#you guys get first look before I paste to ao3 and screw up the formatting

[k-she-rambles]

Because I cannot just let this go: KOTORxSongmaster AU

Warnings for war, mentions of genocide, medical abuse, depression, vague implications of past assault (Atton is your friend but uh, he is not Nice), characters who don’t want to talk about sex talking about sex/infertility/impotence (it’s the repression paradox: the Forbidden Topic is talked about a lot because it’s Forbidden) and fantasy ableism. It’s Orson Scott Card. There’s Awesome and Ehh... NB: this is not how puberty blockers work IRL. I’m pulling things both out of my tuchas and from a work of fiction.

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It takes the Exile hours to realize what is distracting her, but also warning her of approaching droids, this foreboding that has burrowed under her skin.

She can hear the Peragus mining facility singing.

The creak of metal, the sizzle of lasers, the klaxon of the alarms. The oppressive silence that is more than the silence she is used to. And below that, fear.

It has been five years since she has heard anything sing.

§

(The Exile hears no songs.

She is not deaf, in the peculiar way the Songhouse reckons deafness –-not as the quality of being unable to hear with your ears, but being unable to hear your own nature, sung.

But it is not just herself she cannot hear.

The Exile hears no songs.

It is as if the universe and everything in it is dead. When Master Vrook speaks, she cannot hear what he really means, below the dry bluster. Kavar’s tone is neutral in a way that is entirely different from his Control. Atris’ voice has a song like bright wind over snow, but only in the Exile’s memory. When she speaks, it’s only a voice.

The Songmasters sing Malachor. They sing warmongering, betrayal, the Dark Side, and over all, loss. The Exile only hears it in a recording, years later: the loss of music meant the loss of songtalk.

At the last, the Exile ignites her lightsaber, and drives it into the stone. The sound is empty, empty, empty.)

§

Kreia’s Control is incredible, and so it is always gratifying when she reveals something of herself. When she speaks, she never uses songtalk.

Come to think of it, Atris doesn’t either.

§

It’s the holos of Malak as a Sith Lord that bother the Exile the most.

It isn’t that he was the first padawan to show her around the Jedi Songhouse enclave on Dantooine when she arrived. He took himself too seriously, even as a child, but he was kind. He asked her the questions the adults hadn’t thought to, and answered, unprompted, the questions she was afraid to ask.

It’s his jaw. Malak was a songbird, though the songmasters never placed him out. (It was always Malak who was the songbird, not Revan, who grew into her voice only as an adult.)

But the horrifying idea of Revan taking a songbird’s natural voice away isn’t it either. It’s that the Exile doesn’t believe for a second that it was to teach him a lesson. It’s easier to believe that Revan loved him, and that changes things, morphs the horror into pity for them both.

It it so wrong, she catches herself thinking, the impulse to silence a song that is in agony? To hear the pain which you have caused, and make it stop?

§

“Soo...” says Atton, nudging a broken piece of droid with a toe. “Songhouse, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Must be hard. No family, no, ah --”

The Exile snorts. “Typical.”

“No? ‘Cause I heard--”

“The Songhouse is a family, Atton. When I was brought in I was adopted. Legally.”

“...okay, so how does an ancient, galaxy-spanning organization legally adopt a kriff-ton of kids?”

“Illegally.”

Atton smiles at that, and it’s almost honest. No teeth.

The Exile relents. “It depends. The other thing, I mean. Species, biological sex, whether they thought you’d be a songbird when you were adopted.”

He makes a vaguely interested noise.

She continues breaking down the blaster rifle in her hands. “Once the puberty blockers wear off, those who might have borne children generally find they can’t —hence the Songhouse’s aggressive adoption practices.”

“Oh. That’s not too bad, then.”

She looks at him coolly until he flushes, two spots of color on a face that might have once been tan.

Sallowed by dissipated living. A follower. Without someone to lead him all he is is appetite –-that is Kreia, in her mind’s ear. Had it not been part of her gift of the voice, the Exile might not have separated Kreia’s words from her own thoughts. True, Atton looks like he hasn’t seen sunlight or a nutritionally balanced meal in years, but there is...

You have no natural talent for healingsong, says Kreia sternly, but does not correct the Exile’s assumption.

Atton is still babbling. “Not that, uh, I’m in a position to say.”

Her laugh is a small huff of air. “It’s what I grew up with. They say Ancient Selkath doesn’t have a word for wet.” She tries to sing Modesty, and doesn’t even get as far as don’t stare before her voice cracks and the song turns to ashes in her mouth. Stupid. Like poking at a missing tooth. She’d never had a problem not trying to sing when she was traveling alone.

“I know that one,” says Atton. “I meant...the rumors get really uh, colorful. I was being stupid. Earlier, I mean. I was –I meant to be filthy but didn’t mean it to be nasty if it’s something you can’t—”

She puts down the rifle. “I won’t die if I have sex, Rand.”

Atton looks anywhere but directly at her. “Right. Stupid.”

§

After years of silence, the music is distracting. Eddies and curls, the ticks in the hyperdrive, T3′s gears, Atton’s constant mindless not-quite-spoken chatter. Bao-Dur doesn’t realize he hums as he works, but she can pinpoint his location, his mood, and a sense of what he’s working on anywhere in the ship.

“I will teach you Control,” says Kreia, and the Exile bristles. She is not a Bell or a Breeze, learning how to breathe, learning Control for the first time. But she keeps Control, and obediently sits down to meditate.

She tries to imagine a lake in the mountains, surrounded by the walls of her Control, and fed by the meltwater of her life, just as she was taught. It is the reservoir of her songs, released only when she chooses, not in tears, or sudden flights of passion.

She hasn’t done this in years. Who knows what that lake might contain.

The image won’t come.

“Let go of what ought to be,” says Kreia. “I am only interested in what you are.”

The deep lake has become...something else. A marsh, a bog. The sweet, thick smell of decaying plants feeding the living ones. There is a sense of wet, but there’s no sign of where the water comes from, and no sign of what makes it stay. It’s like nothing she has ever encountered. “Is that...good?”

“It is you,” says Kreia.

§

Years of doing everything but sing with her voice have left their mark. Lightsong and darksong both sound mangled, strained. Once, the Exile could fill a room with sound, to the edges and no farther, with no distortions. Now, she is lucky to hum a healing without her voice cracking.

She doesn’t exactly regret not keeping her voice conditioned –-she could have sung in exile, technically. Did, once or twice—sung a familiar tune for a drink or a job, sung a lullaby to calm a crying child.

She could not bear it for long: a tone-deaf stranger pulled from the street would still sing from the overflow of of the life they bore inside them. She does not.

