirts- wasn’t for nothing. An instant later panic hits again. Oh god. Scully’s here, which means this is actually happening. Oh god.

I realise I’ve been frozen in the kitchen when I hear another knock, slightly louder this time, and remember that even though Scully has a key and is more than willing to use it under normal circumstances, she’s likely to not be so keen right now. Okay. Okay, I can do this.

My hand trembles as I slide the bolt across and pull the door open. I’m apologising almost immediately, too anxious to let the words take their time.

“Hey, sorry, I heard you I just had to make sure the food wasn’t-” and then I actually look at her, and- “Wow.”

It’s not exactly a new thought, not particularly different to what usually goes through my mind when I look at her, but her appearance tonight is… wow. I can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, and can only conclude it’s some magical combination of a slightly darker lipstick than usual, the smile she’s giving me, and the fact that I can see so many more inches of her beautiful skin than usual thanks to the cut of the sweater she’s wearing. How the hell does the sight of her clavicle do these things to me?

Noticing the way Scully’s eyes glance up and down my body while I’m still stood in the doorway, I step back to allow her in and close the door behind her. My hands? Still shaking with the best of them.

“Can I take your coat?”

“Uh… yeah. Thanks.”

My hands don’t feel like they belong to me as I slide the jacket off of her, not missing the way she gasps when my fingers accidently brush the exposed skin of her collarbone. I hang it up and briefly turn my attention back to the stove, where the spaghetti is at risk of overflowing, and try to breathe. Scully is too quiet.

“I’ve got wine if you want?” I ask over my shoulder, but she’s gone. “Scully?”

“In here.” Her voice comes from somewhere else in the apartment, out of sight.

I turn down the stove and head through to the living room. She’s stood at my desk, and I immediately know what she’s found. I’d hoped I could at least get her to have a drink before she saw I’d bought her flowers.

“These are for me.” It’s not a question.

“Oh, actually they were for my other date, but she didn’t show,” I joke, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart. Were they a mistake? And did I just call Scully my date-?

There’s an indecipherable expression on her face when she turns to face me. “No man’s ever bought me flowers before.”

Somehow I find that hard to believe doesn’t seem like the correct response, especially because I know my partner, and I know this isn’t how she messes with me. She’s being honest, and somehow without thinking I find myself doing the same.

“They reminded me of you.” She raises an eyebrow. “They’re the same blue as your eyes.”

I catch the way her cheeks flush before she glances away, and hear the quiet thank you she gives to the floor before she speaks up.

“You don’t drink wine, Mulder.”

I hear the pan bubbling from the kitchen again. “Yeah, well, you’d better not go teetotal on me now, Scully, because otherwise I’m going to have to start.”

She raises her eyes and gives a smirk. “I’ll get a glass.”

                                                          xXx

I don’t think I’ve ever been as surprised by Mulder as I have been tonight. He’s bought my favourite wine, he’s got me flowers- beautiful ones at that- he’s made dinner for us even though I was 90% sure he’d never cooked in his life, and now it appears he’s had time to stop off at Blockbuster to empty the romcom aisle.

“What’re we feeling?” He spreads the VHS cases across the coffee table and looks over to me expectantly. We’re almost touching on the couch.

My head is a little fuzzy with wine and the giddiness that comes with being too close to Mulder for too long, and rather than answering immediately I find myself just looking into his eyes for a long minute. I can feel it, the familiar magnetism between us, and for once I realise that nothing should be holding us back from giving in to it. I’m tipsy, and Mulder’s been drinking beer during dinner, so I know he’s not exactly sober either. We’re here, in private, together. It would be so easy to give in. So why don’t I? With liquid courage, I lean forwards and send a thanks to whoever created Valentine’s Day and gave me an excuse to press my lips against his.

Neither of us move, I don’t think we dare to, and the outcome isn’t much different to that first kiss on New Year’s Eve- a somewhat gentle, trepidatious kiss that feels like it lasts forever and still ends far too soon.

“You choose.” I manage as we disengage, noticing how much huskier my voice has become.

Mulder doesn’t even look, just grabs a tape at random and manages to get it into the player before returning to sit next to me. I press myself against his side and smile when I feel his arm come to wrap around my shoulders, like it belongs there. The first few beats of ‘Be My Baby’ play from the TV, and I hum in approval of Mulder’s choice.

“You know, I’ve never watched this film.” His voice is low and soft in my ear.

“What? It’s a classic American movie,” I whisper back.

“That’s what every woman says. It’s a chick flick.”

“Patrick Swayze’s not your type?”

He presses a quick kiss to my cheek as we settle back against the couch. “You know exactly what my type is.”

You know what Mulder? I think I might be beginning to work it out.

[batik96]

Venturing into 2020 ...

This will be the third year that I’ve used a daily word-count self-challenge to see if I can inspire myself to write more.

The first year, 2018, I wrote 43 words on New Year’s Day and, realizing that managing that every day would give me nearly 15,700 words at year’s end, I set that as my goal. (Not literal everyday writing but averaging it all out.) I surprised myself and ended up with a 50-words-a-day average. So I upped my self-challenge for 2019 to that 50-word level. 

I ended 2019 with a daily word average of 114 words and more than 41,000 total words.

I feel as if upping my self-challenge to 114 words a day in 2020 would be setting myself up for failure -- there’s a fine line between *challenge* and “seemingly impossible task” -- so I’m not officially going to go there. Instead, I’m going to maintain the 50-words-a-day goal for 2020 and hope that I meet it (and maybe, just maybe, manage to exceed those 114 words a day anyway)!

Dec. 31: Happy end to 2020. I am about to end the year having written far fewer words than I did in 2019. While I’m glad I managed to beat my daily word-average goal, and to some extent am pleased that I managed to write anything at all, I had been hoping for more. I have the ideas. (Well, a couple of ideas.) And I have a WIP that I think I’ll really like -- if I can pull it off. But the words don’t want to come. So I’m trying to be OK with writing about 25 percent* less than I did in 2019, recognizing that it’s still more than I wrote in the majority of years since 2012. And 2021 is a new year in which I can try again to write more (and hopefully better) words. (* That percentage depends on what measure I use. According to AO3, I’ve posted 20,000 fewer words than 2019′s 47,000. Which is pushing a loose 50 percent drop. But I know I have about 7,000 words in my unposted WIP, which brings the difference closer to 13,000, which I’m loosely considering 25 percent.)

Feb. 21: This is my first entry of 2020 and ... not great. But ... part of the reason I do it this way is because, when the words come, they tend to come in clusters of more than 50 words.So taking six weeks to write my first words isn’t fatal to the year-end goal.

During the weekend of Feb. 15-16, I wrote 1,320 words. Today (Feb. 21) I have added another 903 words, for a year-to-date word total of 2,223 words and a daily word average of 42.75 words. Which isn’t far off of that 50-words-a-day goal, despite my late start. (The words still feel kind of like I’m pulling teeth, but I have a solid idea -- and a unique idea -- that I like. Here’s hoping I can see it through to the end.

Feb. 23: Well, it wasn’t much, especially considering it was the weekend, but I added another 200 words to my current doc today, which brings my yearly word count up to 2,423 and my daily word average up to 44.87 words a day. I’m creeping closer to my 50-word-a-day goal and trying not to stall out for lack of time/energy. I want to write this. But every time I sit down to write, I’m also aware that I want to quilt. And I want to read. And I want to bake. And I barely have time for any of those things, let alone all of them. But I am trying to juggle. We’ll see how long I can keep everything in the air.

Feb. 29: It’s Leap Day, and I am determined not to waste an extra day in the year by doing nothing. So, along with making peanut butter cups and hoping to quilt yet today and maybe go for a walk, I have added 560 words to my current WIP, bringing my year-to-date word total up to 2,983 words and my daily average up to 49.71 words. I’m going to try to add to that before today is over. If not, then before the weekend is over. But I’m pleased that I’ve managed that many. 

March 7: So far today I haven’t managed any words. (I can hope that changes.) But, earlier this week, over the course of two days, I managed 599 words. That brings my yearly total today up to 3,582 words and my daily average to 53.46. 

March 11: On March 9 I managed 277 words. Today I added 363, for a combined 640 words. That brings the yearly total up to 4,222 words and my daily average up to 59.46 words. Slow but steady ...

March 15: Today I have added 579 words to my current WIP, which brings my yearly total up to 4,801 and my daily average to 64 words a day. (Though my doc says I have 5,108 words, so I’m not sure how to account for the missing 307 words. And, if I were to add them, it would push my word average to 68 words a day.)

April 16: I managed 1,031 words April 15 on a new WIP. (I would still be focused on my old WIP, except I have an exchange fic due at the end of May.) It took me a while to hit on an idea for the new one, but I’m happy with how it’s going so far. So, in the 106 days (as of April 15, not today) so far this year, I’ve written 5,832 words, for a daily average of 55.01 words a day. My average dropped in that month I apparently took off from writing, but I’m still above my daily average goal and my exchange fic is moving along, so I’m counting it as a win!

April 19: I have written another 1,339 words today on my exchange fic. Still quite a way to go, but it’s progress. I probably could keep writing -- conditions in my house are good at the moment. But I’ve been working on in for hours now (amid texting with friends and browsing Tumblr and Twitter), so I feel as if it’s a good time to stop and try something else for a bit. Anyway. That brings my yearly word count up to 7,171 words and my daily average (in 110 days) up to 65.19 words. I’m OK with that!

April 25: I’m developing a pattern, though not a bad one, I don’t think. I seem to be maxing out my writing sessions around 1,000 words before feeling the need to stop for the moment. Today, for example, I wrote 1,066 words. Not gonna complain about that, at all! It brings my year-to-date word total up to 8,237 words (in 116 days) and my daily word average to 71 words a day. I’m going to aim for more tomorrow, since I seem to manage to write on weekends more easily than I manage during the week. But we’ll see how things go.

April 26: I managed to write again today -- a good thing, since I rarely find time during the week and, thus, rely on weekends to get much of my writing done. I wrote 1,856 words (not including the ones I wrote to explain the ideas I have for the parts I haven’t yet written). That brings my yearly word total up to 10,093 words in 117 days, for a daily word average of 86.26 words. I’ll take it!

May 2: Well, I wrote 1,010 words today. None of them were for the exchange fic on which I should be working, but they were words. Words that I’m actually pretty pleased with, so I’m not feeling any regret about not focusing on my exchange fic. Today’s words bring me up to 11,103 words in 123 days, for a daily word average of 90.268. Fingers crossed I can find more time to write tomorrow -- and maybe on my exchange fic!

May 3: Well, I wrote another 1,023 words today and think I’ve finished (pending beta) the short little one-off that settled into my brain. That brings my word count for the year to 12,126 words in 124 days, for a daily average of 97.79 words. I’m still hoping to write more before the day is done, but I wanted to note this before I lost track of how many words I had in the first doc. Now ... on to my exchange fic. Update: I just added another 1,378 words to my exchange fic, which puts me at 2,401 words for the day and 13,504 words for the year. That raises my daily word average to 108.9 words a day. 

May 6: Over the past few days, I’ve written 474 words to put the finishing touches on something. That number’s deceptive, considering that some of those were new and some of them were replacing others already written and I honestly can’t be sure how many I actually wrote. But it was at least 474. Which brings my year-to-date word total up to 13,978 and my daily word average over 127 days to 110.06. The writing’s not what I would call “easy” right now. It’s not just flowing from my fingertips perfectly to grace my Gdocs. But it is happening, which means it’s not as hard as it has been at points during the past few years. I appreciate that.

May 9: I just added 1,051 words to my WIP. That brings me to a 130-day year-to-date word total of 15,029 and a daily word average of 115.6 words. I’m ... stunned.

May 16: I think I’ve finished my exchange fic. Today’s writing involved approximately 946 words, for an approximate year-to-date total of 15,975 words and a daily word average (in 137 days) of 116.6 words. (And my exchange deadline is still an astounding 15 days away. It’s not even a result of my “deadline’s approaching” panic-induced “inspiration”!) 

June 21: It seems like I’ve had a lull in writing (yes), but I finished my exchange fic and then spent some time beta-ing other exchange fics, so I wasn’t non-wordy during the past month. Still, it felt good today when I was able to add 579 words to the WIP I started in February. I also reworked a section, probably adding a few words, subtracting a few words, so I have no idea how many words I added there. And I think I have a workable route forward on finishing the WIP one of these days. (I won’t set a deadline, because artificial deadlines seem to freeze me as much as real ones inspire me.) Anyway ... 579 words added to the yearly word count makes for 16,554 words and a daily average (in 173 days) of 95.687 words a day. 

July 5: I finally had some time when things were quiet enough for me to focus on writing, so I did. I was at 1,214 words when the quiet went away. That gives a year-to-date word total of 17,768 words and a daily average (in 187 days) of 95.01 words. 

July 12: I’m still hoping to write more, but ... I went back and tweaked a conversation I wrote last week, adding 236 words. That brings me up to 18,004 words in 194 days for a daily average of 92.8 words.

July 21: I’m running behind in updating this, but ... on Sunday (July 19 -- happy birthday, BC!) I wrote 1,411 words on my current WIP. [It’s getting closer to done, but I’m still leery of my (made up) Aug. 1 deadline.] Those words bring me up to a yearly total of 19,415 words in 201 days, for a daily average of 96.59 words. I want to hope I get more written before the weekend, but ... it never seems to work. I managed to get my doc open Monday but didn’t add a word. It just sat there in a tab all day, watching me work. It’s open again today, but I’m not sure the result will be any different. Still, I’m trying!

P.S. I added another 555 words on July 21, bringing my word total (for 203 days) up to 19,970 words and a daily average of 98.37 words.

July 24: I’m surprising myself this week, managing to write a bit in the morning before work. (And letting a few minutes of writing time bleed into working time. But I was good and eventually closed out the doc to keep myself from straying away from work.) Anyway, on Thursday (yesterday/the 23rd), I wrote 779 words (and got a good chunk of my WIP’s ending written)! I still have to finish the ending and write an earlier scene, but ... it feels doable. The 779 words brings my word total for the year up to 20,749 words and a daily average (for 205 days) up to 101,21 words!

July 26: I am really trying to get this WIP finished. To that end, I have written 932 words so far today. I am optimistic that not many more will be needed and I hope maybe to write some of them today. Still, for now, that brings me to a year-to-date word total of 21,681 words and a daily average (in 207 days) of 104.73 words.

Aug. 2: I added 431 words to my WIP on Aug. 1, bringing my year-to-date word total up to 22,112 words and a daily average (in 213 days) of 103.8 words a day. (That was 213 days as of Aug. 1, not Aug. 2.) I had hoped to write some more today, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen. It’s ... complicated.

Aug. 19: No writing update. I’m kind of ... stuck. My WIP is either very nearly done or about to be razed to its foundation. I’m not sure which. While I decide, it’s sitting and I’m not writing. But I didn’t want this post to end up too far down my dash to find if/when I manage to string together words in a coherent fic-ly fashion again.

Sept. 6: Maybe it’s the three-day weekend allowing my brain a chance to relax and consider words, but, between today and Saturday/yesterday, I have managed 807 words on my WIP. I would like to think I’ll be able to add more before the weekend is done, but ... I’ll be happy with 807 words, if that’s what I end up with. It brings me to a year-to-date total of 22,919 words in 249 days, and a daily average of 92.04 words. Not as good as I’d like, but still well above my goal, so ... I’m OK with that! (And glad to be writing again, however slowly.)

Oct. 1: Between Sept. 30 and today, I have written 633 words. I still have a long way to go toward finishing this new thing (my WIP is on hold while I work on an exchange fic that is coming due alarmingly quickly, considering I just started writing it). That brings my year-to-date word total up to 23,552 words and my daily average (in 274 days) to 85.956 words. A bit lower than I had hoped, but they are words and I won’t complain.

Oct. 7: It’s been hard the past few days to keep track of a word count. I’ve basically been leaving my doc open all day every day and hoping that I manage to add a few words here and there. Along with adding some, I’ve subtracted some, I’ve tweaked some so they’re barely recognizable as having come from what was there before. But I have officially added 1,208 words since Oct. 1. That brings my year-to-date word total to 24,760 words and my daily average (in 280 days) to 88.4 words. I still have a long way to go on this WIP and not a long time in which to finish it, but it’s progress.

Oct. 11: OK, so ... I’m totally losing track of words gained. In the past few days, I added words. And then I subtracted words and added new words. And then I took a chunk of words and reworked them. I can say for sure that I have added 182 words. Though the reality is that there were many more than that written. Anyway. That’s 182 words added to the total word count to get 24,942 words in 284 days, That’s a daily average of 87.8 words. With 13 days left until I have to submit this WIP as a finished exchange gift. 

Oct. 17: I’m optimistic that I finished my current WIP (as opposed to the one that was a WIP before the current WIP and remains a WIP) this morning. If my beta agrees. Between edits and tweaks and the section I added this morning, I have no idea how many words that is. But, if I go back to when I started this WIP and add the current total to my word count as I started, I have written 26,588 words so far this year (not counting the ones I wrote and then edited or the ones I wrote and then deleted), for a daily average of 91.68 words in 290 days.

Oct. 18: My beta didn’t think I was quite done yesterday, but I was close, and I think I addressed her questions this morning. That’s another 291 words on Day 291 of the year. With a year-to-date word total of 26,879 words, that’s a daily word average of 92.367 words. 

Dec. 7: *sigh* My writing mojo has well and truly flown the coop. I think I need a vacation. But, while I have time to take (or lose) by the end of the year, work is too busy -- and too shorthanded -- for that to happen. So ... I muddle on. After submitting my exchange fic before Halloween, I haven’t really written anything new. Until I got an inkling of a thought for a scene at bedtime last night. I texted myself the bare bones and turned them into 451 words this morning. That’s not going to make up for not having written in close to two months, but ... it’s something. It’s 27,330 words in 342 days, for a daily word average of 79.679 words. I’m behind last year’s average, but still above my stated goal for the year (if not my hoped-for goal) and I still have time ... if I can find my focus.