There was nothing there. She sounded like a corpse trying to carry a tune, no matter how correct her notes.

She tells herself the song would have only sounded like Malachor, anyway.

§

Atton has Control.

There are hints of it on Telos, but —

No. Atton sings.

The realization hits the Exile like a ton of bricks. Atton sings. It is not the same as having a song, for all living things (and many things that aren’t alive at all) have a song. Atton sings: with his body, with his thoughts, keeping his mind and his hands and his mouth vacuously busy in ways that any songmaster would call “wasting your songs.” But he’s doing it on purpose. He lets those who listen, listen, but they listen to a tune of his choosing.

It’s a gift of the voice. They aren’t rare, but there’s no usual form they take, and so they can be mistaken for other talents. Revan had a gift with languages. Poor Bastila had been saddled with battle song in a time of war. The Exile herself had a gift: the ability to catch the thread of any song and the power behind it, to harmonize with anyone, of any skill.

§

Revan was quick to sing of herself. You never knew all of what was going on in Revan’s head, but you always knew who and what you were following.

§

(“If a place there is not for the songs to come out,” Master Vandar says in her mind’s eye, one of her earliest lessons as a padawan, “Drown you will in all the things you cannot express. Inflict them you will on others, without knowing them yourself. A grave affliction it is. Even Sith songmasters sing. Sing we must, even if the tone needs correcting. Our debt to the galaxy it is.”

“What happens to padawans like that?” Revan asked.

“A question, that is not,” said Vandar, “for so many young ears.”)

§

(Don’t tell Alek, Revan had sung, a rare concession to ignorance over knowledge. They’d given Revan a name, at the Songhouse. They called her after her favorite historical figure. They’d called her Fiimma, the one who had to know Ansset’s song, who’d changed the course of the Songhouse by disobedience, courage, love. (which one depended on who you asked) Don’t tell Alek.)

§

On Goto’s ship, Atton finally sings of himself in his own voice.

The Exile hears war, hears following Revan, even as she changed, because she was worth following. She hears death, hears killing, and hears the part of him that loves death, that loves killing.

Atton sings, and the Exile hears Control, perfect Control, the kind that takes all emotions in and gives back nothing genuine, nothing uncalculated, nothing of his. High walls, a deep lake, cold and remote. A place of the drowning of the soul.

And then the singer, his singer, the one who let herself be caught, the one who broke open his Control by force. She sang the love song as she died –as Atton killed her, singing it back without voice, singing it back with a knife.

The Exile sings back her shock, wordless: Only one Songmaster of the High Room on Coruscant in recorded history had ever dared such a thing as his singer dared, and never by force.

“I won’t say that it is not –-” Atton’s songs are raw and awkward things, coming from a spring he did not carve, flowing through him like water, like smoke. He would not sing at all except he must. It feels like weakness, a bleeding wound, like something of his was taken away, even if he doesn’t want it back. “You’re not wrong, but –-” He sings, wordless, and she understands.

Atton knows, then, what Vandar had eventually told her, told Revan: a singer with Control who does not sing is a shame. A singer with Control who cannot sing is already dead. Marked for death. His singer had broken her Jedi oaths to save a single life.

It is no wonder that Atton has had such an uneasy relationship with songs and singers.

He wants the Exile to teach him anyway. He could be a shield, a knife in her hand. He wants to be.

She knows where to start. I will never hurt you, I will always help you. Atton sings it with a ferocity that takes her aback. Love does not end.

§

The Exile’s breath control gets stronger, her tone more clear. She hears Nar Shaddaa, hears the Ebon Hawk. More, she can hear and sing her companions. I’m glad to have you with me, she sings, and Bao-Dur’s and Atton’s backs straighten, despite only having a rudimentary grasp of songtalk. Maybe we can be friends. (Maybe, hums Mira, but it is open to the possibility, less hostile than it was.) I care about you, not the ways you are useful to me, the Exile sings, and Visas frowns, as if she doesn’t understand, as if songtalk were not the first language of all Miraluka.

I am listening, the Exile sings to Kreia, Your songs are full of distortions, but I hear you.

“Do you?” Kreia murmurs, gratified.

§

“What if there are monsters in the lake?”

In her memories, the Exile can never remember which of the Breezes she was meditating with had asked the question. No name or face gives her comfort. Bastila, about to be graduated early into Stalls and Chambers because of her gift, and already using ego to mask her fear? Juhani, who had come to the Songhouse late, and whose mood swings made her songs tempestuous? Belaya? Yuthura?

She was not wise like Vandar, or kind like Kavar, or firm like Songmaster Vrook. She had only been in the latter part of Stalls and Chambers, then, taking advantage the privilege of older padawans to teach the younger. It prepared them for adulthood, when they had to decide what to do with grown-up voices. She still wished they would have asked Master Zhar.

But they had asked her, and they deserved her answer.

“The monsters are songs, too,” she said, after a moment. “The ones you are afraid to sing.”

She meant to say don’t be afraid. She can only guess what the young ones heard.

§

Visas’ Sith songmaster master would sometimes take her voice, preventing her from singing the grief of her dead world. He is a hungry silence, more anechoic chamber than man. He drains the music from whatever he touches, chasing the echo of death, feeding on songs cut short, ended, lost.

Visas rarely sings her own songs, now. She sets them aside in favor of others’ --the Exile’s, or the echo of Nihilus’ power. It is not quite as viscerally terrifying as Atton’s song of Control: Visas instinctively knew that Control and Song are hand-in-hand. She does not keep Control when she cannot sing.

It is why, perhaps, she hides herself away and veils her face: emotions are strange and wild things, when you are used to singing them.

The Exile teaches her all the exercises and songs she remembers from childhood, and thinks of the Songmasters, trying to lose themselves on Nar Shadda, on Dantooine, on Onderon.

She does not think of years spent being a ringing silence herself.

§

Mira hears songs of individuals over distance, hears the distortion of people who aren’t home.

The Exile hones her pitch, teaches her how to grasp the song heard faintly and amplify it, singing it back so that it can be heard and healed. She teaches Mira posture, courage, how to stand and sing in any situation, even when you cannot stand: feet rooted, alert spine, breathe out, not up. No fear.

When Mira reappears after the Sith tomb on Dxun, joking with Bralor in his own tongue, there is a sense of something finally settled, a rhythm finally found.

§

“What did you learn in your exile? Visas asks.

The Exile rolls Visas’ lightsaber crystal in her hand, thinks of the smells of decay and of growing things, of water soaking up from the ground. She presses the crystal into the Miraluka’s palm.