Dec. 14: Baby steps. I’ve made no new progress on my WIP, but I did manage 518 words for an Advent fic prompt -- held over from 2019 because I only made it about halfway through them last December. That brings my yearly total to 27,848 words in 349 days (the way this day has started, I’m assuming there will be no time for non-work writing today), for a daily average of 79.79 words. Unless I somehow manage to finish the year strong, I’m not going to top last year’s average (and, not to seem pessimistic -- more realistic -- if it’s taken me 349 days to write nearly 28,000 words, I don’t see myself managing 13,000 words in the next 17 days. (That really would be a Christmas miracle.) But it is still well about my initial 43-words-a-day average and my “official” 50-words-a-day goal, even if I don’t write another word this year. So I will continue trying to write as I am able and try not to be too frustrated by how difficult words have seemed at large chunks of time this year.

Dec. 20: I tell myself that, with a handful of days before Christmas, I should be trying to write more of last year’s Advent fic. Or that cabin fic I’ve been pondering for months (well before the cabin fic fest was a thing). Instead, I managed 434 words on my WIP -- and count it as a win, even though I wish it were so much more. That brings me to 28,282 words in 255 days, for a daily average of 110.9 words a day. (That jump in average still doesn’t seem right, but apparently it is. It goes to show how even a relative few words can make a big difference.)

Dec. 31: Happy end to 2020. I am about to end the year having written far fewer words than I did in 2019. While I’m glad I managed to beat my daily word-average goal, and to some extent am pleased that I managed to write anything at all, I had been hoping for more. I have the ideas. (Well, a couple of ideas.) And I have a WIP that I think I’ll really like -- if I can pull it off. But the words don’t want to come. So I’m trying to be OK with writing about 25 percent* less than I did in 2019, recognizing that it’s still more than I wrote in the majority of years since 2012. And 2021 is a new year in which I can try again to write more (and hopefully better) words. (* That percentage depends on what measure I use. According to AO3, I’ve posted 20,000 fewer words than 2019′s 47,000. Which is pushing a loose 50 percent drop. But I know I have about 7,000 words in my unposted WIP, which brings the difference closer to 13,000, which I’m loosely considering 25 percent.)

[fashournalist]

Can't believe it's been five years since we went to NAIA at exactly midnight (we came via shuttle from Resorts World) to try and ask for fully-funded tickets to New York so I could participate at HPAIR Harvard Conference's Humanitarian Affairs panel as a Top Ambassador—and they have to give me the tickets within 10 days. That wasn't even planned. I just needed to leave Laguna to destress and then meet Momi in Manila. Then we thought, why not take action to get flights now? So that very same night, we rode to the airport using the free transportation from Newport. The ticketing office was closed (haha, I thought it was 24 hours since it's NAIA, but anyway, they were up at 2AM, or 2:30, I forgot now) When they were open, they were shocked that I wasn't there to buy tickets. I was there to ask them for free ones! They said they never heard anything like that before, but they referred us to go to PAL Foundation anyway, in case I still want to push it. So we had a "sleepover" at one of NAIA's benches (I really couldn't sleep, thanks to the sound of airplanes haha), and went to their main office during the day. I emailed first when we found a computer shop. It was awkward because there was no time to schedule...I mentioned my situation, and then I said I'm paying a visit to your office today, if your guards will allow me to. We went there...and after a few calls between the receptionist and the main office, they let us in. That in itself, was a miracle. To be there without an appointment.

I will never forget the time I met Mrs. Candie and Ms. Pinky, they were really kind.

I realised there was so much that had to be done if I were to pursue this. It was actually impossible because they confirmed what the staff at the ticketing office said: no one has been funded for a conference before. They've funded athletes, not delegates. Thankfully, they still interviewed me and I tried sharing my story, and that I'm one of the top three CAs of HPAIR. And they said they would try what they can. I just had to accomplish paperwork like exemption from ITR, etc, then they will present it to President Jaime Bautista. It was a lot to accomplish within a few days. Wew. I know I've heard from others that what I would be trying sounds ridiculous—again, it's never happened before.

But to me, just because it hasn't happened before, doesn't mean it's not possible. I guess that's what they call audacious faith. And I thank God for giving me the kind of trust that asks for big leaps of faith. I remember hearing Himala and just looked at the sky, and at that very moment, I saw an airplane. I smiled a lot and surrendered this endeavour to God. That was a special moment. I felt like that airplane flying right at the same time I heard Himala in front of Mang Inasal Taft reminded me that God's got me, and in 10 days I'll be sitting again somewhere thousands of feet up in the air. So there, my crazy attempt of asking for fully-funded flights.

Spoiler alert: I got it!!! And I got it 11 hours before my flight. Everything was so sudden, so unexpected. It was like shooting for the moon. I got it during President Jaime Bautista's birthday huhue. Thank you po President Bautista!!

I remember on February 10, in the wee hours of the morning, I just came from LB square with my UPMUN fam. We spent February 9 at the Febfair. I thought, I'm making the most of this fair today, because hey, I might be going to Harvard in two days. There was no flight yet. And the conference starts in three days. On the other side of the planet. But there was still hope in me. I thought, okay, this February 10, I'll be going to San Miguel Corporation and ask them to sponsor me. But then, before I slept,

I heard In My Heart, I Know My Savior Lives.

I got chills upon hearing that, and I cried. I was reminded, again, that God's got me. No need to go to San Miguel tomorrow. God has told me to get the rest I need, because hey, I have a flight in two days. I haven't heard from them yet, but still, I'm flying. Claim it!!!

True enough, I woke up to two missed calls from an unknown number. And a text, from Mrs. Candie!! She said that through God's grace (yes, she really mentioned that waaa I feel so kilig) the President has approved my request!! I couldn't believe it. She later called me again and she said she almost cried when the request had been approved. So there I was, crying and thanking God.

On some days the message isn't clear yet, on other days though, His voice is clearer than ever. In my heart, I know my Savior lives. And it's that Savior who told me to stop making efforts to get funded already, because it's coming. It's about time I trust Him to do the work. As the line goes, "when you do what you can, God will do what you can't."

Sometimes, all that God wants us to do is to trust and wait. And it can be uncomfortable, because we feel like we need to do something to make things happen. But when God asks us to sit still and let Him move, it's a great opportunity to deepen our faith in Him.

Thank You, Lord Jesus Christ, for authoring this story. Your works and miracles never fail to amaze me. You deserve all the glory <3

PS. After that Harvard Conference, I'm grateful to hear that other HPAIR delegates in the succeeding conferences received flight discounts, too! Yay!! Thank you PAL Foundation!! Continue supporting our passionate learners and dreamers. :)

[dat-fandom-losertown]

Happy NHPC Day!

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Chapter 1

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Spideypool / Peter Parker + Wade Wilson

Warnings: Non-graphic Violence, A paragraph or two of homophobia, A single homophobic slur

Word Count: 6,122

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Summary:

    Peter and Wade have a tradition they've been following every Valentine's Day and National Half-Priced Candy Day for several years now. They patrol all day and night for Valentine's in their special "June-themed" suits, and on the 15th they spend their day cuddling, eating cheap candy, and napping to make up for the lack of rest from the day before.     This year, though, Peter wants to do something slightly different for NHPC day. Something neither of them will ever forget.

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~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Hey guys! I know I haven’t written anything but D:BH here so far (and I may make a late Valentine’s thing for that fandom too), but it had always been my plan to be a multi-fandom account eventually, and I couldn’t miss out on the “Isn’t it Bromantic” Spideypool Discord server’s Valentine’s Day Challenge!

    If Spideypool isn’t your thing, I totally get it and I don’t expect you to read this (and I’m gonna be making a post about what to do if you don’t want to see a ship or fandom you don’t like real soon), but if it is your thing, then Welcome! There isn’t much true fluff in this chapter, and this is kind of all over the place, but there absolutely will be tomorrow in the second part and things will tie together! So please hang in there, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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    “Spidey-poo! Spider-honey! Web-darling!”

    Peter quickly spots Wade’s bright suit and rolls his eyes as he quickly and sternly shushes him, knowing the other super can hear him even if he’s on the rooftop across the street. He swings over and meets Wade on the other side with practiced grace.

    “‘Pool, it is five in the morning and normal people are still sleeping! You can’t just yell like that!”

    Wade, as expected by this point, completely ignores Peter’s halfhearted chiding and instead sweeps him up into a large bear hug as if they hadn’t just seen each other thirty minutes ago.

    “My baby boy’s looking extra bi for this valentine’s day!” He spins them around a couple of times for good measure, then sets him down, keeping his hands on his shoulders. “Did you upgrade the gay suit? Because this looks even better than it did in June!”

    A few years back, Wade had jokingly made a comment about wearing pride colors on patrol during the month of June, just to rub it into the “old bigots’ faces” and to get a good laugh. After a day or two of not being able to get that thought out of his head, he figured that if cops can’t be at pride, then at least Spiderman and Deadpool should be able to join in to keep the crime at bay.

    As soon as he told Wade this, the ex-merc went all out. He made an entirely new suit for the occasion instead of just taping a flag to his shoulders like Peter was expecting. He argued that “How are the people supposed to know we’re there to help and support if all they see is the usual red with black and red and blue?” and admitted he already had designs for their pride suits ready to go for ages. Wade’s was based off of his pansexuality with all the red parts turned bright pink, the black became bright blue, and all of his weapons (most of them being non-lethal now, thanks to Peter’s insistence) replaced with ones that are bright gold and yellow.

    That first year, Peter refused an altered suit, mostly because back then their relationship was newer and he was worried about somehow paying Wade the favor back. Although, he allowed Wade to make it the next year since the design for it was much more subdued than Wade’s by far, and he seemed to have so much fun in his new get up. For Peter’s suit, the blue stayed the same, the red became magenta, and his eye-pieces and web designs became purple all in tribute to his own bisexuality.

    The next February after that was when Peter (not Wade, surprisingly enough) came up with the idea to wear these suits on their annual Valentine’s day 20 hour watch, just to show the heteros that they still exist outside of pride month.

    That, and “Bi-derman” and “Pan-pool” slash “Dead-pan” are kind of a big hit, so why the hell not?

    Peter hasn’t done much altering to his suit beyond repairs, but since last June, he’s completely remade the suit in a tougher material and made the blue and magenta more vibrant and the purple web designs darker to help with the contrast. He also made his eye-pieces white because holy hell was it hard to see through those darker lenses.

    “You have a good eye, ‘Pool. Do you like it?” He sticks his arms out and slowly spins as he continues, “I remade it with the extra money from that raise I got a while back.”

    Wade quickly grabs Peter and pulls him close again, this time letting his hands roam over the fabric. He can feel the appraise Wade is silently sending him, and the part of him that was worried about making the protective padding on his chest and gut look more muscular rather than lean settles immediately.

    “Mmmyes. Me likey this a lot.” He takes a step back and pointedly looks Peter up and down, “Where did you even hide this? I swear I looked in our secret closet and under the bed when I definitely wasn’t snooping for my Christmas presents again.”

    Peter rolls his eyes, and he bets that Wade knows it even if his eyes are covered. “If I told you where then I’d have to find a way to erase your memory, because killing you isn’t an option.”

    “I dunno, babe, you just might kill me with this damn suit.” He hesitates, then flops his head back with a groan, “Fuck, you’re right, I only get to see it on you for a month and a day a year. How did you even get this level of muscle definition to show through your suit? You look like you do in some of the comics! Clothes in real life don’t work like this!”

    “Bullet-resistant padding thanks to Tony and a lot of neat seam-work to make it look like natural muscle.” Peter states matter-of-factly, “Get me the materials and I could do the same for your suits, since I don’t think Tony will offer to give you any.”

    “Nah. I don’t need it, and I don’t want to distract from this gorgeous bod’–” he cups Peter’s face “–anytime soon.” Wade gently places his forehead on Peter’s, letting their masked-noses bump. He ruins the moment by murmuring “Is there anything I can do to make you wear this suit in the bedroom?”

    “No.” Peter swiftly turns and walks to the edge of the building, waiting for Wade to hop on his back.

    “But baby...” the man in question whines, “You wear your other one–”

    “Only sometimes and only when you distract me before I can completely change, and I don’t want this one ruined before I can wear it this June.” He ignores Wade’s pout and says, “This fabric is much harder to wash.”

    “Ugh, fine. At least I get to watch you flip around some baddies today” he wiggles happily.

    “You won’t if you don’t friggin’ hurry up!” he sing-songs, casting a web out in preparation to swing away.

    Wade doesn’t respond, but his spidey-senses tingle a warning of something incoming, so he braces himself as his boyfriend leaps onto his back. He loops his legs over Peter’s hips and his arms around his shoulders, then they’re off.

    They swing for almost 45 minutes before the duo hear their first cry for help of the day.

    Peter hastily swings over to where they heard the woman cry out, and from there it isn’t hard to find her being held hostage by a man in a wolf mask (seriously, why a wolf? Could he only afford a mask from the halloween clearance shelf?) while a well-dressed man shakily pulls out his wallet. Wade drops in, and Peter pretends he didn’t hear the crunch of one of his joints twisting wrong during the landing. By the time Peter drops in to help calm the couple down, Wade has already knocked out and tied up the perpetrator. The couple thanks the vigilantes, then hurry off to the subway, eager to get back to a safer part of the city.

    As per usual on their Valentine’s day “event”, they personally drag the mugger to the police station themselves. The police usually have enough on their plate as it is without Spiderman and Deadpool calling them all day to pick someone up if the duo can just do it themselves. Besides, it gives the couple a chance to interact with the public, even if that’s sometimes less-than-pleasing.

    Thankfully, they don’t run into too much drama on the way to the station. A young man on the way to work stops them for a picture, admitting that he’s been excited to see the pictures of them in their pride uniforms online later today while a stranger scoffs at them, but that’s hardly drama and is completely expected.

    When it starts getting close to seven o’clock in the morning, things start picking up. By the time nine rolls around, they’ve stopped two more minor muggings and talked someone down from trying to commit a crime, which doesn’t successfully happen nearly as often as Peter would like. They buy an ungodly amount of breakfast and hand a chunk of it out to homeless people before they spot someone trying to break into a window on the fourth floor of an apartment building. Peter goes to take care of it while Wade skips away to pass out more food.

    “Yo!” Peter calls jovially as he climbs up the wall, “You know, this is extremely dangerous for someone who doesn’t have spider powers, so if you could just–”

    His spidey senses suddenly warn him and he jumps to the left, narrowly missing a metal skewer to the shoulder. 

    “What the hell?! Do you know how dangerous it is to carry those around–” he dodges another one “–normally? And, like, you’re on a rickety– woah!–” He twists his body in order to not get hit “–rickety old fire escape throwing them, so–” He narrowly misses the next one “–Damn it! Would it hurt you to stop for two seconds! Why are you even getting into this specific apartment? There are easier and sneakier ones to get into!”

    “My ex wife lives here.” He confesses, throwing another skewer, “She cheated on me with two other people, then divorced me and is trying to take everything! See! I’m not some low-life criminal, so just leave me alone!”

    Peter wasn’t actually expecting an answer, but he can try to make-do with this.

    “Do you have evidence of her cheating?” he tries, and it must work on some level because the man stops throwing skewers. Just how many did he have, anyway? And why skewers of all things?

    The man nods, still hesitating on the next skewer. Damn it, he needs to think of something fast. Well, he doesn’t need to, but he’d rather not send this guy to the cops. He seems like one of the dudes he can calm down.

    “Okay, well, do you know if the people she cheated on you with knows she’s cheating on them?”

    The guy ponders this for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

    “So… Why not try getting together and form a mini mob to maybe, I dunno, publicly humiliate her? Instead of breaking into her apartment or hurting her? Or both? Instead of making yourself out as the bad guy?”

    “Ooo! Who are we publicly humiliating!” Deadpool calls from the bottom of the fire escape. “I want in on the action! I’m really good at scheming!” he rubs his hands together like some kind of mad scientist.

    “Deadpool, now is not the time–”

    “So you’d help me get revenge on my cheating ex-wife?”

    “Wait–”

    “Oh hell yeah! We’re gonna blow her cover just like I blow–”

    “Okay!” Peter shouts over what was undoubtedly about to be Wade bragging about their nighttime activities again. Or maybe he was actually going to mention one of the explosives or grenades he has back at home, who knows?

    This scenario is one of the “If you can’t beat them, join them” type, isn’t it? Well, in this case it’s probably closer to “If you can’t stop them, leave and pretend that it isn’t happening for as long as possible, then deny it did for even longer.”

    He sighs and mutters “I can not believe I’m about to do this,” before shouting down to Wade, “Since you’re apparently going to actually do this, can there not be any bodily harm or apartment destruction? If not anything else?”

    “Aw, but baby boo, arson is the third best crime to commit…” At Peter’s stern look, he relents. “Fine, but if we’re gonna do this right, but I want a little fee for this amazing plan I’m coming up with!”

    Peter takes that and the man’s positive response as his cue to leave and pretend his boyfriend isn’t plotting to cause a huge scene with three other people today. It’s much easier to do once he catches some asshole slipping his hand up some girl’s dress while keeping her at gunpoint in some alley.

    A web here, a punch there, and another punch, and a kick. Then one last kick and punch just for good measure, along with another web, and the girl is saved and the wrong-doer is unconscious and tied up. In the not sexy way, Deadpool would probably add if he was here.

    “Thank you, Spiderman!” he hears the woman sobs before she pounces on him with a hug.

    “Woah, hey, you’re safe now.” He awkwardly hugs the stranger back.

    “He’s been stalking me for a while and I’ve just been hoping that I could get close to a police station or something but then he disappeared and cut me off and I couldn’t run in these heels and he got me–”

    “Hey hey hey, he’s gone now. He’s not gonna hurt anyone anymore, okay?” He pulls away from her, and she gives a shaky nod. “Okay, do you have anyone you can call–”

    “Spidey!” he hears the familiar voice sing at the end of the alley, “You left without me!” The footsteps suddenly stop, and Wade’s voice becomes much softer. “Hey, you alright? No one important is hurt?” He glances over to the webbed up man briefly.