“It is something like you learned, I think. I am alive. Song or no song or song-deaf. I am still here.”

“You think that is a good thing?”

“Why?” says the Exile, lightly. “Have you changed your mind about me? Are you going to lead me in chains before your songmaster?”

Never. The note is short and sharp, but there’s something the Exile can build on, there. My life for yours.

If you are frightened, I’ll be your friend, the Exile sings. The love song.

Visas scoffs, not recognizing it. “I do not fear death.”

Neither do you wish to live, the Exile does not say. “But you fear mine?”

“I regret it. I would delay it, if I could.”

The Exile smiles. “Then you’ll just have to keep keeping me out of trouble.”

§

The Exile had hoped to never set foot on Dxun again. It’s just as loud as she remembers, even with her dulled senses. It is not just the jungle --the moon rings with the memory of death and mines and fire and water, even though the fighting has long ago stopped. It’s either the echo of what came before, or the silence, after.

“It’s hard to hear myself think sometimes,” says Bao-Dur, “But being around you helps.” And: “I’m glad you let that old warrior go. I’m not sure I would have wanted to do the same.”

“It’s not always about what I want,” she says, gently. “There has been enough death and hatred, I think. So I chose.” She runs a towel over her hair, uselessly trying to get rid of some of Dxun’s damp, and adds “You wondered how I made it through without my songs. You don’t have to hear the song to make a choice.”

§

“Her influence threatens the integrity of the other students’ music!” says the recording of Songmaster Vrook. “She is like Ansset, and could doom us all.”

“That is a myth,” the Exile growls.

“Ahh,” says Bao-Dur, observing her without judgment. “I’m pretty sure Ansset was a real person. Last of the Three Imperators and one of the founders of the Republic? Ring a bell?”

The Exile crosses her arms. “He was a Songbird first and last. One of our greatest. The stories say,” she says, drawing the last word out, “that he could change people’s songs, even without singing. Make them feel whatever he wanted. Make them become what he wanted.”

“Creepy,” says Atton, at the same time Bao-Dur says “You’re nothing like that.”

“No?” says the Exile, and Atton is not sure if she is angry, or if that is some kind of loss or hunger in her face, her eyes.

Atton scratches the back of his head. “Well, sure. You can harmonize with nearly anyone. Even Kreia. You said that was your gift, not changing the songs of others.”

“This Vrook person called you dangerous in the same breath as average and disliked,” says Bao-Dur. “Are you sure he has even met you?”

She exhales, a small laugh. “He never liked me.”

“Then he is letting his personal feelings cloud his judgment, and you have your answer.”

§

Mandalore is deaf to songtalk, but his awareness is exceptional. “Your teacher is a fine hand at blocks, Exile.”

The Exile starts. She hadn’t thought of that, despite how teaching her to hear the thoughts of her companions exactly resembled shifting a block.

“Is there anything --”

“I’m not a doctor or a singer,” he says quickly. “You’d know more than I. But no, I don’t think she has bound any of us with anything stronger than blackmail.”

But she could, if she was resisted, lays unspoken between them.

§

The Exile came home, with the singers who would become Revan and Malak, once, four months before the full council sanctioned the intervention that had been going on eight months already.

Eight months of the background noise of war, strategy, and troop movements.

There were children practicing in the courtyard. Stalls and Chambers, she guessed, most with their own lightsabers. They wore white tabards over their tunics.

One of them tried to catch her eye, aware of where she had been and brimming with questions. He was good at noticing patterns in music. She’d tutored him on using that skill to hearing the harmonies between people, to expand it further, outwards, and notice patterns on the large scale. “Sing with us!”

The Exile shook her head. She hadn’t needed Revan’s warning: she knew war had changed her songs. To sing with anyone younger than Singer would be to threaten the purity of their self-expression, Revan had said, so perfectly mimicking Vrook that both the Exile and Alek had doubled over laughing. Revan had meant it, all the same.

“I don’t think I should.”

Words were enough, with his keen hearing, or perhaps it was her gift combined with his, and there was a harmonic between them already. The padawan sang it back: took what he heard in her voice and expanded on it, sang you are a shield for us, even in your silence, you couldn’t just do nothing, you will do it because you can.

There was something new in his voice, a thread of determination backing up his joyful curiosity. Here was one who could see a threat to all he had ever known and still sing in the face of it.

But the echo of death rarely came to Dantooine, in those days. He’d never seen it. She had.

The Exile sighed, all caution made useless. “Your chamber-master is going to kill me.”

“What is Atris going to say?” he said, amused. “I chose to sing it, so it is part of my song now.”

§

“I don’t hear anything different,” says Vrook. There’s no lie in his voice. “Your voice is not as good as it was, and you still have no songs.”

“But I sing!”

“I can’t deny that I see the effects of music. You make sounds, and things happen. And yet it is difficult to believe.”

The Exile waits. Perhaps Vrook’s lack of affection for her will allow him to tell her something that Zez-Kai Ell and Kavar could not.

“I see that you wrap the songs of your companions around you, but can you sing me a song of yourself?”

“And influence your songs, Master Vrook?” says the Exile. Her Control holds her steady enough to give her space to wonder why the question made her afraid, and, because she was afraid, angry. “‘Corrupt the purity of your self-expression’ with something you were never meant to know?” If she sang of Malachor, like Ansset sang of his life when he returned to the Songhouse, would it be mercy or cruelty? Even in Ansset’s time, it had been a close thing, a knifeblade either way, and it had been the experiences of one man, one who had never known war.

She carries Malachor around her like a cloak. A thousand songs in agony, a thousand voices silenced at her order. It is foolishness to think she does not.

“Hmph,” says Vrook, but there is a grudging and temporary respect as he gives her one last lesson.

Kreia, on the other hand, is incensed. “What fool denies wisdom offered to them? The tree that does not lean into the wind, does not withstand the storm. This planet and it’s people have seen pain, and is he processing it, or his own? Pah! He is ‘keeping his songs pure.’ And you,” she says, rounding on the Exile. “Do not think you are protecting anyone by your silence. They will learn or they will break.”

§

I’m sure I know you, the Exile sings, from behind the Disciple.

“I am sure I just have one of those faces,” he responds.

“That was songtalk.”

The Disciple turns around, his expression wry. “So it was. You do remember me.”

§

She does remember the padawan in Stalls and Chambers who sang her own song back to her, and he remembers her.

“The music, that is easy to forget,” he says. “With no need for Control to store your songs, and no need for singing. The stone of the Songhouse is my childhood home, my foundation, but when I grew up became a soldier, not a singer.” And: “The songmaster I would have chosen, the one meant for me, was lost.”