    The woman shakes her head. Knowing that Wade will probably keep quiet for now, Peter restates his question.

    “Do you have anyone you can call for now so you’re not alone?”

    The girl nods again, “I was just on my way to meet my partner. They’d come right away.” She huffs a wet laugh, “They actually adore you two. You helped them from a bunch of bullies at pride two years ago.”

    “I’m glad we can get to them in time, then.” Peter smiles.

    “Hells yea! The world could do with more people who say “fuck you” to gender rolls!” He points to nothing as he continues, “And you read that right, readers! Rolls with two L’s wasn’t a typo, because gender rolls are the nastiest kind of bread. Yuck!”

    The woman huffs a laugh then looks up from her ringing phone, tilting her head in sudden confusion, “Readers? Typo?”

    “Don’t worry about it,” Peter cuts in, “It’s just a thing he does.” He doesn’t want to take the time to explain Wade’s weird habits of doing something called “breaking the fourth wall”, and how he addresses some things to readers and others to viewers or watchers and other to his two internal “boxes” named “Yellow” and “White”.

    Peter hears the person on the other end finally pick up the phone and ask if something’s up. The woman asks them to go to a certain coffee shop to meet her instead of the fountain– wherever that could be in a place like this– to meet her. The other person immediately agrees. Peter is also mildly impressed and rather touched that they also asked for her to stay on the line until they meet instead of just hanging up in a rush like plenty of people seem to do. This person is definitely good for this lady.

    They end up walking with the woman to the aforementioned coffee shop, and they chat a little with the person on the line while Peter keeps a very close ear out for anything odd that may need his assistance and pays close attention to his spidey-senses. They get a photo with one group of kids and their parents on the way, then a few more pictures once they meet up with Kasandra’s (they finally got the woman’s name) partner. After that, a group of teens on a triple date quickly came up for pictures and complimented their pride suits.

    Peter’s spidey sense starts going off before the teens can say much else. With Deadpool quickly and securely latching onto his back, he climbs up a wall to safely swing away to the danger.

    After that, it becomes a pretty normal day, as far as patrolling goes. Despite the fact that most of New York City knows that Spiderman and Deadpool patrol all day and night long on most holidays, the crime rate still rises on them. It makes Peter wonder just how many people they don’t get to whenever they patrol; how many people call out for them specifically when Peter is too far away to hear them or sense them being in danger?

    He doesn’t want to know the answer to that, and Wade does his best to help Peter keep his brain from travelling down those dark paths once he figured out it made his depression and anxiety that much worse.

    He honestly doesn’t know what he’d do without Wade. They’ve been together for so long that Peter can’t imagine a day where he’d be gone for good. Yeah, he still sometimes spends weeks or, very rarely, months away for some SHIELD job, but he always eventually comes back. He’s almost completely immune to his “Parker Luck” because he’s technically immune to death and injury. So the thought that one day Wade may leave and not come back because something between them just couldn’t be worked through?

    It’s terrifying.

    The thing about that last thought, though, is that Peter can’t imagine not being able to work things out with Wade. They always work things out. They’ve been living with each other for years now, so that was something they had to learn how to do a long while ago. Even their various friends agree that, as much as they banter like best friends, they also tend to argue and compromise over small things like an old, married couple. He and Wade never try to argue their observations either. Peter isn’t quite so sure about his other half, but he feels like they’re already a married couple. There’s just no rings or legal papers to make it official yet.

    Yet.

    He abruptly pauses at webbing a group of home intruders to the brick wall in front of him to watch Wade with wide eyes as the other chatters away, searching for a cell phone to call the police with so these guys can be picked up.

    Wade’s self-esteem would probably never allow him to ask Peter to marry him, even though they’ve been dating for over six years now and living together for about the same length of time. Even if they had been dating for twelve or twenty years, he doubts Wade would be able to do it without backing out or panicking just because he’d probably feel like he was trapping Peter or something bizarre but sadly understandable like that, especially if his boxes are in a shitty mood that hnypothetical day. 

    He doesn’t doubt for a moment that Wade loves him deeply, even with all the shit they give each other. Hell, especially with all the shit they give each other. It means a hell of a lot when people can make fun of each other and poke at each other and can trust wholeheartedly that the other person knows that it means nothing or comes from a place of pure love, especially for people with backgrounds filled with anxiety like Peter and Wade.

    It takes a lot of trust to open oneself up completely to another person, and Wade is the first person like that for Peter ever since he became Spiderman, and Peter hopes he’s close enough to being that person for Wade in return. It takes a lot of love and trust on both of their parts to deal with the somewhat common panic attacks, depression dips, and self-punishments and the less common hallucinations and serious depression dips and still stick around after all is said and done.

    They’ve been together through thick and thin, through grave injuries and actual death (on Wade’s account, anyway). They’ve stuck together through sickness and loss, happiness and wealth (there was a few months where Wade was apparently secretly convinced that Peter would leave once he was no longer dirt poor, but that’s been proven wrong a hundred times over by now). They’ve been through everything the traditional wedding vows mention, and the “until death do us part” really only works on Peter, but his powers and trained skills don’t make him an easy target, either.

    Peter knows what he wants to do, or rather, he’s just now realized what he’s been wanting for a long while. And now that he knows what’s missing, he’s going to take the first steps to get it. Wade took the first steps in starting their relationship, so it’s only fair that Peter takes the first step or two towards their marriage. Probable marriage, he corrects himself, because if there’s one thing he’s learned from being with Wade all these years, it’s that if something has even one percent chance of happening, it’s plenty of wiggle room for the ex-merc to do it. And Peter’s only 99 percent sure that he’ll say yes.

    That just means he needs to make tomorrow the best National Half-Priced Candy Day yet.

    “Spidey?” Wade snaps him out of his thoughts, sounding like that wasn’t the first time he called for him.

    Peter shakes his head. “Sorry. Just got a bit carried away in my head I guess.”

    Wade nods thoughtfully. Peter can practically see the concern dripping off of him. “You need a break? We’ve been at this for–” he checks the stranger’s phone still in his hand, “twelve hours now. Dang.” He pauses. “I know right? But you know what they say, time flies when you’re having fun, and I’m always having fun when our snookums is around!” Wade’s bright grin stretches the bright pink and blue fabric of his mask.

    “I usually have fun when you’re around too, ‘Pool.” Peter grins and turns away. He hears a gasp behind him.

    “Baaabe!!” he whines, “Only usually? You wound me! I am always fun, especially when–” He abruptly stops. When he doesn’t immediately respond to whatever his boxes are saying, Peter turns around.

    Wade is looking at Peter with a strangely somber expression, one that’s obvious through his mask. Then he picks himself up in what Peter can now tell is false cheer.

    “You know, Spidey, if you ever get tired of me–”

    “Never gonna happen.” Peter walks towards Wade and puts his hands on his undoubtedly surprised face. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, ya doof.” He pecks a kiss to his masked nose then pulls away. “Come on, then! We have more criminals to stop and people to save!”

    Peter hesitates just long enough for Wade to jump on his back before taking off. As he swings them through the city, he starts thinking of a plan of action for tomorrow.

    If there was any chance that he was wrong about Wade’s self esteem not letting him pop the question first, what the ex-merc just said squashed it, which means Peter will have to be the one to do it. He could go the easy way and go about their usual NHPC day and get down on one knee when they’re back at home (because for as much as Wade puts on an act of shamelessness and seems to constantly overshare, he’s strangely a rather private person), but he doesn’t particularly want to.

    A quick look to the left mid-swing and he thinks he has the perfect thing.

    His spidey-senses guide him to the right, so he follows. It doesn’t take very long at all for the pair to spot the dark smoke in the sky directly ahead of them. They make it there quickly, taking in the apartment building that is almost overrun by bright flames, the two fire trucks, and the group of firefighters on the street trying their best to evacuate people and put out the worst of the fire. Wade points out that the fire escape must either be engulfed by flames or has broken off or something because he can see a couple through a window on the top floor.

    Without stopping to ask what happened or what’s needed of them– mainly because they’d probably say something that basically means “go away and mind your own business”– they enter the building through a window on the top floor (“Wade! You didn’t have to break it!” “The entire building is basically broken! It’s fine!”) since they both believe that, with the get up most of them are wearing, the firefighters are working on evacuating the people in the thick of the flames now and haven’t reached anyone in the higher floors.

    Besides, the materials Peter and Wade use to make their respective suits aren’t exactly heat and flame resistant, so this is how they can be helpful.

    Inside the building is, predictably, hot and smokey from the flames, and Peter knows it will get louder too as they reach the floors that are closer to the majority of the fire. They split up and work through the top floor first with Peter safely lowering two small families, two couples, and several animals down one or two at a time while Wade searches for any others and gathers them to their chosen window. Once Wade says it’s clear and the civilians are safe, they move downstairs to the next floor and set up the same system.

    This floor is proven to be a bit more difficult when Wade comes back with two cats and informs Peter that their owner is a business man that recognized Deadpool as the mercenary he hasn’t been in a long while and accused him of setting the building on fire while simultaneously begging for his life. So Peter has to leave his post at the window and let Wade lower the few remaining people down while he goes and talks to the business man.

    Peter easily finds the middle-aged man cowering in the corner and tries to calm him down. Although, it very quickly becomes apparent that he isn’t having any of it because “Anyone who works with Deadpool only thirsts for blood, and you will not have mine that easily!” Peter just huffs and picks him up like a potato sack, ignoring his shouting and struggling while he carries him to the window in his kitchen. Peter casts a new web and makes a quick harness, gets the man– who had stopped struggling real fast once he realized he was no longer inside– and lowers him down faster than he had for the others.

    He meets up with Wade in the hallway, who apparently cleared the rest of the floor while Paranoid Man was causing a fuss, and they move down again. They hastily clear out most of the apartments on the third-to-top floor when Peter hears a shout and a gunshot from down the hallway. The only people there to lower the two small dogs he has on the line now are three siblings, the oldest being no older than 16 and the youngest no older than 10. Another gunshot forces Peter’s hand, though.

    “Hey! Do you think you could lower these pups down while I go check that out?”

    The oldest sibling, a girl with a pixie cut, ripped jeans, and a black sweatshirt, looks out the window and nods. She silently and shakily takes the webbing from him and starts to lower them. Peter doesn’t waste any time in sprinting down the hall to the last apartment where he last saw Wade disappear. Inside he finds a woman in her forties or fifties holding a gun to Wade’s unmoving body. Whether he’s dead or unconscious, he doesn’t know, but that doesn’t matter.

    “Hey! What the hell, lady! We’re trying to help!” Peter stomps towards her.

    “I’d rather die than be contaminated by freaks like you!”

    His spidey-sense suddenly screams at him, and Peter jumps and rolls to the side just in time to dodge the bullet that would have hit his chest.

    “What the fuck?!”

    “Get out of my damn apartment!” she screams, pointing the gun at him again.

    “Lady, there is literally a fire–”

    “And I will not be saved by faggots like you!”

    Oh… How fun… One of those people… 

    But she’s still a civilian, Peter reminds himself, and he really shouldn’t web her up in the corner of the room just because she’d rather die than accept help from someone who isn’t straight. No matter how much he kind of wants to right now. The fire probably won’t even reach this floor, anyway… But he still can’t.

    “This is a matter of life and death for you, what the hell–” He jumps to the left to dodge another bullet.

    “And I don’t fucking care!” She screams, “You can all go and burn in hell! But I won’t let myself be swayed by your cursed ways!” she shoots once more, and she should have only one shot left at most, if Peter’s counting right.

    She doesn’t get to shoot again, though, because Deadpool comes up behind her and knocks her out.

    “Do you know how close I was to killing her? Do you know how easy it’d still be to? God sometimes I wish I was still a mercenary. I mean, look at this! She got blood on my gay suit!” He complains, staring down at the woman disdainfully and poking at the single bullet wound in his chest. 

    Peter, instead of praising him for not killing her or explaining why they should keep her alive, just nods and jogs out of the apartment. He has other people he needs to save, afterall.

    He pretends to not hear Wade’s gasp and sinister chuckle behind him.

    He gets the siblings down, and Wade comes back with a dog and two cats in his arms, and the unconscious woman being dragged behind him by Wade’s new, golden whip (“Now I can be just like Wonder woman!” “Like who?” “Wonder Woman! She’s from the DC Universe and she’s my hero! Besides you, of course!” “Whatever you say, Wade…”). If anyone notices that he lowers the animals before he lowers the human, then they can deal with it. And if they notice that she has “BEWARE: HOMOPHOBIC ASSHOLE” written on her forehead in permanent marker, then it’s not his fault that he can’t control his boyfriend.

    Looking out of the window this time, they realize that the fire has gone down quite a bit. Wade comes running back down the hallway– when did he even leave?– cheering that the fire escape was just covered in fire, but now it’s safe to walk on. Before Peter has the chance to ask if it was safe for civilians to walk on or just supers, Wade jumps in and clarifies that he pretty much cannon-balled onto it and it didn’t bend, and it was only pretty warm through his ruined suit, rather than very warm.

    With that news (and after Peter tested it for himself), they waste no time in telling the other tenants they find to put thick shoes on and go down the fire escape. By the time they finish clearing the few people and animals left in the building, it’s pretty much dark out and some news stations are gathered around outside reporting what happened here for the nightly news.

    “Excuse me, miss,” He hears Wade say to his right. He turns and finds him talking to a young police officer. “How did this fire start? And why’d it get so big?”

    The young woman scowls a bit and opens her mouth to speak, but an older officer behind Peter interrupts her.

    “Someone was trying to make a romantic dinner on the fourth floor and started an oil fire, then tried putting it out with water. It got so big because traffic was horrible today, and we just couldn’t make it here as quickly as we needed.” he smiles ruefully.

    Peter turns to properly face the officer, “Do you know if anyone was seriously hurt?”

    He shakes his head. “But we know that so far there haven’t been any deaths reported so far. Animal or human.”

    Peter nods as Wade speaks. “Thank you, officer! We appreciate the work you do ‘round here, but we should get going!”

    Peter takes his cue and starts walking towards the building across the street to climb up and swing off of.

    “Hey,” the officer catches Peter and Wade’s attention, “I know a lot of other police officers don’t like you doing their job, but you’re doing some real good work out there. So thanks, Spiderman and Deadpool.”

    Peter nods, not really knowing what else to do, while Wade openly gapes through his mask. He pulls the ex-merc towards him, and he immediately clings to Peter’s back. They’re gone pretty quickly after that.

    “Babe! Baaabe!!” Wade shouts into his ear mid-swing, “That was amazing! We found someone who doesn’t hate us! And he thanked us!”

    “I know!” He cheers back. It’s always nice to get some positive recognition.

    Wade squeezes on to him tighter. “God, I’m so fucking glad I stopped murdering people.” He kisses the back of his neck through their suits. “I’m really glad I chose you. So happy... The happiest.” he continues quieter, more genuine.

    If Peter didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he wasn’t supposed to hear that last part, that it was just meant for himself and his boxes. But, well, he does know better.

    His brain decides to remind him of the ring he still has to buy by the end of tomorrow.

    Peter’s spidey-senses start humming at the same time that Wade shouts that he saw a young man and a suspicious older woman in an alley shortcut. They easily stop the woman from assaulting the poor teen before she could try with the element of surprise on their side, then they escort him back to a more populated area where it should be safer. Both Peter’s and Wade’s stomachs growl at the scent of sandwiches, so they go in and order enough for an army before and climbing up to the nearest rooftop to take a very-much-needed food break. They sit down and start digging in.

    Peter weighs the options of buying an engagement ring as Spiderman and risking outing his plans to everyone before he gets to properly propose to Wade, or somehow taking time out of their NHPC day plans (do nothing except go out to buy cheap candy together, cuddle, and munch on said candy) to buy a ring without being suspicious to the man whose job has always been finding people who don’t want to be found out.

    “Hey Wade?”

    Wade hums around his food and scoots more into Peter’s lap in lieu of a real response.

    “I was thinking we could do something slightly different than usual tomorrow?” Peter leans a bit to the side to get a better view of Wade’s reaction. It isn’t a negative one, but it’s also not positive.

    “Why? What’s up?” he asks once he swallows his food.

    Peter shuffles a bit. “Well, I was thinking, since candy isn’t usually the only thing that’s half-priced tomorrow, we could maybe split up for, let’s say, an hour or two? Just to buy a cute present for each other or something–”

    Wade’s excited gasp interrupts Peter. “Like those little stuffed animals that go right into clearance after Valentines? Or those super soft blankets and socks!” Wade squeals and waves his hands, flinging sandwich bits everywhere. “Petey-baby! You are brilliant! Like, I knew that already, but you’re just proving what we all already know! Even the boxes agree! Although, Yellow’s idea of a present is too close to Yandere simulator, but White thinks going down to Coney Island would be cool! But I don’t even think the rides are even open this early in the year. Besides! I just told you about it! So it isn’t a surprise anymore!” He points a finger high in the air and announces loudly, “Disqualified!”

    Peter smiles as he absently listens to Wade go on and on about present-buying tomorrow. Now he just needs to find the perfect ring online and pick it up at the store. If he can’t find the perfect one on such short notice, he doubts Wade will mind if he got a unicorn plushie and a very soft blanket instead. The ring and proposal doesn’t have to be rushed, as much as Peter really wants it to be. How could he not, when his fiance would be a sarcastic asshole and secret sweetheart like Wade Winston Wilson?

    Now the only important question left is, would it be Peter Wilson, Wade Parker, or Peter and Wade Wilson-Parker, or Parker-Wilson?

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

[torontothoughts]

I’m one of those people who keeps a bucket list. It changes, grows and adapts as I get older, as I cross some things out and yes, as I outgrow some. But there’s always a few “someday I want to…” things that I never seem to get around to doing. And this year, I decided to stop waiting for someday and just did one of them. I was going to hike, or rather walk, the West Highland Way (WHW), solo. Or at least about half of it.

A couple of things happened to force the “you only live once” epiphany on me and one was a random article I read online at lunch about hiking solo in Scotland. It lead me to a bit of research and reading, and by the end of the day, I had decided not to wait any longer on finding someone who wanted to walk it with me. You see, one of the major things that was holding me back from doing the West Highland Way – pretty much the only thing – was I didn’t have anyone to walk it with me.

And walking the West Highland Way was on my bucket list. The West Highland Way, a 154 km (96 mile) trail from Milngavie (a suburb of Glasgow) to Fort William is one of the most popular and iconic hikes/walks in Scotland. Most people complete it in 5-8 days, but others do it in sections or only a part of it as I did. You’ll pass beautiful natural scenery including Loch Lomond, Rannoch Moor, Glencoe, Devil’s Staircase, and Ben Nevis. While you can wild camp (or camp at many of the accommodations along the way), if you want to stay at a hostel, B&B or hotel, book in advance (depending on the time of year, you may need to book months in advance) as it’s quite a popular route, especially from May to September. I booked mine in late February (for early May) and many places were already full.

So how did I prepare?

Two ways. First, as I knew I’d be walking 15-25 km each day, I wanted to up my walking game. I regularly walk 5-10 most days so I wasn’t overly worried but it was a long, icy winter here in Toronto so I hadn’t been walking as much as normal. Once the spring thaw got rid of most of the snow and ice, I used my old marathon training plan to increase my walking distance gradually over about 8 weeks. I also used it as an excuse to explore Toronto’s trails more and found a couple of new favourites (we do have some great outdoor spaces for a major city). But as someone who loves walking and who walks everywhere, I wasn’t overly worried about the distances, especially after getting in some trail time here.

The other way I got ready was to read and research. I’m a big believer in researching my travels, especially when going solo as I often do, and as this would be my first long distance solo hike/walk, I wanted to be prepared. I bought Walking The West Highland Way by Terry Marsh, read dozens of blog posts, visited different tour websites and of course, read everything on the official West Highland Way website.

This allowed me to understand where I wanted to start (Tyndrum), where I’d be walking each day and where I should stop each night. The research also let me know that I needed to book my accommodation in advance and gave some great recommendations on where to stay. I booked everything about two months in advance (late February/early March for early May) and while I ended up with my first choice in three of the five places, I had to go with my second choice in the other two stops (still great hostels though).

It also helped me refine my normal travel packing list (I have one I simply adjust based on the destination and time of year) to include the needs of a multi-day walk/hike. You can see what I packed here.

How was the West Highland Way?

Amazing! I am so very glad that I went. I’m also very glad that I went solo. Sure, I would have loved to have gone with friends, in which case I would have done the entire walk not just basically the latter half, but doing it solo gave me such a sense of accomplishment and allowed me to connect with the environment around me in a way I wouldn’t have been able to if I had others with me. I enjoy spending time alone and I enjoy traveling alone so there was no issue with loneliness. Walking it solo meant I could walk at my own pace, stop where I wanted (I took so many photos), and enjoy the solitude.

For those worried about safety, I was never truly alone and Scotland is safe for women traveling alone (just take the same precautions you would at home). Walking the West Highland Way in May meant there were lots of others walking it as well. While there were times, especially when I was on Rannoch Moor, that I couldn’t see another person, I knew that all I had to do was wait for 5 minutes, 10 tops, and another walker would appear. And most of the time, there were others in sight, if not right around me. I met some lovely fellow walkers, both on the trail and at the hostels I stayed at. One day, a group of walkers and I played leap frog (unintentionally) and we ended up meeting again at the Kingshouse Hotel.

The West Highland Way is also well marked and the trail is easy to follow. That being said, you should still have a map (and know how to read it), as well as a basic first aid kit, just in case. Tell others where you’ll be, where you’re staying, check in – the same things you’d do traveling solo anywhere.

Keep reading for a day by day accounting of my fabulous time walking the West Highland Way…

May 6 – Travel day to Tyndrum

I hopped on a train from Glasgow to Tydrum and it was a beautiful ride. The stop before mine, the train split in two trains, with one half heading to Oban and the other to Mallaig. Because of an out-of-order washroom, they had the people from the front two cars switch with those in the back two. One of the train staff told me I could stay where I was (I was in one of the cars switching) which meant I ended up at Tyndrum Upper rather than Lower, but that just meant I walked about 1/2 km further so no big deal. Plus, the view of the valley made up for it. I checked into my hobbit house (so cute but it would be tight with more than two people, great for one person) and went into the village to get some food – fish & chips (yummy) for dinner, a sandwich for tomorrow’s lunch and a small bottle of whisky so I can have a dram each night. Off to bed early so I’m rested for my first day of walking. Okay, that didn’t work as the temp plummeted and there was a bit of a storm overnight but thankfully there was heating as it was needed.

May 7 (day 1) – Tyndrum to Bridge of Orchy

(6 ½ miles/10.5 km)

A simple, fairly easy hike, that even with my many, many stops for photos took under 3 hours. It was a beautiful start to my West Highland Way experience, especially with the new snow on the tops of the mountains from last night, if a bit wet for the first hour. Mostly flat, with gorgeous views. The snow from the storm the night before was lovely, and a reminder that the weather in Scotland is all over the place as I was in a t-shirt the day before.

I stayed at the West Highland Sleeper, a small hostel on the Bridge of Orchy train station (the station is still a stop but isn’t manned anymore so someone converted the building into a 10 bed hostel). After checking in and grabbing my bag, I had a lovely risotto at the Bridge of Orchy Hotel (just down the street) for dinner with another girl staying in the hostel before getting an early night’s sleep.

May 8 – Bridge of Orchy to Kingshouse

(12 miles/19.5 km) – my phone said I walked 20 km

I got an early start, well, early for me, as everyone in the hostel, all 10 of us, left early. I started out with five others but three quickly outpaced me and two fell behind. The view at the top of the hilltop outside Bridge of Orchy of Loch Tulla was amazing (northern hillside of Ben Inverveigh). After a brief pitstop at Inveronan Hotel, I continued on past a mossy forest (it looked creepy, like it would be a good place to film a horror film but it was all fenced off) up to Rannoch Moor. 

Luckily the weather was mostly good, just a bit windy (okay, it was pretty much always windy), the sun even came out! Briefly but I have photos. Rannoch Moor is haunting. Beautiful but haunting. My only bitch were the large stones/rocks on the path (which turned out to be my only problem with the WHW) – they varied in size from gravel (fine to walk on) to the size of my fist to almost the size of my head. Which meant not only did you have to pay attention to your feet but it did make for slightly sore feet and very un-even walking. But if that’s the worst, I can’t really complain. I played leap frog with a group walking together pretty much all the way across Rannoch Moor which was cute – I’d pass them when they took a break, they’d pass me when I took a break…

I arrived at the Kingshouse Hotel a little before 2:00 pm (I made good time across the Moor, even with my breaks) so I ordered a pot of tea, which was becoming my ritual each day, to enjoy while I killed time until check-in at 3:00 pm. It’s a super friendly and helpful place, the front desk staff person actually walked me to the luggage room. Other than not being able to access wifi in the Kingshouse bunkhouse, I’d totally recommend it. Actually, I’d totally recommend the place anyways.

After checking in and showering, I went and had an early dinner (5:00 pm, almost unheard of for me) of a delicious venison pie (flaky crust, meat filled, one of my best meals of the trip) and a pint before heading back to the bunkhouse to chill. It was going to be an early night. On the way back to the bunkhouse, I saw the resident buck which was a bit disconcerting given what I just ate for dinner.

May 9 – Kingshouse to Kinlochleven

8 ¾ miles/14 km (my phone said I walked 15 km)

I started the day about 8:30 am and it was a lovely, sunny morning. Still a bit chilly from the wind but I was coming to expect that. It was an up & down day that started with a small climb and descent before a short trek alongside the road for a bit. Then the real climb started, which meant more breaks to catch my breath as I’m not really used to ascents. But the views! The views more than made up for it – absolutely stunning! In every direction, mountains, hills, valleys, lakes… just gorgeous. A bit of up and down as the WHW followed along the side (most of the way up but not along the ridge) of a hillside for quite a way before a rather steep descent into Kinlochleven. The descent was a bit hard on the knees and required attention as the road was rocks, not gravel. Overall, once I was down though, I felt fine. 

I was glad to have a private, if pricy (it would have been a normal price if split three ways as there were three beds but one of the only downsides of traveling solo is there’s no one to split the costs with), room for the night at Blackwater Hostel, as tomorrow was my long day. Good place to stay though. After checking in, I headed into the village to explore, eat (mac & cheese and the obligatory pot of tea) and grab some food supplies at the store (fruit, milk, chocolate, and juice). The pub had a lovely view of the river so I chilled there for a while drinking my pot of tea.

May 10 – Kinlochleven to Fort William

16 miles/24 km – my phone said I walked 24.7 km

Warning: girl problems mentioned in this segment…

Wow! 24.7 km. Other than my two marathons, that’s a record for me. The weather was a bit challenging at the end – there was even hail for about a minute and rain for about 4 km (45 minutes to an hour) – but the real challenge was it was unexpectedly the first day of my period (3 days early, wtf) which meant I was crampy and the Advil wore off about halfway in the 7 hour hike. Otherwise, it was good. Well, except for the last 3-4 km when my feet were screaming at me (pavement after a long hike isn’t your friend). But no blisters! So glad I splurged on good Merino wool blend hiking socks.

Okay, let’s backtrack. The day started off lovely, sunny and warm, with a short if steep climb out of Kinlochleven to lovely views of the town/village and Loch Leven. A bit more of a climb and then I entered the “lost valley” (sorry, that’s how I thought of it after reading the descriptions) came into view. Absolutely stunning! Some of my favourite photos of my trip are from this segment. And it was sunny at the start but the rains were coming by the end (although I didn’t actually get hit by rain until later). Despite the now hated rocks in the path, it was a gorgeous walk. The weather started to turn as I entered Nevis forest but only briefly as there was more sun – it was one of those days when at different times I was in a t-shirt; a t-shirt and fleece; a t-shirt and rain jacket; and a t-shirt, fleece and rain jacket… in no particular order. I think I would have lingered more if I wasn’t in a race to a toilet at the end (knowing the walk would take about 7 hours and it would be close). Sure, I was prepared (if necessary) but I really, really didn’t want to change my tampon in the wild as it’s not like Canadian wilderness, there weren’t a lot of trees to duck behind to grab a chance for privacy.

As Ben Nevis came into view (briefly because of the weather) what would have been a lovely walk along a ridge (the views) if not for the weather that had been threatening for the past hour, finally arriving. First by obscuring Ben Nevis, and then with hail. Hail! Luckily it didn’t last long and I was wearing a baseball hat. The hail turned into rain for the next 40 minutes or so of walking in pretty hard, although not pouring, rain. My hiking shoes held up beautifully. 

But it meant I didn’t go off the trail to the fort as I was planning – well, because of both the rain and the need for a bathroom sooner rather than later.

As the WHW merged with a logging road, the rain slowly let up and by the bottom, the sun had come out again (and I was back to a t-shirt). The descent was much more gradual than the one into Kinlochleven, and the road smoother, which both my feet and knees appreciated. And once I hit the road, there was public bathrooms at the Ben Nevis Visitor’s Center which meant I could stop stressing about washrooms. So for the last portion of the WHW, on pavement, the only issue was the increasing soreness in my feet (which went away after a couple of hours of rest).

I cheated a bit as I stopped at my hostel (Fort William Backpackers, a friendly hostel), checked in and showered before hitting the “new” end of the WHW before dinner. I’d already passed the original end though. Dinner was a fish & chips and a pint of beer, appropriately called “West Highland Way”.

Final Thoughts

I’m so glad I solo walked a part of the West Highland Way. It was an amazing, beautiful experience. My whole Scotland trip (more on that in a later article) was fabulous but the walk was something else, something rewarding. For those worried about doing it solo, with proper preparation, it’s completely doable. And of course, there’s no reason you can’t walk it with friends or family. I highly recommend it and can’t wait for my next walk in Scotland… maybe the Malt Whisky Trail or I’ll just explore Orkney on foot.

Have you walked the West Highland Way? What was your experience like?

Walking the West Highland Way, Another Bucket List Checkmark I’m one of those people who keeps a bucket list. It changes, grows and adapts as I get older, as I cross some things out and yes, as I outgrow some.

[purple-spring]

Tomorrow - a SH fanfic

Author’s Note: This is my first SH fic and I have absolutely loved writing it. While I know that RPF is controversial for some, this was a piece I wanted to write to speculate on how SH began. This is obviously purely a work of fiction, and no offense is intended. Inspired by the following songs: “FOOLS” (Troye Sivan), “Television Romance” (Pale Waves) and “Can We Work It Out” (Gordi). A huuuuuuge thank you to @jandjsalmon and @theladylabyrinth for all their feedback and encouragement!

Summary: Lili and Cole are friends. Really good friends. So what happens when she wakes up next to him on a couch?

“What would it be like to let him in, to let herself love him? What would it be like to take a chance, to abandon her fears and leap freely into the unknown?”

Fic after the cut. Enjoy! And I love love love feedback, so leave me some love in my asks; hate will be blocked and deleted!

What came first was the warmth. A languid, pleasant warmth that reminded her of… of what? Of Christmas morning, she thought, with a sleepy smile. The gentle anticipation. The feeling of being home.

The second thing was her neck. It hurt. It rested awkwardly not on her own pillow but on the flat, firm surface of a couch that was definitely not her bed. She forced her eyes open and squinted against the bright California sun streaming in through the balcony.

Debby’s balcony. She was at Debby’s place. On Debby’s couch. Fuck. Guess I didn’t make it home last night.

She blinked slowly, attempting to rouse from her groggy haze. She’d overslept. Usually she was up by this time, but a few late nights in a row must have thrown her body off its normal cycle. But despite that, and despite the pain in her neck, she realized that she hadn’t actually slept this well in ages – a deep, dreamless slumber snuggled underneath a giant blanket. Maybe that’s why I feel warmer than usual.

Her neck really was killing her, though. She turned slightly to try and crack it, but was startled by something - someone - shifting behind her. An arm tightening protectively around her waist. A hand half-curled underneath her t-shirt, grazing her bare stomach. A sleepy groan mumbled into her hair. And, most tellingly, the faint scent of a familiar cologne cut by the slight undertone of cigarette smoke.

No.

She suddenly remembered.

Cole.

FUCK.

Her stomach dropped. Cole was spooning her. She had fallen asleep with Cole.

If she could have, she would’ve screamed. But she didn’t want to wake him and face the awkwardness of the situation, so she settled for gritting her teeth and shutting her eyes as tightly as she could, until she saw stars. A thousand thoughts streamed through her mind.

Is Debby awake? SHIT SHIT SHIT. HAS DEBBY ALREADY SEEN US?

I should go. Yup. Definitely need to go.

Okay, Lili. Focus. We can do this. But we need a plan.

Maybe I can sneak into the kitchen, make myself a coffee and pretend that nothing happened once he wakes up.

No. He’s not that gullible. He’ll know.

Okay, how about I pretend to fall out and then we can just laugh about it after? Then it’ll all just be a stupid joke, no harm done! Right? Haha.

Oh, god. Fuck. This is the worst. I’m just gonna go home. Screw it if he wakes up. I am not equipped for this.  

Then, in the midst of all the rambling, a traitorous thought.

Or I could stay.  

Her breath hitched at the audacity of the suggestion. She shut her eyes against it. No. No. We’ve been through this, Lili.

She felt her throat tightening, eyes threatening to brim over with tears. Images flashed through her head of the torture she had subjected herself to these past few months - letting herself fall for him and then battling, resisting, attempting to undo everything she felt for him.

Because this was all just so typical. Here, lying down next to each other, without any certainty of what they actually were… it was classic Cole and Lili. Affection without definition. Entanglement without clarity.

She sighed. A sigh that she felt all the way down to her bones.

How did we get here, Cole?

…

The immediate, short-term answer to the question was fairly simple.

Debby, Cole’s friend, former co-star and temporary roommate, had texted her the night before with an invitation to come over for dinner. “Cole’s still out of town so I’m getting the girls together for dinner. You down?” With nothing but ketchup and a bag of frozen peas sitting in her fridge, and with no other plans than hitting up her beloved Taco Bell again, she quickly replied with a grateful “yes”.

Lili had become fast friends with Debby since Cole introduced them to each other. Debby was lovely, down-to-earth and, in all honesty, not at all what she’d expected. If she’d been a psychologist or an anthropologist, Lili would have loved to have analysed both Debby and Cole as outlier case studies for the Disney child star phenomenon. They were both smart, worldly, kind and well-adjusted – totally opposite to the cliché of the bitter, washed-up, cynical ex-Disney kid (although she just knew that Cole would probably pipe up at this and say that he was bitter, washed-up and cynical. And then she’d have to roll her eyes and give him real-life examples of why he wasn’t any of those things. And in the middle of passionately enumerating ways in which he wasn’t bitter, he’d stare at her and say, “Okay, relax, Dr. Phil. I was kidding.”)

Lili hadn’t realized that being friends with Debby, well before anyone else on the cast had even met her, was somewhat significant, until she mentioned it in passing to Madelaine over lunch.

“Wait,” the redhead said in between sips of her smoothie. “So you’ve met Debby? Debby Ryan?”

“Um, yeah. Haven’t you?” While it was true that Cole and Lili had been cast first and had been acquainted since February, the rest of the Riverdale gang were becoming closer and were starting to mingle within each other’s circles.

“No. I mean, I’ve come across Debby at a few parties, but unless you count smiling at her awkwardly while re-applying mascara in the bathroom, then no, I haven’t actually met her.”

“Oh.”

“And I certainly haven’t had Cole introduce me to her.” Madelaine looked at her pointedly.

Huh. That was odd. But of course she’d met Debby. Cole was living with her while he was in LA. And Lili had assumed…

Well, what? That Cole brought all of his gal pals over to his place and got them to hang out regularly with one of his best friends? That this was just a normal occurrence for anyone within his circle?

Yeah, kind of?

She was startled to realize that this wasn’t true. Madelaine had a point - she was the only one. She’d even met Dylan, too. To the outside eye, that was… something. But he happened to be in town, she reasoned. And Cole and I had plans to hang out anyway, so…

“Lils, you there?”