Lost, not dead. Her decisions had echoes she had not accounted for. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” says the Disciple. He gestures to the rubble around them. “I left the Songhouse before all of this. I had skills the Republic could use. Besides, I had already begun to have doubts when the Songmasters couldn’t hear the purity of your intentions. I did not want to be a part of the Songhouse if it would punishyoufor doing the right thing.”

“Purity of intentions does not mean I did the right thing,” says the Exile. “It’s easy to lose sight of what the right thing is in war.”

His amused smile hasn’t changed at all, nor his habit of hearing what she won’t say. “It would not kill you to admit that you have definitive opinions on the justice of your sentence.”

“Do you still wish to come with me?”

“I do.”

She takes his hand. “Will you sing with me, Mical?”

§

She finally gets a long conversation with Kavar.

It is good to see a friendly face.

He says much of the same things Vrook had: that her songs are a casualty of the war; that mortality is not conducive to song. His song is placid, calming. He is not lying, but he is not telling her everything, either. I can wait, the Exile thinks.

No. It is what Kavar is singing. You can wait. All things in time. The threat will reveal itself in time.

Not everyone has that luxury, Songmaster, she sings. Some who think they do, do not.

“How do you know what would have happened?” he counters. They are definitely not just talking about whatever is hunting Jedi. “Do you see what was lost because of Revan’s recklessness. Yours?”

“Do you not think I know what I did? Do you not think I carry it with me?”

I know you do, he sings. The apology is genuine, but it is as much apology as she is ever going to get. There is a sadness there, too, as if she has failed to learn something vital.

“The future is in flux and the past is a song already sung,” says the Exile. What’s done is done.

“Oh, my dear,” says Kavar. “Nothing is ever done.”

§

Someone, it seems, either in the Songhouse or in the Republic army, has taught the Disciple how to lay and remove blocks, and with his reopened connection to his songs, he is quickly combining the two, to devastating offensive and defensive effect.

In time, she thinks, the others will seek him out, let him sound out the shape of their minds, and make sure there are no nasty surprises there. Ask him to lay a few blocks of his own, against horror, against paralysis and confusion.

Well, she thinks. Everyone but Atton, who dislikes the Disciple, blocks, and people who deal in them.

§

“A word, songmaster?” says the Disciple.

She steps into the medbay.

The Disciple places his hands behind his back, but not before she can see that his hand is injured. “It’s about our pilot.”

Wonderful.

“He was asking some rather pointed questions, and I --” he clears his throat. “What I mean to say is that I’ve been away from the Songhouse long enough to know what is and is not my business.”

The Exile hums her confusion.

Mical shifts his weight onto his right foot slightly, and back again, a strange break of Control, for him. “For all that Atton’s ignorance of Modesty is startling, his song for you is-- what I mean is that there will be no back-singing from me, songmaster.”

The Exile pinches the bridge of her nose, comprehension finally dawning. Were they in the Songhouse, they would have never broached this subject. “Are you expecting a thank you?”

The Disciple lifts his chin, but blushes.

§

After that, it’s not entirely a surprise when Atton wanders into the cockpit with a cold pack over his eye --kolto is too valuable to waste on inter-crew spats. He waves off her hands when she takes off her gloves and reaches for him. He sits, and hums his own healing, looking pleased with himself when it works.

“All right,” says the Exile. “What happened?”

Atton looks sheepish, the mirror to Mical’s blush. “Uh. You remember the question I asked you, when we first met? About growing up Songhouse?”

“...yes?”

“Well you didn’t answer it all the way. You said how it worked for you, and said it was different for others. So I asked Mical.”

Sithspit. She stares at him. Asking questions, Mical had said. A startling ignorance of Modesty. Mical was trying to be gracious. “You deserved that.”

“Yeah. Well. I know that now. Matter of fact, I now know a whole hell of a lot of things I didn’t need to know, because after punching me in the face on principle, and explaining why you never ask a Songhouse kid that question, Mical treated me to a very nice lecture on the science of pain receptors and their connection to hormones, all the drugs you and he are allergic to, and a graphic theory on what happened to Darth Malak’s face. Which I really did not need to know.”

He has a point. “Sorry.”

Atton leans back, bracing his feet against the bottom edge of the control panel, and putting his hands behind his head. She knows better than to think he’s actually relaxed. “Why’d you answer my questions the first time, anyway? I probably would have wound the Disciple up about it, just to be an asshole, but I do like to know how much of an asshole I am before I really commit.”

“I don’t know,” she says, honestly. There’s no answer that she wants to give that is satisfactory: they either say too much or too little.

“I’m sorry. That those things happened, I mean,” he adds, when she raises an eyebrow. “To you, to Mical, to kriffing Darth Malak and Revan, even. Family should make you stronger, not...not limit your choices like that.”

“Ancient Selkath doesn’t have a word for wet,” she reminds him, softly.

“I know that,” he says, pulling his feet down from the ledge. “That doesn’t mean that wet didn’t actually exist.”

She is going to have to think about that one.

“Really makes me think, though. I’m not sure that I’m comfortable joining the Songhouse, if this...you know, big on bodily autonomy, me.” The last part twists, discordant, both truth and lie.

The Exile sighs. “I was disowned when they cast me out, Atton. If you want to join the Songhouse, you’re going to have to ask someone else.”

He snorts at that suggestion. “Not likely.” His clothes rustle as he squirms in his seat, crossing his arms and looking away. Rather follow you, he adds, singing so softly that the Exile can’t be sure if he sang with his voice or his mind. “Besides,” he says, louder, a bit too rapidly, “pretty sure they’re going to have to welcome you back, anyway. They’re a few singers short of a full chorus, and you’re the only Jedi Singer I’ve met with any sense.”

“Har, har,” she says, nudging his seat with a toe. “You’re right, you know. If the Songhouse survives all this, things will have to change.”

Atton swallows. “You know,” he says slowly. He still doesn’t look at her. “You know. If it’s worth anything, the Disciple told me he cleared all his medical checks when he left the Songhouse. You couldn’t hurt him. Unless you were into that, I guess.”

The Exile opens her mouth. Closes it. “Atton –”

“Don’t make fun. Kid’s got a heart like a star and the song in it is yours. Kriffing annoying, but if you haven’t heard him, you haven’t been paying attention.”

She throws her gloves at him and flees the cockpit.

§

The so-called Lord of Pain wraps himself in music, is barely anything besides song stitched together with veins of Control. He is loud, too much. He makes the Exile’s bones ache. Silence, she sings, breath, darkness.