Lili snapped back to attention and quickly changed the subject to cover up her thoughts. She brought up their plans to go bike-riding in Vancouver. In no time, Madelaine was distracted, chattering excitedly in between using her phone to find the best bike rides in the city. Lili contributed to the conversation whenever she had to, but her mind was somewhere else. The rest of that lunch – and every day since then, really – she couldn’t shake off that mild revelation that what she and Cole had wasn’t quite the same as what everyone else did.

…

How did we get here, Cole? Now, the long answer. This was more complicated.

What did she feel for him, anyway? ‘Like’ and ‘love’ were simplistic, overused terms. Of course she liked him. They were way beyond that. Did she love him? She wasn’t sure. This was why she rejected those terms to begin with – they were too vague, too general. They didn’t describe the way she felt whenever she was with him, or away from him.

If she could distil it to its essence, she’d say that she and Cole fit, in a way that calmed and exhilarated her in equal measure. It was easy being friends with him. That part came naturally to Lili. Like laughing at a really good punchline, or breathing in oxygen after being underwater for too long. They knew each other uncannily. They laughed at the same jokes and finished each other’s sentences. She told him once that he challenged her views on reincarnation because surely they’d met in a past life. Soon it became a running joke between them. He even created an entire fictional universe about their past lives as otters living along the Nile River (“That… is so random, Cole.” “Well you try studying archaeology for four years and not having Egypt in your subconscious. Shut up and let me have my otter dream.”)

But then there was also… him. She’d be lying if she said that she didn’t find him objectively attractive. It was disarming, to say the least, even though it lay underneath the rumpled clothes he insisted on wearing, which she didn’t mind. If anything, while his brother and his friends teased him by observing a strict roll call for his small roster of shirts (“It’s Tuesday, Cole, how come you’re wearing the Friday Orange?”), she found it endearing, and it drew her in and intrigued her. He was like a prince in exile, determined to downplay any part of him that referenced his darkly glittering childhood. But that face – the keen, blue stare, the mischievous mouth, the constellation of freckles – could not have been more at odds with the concealment. It was a face that was going to stand out no matter what.

So it was that Lili found herself veering between appreciating their easy friendship and then looking up and realizing that the goofball who was making her laugh was also the same man who could make her heart stop in its tracks.

And he wasn’t helping, either. Sure, there were times when she she felt like nothing more than a pal. Like when he’d throw fries at her head. Or FaceTime her at 3 in the morning to show her a cat he’d come across during a shoot (“Very nice, Cole. Now fuck off,” she had said while he cackled at her groggy face dotted with pimple cream. “IT’S NOT LIKE I WAS PLANNING ON SEEING ANYONE, my god, go away”).

But then, there were other times that made her wonder. Like that time when she mentioned that she’d damaged the original lens on her camera, and woke up one morning to a package on her table containing a newer, much better one, attached with a note simply scribbled “For future adventures -C.” And all the times – she couldn’t have just imagined them, there were too many – she’d catch him staring just a fraction longer, with a small smile playing on his lips.

Those were the times when she’d let her guard down, let herself imagine. What would it be like to let him in, to let herself love him? What would it be like to take a chance, to abandon her fears and leap freely into the unknown?

It didn’t matter, anyway. Because the more these feelings took root in her heart, the more she felt and fretted at the weight of the year ahead. With Riverdale getting the green light for a full season after a successful pilot, they were going to be filming full-time as co-workers. This was her big break; this was his return to the spotlight. There was a lot at stake for both of them, and there simply was no room for this foolishness. She couldn’t risk it. She was just going to have to shut it down and get over it somehow.

For herself. And for him, too.

…

For dinner, Debby had somehow managed to concoct a delicious compromise between her healthy eating habits and Lili’s more decidedly low-brow tastes (“Fish tacos!” Lili had exclaimed. “Deb, this is like if you and I got married and had taco babies”). The night was fun and light, and Lili found that she was enjoying herself more than she had all week.

That was until they heard the front door open and a large bag dropping onto the floor.

“Hey, I was gonna yell, ‘anyone home’, but I think the answer’s fairly obvious.”

Cole made his way into the dining room and they all burst into surprised elation.

Except Lili. She felt like throwing up. Well, fuck. She’d been studiously avoiding him – his texts, his calls, his social media – and now there was barely half a room between them. Right before he left, she had sworn to herself that she couldn’t do this anymore, this complicated dance of intense closeness and uncertain labels that only she seemed to be aware of. So she decided that she was going to use his absence productively, to take some space away from him. Out of sight, out of mind, she reasoned. And hopefully out of heart. The first few days were pure torture, but after managing to keep herself busy and out of the house, she was doing well.

Not anymore. Now, seeing his face, his shirt rumpled from travel, she was falling apart.

Debby got up and gave him a quick hug before looking for an extra plate. “Cole Mitchell. I thought you weren’t gonna be home until Friday?”

“Yeah, shoot wrapped up early. We got most of what we wanted on the first day, and one of the models who was scheduled for a later day managed to free up some time.” He looked around the room and spotted her. His face registered shock, and her heart ached as she watched him trying to contain it. “Hey, Lili.”

Fuck. He knew. Of course he knew she was avoiding him. She heard it in those two words, the measured casualness of his voice, the way he said her full name – Lili – unlike everyone else who shortened or lengthened it to Lils or Lilipad or Lilibeth. And fuck him because he just knew how to play it, how to say those two words so that she’d pay attention to what he was trying to say. Hey, you. Where’ve you been?

“Hey, Cole.”

The room tensed momentarily as everyone caught on to the odd coldness between the two. This was, after all, Cole and Lili. Cole, who knew exactly how she took her coffee. Lili, who’d freely walk into Cole’s bedroom to drag his blanket off his bed whenever she was cold.

Debby cut through the awkwardness. “Uh, Cole, you wanted dinner, right?”

“Yep.” After another significant look, Cole made his way into the kitchen. Lili wanted to sink into the floor. When he came back with his plate, he sat well away from her and started a conversation with someone else. She wanted to leave, but she knew that that was only going to attract attention after their little moment. So she resolved to stay and grit her teeth through it, figuring she’d make her escape once everyone left.

She really should’ve known. She should’ve predicted that Cole knew her too well, was far too ingenious to just let her go. They had already started putting everything away when he piped up. “I feel like watching a movie tonight, guys,” he said. “Anyone up for a Baz Luhrmann movie marathon? Strictly Ballroom? Romeo and Juliet?” He caught her eye. “Moulin Rouge?”

You little shit. She wanted to throttle him. Not only did he know it was her favourite film, he knew that Debby knew it, too. And there was no way she was going to get the opportunity to beg off the night without seeming rude.

Debby lit up. “Oh my god, yes. We haven’t done that in ages. Lil! Weren’t you saying you hadn’t seen that in months?”

Lili looked wearily at Cole. He looked right back at her, a shit-eating grin on his face. I win. She couldn’t help it. She burst into laughter. He did, too.

“Fine,” she said, settling into the couch. “But we’re skipping Strictly Ballroom and getting straight into some classic old-school DiCaprio.”

Cole settled right next to her. With his forelock falling carelessly across his face, a roguish look in his eyes, of course he had to be the very image of Leo himself. Calm down.

He smiled. Her heart stuttered. “Fine by me.”

…

Lili waited for Cole to snark her about ghosting him. He didn’t. If anything, he seemed determinedly normal, whispering random commentary throughout the movie that made her laugh. She wanted to be annoyed. After all, it had taken considerable effort to ignore him all week. But being with him again - talking to him, trading barbs and banter - was like crawling toward sunlight after languishing in the dark.

After Romeo and Juliet finished, Debby’s friends decided to call it a night. Lili got up and stretched. Cole smiled lazily up at her. “Hey, you,” he said. There was something strange about him.

“Hey, yourself,” Lili replied. “You’re in a funny mood.”

“Yeah? What mood am I in?”

“I don’t know, you’re just being weird.”

Cole smirked in reply and shrugged. “You’re staying for Moulin Rouge, right?”

Lili hesitated. She was starting to feel a little tired. “I… don’t know.”

“Oh, come oooonnn. I’m a little jetlagged and buzzed and could probably do with some company, to be honest.”

“You have Debby.”

“Yeah, but Debby’s boring.”

Debby poked her head in from the kitchen. “I heard that!”

“I meant for you to!” Cole quickly ducked as Debby threw a bag of chips at him, then turned to Lili. “See what I have to put up with? You have to stay. Please.”

“Just stay, Lil!” Debby called out. “I’ll whip up some fresh guac for the chips and bring out some chocolate as well.”

Lili sighed and turned to Cole. “Can you at least promise to drive me home if I get too sleepy?”

“I promise.”

What choice did she have? This was Moulin Rouge and Cole. “Alright, you big baby,” she said, laughing at his puppy dog eyes. “I’ll stay.”

…

Moulin Rouge was Lili’s favourite movie and an absolute assault on the sense, but it didn’t take long for her to feel drowsy. She took advantage of all the snacks Debby had laid out in the living room in an attempt to keep herself awake, but all the sugar was just causing her to crash. She needed to lie down.

“Cole?”

“Mmm?”

“I feel sleepy.”

Cole nodded and shifted down the couch to give her space to stretch out. She settled into her new position, tucking her feet under her so he could have some space.

But he gently resisted that, propping her feet on his lap. She would have protested, insisting that he didn’t have to, but soon he was tracing lazy circles on her ankle with his thumb, and she did not have the energy to fight how good it felt, or overthink whatever the hell it meant.

Soon Debby got up from her spot on the floor and announced that she was going to bed. She turned to Cole. “Can you please turn off the lights? And make sure Lils gets home.” He nodded. She and Lili bid each other a sleepy good night, and she retreated to her bedroom.

Cole and Lili stayed still on the couch as the movie kept playing. Lili had no idea what they were watching anymore - she was fighting her sleep, but more than that, she was fully aware that she and Cole were alone together for the first time in weeks. Which she was usually comfortable with. Tonight, however, something unspoken hung in the air between them.

Suddenly, he got up and walked off in the direction of his room. She was briefly startled, until he came back into the living room holding his dark blue plaid blanket, which he’d dragged off his bed. “Here,” he said, throwing it over to her. “I knew you were approximately thirty seconds from whining about freezing your ass off.”

She laughed as he sat back down on the couch. “Oh yeah? And I do this regularly now, do I?”

“Yep. You’ve also made me watch this musical a thousand times, AND” - he covered her mouth with his hand as she started to interrupt - “you’re going to correct me and say, ‘Cole, don’t be a peasant, it’s a jukebox musical, not a musical, and yes there’s a difference.’”

“There IS a difference. And now you know, so I’ve taught you well, young Padawan.” She pulled the blanket over her body and closed her eyes. “What else do I do?” she asked, yawning.

He looked at her for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, as if to measure what he was about to say next. “You go to Starbucks and always get a size too big, and make me drink the rest of whatever sugary confection you’ve ordered that day. Your favourite VSCO filter is C3, even though it’s obviously trash. Your favourite shirts are all white, despite the fact that you always spill something on yourself - case in point, the salsa on your top tonight.”

“Hey, how did you –”

“Also, you suck at driving my Jeep –”

“I can SO drive your Jeep.”

“–you suck at driving my Jeep, no matter how many times I’ve walked you through it.” He laughed, and his gaze softened. “You buy a new notebook every other week because you write prodigiously. You buy yourself flowers every Friday and never make a big deal out of it. And… you can sleep pretty much anywhere, but once your hand touches your cheek, I know that you’re off and definitely dreaming.”

She looked back at him and smiled, already half-asleep. “Nice work. Since when did you know so much about me, Mr. Sprouse?”

He only smiled in reply, obviously proud of himself. She closed her eyes as his hand settled on hers. I can fall asleep like this forever.

Sleep began to overtake her, but not before she felt a slight puff of air against her leg as Cole suddenly lifted the blanket. He slipped his lithe, sinewy frame behind her, his strong arms wrapping themselves around her waist. She froze. She could feel the length of his body against hers and it was slowly obliterating every reasonable thought in her system.

“Cole?”

“Mmm?”

“Are we doing this?”

He nuzzled his face into her hair, his breath warm against her neck. She felt his mouth turn up into a grin. “Sure. Fuck it. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Every ounce of logic in her body screamed against it. If she was smart, she’d get up and drive herself home. Or demand that they actually talk about this.

But as his hand found the skin under her shirt and settled on her waist, she decided she was with Cole on this one; fuck it.

We’ll figure it out tomorrow.

…

And now tomorrow was today.

Lili lay still on the couch, wanting to smack herself for being so reckless. For letting Cole get to her so easily. He had a knack for wearing down her defenses, but she’d had enough.

She felt him stir against her. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice low in her ear. “Did you sleep okay?”

She had to keep a clear head. She had to. “I slept… fine,” she replied, keeping her tone flat and even.

“Good.” Cole stretched his arms above him. She silently berated herself for missing the warmth of his hands on her bare skin. “What do you want to do today?”

I want to stay here with you.

I want to run away from you.

Lili sighed, exasperated. She sat up and faced him. “Seriously? ‘What do I want to do today’? My god. I don’t know, Cole. Maybe figure out what the hell we’re doing here?”

Cole’s eyes flew open in confusion. He sat up to face her. “What?”

“You heard me. Don’t pretend this is normal for us. I just…” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose to stop herself from tearing up. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Cole looked at her steadily. “Do what, Lili?”

She waved her hand frantically between them. “THIS! You, and me, and this indefinable whatever that we’ve been carrying on for months now.”

“‘Indefinable?’ What’s there to define?!”

“Everything!” Lili’s voice caught at that, and her eyes welled up. “The hanging out. The late night phone calls. The constant texts. The random presents. And on top of that, last night and this morning and the fucking spooning. All of that, Cole!”

His eyes stayed on her, his silence willing her to go on.

“I just… I need to know because I need to get away from it. It’s so fucking complicated, Cole. We can’t keep doing this, not when we’re about to work together, and see each other everyday, and god, I like you too much to screw this up. I have no idea where you are, or how you feel about me – “

“Lili.” Cole grabbed her wrists and pulled her close. “Are you… seriously… that ignorant?”

She went still. His eyes searched her, challenging her to respond. She felt naked under his gaze. She knew that every fibre in her being was about to give in to everything she had fought for so long. But could she really allow herself to? She shut her eyes against his stare, attempting to make a last-ditch effort at resistance.

But the tide had turned, and he was already well ahead of her. Because he had already moved in on her, his lips finding her cheek, grazing her cheekbone lightly and leaving every inch undone in their wake. The damp, fervent heat of his breath made her tremble. Slowly, one of his hands released her wrists and moved up to the collar on her shirt, fisting the thin cotton, pulling her closer to him. His lips worked their way down to her sharp jawline, planting a trail of small kisses that ended at the corner of her mouth. He pulled away and looked at her, and the hunger in his eyes took her breath away.

Then he crashed on her like lightning, his mouth feverish-hot and full of need. One hand slid into her hair, making a snarled mess, the other pulling at her waist, bringing her deeper into their kiss. She tasted smoke, felt thunder churning inside of her. She couldn’t help herself - she lifted her fingers to touch his lips as he brazenly explored hers. Just to check. Just to make sure this was real.

And in brief moments of lucidness, between being kissed into oblivion, she knew. That this would be her undoing. That this was creating a need in her that she never knew existed. That if things did happen later on between her and Cole, and if things went bad, that she would do everything in her power to be kissed like this again.

At last he broke away. As she caught her breath, his thumb lingered on her mouth. She opened her eyes and met his, and she couldn’t help it - she laughed. He made a face at her.

“You’re laughing?”

“No. I mean, yes. Not at this. With this, if that makes sense.” Her mind was still reeling, and she could barely explain herself. Later that night, she would recognize that it was pure joy that had spilled out of her; that it reminded her of running downhill, of riding a rollercoaster, of splashing madly into a sun-dappled ocean.

He took her hands and wrapped his fingers around them. “All this time… you never knew?”

“You never said anything, Cole.”

“Lili, you know that I did. Maybe not with words, but I did. I thought you’d have that figured out. I mean… I don’t just introduce Dylan to anyone, you know. He’s usually locked away in a basement. It takes a lot of effort getting him out.”

Lili laughed. And was relieved to realize that this still happened - that they could still joke and banter like they used to.

“But… this past week made me figure that maybe you weren’t getting that.”

“You noticed I was ignoring you?”

“Noticed? You were killing me, Lili.”

She felt guilty. Tentatively, she leaned forward and kissed him as a way of apology. It caught him by surprise, and he lingered over the kiss longer than she had meant for it to last, tugging at her bottom lip before letting go. Over the next few days, she would lose count of how many kisses they’d trade, but in that moment she took note that this was only their second kiss, and already it felt natural to her. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. And, you know, feel free to apologise again, and soon.” He grinned at her.

“So… can I ask? Why didn’t you just come out and tell me all this before it got tense and weird and complicated?

“Well… one, because I thought you knew. I mean, shit, are you even aware that my nickname around this house is Captain Obvious? It’s actually embarrassing.” Lili smiled at that. “And two, because I really was in no rush to define what we were. I mean, why would I need to name it when it was already so fucking good, you know? I didn’t want to jinx it. I’m sorry, that sounds immature, right?”

“No,” Lili conceded. “But I guess for me it would’ve put some parameters on what I was supposed to feel, what I was supposed to do. Because you came out of nowhere, Cole. Like… a cat. A cat getting hit by a car.”

He burst out laughing. “That is the worst comparison. You suck at this.”

“I’m sorry! But it’s true.” She laughed, and looked down at her hands, still enclosed in his. “So… what now?”

“Now?” He shrugged. “I don’t know, you wanna go out for breakfast?”

“Cole.” She levelled a stare at him. “I’m serious.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Lili. What are you really asking here? Are you really asking about now, or tomorrow?”

“Can I ask about both?”

“Sure. Here’s my answer to now. I’m honestly crazy about you.” With that, he pulled her in until she was sitting on his lap, and buried his face into her neck, his mouth forming words on her skin. “Every time I’m with you, I can’t decide whether I feel brave, or reckless, or vulnerable, or exposed. More likely all of them, all at the same time.”