Life without song, he sings. Impossible. Death.

Not death. Something else.

There is nothing else. Only hunger, only void. I do not wish to die.

You are not at peace.

Are you?

§

“Were you Revan’s teacher?” the Exile asks.

“Revan had many teachers,” says Kreia.

The Exile waits.

Kreia looks at her a long time, and then opens her mouth and sings Revan.

At least, as well as Revan can be sung by someone who isn’t Revan herself. Her song always lent itself to being projected upon by others.

It is answer enough.

§

Malak sings action over the Jedi Council’s inaction. Malak sings of the Mandalorians, sings rumors of death on the Outer Rim, sings innocents in danger, sings the Republic asking for help and finding none.

Outrage, sing the singers on the Exile’s left and right. War.

War, sings Malak. War. Outrage. The Songhouse has failed.

Illusion, sings the Exile. The figures on her left and right ignore her. Malak looks at her with a twinkle in his eye.

She’d forgotten what a pompous bastard he could be. “Alek, this is not the song we sung.”

Something had to be done.

“That’s true. But we set out to save the Republic, not throw down the stones of the Songhouse.”

Malak smiles at her, as if he knew she would agree with him, eventually. “You know that was never Revan’s desire. If you had heard what Revan heard...”

“If I had heard what Revan heard, I wouldn’t be here,” the Exile snaps. She hears the truth in it as she says the words. “If I had been following Revan, and not myself, do you think she still would have chosen you over me?”

She’s made him angry now, the line between memory and vision blurring. “They will remember me, little sister. They will not remember you.”

The Exile closes her eyes. Opens them. “I decided that Revan would not arrive with reinforcements. And so I closed the trap. I destroyed the Mandalorians. I destroyed my own forces. I won the war. But Revan delayed. I was loyal to the cause, not to her. I wasn’t intended to survive. I know that now.”

What Revan had heard had altered her song, even as it remained wholly hers, like hearing Ansset’s had changed little Fiimma’s.

Revan had not been able to hear the change.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you, Malak. I don’t have the luxury of saying I did what I was told, or that I was hoodwinked, somehow, by Revan’s charisma. I chose, and I can’t change the past. But my choices were not your choices. My reasons were not your reasons, nor should they be.”

“Wake up,” says Malak, almost pitying. “You have to wake up.”

You were going to be the songbird of Taris, Alek, she thinks. What was it that tipped the scales? Following Revan to Korriban? What Revan found in the wreckage of Malachor V? What happened after the Mandalorian War ended? Where did you go?

She ignites her lightsaber and grits her teeth, staring the illusions in the eyes.

She loses.

§

She hears the fear in the voices of her soldiers, and thinks she understands. “Let me go up, Captain.” I will do it. I will do it. Her voice cracks. She remembers the loyalty of her soldiers, the songs she had with them. Dxun was full of life, just as it was full of death.

She disables the mines by hand.

Was it wasted? Her soldiers ask. Did it mean something, in the end? Did we matter?

§

“I can’t. I won’t.”

Apathy is death, sing the illusions, a drone that rattles her bones.

The Exile almost drops her lightsaber.

Refusing to die is not quite the same as choosing to live, but she wouldn’t call it death. A stupor, a blindness, a sleep, part infection and part choice.

Kreia was right to ask if she’d found what she was looking for among the dead. Mical was right to chide her about sidestepping. It had been so easy to not to care, not to matter, not to remember that at the core of her was cold Songhouse stone, warmed by many hands.

Had she always been strong enough to bear it, or is she stronger, now?

How does this song end? asks the illusion of Kreia. The illusion uses songtalk where Kreia would not. The effect is unsettling. “Either you conclude it, or the echoes go on forever, unfinished.”

§

There is nothing in a dark nexus that you do not bring with you.

She crosses blades with the apparition of what she might have become, had she truly been Revan’s left hand as Malak was her right, and thinks it again, a mantra: There is nothing in a dark nexus that you do not bring with you.

She has always been able to sing in the face of death.

There is nothing in a dark nexus that you do not bring with you.

So what is this? She ducks her own blade and makes a run for it. She can’t keep her breath enough to sing.

Of course she’d seen the changes in Revan and Malak. She’d seen the changes in herself. But she had set her face long before Malachor: she had always intended to present herself for judgment. She had broken faith with the Jedi Council, and she believed she was right to do so, but such actions always had consequences.

She would not have followed Revan into the outer reaches of the darkness. She already had followed her to Dxun, to Malachor V, and through the nothing beyond. There has to be something she is not seeing.

The eyes of the specter are empty. There is no song in her, though her songs are as solid and cool as stone.

It is frightening, in an abstract way, but the Exile finds herself oddly detached from the fear. As if this battle is familiar.

There are no songs for this.

It is time to go home.

§

She hears the Disciple’s confession, and it occurs to her that Mical is angry. Angry in the same way that Atris was angry. Atris chose not to follow, and Mical had been too young to. That for all his Control, for all that he thinks and thinks and thinks, turning his problems over in his mind note by note, his sunny disposition is fought for, and won.

Mira calls Mical a tame kath-hound.

She is right. May the fates help whoever tries to take what he defends.

“The Seeker who brought you to the Songhouse named you well.”

“Do you think?” says Mical, and the song in his voice is bitter. “I always thought it was cruel. Someone who doesn’t look like much, named after the Emperor of the Galaxy. Mikal the tyrant.”

“Father Mikal,” says the Exile, gently. “You are an historian. You know this.” History had recorded Emperor Ansset’s heir, Ephrim son of Josif, as the first Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, but it was a Republic that the tyrant had dreamed of. The Songhouse remembered: Mikal was the father of the Republic. The tyrant who loved the greatest Songbird in history as a son.

“Do you not think,” says Mical, slowly, “that you will make it through this?”

“Something is coming,” she says, finally. And then, pitching her song to cut through the ambient noise of the Ebon Hawk: I have given each of you all I can. The legacy of the Jedi is in your songs.

Bao-Dur snorts, softly. He heard the undercurrent of the song. She suspected he would. He closes a panel on Remote, and she hears the same tune back. He has been listening to her lessons with the others.

Mira nods decisively at something. Time to stop running.

Visas waits. It will come when it will come.

Atton slams a storage compartment, suddenly, inexplicably, and incandescently furious.

§

“Wait, General,” says Bao-Dur. The Exile turns, and words seem to fail him then, because he sings: hope and anger, weariness and rest, vengeance and choices, all rolled up into a question.

She considers him seriously, and presses an off-hand lightsaber into his palm. “Your choice, of course,” she says, lightly, warmed by his trust, his faith. “But you’ve always seemed to thrive on the impossible. If you think you can defend the innocent with song, without malice against the enemy, then you can.” I believe in you.

Bao-Dur bows his head.

The Exile ignites her lightsaber. “Now, are you going to show me what you’ve learned from spying on everyone else, or are you going to stand there and let me lecture you?”

Bao-Dur laughs, his dry, quiet laugh so like her own, and it sounds like try me. “I’ll take practical experience any day.”

§

All she hears in this place is loss.

She takes off her armor, stashing it quietly in an anteroom just inside the door of the enclave. There is power running now, and she hears the fountains ahead, signs of human habitation. Signs of life.

There is an ache in her chest. She breathes deeply, slings a robe over her shoulders for the first time in nearly a decade. She is not part of the Songhouse, but she is a singer, and songmaster to other singers. She respects the wisdom of the Songmasters, but the near extinction of the Songhouse and her exile have made her a peer.

It is good to see things rebuilt. The green of growing things, the sounds of the fountains, the murmur of voices waiting for her.

But all she hears in this place is loss.

It is strange: conventional wisdom holds that grief unharnessed weakens song, but her heart is full to bursting with something indefinable. She could sing here, and shake the walls down.

She forges on, past the fountains. She does not hear Kreia follow her, nor Visas follow Kreia.

§

The Songmasters tell her of the gathering on Visas’ homeworld, of songs not just cut short, but emptied.

They’d seen an echo of something coming for them, and had gathered, thinking numbers might clarify the vision.

No, Atris had suggested numbers might clarify the vision.

It was Atris who had convinced the Republic to contact the Exile.

Atris, the historian, the archivist, who could not justify leaving her post and following her heart. Atris, whose song, in the Exile’s memory of their last encounter, spoke of bitterness. Atris who surrounded herself with Handmaidens who were deaf to song. To the changes in a song.

I was an historian, Kreia had said. I found more questions than the Songhouse could answer.

§

“Songmaster,” says Mical, turning back towards the dormitory. There is resolve in his tone. “It is not Kreia who has shaken you so.”

She gives him a level look, already seated on the meditation rug Visas bought for her on Onderon.

He tries again. “What did the Songmasters say to you?”

“The Songmasters are dead.”

“And Atris has betrayed us, yes. Songmaster.”

The Exile sits back. “Why are you here, Mical?”

“I was worried about you.”

“No, why are you here? I influenced your songs as a child. What is to say I’m not doing so now? Do you not wonder why you follow me?”

You are a parasite, spits Vrook in her mind’s eye. Forming bonds, leeching off the connections of others. Your gift of the voice has always given you undue influence over the minds of the young and wayward.

“I follow you because I believe what I heard from you all those years ago, songmaster,” says Mical. “I see with my eyes that it is still the case. I admire you. But the galaxy does not revolve around any one person, though any one person can dedicate themselves to defend it. You taught me that.”

The Exile fixes her gaze somewhere above his left ear. “At Malachor, it was –I assumed my songs were taken away, or that I was deafened by what I heard. But I stopped my own ears. The other side of my gift of the voice: if I can harmonize with anyone, I can also not.” She looks down, at the rug, at the decking. “I knew. I’d always had a knack for that trick. I pulled it on Revan once, right before a performance. I don’t remember why. Got the mother of all lectures from Songmaster Sunrider. But I knew, if I would have let myself remember.”

Mical sits in front of her, legs crossed. “You heard something you could not bear. To hear so much death at once would have killed you.”

“But to cut myself off from all song to stop listening? You can imagine the Songmasters’ reactions.”

Mical does not smile at this. “They thought you were the source of the echo of death that has followed us.”

“I am the bait. And I do carry something with me.” She looks away. “Malachor V is not gone. The song of the universe is suffering there, and I carry it, not as a cloak, but inside...”

It is like Mical cannot hear it. The Exile’s voice is empty. There is nothing of herself in it. What she has become is worse than what Atton was before: Her true song is the death of song, and the songs of others. She grows in strength from death, and from her companions. She uses her gift of the voice to sing what she hears, to sing her friends voices, their songs, to sing to the living. Everything in her song is chosen, gathered, borrowed, stolen. Not hers.

“And you think that is a matter of accident?” says Mical. “That you sing of life and living when you know also the songs of death and ending? That you spin songs from what you hear, and from the people who love you?”

She thinks of the twisted brightness around a black hole. She thinks of a bog, the water coming up from the ground, and the ground itself made of drowned plants. Death feeding life feeding death, on forever.

Mical nods, satisfied. “It is possible to be afraid of death, and so delay to make choices that will save more lives. That is why the Songmasters have failed where you have not. You know what it will take, and you are not afraid.”

“I am afraid.”

“But not of dying.”

No. Never of that.

§

She follows Kreia to Telos, to Atris.

The cacophony of darksong around her is unbearable. The Exile stops her ears and listens to the frightened woman in front of her instead.

She does not think to query the voices around her.

§

I have authored so much death, sings Bao-Dur. Let my song end saving something instead. I will die in a different way if I do not.

§

I do not fear, for in fear, lies death. I am not afraid to die, but no longer do I loathe my life. I ask you, finally, to forgive me for the path I took when I lost my way. It has taken time for me to return here. I’ve been stronger for the journey. What happens now shall not be done out of hate, or revenge, but for the sake of all life.

This body is a prison no longer.

Visas stands. “Let us go.”

§

“And so that is why you fight,” says Visas. “To prove Revan wrong.”

“Not Revan,” says Mandalore, rising.

§

Darth Nihilus is a hunger, a void with will, an eater of songs, a silence.

He dies like a mortal man in the end.

§

There is a place, the Exile knows, beyond all song. Beyond light, beyond dark, and in which there is nothing but oneself.

It is not this place.

The Exile stalks the broken surface of Malachor V. She stalks the halls of the Academy, the crucible Revan found and founded, a festering wound the Exile created. This is a place meant to break the innocent, to drive them to let go of song, or grow stronger in defiance. To change, or die.

She thinks of Atton’s songs, grown strong in spite of everything. Mira standing tall. Visas singing to herself of small pleasures. Bao-Dur surrounded by green and growing things. Mical, looking to the future clear-eyed and singing anyway. Mandalore’s steadiness. HK. T3.

She thinks of the echoes of Malachor V. Lives lost, future lost, a planet in agony, only held together by residual gravitic anomalies, the echo of the weapon that won the war.

(She can only hope Remote has found its way)

She will sing here.

She will shake the walls down.

§

She sends her students back to the ship.

Her face is set towards Trayus Core.