She smiled, and turned her towards him so that their foreheads were touching. “And tomorrow?”

“If you’re asking me what the next few months will look like, I… really don’t know.” She nodded and pulled back, a little deflated. It was a fair and honest answer, but it left her feeling uncertain. He noticed her disappointment, and planted a kiss on her bared shoulder. “But tomorrow? You and I have that. I can promise you that.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him, traced his dimple lightly with her finger. Tomorrow. Maybe she could live with that for now. Maybe in the face of everything that was about to happen to them - the avalanche of Riverdale and everything that came with it - that small promise was enough.

She just needed to know one more thing. “Cole? Can you promise me something else?”

“Shoot.”

“Can you promise me…” her voice trailed off, and suddenly she felt shy. “Can you promise me that you’ll kiss me again? Tomorrow?”

He arched an eyebrow in surprise, and smirked at her. “Tell you what,” he said. “How about we bring tomorrow forward“ - he leaned in to plant kisses on her chin, her cheeks, her neck - “and figure it out as we go along?”

But as he was teasing her, she was already lost, obliterated - this time, it was her pulling him in. And as he returned her kiss with equal passion, she knew with absolute certainty that this was only the beginning. That they’d be here again many times over. That the future may be unsure, but at least, for now, what they had was real and raw and breathtaking.

Tomorrow was already beckoning.

[brrahbrrahcharacterimagines]

Husband

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Phantom/Erik Destler x Reader, Sister!Christine x Reader (Characters based on the 2004 movie I’m sorry but it is the only one I’ve seen as of yet).

Request: None but there are like 2 good Phantom Fics and I’m obsessed

Word Count: 1967

Warnings: Death threatening, Reference(s) to sex but I don’t think it is technically smut.

Summary: The Reader agreed to marry Erik to save her sister Christine, and on now it is their first anniversary.

A/N: Flashbacks in Italics. Also, for some things to make sense, the reader is Christine’s sister. Christine has only been to the Phantom’s lair once (during the song “The Phantom of the Opera”). After that the Phantom changed his view, so to speak. Read on babes!

MASTERLIST

February 13th. The day before Valentine’s day. Whilst most people spent the day preparing for the lovey-dovey festivities of the day to follow, you were instead in the deep, dark, dank, belly of the Palais Garnier in Paris, France. For even though tomorrow would be the day of love, in the city of love itself, today was a day that should hold a similar weight. Your anniversary.

Today officially marks a year spent as Erik’s wife. The Phantom’s wife. Although the Phantom had initially only cared for your lovely sister Christine, upon realizing that she only had eyes for Raoul he widened his tunnel vision and was able to see you. A (h/c) beauty by Christine’s side nearly always, her older sister (Y/n). He hated himself for not allowing his eyes to see you sooner.

~~

“Come to the Angel of Music,” came the voice from the walls.The voice of the angel sent by your deceased father, the voice of the angel that Christine has been able to hear for years but never uttered a syllable to you.

You walked towards the origin of the calming voice, surprisingly the mirror hanging on the wall of Christine’s room.

‘She should have told me that all I had to do to hear the angel’s voice was sit in her dressing room alone,’ you thought as you reached the mirror. As you lifted your hand to press it against the shining surface of the mirror it slid open to reveal a gloved hand outstretched to you. Without a second thought you took the hand in your own and let your Angel of Music lead you deeper into the depths of the opera house.

~~

“Erik?” You called into the room of your husband’s “home” that housed the organ, knowing he was there thanks to the soft melody floating throughout the chamber and bouncing around off the walls.

The gentle notes came to a calm end and fast-paced footsteps took their place. They reached you quickly, and along with them the man you had married a year ago today. The man you had married to save your sister.

~~

“(Y/n), how lovely of you to join us.” Said the familiar voice of the Phantom. You had learned to recognize the voice of what you had thought to be your Angel quite well, as you had been coming to his lair for almost a month now to sing and listen to his beautiful “Music of the Night”, as he called it.

“Us?” You ask, turning the corner to face a terrible sight.

The Phantom, who you had only just come to think of as a friend of sorts over the past month, held a rope in his hands. On the other end stood the last person you wanted to see hurt. Christine.

“Phantom!” You screamed, rushing towards the man you thought you could trust.

“No, no, no (Y/n). I wouldn’t come any closer yet if I were you.” Threatened the Phantom, pulling the rope tighter around Christine’s neck as he spoke.

“Phantom please!” You cried, tears starting to run down your cheeks, both out of fear for what may happen to your sister as well as sadness due to what you deemed a betrayal on his end.

“Oh but wait, my darling (Y/n). I’m not the one who will be making that decision here.” He paused to look at you, breaking his facade for only a millisecond at your broken tears before rebuilding his character. “You will be choosing for me.”

“What?”

“You heard me darling. You will decide the fate of our precious Christine, here.”

“Let her go then! Please Phantom, let her go!” You cried immediately as he finished his sentence.

“But it isn’t that easy, you see. There’s a bit of a catch, my dear,” said the Phantom.

“What is it? Oh I will do anything! Please just let her go.” You shouted without assuming the consequences.

“Anything, darling (Y/n)?”

“Yes, anything?”

“Even marry me?”

At the Phantom’s words you fell into a silent shock.

“What did you say, Phantom?”

He smiled a sick smile.

“Marry me, darling. Do it, and she lives. Buy her freedom with your love. Refuse me, and you send your sister to her death.”

“Then I accept.”

“Call me Erik. That is my name. I am no Phantom; I am no monster.”

~~

“You came,” said your husband Erik.

“Of course I did. You threatened me, remember?” You stop to try and deepen your voice to imitate him. “If you do not appear, there will be dire consequences.”

“My dearest, I would never hurt you and you know that.” He said, and you could tell that he was trying to hide a smile at your impression. Even though the man had threatened your sister, the visits you have made to him since your marriage have brought you closer to Erik. Although you hated to admit it, his smile made you happy, and it wasn’t the threat that brought you below the opera house today.

“I, uh, got you a gift.” You said, already afraid that he would dislike the present.

“You did?” Said Erik, looking into your (e/c) eyes and letting his own give away that he was both surprised and confused.

“Yes. It is our anniversary after all.” You respond, handing your husband the package, blushing and looking down at the ground. Erik took the parcel in one hand and grabbed your chin softly with your other hand to make you look up at him again.

“Thank you, my love. Don’t hide your face, your beauty is the true gift that you have given me.” Erik said with a smile, making you blush even harder against your will. No matter how much you had hated the man in the past and even hoe much you still wanted to hate him now, you couldn’t deny the way he made you feel. The way he made you melt inside.

He opened the package slowly, careful not to rip the paper. It was if he was going out of his way to seem gentle. He did not need to try so hard, you already knew that behind the tough exterior of a man beaten down by the world his entire life was a kind-hearted man who showed his softer side through his music, and towards his wife.

He pulled from the paper a book.

“I know you like to read, Erik.” You said softly from in front of him. “It’s a book of poems, by Edward Lear. I thought that maybe you could read some of them to me.” You glanced up towards your husband’s face, nervously biting your lip. He looked back down at you with an emotion you could not place, and then smiled.

“Thank you, darling.” Said Erik. “Perhaps I will read some to you now. Maybe it could make up for my lack of such an amazing gift for you.”

“Erik, that would be more than enough for a present.” You respond.

He walks to his bed and lays down, patting the spot beside him.

“If we are going to read, we are going to do so comfortably.” He stated when he saw that you were a bit timid. You sat beside him as he wanted, blushing and remembering the first time you ended up in this bed.

~~

“Erik!” You cried out in pleasure again, making his heart leap and confidence flood his body. He had a beauty like you under him, and even though it took a few months you were willingly consummating your marriage to a person like him. So caught up in pleasure, Erik didn’t even register at the time that his mask had been discarded on the floor. And you were still with him in the most intimate way possible.

~~

You lay near Erik as he read, leaving a gap between the two of you. His voice began to lull you into a sea of safety and calmness. Only one thing about the situation was still bothering you.

“Erik?” You ask softly, glancing up into the eyes of the man you couldn’t help but fall for.

“Yes, my love?” He responded, looking right back at you with his beautiful eyes.

“Why do you still wear your mask?”

At your innocent words Erik froze.

“What do you mean, my dear (Y/n)? You know what lies beneath it, I-”

“Yes, I do know what lies beneath, Erik. I have seen your face on many occasions. Some very important occasions too, if you remember.” You interrupt him, blushing fiercely.

“How could I forget that?” He responded, showing the rare flirty, cheeky side he saved only for certain times and only for you. You blushed even harder. “I just wanted to look as normal as possible for you. Especially today.” He said softly. It broke your heart to see him like this. Vulnerable and seeking approval.

“Erik,” you say quietly, leaning over and rolling so you are partially on top of him. Realizing your position and closeness to his face you blush and bite your lip. Erik is giving you the same look he was earlier, the same unknown emotion flashing through his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” He whispered. With cautious hands, you reached for the mask, and although you could feel him tense up below you he allowed you to remove the mask from his face and set it aside. You ran your soft fingers across the scarred skin he usually hid. Slowly he seemed to calm.

“(Y/n),” he said softly and raspy.

“Yes, Erik?” You say quietly and lowly, both staring into each other’s eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He said, his voice deep and the same emotion running rampant through his eyes. Then it dawned on you. Lust.

“I do,” you muttered softly, both leaning forward until you felt your lips hit his. Just like the first time, you felt giddy and an entire enclosure of butterflies was housed within your stomach. You pressed one hand to his strong chest, the other resting on the side of his face as he held you tight, keeping you as close as possible. Your lips moved in sync, molding perfectly as if you were born to be with each other. Erik’s tongue glided across your lower lip as a way to ask for entrance, and you granted it to him as soon as he did so, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. Eventually you had to pull away to allow yourself to breathe, your face flushed and hair ruffled from Erik’s hands running through it.

“Erik?” You asked breathlessly and slightly nervous.

“Yes (Y/n)?”

“I love you. I love you, Erik.” You said shyly, afraid of his reaction. Throughout the entirety of your marriage, neither of you had said those words to each other. Immediately however, Erik’s face lit up and a smile erupted on his face.

“(Y/n), I love you too.”

Erik leans forward to give you a peck on the lips, and even though it was merely a peck it still somehow held the same passion as before. Laying back down at Erik’s side, you snuggled right up next to him. You rested your head on his chest, allowing him to bring his arm around you to pull you nearer and pet your hair.

“Goodnight, Erik,” you muttered sleepily, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep in his comforting embrace.

“Goodnight, (Y/n).” Responded Erik, who for the first time in his life was able to hold and sleep next to his true love without a second thought. His love loved him back and was comfortable enough with him to fall asleep in his arms. And right now, that was all that mattered to him.

MASTERLIST

[shadows-and-science-gone-mad]

STORY: Not Today

Date Completed: February 6, 2018

Synopsis: A meet-up between two long-separated friends goes horribly awry.

Word Count: 1,510

Trigger Warnings: body horror, death, gore

------

I nonchalantly tap my fingers on the table in front of me, my coffee still untouched. Soft guitar music permeates the shop as my eyes flick across the window, scanning the people walking past. I check my watch -- 10:05. She’s late. I sigh and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes in an attempt to ready myself. I haven’t seen her in almost six years, and we weren’t exactly on the best terms when we parted. My mind races as I work through the potential paths this meeting could go down. She could forgive me for everything, she could still carry a grudge, or she could have completely forgotten me. I become lost in my own thoughts, the cafe around me blurring, the sound of the guitar transforming into a dull hum.

“Hey.”

I’d know that voice anywhere. My eyes snap open, and there she is, the best friend I ever had, standing over me, smiling gently. She looks just as she did all those years ago. I can’t help myself. I spring to my feet and grab her in a tight embrace. She stumbles backward slightly, my hug throwing her off balance. After a moment, though, she returns my embrace. We stand there for a long moment, re-acclimating ourselves to each other’s presence. Eventually, though, this tender moment comes to an end.

I release her and return to my seat; she takes the chair opposite mine. She takes a moment to get comfortable, crosses her legs, and stares directly into my eyes, still smiling in that kind, gentle way. Seeing her again fills my heart with joy. The guitar music playing over the radio even seems to shift, transforming into the very song that played when she and I first met way back in high school. The song plays so clear and loud that I start to think that it can’t be just over the radio.

That is when I realize it isn’t. Someone is playing that song in the cafe.

My smile fades in an instant, my heart filling with dread for a reason I can’t find. I whirl around in my chair to look frantically around the room. I hear her ask what’s wrong, but I don’t answer. In the cramped space, I find the player immediately. A man in a blood-red sweater sitting in one corner, a guitar laying across his lap. I sigh, thinking I panicked for no reason. Then, I make the mistake of glancing up at his face. It isn’t there.

Where this man’s head should be, there is only a gnarled lump of raw-looking tissue. Coming from this lump is a thin tube, not unlike an umbilical cord, connecting his neck stump to the bottom of the guitar, which I only now notice is clearly made of flesh. The man’s hands, slowly strumming away on the strings, are scaly and tipped with talons, like the feet of an eagle.

My heart rate doubles immediately. I have seen this creature before, in my darkest nightmares. It stops playing for a brief moment -- it feels like an eternity -- and raises one clawed hand to the space where its head should be, giving me a salute with two of its fingers. I spin around, hyperventilating.

“What’s wrong?” I hear her ask, desperation and panic in her voice, “you’re scaring me.”

“That thing,” I say, pointing a shaking hand back at the creature. I gulp once, steeling my mind to say what I know to be true, “it’s here to kill me.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, her face morphing into a mask of genuine confusion, “there’s nothing over there but that elderly gentleman with the guitar.” She can’t see it for what it really is.

“You have to get out of here,” I implore her.

“What do you see?” she says, “should I go get help?”

“Please,” I say, my voice shaking with the fear of what is to come. Suddenly, another sound joins the guitar. A sound that fills me with more terror than the Guitarist could ever hope to. An old pop song echoes across the shop, its sound distorted and tinny, as though being played through a speaker that has fallen into disrepair.

“Heard you say, not today.”

It is the song of the beast that haunts me even when I wake. The monster I see lurking in every shadow. My own personal bogeyman is coming for me.

“Please! Tell me what’s going on!” she pleads, but I pay her no mind. My eyes dart around the space, trying desperately to identify where my nemesis is hiding.

“Tore the curtains down, window’s open now, make a sound.”

The sound is very clearly coming from the back storeroom of the coffee house.

“Run,” I say quickly to her, without glancing back. I don’t even turn to see if she listened to me; I am paralyzed by fear, my eyes bolted on the storeroom door.

“Heard your voice, there’s no choice.”

It emerges from the storeroom, like a nine-foot tall emu. It’s body is a titanic mass of shaggy feathers, from beneath which extend two enormous avian legs, bulging with muscle. From its front end, dozens of blood vessels and individual nerve strands twist outward and wind together, like rope, into a thick, powerful neck. A neck tipped with a human skull, picked clean save for the wild, mad eyes still staring hungrily from their sockets.

Its eyes rove continuously, searching for its prey. Searching for me. Eventually, our eyes meet. The massive creature leaps onto the counter, smashing the pastry display with its gigantic feet. I stand to confront it; I know it’s faster than me. Its exposed teeth grind together as every muscle in its mighty limbs tense, preparing to pounce.

“Tore the curtains down, window’s open now, make a noise.”

It launches itself at me, striking me to the floor with a powerful foot. I hear a woman scream -- I can’t tell who it is. Pinning me to the ground, the creature leers down at me, its furious eyes burning from deep within its naked skull. It opens its mouth far wider than a human skull should be capable of and plunges straight at me. Everything goes black as I feel its teeth sink into my head, feel the crushing force of its bite, hear my skull shatter within its vice-like grip.

...

I gasp as I jolt awake. Breathing heavily, I look around in the darkness, trying to find where the creature will spring from next, but I only see the minimalist furnishings of my small apartment’s bedroom. I begin to relax. Only a nightmare. I start to lean back to my pillow, when a slight noise to my left causes me to jump.

Looking beside me, I see my fiancee still fast asleep. Smiling and sighing with relief, I run my hand gently through her hair, causing her to stir ever so slightly. Gingerly, as to not fully wake her, I get out of the bed and leave the room, grabbing my cell phone on the way out.

Once in the main living area, I check the time -- 10:30 pm. Not too late. Pulling up my contacts, I scroll through them until I find my old friend’s number. I hesitate for a moment, considering if I really want to talk to her. Unlike in the dream, I don’t know if she has forgiven me in reality. But, after the horrors I just experienced, I need to hear a familiar voice again. I hit the call button, and, soon enough, she picks up.

“Hullo?” The voice on the other end sounds groggy and tired.

“Hey. It’s me”

“Oh, hey, man,” she says, seeming to perk up upon realizing who she’s talking to, “what’s going on? You haven’t called me in, like, five years.”

“Seven years,” I correct her. “I was just thinking about how things ended between us. I was wondering: are you still mad at me?”

“Dude,” she says matter-of-factly, “that was seven years ago. You really think I’m that petty?”

“I don’t know, I’ve had a lot to think about lately,” I say. Putting my hand to my forehead, I sigh as I contemplate what to say next, “So, could we, like, see each other in person sometime soon? I’ve been really wanting to talk to you about stuff recently.”

“Umm,” I hear on the other end, “Well, I have to drop the kids off at school in the morning, but after that I think I’m free tomorrow.”

Kids! Hahah! Oh my god, she has kids now, I think to myself. “Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow’s fine for me.”

“So, do you want to go get coffee or something?”

I shudder a bit at the suggestion. “If it’s alright with you,” I say, my voice shaking ever so slightly, “I think I’d prefer to do something else.”

“Oh, okay. Ummm...” she trails off. “How about lunch?”

“Yes,” I say, a small sigh escaping my lips, “I can do lunch.”

------

[lalainajanes]

Au, hybrid!Klaus meets dragon!caroline in Aspen, she hates the cold, bed sharing happens

I did not get to the bed sharing, sorry! Otherwise this would have gotten l o n g.