She does not notice Atton turning back.

§

“Wish I’d...never met you,” says Atton, and it sounds like I will always help you.

“You’re a damn liar,” says the Exile, trying to ignore the blood, trying to sort cauterized and uncauterized wounds, praying Kreia’s tutoring in healingsong will be enough. There’s nothing she can do for his eye, and likely not his arm either, but she was just fast enough and it is possible if any of them die today it might not be him. “You are never where you are supposed to be and you have always been a pain in my ass.”

“Ha-ohh, it hurts to laugh.” He reaches up a hand, and touches two bloody fingers to her cheek before it falls heavily back again. “At least I’m…good, good at it. Save...save your strength. Sion’s still out there.”

“He had better be,” the Exile growls. “You’re going to have a few dashing scars.”

“Liar. Was always ugly. Now my outsides...match my insides.” He hums and the song is his. Just his. “Thought I would never see...another face again. And then you were there again. Thought being a Singer was like breaking Control. Like giving up. But it made me more myself. You need to go.”

She’s aware that she is crying. She needs Control. “Don’t be a fool.”

“There are worse...things I could be.” His face twists. “Wish I could...have told her that. Sounds different...when you say it. Like you’re saying...something else.”

§

The Exile methodically weakens Sion’s Control.

In the end, he goes.

In the end, she sings Farewell for him, too.

§

Kreia hates Song, even as she sings, even as she knows that all living things have song, whether they hear it and sing it or not. Kreia loves the Exile, even as she tries to kill her.

§

You don’t have to hear the song to make a choice, the Exile sings, in a brief respite from whirling lightsabers. Life does not only consist of struggle. The answer to life’s betrayal is not silence. No silence is absolute. There is always something left. There are echoes. Nothing is ever done.

There is only yourself.

No. That which you cannot touch still exists.

§

I do not want your mercy, Kreia sings, though I thank you all the same. “I imagined this day, and wondered if you would offer. I wanted you to say those words. I did not imagine that I would lose the thread of all my desires and plans. That I would spurn my defeat. That in the end all I would want is for you to be complete.” You have been the best of them.

The Exile nods.

“Farewell, Exile,” says Kreia, and it sounds like the love song.

§

Atton leans against the doorway, a Jedi’s cloak shrouding the ruin of his arm. There’s a kolto patch over his eye again. The Exile listens, and hears the echoes of Mikal’s grudging acceptance that nothing short of sitting on the pilot’s still-healing gut wound would keep him from waiting.

Everyone is waiting.

“Mira said someone ought to see if you needed carried out,” he lies.

The Exile raises an eyebrow. From the way he’s swaying, she is the one who is going to be doing the carrying.

“Don’t just stand there, we have a bomb about to go off. And I see that look. I figure we have a long way to go to get to wherever we are going next. If you, you know, happen to need a pilot.”

§

The song of Malachor V ends, its echoes no longer unfinished. They are carried forward in the voices of the lives it touched; the memory of song.

§

I will never hurt you. I will always help you. If you are hungry Ill give you my food. If you are frightened I am your friend. I love you now. And love does not end.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Seven minutes of truth and dare

Summary>  You and Pietro have been friends since elementary school. On his 18th birthday, you try to socialize with his twin sister, Wanda Maximoff, who never seemed to like you very much.

Warnings> (implied) Enemies to Lovers/ Fluff and Smut/ Vaginal Fingering/ Boys Kissing/ Girls Kissing/ Underage Drinking/ 18+/ implicit sex/ swearing

Words>  3734k (Oneshot)

Read on AO3 

It took little time to get to Maximoff's house, considering that you had to walk to the residence, since your ride - Natasha Romanoff, best friend, currently on the run together with her boyfriend Bruce Banner - just stood up to you. You were lucky to live only a few blocks away.

The noise of the party could already be heard from around the corner, and you wondered how long it would take for one of the neighbors to call the police. At least it was the weekend, and you remembered that Pietro had commented that the Parkers would be traveling on their honeymoon, being the only neighbors of the house. Pietro was always lucky for things like this.

When you finally arrived at the house, the sound of some electronic music was much louder. You greeted a few people with a nod, the vast majority classmates, who were actually more Pietro's friends than yours, and then you went inside. 

The Maximoff residence was very nice, but at this moment it was full of teenagers drinking and dancing, many glasses and bottles lying on the floor. 

 Looking for Pietro, you found him upside down, drinking directly from a beer tank that was set up in the outside yard past the kitchen. You frowned slightly, hoping your friend didn't have an alcoholic coma, as you walked up to the group of teenagers who cheered and encouraged the challenge.

When he finished, the two boys holding him by the ankles helped him to balance again, laughing and patting Pietro on the back. Your friend staggered a bit, but then he saw you, flashing a smile before hugging you.

- You stink, birthday boy. - You teased, and Pietro just rolled his eyes humorously.

- You took your time. - He remarks as you release from your embrace. You shrug.

- You know this isn't my thing. - You remark, referring to the party. Pietro smiles.

- Yes, yes. But I'm glad you're here. - He replies and then takes your hands, lifting them a little and looking down your entire body. - And look at you, you even dressed up to come! Are you trying to have sex with someone?

You laughed, letting go of Pietro's hands to push him gently, which made Pietro laugh too. Soon you were surrounded by other friends, but not being very good with crowds, you said you were going to get something to drink before you left.

In the kitchen, you tried to find something that didn't have alcohol in it. You ended up grabbing one of the bottles of soda from the refrigerator, hoping that none of the Maximoffs would mind.

Someone changed the music and turned up the sound, so you heard the excited shouts of several people, who began to move into the room and dance around each other. You laughed at the image, walking upstairs.

A few people were scattered on this floor, mostly trying to smoke pot in hiding, or to have some privacy from the noise. A few others were just making out in the corners. You walked to Pietro's room, checking his present in your pocket.

He would be too busy being the popular extrovert he was tonight, so you thought it best to leave the small gift you bought for him on his bedside table, he could appreciate the gift when the party was over. 

You closed the door on your way out, and frowned as you looked down the hall, a couple of strangers kissed passionately while one of the boys groped the walls for somewhere to go, you watched as he found one of the unlocked doors and went inside. You sighed, hesitating to make a move. You knew very well that this was Wanda's room. You figured that no one would want to know that strangers were screwing in their bed.

Hurrying inside, you opened the door.

- Sorry, boys, this one's off limits. - You warned them as you entered, noting that they were already almost naked. Grabbing the fallen clothes from around the room, they looked at you angrily, but then left the room.