Under Night Sky

There were few thingsthat annoyed Caroline more than tourists. Aspen, her current home base, waslousy with them this time of year. They polluted the restaurants, the bars,every single shop in town. She supposed it was good for the economy and shedidn’t begrudge her neighbors the profits but that didn’t stop her from being irritatedby it. Even worse was that they were all over her mountain. Humans wereeverywhere, from sunrise to sunset – with a few stragglers who liked skiing inthe dark - severely limiting her opportunities to change and stretch her wings.

She was constantly restless,unable to focus, her skin itchy and tight. Even now, curled up in her favoritechair by a fire with a truly excellent smutty novel, she’s cranky. The recentdip in temperature and increase in frigid winds only shortened her alreadyfraying temper.

Seriously, the nextdrunk frat boy who tossed her a terrible line and expected his stunning wit toearn him a VIP pass into her pants might just get eaten.

Caroline took comfortin the fact that the busy season was almost over. She’d have a couple months tobreathe before the summer rush began. That one was always more tolerablebecause at least she wasn’t cold in addition to being crowded.

She tosses her bookaside in frustration, having realized that she’s been reading the same pageover and over again. She’d just been getting to the good stuff and it deservesher full attention. A quick glance out the window shows the sun just beginningto set, faint wisps or pink and orange streaking the sky. She usually makes herselfwait until it’s fully dark before setting out but maybe, just this one time, itwon’t hurt to go a little early. It was a record low for February, surely mostof the tourists had called it an early day, were tucked into lodges and cabinswith hot chocolate or wine.

She’ll just driveslowly, Caroline decides, standing up and stretching out her stiff limbs. Bythe time she gets to her spot it’ll be fine. Deserted and private, just her andthe night sky.

Later, Caroline willwonder if the decision to break her routine was among the best, or one of theworst, she’s made in her very long life.

It’s not until she’stransformed, endured the shift of muscle and bone – painful but endlesslyfreeing – that Caroline notices something’s amiss. In her human form her sensesare slightly better than average but nothing compared to her enhanced sight andsmell that comes when she’s let her dragon loose.

Her clearing, deep ina forest, further than anyone but the odd park ranger bothers to go, has beenvisited recently. She’d seen the tracks, noted that their must be aparticularly large wolf in the vicinity, had been vaguely excited at thepossibilities of a hunt. Intent on tracking it she sets her nose to the prints,lets out a startled huff as she takes it in. Another scent mingles with thewolf’s, not one Caroline knows but there issomething familiar about it.

She’s met manywerewolves, knew which bits of the legends floating were fact and what wasfiction. Transforming at will, a solid week out from the full moon, wasn’tsomething they could do. And yet, there was that distinct scent, proof that onehad managed the feat.

Caroline had neverbeen very good at minding her own business.

As much as she longsto push off, to break the treeline and soar until she’s exhausted the mystery ofthe tracks nag at her. It’s a lone wolf, she knows, incapable of being even ahint of a threat to her. She couldlet it be, make some calls later to friends who are more in the loop to satisfyher curiosity and see if some new kind of werewolf exists out in the world.

That would probably bethe prudent choice.

But prudence was so boring and it’s been forever sinceCaroline has had something interesting happen. It’s been months of hanging outin her apartment, only leaving it when she needed something, or for hersolitary flights around the mountains.

She’s following thepaw prints before she can talk herself out of it.

Caroline’s not asstealthy as she wants to be, the werewolf is large in comparison with actualwolves but significantly smaller than she is so can’t help disturbing theunderbrush around her, sending leaves rustling and snapping branches. Sheconsiders doubling back to the clearing and the clothes she’s stashed,following on foot. Nixes the idea quickly. Transforming took several minutesand her human skin was far more vulnerable than her dragon’s scales. She’d healif the werewolf decided to attack but she’d really rather avoid being bittenand scratched until she could shift and fight back and make him regretattempting to hurt her.

A little burst of fireor one good chomp would do the trick nicely.

The scent’s beginningto get stronger and Caroline knows she’s getting closer. Anticipation ishumming through her and when she pushes through a dense wall of trees andsplashes into an icy stream she lets out a huff of annoyance, making a quickleap to clear the water.

Only to be startled byan amused human laugh.

How had she missed thenaked man?!

“Finally,” he drawls,bending from the crouch he’d been in. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up,sweetheart.”

Huh. Not the usualreaction one had, supernatural or not, to coming upon a ten foot winged lizard.Dragons were rare, knowledge of the closely guarded, and a werewolf shouldn’thave the slightest clue that things like her existed.

Maybe, Caroline thinks,tensing in readiness to take off, she should have been more cautious. He’s unnaturallystill, the slightly curled ends of his hair dripping as he studies her. Thedroplets hit his shoulders and collarbone before slipping lower, trickling downpale skin pulled taut over lean muscles.

She lets her eyeslinger on him, feels no shame in doing so. He’s not the slightest bit self-conscious,makes no move to hide any of the veryimpressive parts of his body from her gaze.

Caroline can’t helpbut appreciate his lack of modesty, mentally berates herself for it. Maybe sheshould have taken one of the frat boy’s offers. Surely, if they didn’t talk,she could make do and would be less inclined to appreciatively ogle an unknown,if attractive, entity?

Her attention shiftsback to his face when he raises his hands slowly, palms up in what Caroline’scertain is feigned supplication. Her instincts are sharp, well-honed and neverwrong. Her gut’s been the only thing that’s kept her alive a time or two ortwelve over the centuries. She knows when to fight, only does it when she’ssure she can win. Faced with the too knowing golden eyes of this stranger she’sno longer sure she’d come out on top if things got bloody.

A small part of her isintrigued. Still she eases back a step, takes a deep breath and lets out a puffof air that carries a hint of a threat, the smallest bit of smoke and flame.Not close enough to do any damage. Yet.

The werewolf’s browsrise, his full lips tipping up into a smile, “Ah, you’re exactly as advertised.I’m suitably impressed though I assure you I mean you no harm.”

This time her snort isdistinctly disbelieving and he has no trouble parsing her meaning. He nods aconcession, “Yes, I admit that luring you deep into the woods looks suspect.Would it help if I mentioned your friend Bonnie sent me your way?”

It’s a surprise but itdoes the trick. Caroline relaxes slightly though she maintains the distancebetween them. She’s known the Bennett witches for a very long time, Bonnie, thenewest of the line was a good friend, bright, loyal and more powerful than sheknew. Caroline was quite fond of her, trusted her more than most people.

He drifts a stepcloser, palms still slightly raised, his tone warm and beseeching. “Why don’tyou change back, love? So we can make introductions properly. Discuss a bit ofmutually beneficial business.”

That earns another gutturalnoise, a swift denial and she takes her own step away. Did he think she was anidiot? Caroline was tough to kill but that hadn’t stopped people from tryingover the years. Worse were the idiots who thought to imprison her, the ones whoknew how valuable her blood and scales and teeth were. They’d always attemptedto strike when she was in her human body, when her strength and speed weremanageable, her claws not nearly as sharp.

She reaches out withone, the tip lethally pointed and more than capable of gutting him, and scrawlsout a symbol in the snow. It’s the logo of a bar in town and if he’s not smartenough to figure it out Caroline doubts any business he pitches will be worthher time. He studies it for a second before nodding genially, “Tomorrow? Say, 8o’clock?”

Caroline jerks herhead in acknowledgement, stretching her wings and preparing to push off. Hiseyes light up, turning molten and hot, a greedy fascination clear as they takeher in. “I’ll be there,” he murmurs.

She’s in the airbefore he can say anything else, high above the tree line with only a fewpowerful flutters of her wings. He remains still, getting smaller and smallerbut Caroline somehow still feels his gaze. She does her very best to ignore thewarmth building in her. Her gut told her those eyes of his were dangerous, thatskipping town might be her best option. That he was more than he appeared. Shereaches for reason, for cold rationality, but finds it hard to grasp.

She curses herrestlessness, her often over active imagination. She wants to know what color hiseyes turn when his wolf’s safely tucked away, if the impact of them on her bodyis the same.

Tomorrow she’ll findout.

[shell-senji]

Be My Anti-Valentine

A (slightly early) Hakuouki Valentine’s Day one-shot. Read HERE at ff.net.

Summary:  Hijikata just can’t win with Edo women. Valentine’s Day is no different. Modern-day college AU. HijiChi, implied SaitoSen and SanoKimigiku

(Special thanks to @impracticaldemon for her editing and encouragement! Without her, y’all might not be reading this!)

“I fucking hate Valentine’s Day,” Hijikata said irritably.

“We know,” Sanosuke, Shinpachi, and Souji replied in unison.

Saitō nodded.

“It’s an overcommercialized, superficial, bullshit calendar holiday for jackasses who are either too stupid or too selfish to tell their significant other they love them the other 364 days of the year,” he continued.

“What about leap year?”

“Shut up, Souji.”

Souji snickered. They’d all heard this rant before. Hijikata went through the tirade every year.

“Candy and card companies and florist’s evil money-making schemes aside, how does Chizuru feel about it?” Sano asked.

Hijikata’s scowl softened slightly at the mention of his girlfriend.

The two had met ten months prior at one of the Shinsengumi fraternity’s legendary parties. Everyone who was anyone knew they threw killer parties.

Chizuru had gone with a friend who was dating one of the Shinsengumi guys, and Hijikata had gone to see some of his younger fraternity brothers. As fate would have it, they’d hit it off quite well and started dating.

Fate my ass, Hijikata thought. More like meddlesome idiots.

Their meeting had been the result of some matchmaking machinations courtesy of Sen, Souji, and oddly enough, Sen’s cousin, Kazama Chikage. Hijikata swore to this day he was just doing it to irritate him.

Asshole.

Saitō cleared his throat, and Souji snapped his fingers impatiently.

“Earth to Hijikata-san. How does Chizuru feel about Valentine’s Day?” Souji repeated.

“Thankfully, she couldn’t care less. She said she’s neutral and happy to do whatever.” Hijikata shrugged.

Truth be told, he’d been surprised at her ambivalent response. She’d merely smiled when he told her he loathed the day and said that she didn’t really have any strong feelings one way or the other. That she was equally happy to celebrate or not.

“Yeah, yeah, she says that, but you know how girls get this time of year,” Shinpachi said suspiciously. He’d been burned more than once by a girl claiming she didn’t care, only to have it bite him in the ass.

“Frankly, I don’t see where it’s any of your damn business.” Hijikata glared at them. “Now get the hell out of my office so I can write the quiz for tomorrow.”

Sano groaned. “Hijikata-san, don’t torture your students again this year. I know you hate Valentine’s Day, and I know your doctoral committee is riding your ass, but don’t take it out on your students.”

His friends and former students alike knew how Hijikata’s foul mood on Valentine’s Day affected the classes he taught that day. His linguistics classes would absolutely be getting pop quizzes, and if he’d been given an Introduction to Literature class, they’d likely be reading something twisted, like “A Rose for Emily.”

“Sano, don’t you know that’s how he shows his love for them?” Souji smirked wickedly.

“Shut it, Souji. I swear to God, one of these days I’m going to cut your tongue out.”

“Promises, promises.”

Saitō stepped between them and began shooing his friends out of Hijikata’s office. With Hijikata’s mood as it was, things could only escalate.

“I need to review my lecture notes before I teach this afternoon, and I’m sure you all have grading or your own coursework,” Saitō said to his friends quietly.

Giving a quick wave to Hijikata, he closed the door behind them, following his noisy friends out of the building.

                                                          * * * *

And thus, February fourteenth passed like any other Wednesday. Hijikata taught—some would say tormented—his students and worked on his dissertation, and Chizuru went to class and tutored in the student writing center at the library. They saw each other briefly on campus, and that was that.

February fifteenth was similarly business as usual during the day, and then that evening, Hijikata and Chizuru had dinner with Saitō and his wife, Sen, and Sano and his girlfriend, Kimigiku. Kimigiku worked as a hostess from time to time at a local restaurant, and she regaled them with amusing stories of Valentine’s Day mishaps and insanity. She swore it was almost as bad as a full moon. Hijikata was silently happy to have what appeared to be someone who hated the holiday nearly as much as he did.

                                                           * * * *

Midday on Friday, February sixteenth, Hijikata unlocked his office door, dropped his paper-laden briefcase on the floor, and flicked on the light.

And then stood stock-still in surprise.

On his desk sat a bottle of his favorite sake, a canister of his favorite tea, and a wrapped box.

But how did she get in… Never mind.

Souji.

He sat down, carefully unwrapped the box, and opened it to find new brushes, ink, and paper. Presumably for his calligraphy and haikus.

Which Chizuru had found out about courtesy of Souji.

In the box was a simple yet elegant card with sakura blossoms embossed on the front. Inside, it read:

T, It’s not a Valentine’s gift if it’s not the 14th. I love you! C

 Hijikata smiled. He just couldn’t win with her.

Checking the clock, he saw that it was a quarter past noon. Chizuru finished her classes at 3:50 pm. It would be tight, but hopefully just enough time. But he’d need help.

Fishing his cell phone out of his pocket, he texted Sen. 

Hijikata: When you went shopping for your engagement ring, and Chizuru went with you…do you remember what she liked?

Sen: Yes! :-) Are you on campus?

Hijikata: In my office. Humanities building.

Sen: I’m going with you. Meet me out front in 10 min.

Hijikata grabbed his keys and locked up, the whole time unable to keep a grin off his face. I hope you’re happy with me, Chizuru. Because I’m never letting you go.

The End

Author’s note: Thank you for reading! This is a totally silly quasi-crack fic courtesy of someone who doesn’t care for Valentine’s Day herself. But as plot bunnies are wont to do, this one popped up and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

[yoi-secret-valentines2017]

kenjiro's dilemma

for @punnystars

Kenjiro Minami had never felt more honored and confused in his life when, one cold February night, Yuuri Katsuki was ringing his doorbell like there was no tomorrow. And maybe for him, there wasn’t.

“Coming!”

Kenjiro had been living alone for quite a while now—two years and counting!—but he never had the heart to move out of Kyushu and leave his family alone. He was still skating—had gotten into the Four Continents last season and was very close to reaching Grand Prix status—and he liked to tell himself that he’d become far more mature and ten tons wiser than he used to be. But when he opened the door and saw Yuuri slumped against the frame, still ringing the doorbell, he felt a surge of that starry-eyed-fanboy feeling he always got whenever he saw his longtime hero.

“U-Uh, Yuuri!” he stammered, gesturing wildly with his hands and not knowing what to do with them. “What’s going on? You okay?”

“Hah? ‘Course I’m okay!” Japan’s top figure skater and GPF gold medalist was tripping over his own feet trying to get into Kenjiro’s flat. He had a sake bottle in one hand and it looked like he’d made quick work of it on his way here. “Where… Where’s Minami…” His Kansai dialect had never been stronger.

“I’m… literally right here…” Kenjiro sighed and closed the door behind him, walking over to help Yuuri struggle out of his shoes. He gingerly took the sake bottle away from the notorious drunkard and ushered him into the living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa. Kenjiro pulled a chair from the dining area and sat opposite him, empty sake bottle now in the trash can. He watched Yuuri groan quietly to himself for a full minute, amazed by the sight.

He’d only seen Yuuri get shitfaced once and when Phichit told him it was completely normal, he figured it should be enough to last him a lifetime. But here he was, in Kenjiro’s living room, looking like he was an inch away from throwing up all over the floor. The thought made Kenjiro jump to his feet and dive into the kitchen drawers for any kind of plastic bag.

When he found one, he hurried to Yuuri’s side and pressed the used grocery bag into his hands.

“Here, Yuuri, if you need to throw—”

Yuuri grabbed the plastic and wretched into it.

“—up.”

Kenjiro ran a hand through his bleached hair and sighed. This was going to be a long night.

“Minami…?”

He straightened to attention. “Yeah?”

“I feel like I’m gonna die…”

“Please don’t. Not in my house.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes at Kenjiro and then ducked his head into the plastic to wretch some more.

“I’m soooo drunk…” he moaned into his plastic of vomit. “Why do I do this… Why does alcohol exist…”

“Uh, Yuuri? You wanted to talk to me? I think?”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes at Kenjiro again. “Minami?”

Kenjiro resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. It’s me, Kenjiro Minami. Your number one fan. Your GP successor. Four Continents bronze medalist. Me.”

Yuuri’s expression slowly brightened. “Minami! You’ve grown a meter since I last saw you…”

“You saw me last week.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

Yuuri’s resulting “oh” trailed away and dissolved into dry sobs. “Minami… Minami, what am I gonna do…”

Kenjiro took the plastic away from Yuuri and brought it to the toilet, flushing away the contents before returning with it. He sat next to Yuuri (who was now on the floor, crying into the sofa cushion). “Is it Victor-related?” Kenjiro asked as gently as he could. To say that he touched a nerve was an understatement.

“Victooooor,” Yuuri sobbed loud enough to shake the whole house despite Kenjiro’s flustered attempts to shush him. “Please forgive me… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

“What happened?”

“Stupid happened… Stupid stupid stupid…” 

“What happened?” Kenjiro asked again, shifting closer to Yuuri. “What did you do?”

“Don’t tell Victor,” Yuuri slurred, eyeing Kenjiro from the cushion. “Don’t tell ‘im.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Yuuri sighed, burying his face into the sofa. “I kissed someone.”

“You what?”

“Shut up!” Yuuri shook a non-threatening fist at Kenjiro before grimacing and laying himself to rest against the cushion. “It was… a foreigner man-person-friend…”

“A foreigner man-person-friend,” Kenjiro repeated.

“Yeah… Just… someone staying at the inn… Manager… that Victor met once…”

“And you kissed him?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know it was him,” Yuuri groaned into the cushion, tear stains spreading across the threadbare cover Kenjiro had taken from home years ago. “I thought… He looked like him so much… same hair… same nose… god, I miss him so much…”

“Oh,” Kenjiro said, nodding. Now he saw the problem. “Did he kiss you back?”

“No… He was knocked out… Too much sake… Oh god… Mom is gon’ kill me! Abandoning a customer like that… What kinda… shitty hospitality…”

“Yuuri… Calm down. It’s all going to be okay.” Kenjiro rubbed circles into his back with one hand and surreptitiously fished Yuuri’s phone out of his pocket with the other. “Deep breaths, ‘kay? You want some water?”

“Water…” Yuuri’s head lolled heavily around his shoulders. “Yesh please…”

Kenjiro stood up and headed into the kitchen, fiddling with Yuuri’s phone. He opened it and cursed, fingers shaking. Password… Password… “Think, Kenjiro!” he told himself fiercely. “You’re his number one fan, of course you would know what his phone’s password is.” Even if it’s weird and probably really creepy.

“Vicchan… Hasetsu… Makka… oh of course!” He let his fingers fly across the keyboard and felt a rush of triumph engulf him as the phone unlocked. He flushed, realizing that he was doing the creepiest thing any fan had ever done in his entire life. He promised himself he would never do something like this again. He squinted, trying to blur everything that he didn’t need to see and looked for the contact he needed.

“Miiiinaaaamiiii?” 

Kenjiro almost dropped the phone into the sink. He cursed, a bit louder than he’d intended, and clamped his mouth shut. “Yeah?”

“Your sofa smells weird… I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay!” He scrambled to fill a glass with water, fumbling with the phone to one side. “I can take it to the cleaners tomorrow.” Victor… Victor… Oh god… There were contacts in Russian. Kenjiro could feel his heart trying to break out of his body. Which one was Victor’s name?

“Miiiinaaamiiii…”

“Just a second!” He clutched the phone tightly. Come on… Come on… Which one… Why does Russian have to look like an alien language!? Then he saw it: four characters, one word. This better be the one. He tapped away a quick message, not bothering to scroll up the other message bubbles in grey, green, and blue, not wanting to see what he wasn’t supposed to see.

“Miiii—”

“I’m here!” Kenjiro leaped over the sofa with the same grace he’d used to stun the judges at the Four Continents. “Water.” He held the glass to Yuuri, who took it and gulped down three sips’ worth.

“Minami… What do I do…” Yuuri’s eyes were brimming with tears again as he set down the glass. “I… I’m the worst husband… I can’t believe… I would do that…”

“You didn’t mean to do it, Yuuri,” Kenjiro assured him as earnestly as he could. “You were drunk. He looked like Victor and you just missed him a lot. You couldn’t help it.”

“But it’s Valentine’s tomorrow!” Yuuri moaned into the cushion. It was almost totally soaked. “We were supposed to go… on a date… in Tokyo…” He sniffed. “But when he finds out, he’s gon’ hate me forever… We’re gon’… We’re gon’ divorce!”

“Oh, no, Yuuri, don’t say that…”

Yuuri shook his head vigorously. “Iz true. He doesn’t need me… He’s too good fer me… I’m jus’… jus’ a stupid idiot husband…”

“Yuuri, no, that’s not true.” Kenjiro caught him by his shoulders. There was no way Yuuri would remember this, but Kenjiro hated seeing his hero look and feel this way. They’d become more than just idol and fan in recent years and Kenjiro was proud to call himself Yuuri’s friend and fellow competitor, even if this was Yuuri’s last season. “Victor chose you because he loves you. Me, I look up to you so much. I’m your fan club president, remember? You’re not just Japan’s hero. You’re Victor’s hero, too. No doubt about it.”

Yuuri’s face crumpled and more tears fell from his eyes. “Miiiinaaamiiiii…” He sobbed, pulling Kenjiro into a tight hug. 

Kenjiro patted him gently on the back. “It’s all going to be okay, Yuuri. Victor will understand.”

Yuuri pulled away, cheeks flushed and eyes red and puffy. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Kenjiro grinned. The doorbell started ringing. “And there he is now.”

“What?” Yuuri practically shrieked. “You called him here?” “Yup. Didn’t think he’d actually get here so fast, though.”

“Minami, don’t let him in—”

It was too late. The moment Kenjiro opened the door, Victor flew in—a flurry of silver hair, teary eyes, and several layers of mismatched clothes. “Yuuri!”

The moment Yuuri was swept up in his husband’s arms, he broke down completely, murmuring different choked-up versions of the same words: “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh… Shh… It’s okay, it’s okay,” Victor said over and over, holding Yuuri tight. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Kenjiro sighed in relief as Victor flashed him a grateful look. Yuuri was out like a light, snoring away quietly in Victor’s arms. 

“You were in Hasetsu?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise…” Victor said with the smallest of smiles, running his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. “He thought we were going to meet in Tokyo tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry I ruined it,” Kenjiro said, his gaze on his feet.

“No, I’m glad you called. Thank you.” Victor’s eyes land on the dirty sofa cushion Yuuri had been crying against for a full thirty minutes. “We’ll pay you back.”

“Oh, it’s really not nece—”

“It is.” Victor lifted Yuuri up, cradling him as if he were made of china. Kenjiro led the way to the front door. He saw them out with a smile. “I’m a bit curious, though,” Victor said as Kenjiro began to close the door. “How did you unlock his phone?”

Kenjiro raised his eyebrows and laughed. “That? Oh, well it was kind of obvious.”

“What do you mean?”

“He always calls you Vitya when he talks about you.” He fought the urge to laugh again when Victor flushed visibly in the dim moonlight.

“Thank you again, Minami,” he stammered, before bowing awkwardly and walking off with his snoring husband. 

Kenjiro shook his head, closing his door.

Later that week, he opened his door to a box full of chocolates from Tokyo, with a postcard written in two languages—one his, and the other not. But he knew full well what it said:

Happy Valentine’s Day!

[hipsofsteel]

Find Out For Yourself

A RusCan fic written during FemSlash February 2015 (FrUk and eventual AmeBel as well)

Prompt: Person A goes by an alias, to the annoyance of B. The only way B will learn A’s name is to “find that out for yourself.”

Anya Braginsky has been using an underground social site for years to speak to other members of the LGBTQ community. Her best friend is a user named MapleBabe, who was her first friend online. Two years after their first online meeting, they both agree to go to Hetalia University, and MapleBabe challenges Anya to discover who she really is. While trying to figure out the mystery, Anya meets Madeline Bonnefoy, a fellow member of the school's women hockey team, and develops a close friendship, all while still trying to discover and meet MapleBabe. She might be a bit closer than she thinks.

PS This work features Trans Girl America

[Chapter Masterpost Here]

Chapter Four: Pain

Natalia didn’t seem comfortable. “This house is huge and I don’t know these people.”

“It’ll be okay. They won’t hurt you, and it’s not like the crime bosses swing through here.”

“How do you know that?” She stated, her hands sitting right above where her knives were hidden.

“Okay, they’re definitely not going to attack you because they are gay. Francis is a bit of a flirt, but he is gayer than gay. Also, they have their own daughter, so they’ll respect your privacy. Just consider the difference between this house and home.”

Natalia sighed. “Fine, let’s go in.”

We entered the house to find Maddie talking to Arthur. Given his red face, I knew they’d been fighting. She turned and smiled. “Ah, Natalia. Good to meet you!”

Natalia nodded, a little taken aback. Maddie was all smiles and sunshine however. “You can stay in my room while you’re here, since I’ll be going back to school tomorrow. I think papa and I saved some of my old clothes in the attic, and they might fit you.”

The bubble parade dragged my sister upstairs. I sighed in relief, until Arthur turned to me.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“I’ll shelter your sister because Maddie asked, but I don’t want you in this house. Get out.”

“Angleterre, that’s no way to treat a guest.” Francis said, sweeping into the room in an explosion of color. That seemed to anger the Englishman more. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Anya.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to impose.”

Francis cast a glare at Arthur, and then turned to me. “If you cannot stay for dinner, then I will take you out for dinner. Maddie prepared something for Natalia, but there is a nice little cafe a few streets over that I think you would enjoy…” He said this all while pulling a coat on. “And since you and Maddie have been such good friends, we owe it to you.”

Arthur started to move to the door.

“Angleterre, I thought you told me that you needed to finish the quilt you were making tonight. Why don’t you stay here and do that?”

Before he could object, Francis had grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door.

When we arrived at the cafe, we were greeted by an angry young man.

“Oh, it’s you.” He said, sounding less than thrilled.

“Lovino! How is the business going?”

“Fine, you bastard.”

The place was practically empty, and a slightly older man came out of the kitchens. “Francis! Who’s the young woman with you? Don’t tell me I have to report you to Arthur.”

“I only have the purest intentions for this fine young woman, Antonio. May I have the booth in the back?”

“Only if you answer a question.” Lovino responded, and then turned to me. “What’s the name, beautiful and intimidating?”

I glared at him.

“Okay, fine, try to flirt with a pretty girl and…” Lovino started to say, but the other man unsubtlety kicked him in the shin. This was followed by a volley of curses and a lot of shouting as Francis and I escorted ourselves to the back table.

After placing our orders with Antonio, Francis spoke to me. “Anya, I know that I’ve said a few things that perhaps don’t make me seem like a great parent, but I want to try and get better.”

I paused, and then spoke. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I am a little less rigid in my views than Arthur. I want Al- Amelia back home. I want to support her as much as I can. I want her to know that no matter what, we’ll always be her family.”

“You have to be more sensitive about these things, and listen to her when she talks about it.”

“Yes, I know. I have a lot to learn, for both my daughters. Maddie told me that she was a lesbian yesterday. It’s… well, it’s a lot to take in.”

I nodded.

“Are you and Maddie involved?”

“No, we’re friends, but we aren’t dating.”

He nodded, and then spoke. “If you can talk to Amelia someway, tell her that I love her and want her home, okay? And also tell her that I will fully support her in any argument against Arthur.”

I nodded.

We ate our meals with a constant stream of chatter. Antonio and Francis had been friends for a long time, and despite the flirting, I quickly realized Lovino was in love with Antonio.

As Francis and I finally departed, I asked him. “What’s between Lovino and Antonio?”

“They’ve been friends for years. Lovino’s been trying to drop hints to Antonio this whole time, but he’s been painfully oblivious. Antonio’s the only person in this whole town that doesn’t realize Lovino’s in love with him.”

“That must be a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, it is. Arthur was the same way. You could drop all the hints you wanted, but unless you say it to them directly, they won’t ever figure it out.”

We went back to the house. Francis invited me in.

Natalia came over and spoke. “Hey, thanks for bringing me here.”

She had visibly relaxed somewhat, and was even wearing a new set of clothes, although they were slightly musty.

I nodded. “I have to go back to the dorms now. Are you going to be okay here?”

“Yeah.”

AnyaBee is online

AnyaBee: Hey, I have some news.

LifeNLiberty: Is it the type that makes me leap up and down with joy?

AnyaBee: Francis took me out to dinner tonight and told me that he loves you no matter what. He even referred to you with female pronouns, though once he slipped up and called you Al. But overall, he did pretty well.

LifeNLiberty: What about my biological dad?

AnyaBee: Francis said he’d help you in all the fights you have with him.

LifeNLiberty: That’s not enough.

AnyaBee: Amelia, I don’t want to pressure you, but you’ve been gone for two weeks now. Don’t you think it’s time to come home?

LifeNLiberty: No. I want my dad to love me. Francis might have helped raised me, but he’s not family the same way that dad is. Until dad is at least going to try and accept me, I’m not going home.

AnyaBee: Okay. Stay safe, alright?

LifeNLiberty: Will do. Good night.

Natalia called me every day. Sofia started to visit her at the Bonnefoy-Kirkland house. My parents decided it was good riddance and just dropped all of Natalia’s stuff off in the middle of the night.

I continued at school. It was April now, and spring term was coming to a close. Hockey season was over, and I was able to focus on my studies.

Maddie and I were laying on the floor with textbooks in front of us. I was quizzing myself on my astronomy, she was practicing her explanations of the carbon cycle in nature. Odeta was off in one of her finals already. I didn’t understand how she was able to keep going.

Suddenly my computer beeped. I sighed and went over to see what it wanted.

HONDA_K has sent you a message.

HONDA_K asks: Anya, you need to get over to Mercy Hospital right now. Amelia’s in the emergency room, and it looks pretty bad. Please respond ASAP.

I froze and then typed a reply back.

AnyaBee: Maddie with me. Will be there ASAP.

I turned and slammed my books shut. “Study time is over. We have to go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Amelia’s in the hospital.”

We arrived as fast as we could. A young man approached us. I guessed he was Honda.

“Maddie, Anya?”

I nodded. “Are you Honda?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going on?”

“Maddie, met Amelia’s boyfriend. She’s been living with him since the end of February.”

Maddie paused, and then growled at me. “You’ve been in touch with her the whole time, haven’t you?”

I didn’t answer with the proper response. “Look, we have more pressing things to think about right now. What happened?”

Honda sat down in the nearest chair. “We were standing at the bus stop, and she was crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she was just tired. I went over to get her a cup of coffee when suddenly she sprinted out into the middle of the street. A car just slammed into her…”

His voice faded out, and then he shook with sobs held inside.

Maddie looked terrified. I paused, and then spoke. “Should I call your dads?”

She nodded, sitting down next to Honda.

I called the house and got Arthur. “Hello?”

“Hello Arthur, it’s Anya…”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Anya.”

“Arthur, it’s important.”

He hung up. That pissed me off. I tried Francis’s cell, but it was turned off, because I just got a pre-recorded This number is not available at this time message.

I finally called another cell number, the newest addition to my contacts.

After a few attempts, I was answered. “Anya, I’m at school, this had better be good. My new teachers already don’t like me a lot.”

“Look, I need you to call Arthur and tell him his kid is in the hospital. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen and Francis has his phone turned off. Just tell him that we’re at Mercy Hospital’s ER, and he needs to get here now.”

There was a pause, and then she spoke. “Will do.”

Half an hour later, a stressed Englishman entered the ER. He saw us and came right over. “What’s going on?”

“Amelia tried to kill herself.” I stated.

“You mean Alfred.”

Madeline stood up. “No, we mean Amelia.”

He glared at me, even though he was speaking to Maddie. “Alfred is your brother. He is not a girl, nor was he named Amelia.”

Honda hadn’t said anything yet. I think he was trying to disappear. After all, the angry Englishman didn’t know Honda had been hiding Amelia since February.

I grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him up. He was shorter than I was, and the movement startled him. I stared at him. “Listen to me right now, Arthur Kirkland.”

He tried to pull free, but I didn’t let go. Finally he stopped. “What do you want?”

“I want you to understand something very important. You said that if Alfred became Amelia, he’d be throwing his life away, and end up dead in a ditch. What you don’t understand is how he’ll get there. If there’s no one to love him, no one to talk to, he will be dead. Amelia told me something while she was gone. She doesn’t care how much Maddie, Francis, her boyfriends, and her other friends try to help her. The person whose love she wants most is yours. You’re her biological father, the man who raised her. You say that no son of yours will throw their lives away for some stupid dream, but what you don’t see is who destroyed them in the first place.”

“What are you implying?”

“If you decide you don’t want to be part of Amelia’s life because she’s not what you want, then maybe you’re the reason she’ll be dead in a ditch. She said she was tired. What was she tired of, I wonder, except I don’t have to. She was tired of not having your love, and that’s why she stepped out onto that street. That’s why she let herself be hit by that car. She was exhausted, and you were the reason.”

Maddie stared at me.

“If you don’t want to accept Amelia, then I don’t think you’re going to ever have a daughter or a son. If you continue to hate her, then I suspect that she will never come home. Maybe it’ll be because she’s dead, but I think she’s stronger than that. I think it’ll be because she knew the only way she could survive was to avoid you for the rest of her life.”

He stared at me as well now. I dropped his arm.

“If you won’t love your child, then they don’t need you as a parent.” I stated.

A nurse came out. “Honda?” He stood. “She’s out of surgery now. Is this his- I mean, her family?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur turned towards Honda, looking confused.

“She’s in the ICU. You can go back and see her, although she’s asleep.”

They guided us to the ICU, and Honda and Maddie went in. But I stopped and blocked Arthur from entering.

“What are you doing?"

“Asking you to make a choice.”

“Right now?”

I nodded. “If you don’t want to accept Amelia as who she is, then you are going to turn around and leave.”

“You can’t do this. I’m her father! I mean, his father!”

I looked at him for a long time. He seemed to turn cherry red.

“Arthur, tell me, is that your son whom you’re going to force to be miserable every day the rest of his life, or is that the daughter you’ve lovingly raised?”

He paused, and then leaned against the wall, visibly shaking.

“I just don’t want something to happen. I raised him since he was born, loved him, cooked for him, sang him to sleep. I want him to be safe.”

“Then let Alfred go, and welcome Amelia into your heart.”

At that moment, Francis came down the hall. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anything until Natalia called me!”

Arthur turned and pulled the Frenchman into the hug, and began to cry. Francis looked at me, his eyes growing wide with worry. I mouthed She’s fine to him, and he relaxed a little.

Finally Arthur spoke. “I’ve been a horrible father.”

“Angleterre…”

“She needed me, but I couldn’t do it. God fucking damn it, it’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

Francis started cooing and calming Arthur, guiding him over to a bench and sitting him down. I paused, and then headed into the ICU.

Kiku sat in the chair, staring, and Maddie stood nearby, looking at her sister.

There were still some incredibly obvious masculine features, such as the darkening of her facial hair, but Amelia’s hair was longer. Down to her shoulders in a bob-style, with big loose curls.

There was a cut across the side of her face, and she was bandaged on nearly every inch of her body. Her glasses, cracked, had been set off to the side.

Maddie turned to face me. “How is he?”

“Your papa arrived, and he’s not doing all that great, but I think we’ve had a breakthrough.”

She nodded, and then looked at her watch. “You know, Nat’s at the house right now.”

“I’ll go out and stay with her if you want.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

We both exited the ICU. Maddie went over to her dads. She took Arthur’s hands, and he looked up at her.

“Wanna go see how Amelia’s doing dad?”

He paused, and then nodded. “Let’s go see her.”

I smiled a little. That slight change gave me the smallest hope for a victory, more than I had had for a while.