You shifted the weight of your feet, realizing where you were at last. Looking around, you bit your lower lip as you observed how everything was just so Wanda. 

The color of the walls, the sheets, even the way she organized the books and records. You ran your finger between the shelves on the wall, smiling at the collection of music she had in vinyl record format. And then you looked at the collection of dvds, compilations of old American sitcoms.

You walked over to the study table, a picture of Wanda and Pietro as children caught your eye. It was Halloween, and they were dressed up adorably, Wanda as a witch, with horns and a red cape, and Pietro as a superhero. You put the photo back, running your fingers through Wanda's notes displayed in the notebooks she left open on the table. On the few occasions you saw her at school during the past year, she was studying. Pietro had commented that she was going to apply to the best colleges in the country. 

- What are you doing here? - A female voice sounded behind you, and you stumbled with fright, turning around quickly.

- God, Wanda, you scared the hell out of me. - You grumbled, but she continued with a look of mixed annoyance and curiosity. You looked away before speaking. - Sorry for snooping. I just came here to keep some boys from having sex in your bed.

Wanda blinked with confusion, but her expression softened. You noticed how beautiful she looked, and scolded yourself for thinking that the next second.

- Oh right. Thanks, I guess.

You nodded slightly, not being used to being alone with her. 

- I didn't know you liked sitcons. - The words escape your anxious brain, and Wanda blinks in confusion. You thought she would throw you out of the room right away, but she just smiles, shrugging.

- You never asked. - She says, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

- Yeah, I didn't know you wanted me to ask. - You retort, your voice coming out almost in a whisper. Wanda looks away, twiddling her fingers.

You were silent for a moment, and Wanda looked like she was about to say something, but then the door opened again, and you raised your eyebrows as you watched two girls snuggled up to each other and stumbled into the room, unaware of your presence. Wanda made an impatient expression.

- Get out, now! - she warns, and the girls part in shock. You raise your eyebrows as you realize that you knew them.

- Damn, we didn't know it was taken. - Carol grumbled, and when she looked at you her expression changed from embarrassment to happiness. - Y/N! I didn't know you were coming.

You nodded at her clumsily, and she just smiled, apologizing again as she dragged Maria out of the room, closing the door. You didn't even want to think about what you two were going to do.

- Maybe you should lock the door. - You said, and Wanda looked at you with a raised eyebrow, a tone of surprise and malice in her gaze. You blushed as you realized what your speech implied. - I-I mean when we get out of here.

Wanda laughed, and you tried to cope with the butterflies in your stomach that seeing her laugh gave you.

- I think I will stick around here anyway. - She comments after a moment, sitting up in bed. - Parties aren't really my thing.

- Yeah, I know how it is. - You add, a little awkwardly. - I only agreed to come because Pietro really wanted me to.

- You stopped coming here at home. - Wanda says with an expression you don't understand, it was as if she wanted to read you. - Are you two all right?

You look at her with mild surprise, not really expecting her to have noticed you anyway. 

- Me and Pietro? Yes, we're fine! - you affirm, putting your hands in your pockets. - I guess the exams have been keeping me busy. And well, Pietro has lots of friends now, it's not like I'm missed that much.

You looked at the floor, not noticing Wanda's frown. You didn't want to think too much about Pietro replacing you, not today.

- I don't think that's true. - Wanda says after a moment. - Pietro likes you very much.

Wanda's tone is almost hurt. At first you thought that maybe she was thinking that Pietro enjoyed your company more than hers, which was absolutely ridiculous, but then you understood the tone of the insinuation, and laughed lightly, attracting the other girl's attention.

- You know we're just friends, right? - You start to explain, the idea of dating Pietro is so absurd that your voice comes out in a tone of debauchery and humor. - He has never looked at me like that! And I always thought he was like a little brother.

You laugh at the possibility, but Wanda looks at you intently.

- Would I be like your little sister too? - She replies in a low tone, and you feel your smile drop and look away, completely embarrassed.

- No. - You deny it, a little breathlessly. - I don't see you as a sister.

- And how do you see me?

Feeling your heart race, you force yourself to look up, looking at Wanda. She has a glint in her eyes that makes you want to kiss her.

Before you can answer, the door opens again, and Pietro stumbles inside.

- Great, I found you two! - He looked drunk. - We're going to play seven minutes in heaven, come on, come on!

Giving you two absolutely no chance to respond, he pushed you through the house, leading you to the basement, where your group of friends were waiting for you.

- Hey guys. - You greeted awkwardly seeing everyone standing there. 

- No fucking way you two are at a party together! - joked Tony Stark, smiling at you. Despite the teasing, the others were genuinely happy with your company. - And they're still going to play with us? This is legendary.

- Why don't you just fuck off, Stark? - retorted Wanda as she entered. You knew they didn't get along very well, but Tony just shrugged, laughing at the other girl's aggressiveness. 

- Come on, guys, do the circle! - asked Steve, who was already sitting in one of the armchairs. He put a bottle in the middle of the group. - Are you sure you want seven minutes?

- We start with truth and dare, Rogers. - said Tony as he sat down next to Thor, one of Pietro's soccer teammates.

- All right, all right, let's just play this game once and for all, - said Pietro impatiently. When everyone was sitting in a circle, Steve touched the bottle, smiling at the group.

Turning the bottle, everyone looked forward in anticipation. The tip stopped at Sam, one of his closest friends, who seemed confident to respond to anything.

- Truth or dare, Wilson? - Steve asked.

- I'll go for truth.

- Boring. - Grumbled Tony, but Steve just laughed, and assumed a thoughtful expression.

- Who was the last person you kissed?

Sam bowed his head, a smile on his lips. You frowned, he was not the type to be shy. Tony noticed as well and assumed a curious posture, looking at Sam intently.

- The last person I kissed... - Sam began, pausing, as if wondering if he was really going to say it - Was Bucky.

The whole group exclaimed in surprise, and Tony burst out laughing. You looked at Bucky, who just seemed too embarrassed to respond to the jokes.

- Okay, let's pretend this isn't the biggest sex scandal in school, and move on. - Pietro said in an amused tone. Sam laughed at his comments, and turned the bottle, which stopped at Thor.

- Dare. - Said the blond man without even waiting for Sam to ask. Sam laughed and thought for a few seconds before saying:

- Okay, everyone will need to put their cell phones on speaker for this one. - Sam said and nodded, waiting for everyone to obey. The group laughed, but followed his lead. - Well, my challenge is very simple. Send a message to the person you want to make out with from here. Everyone will know who.

- You are terrible, Wilson. - Thor commented, ignoring the sighs of excitement that the group shared.

It took a moment for Thor to pick up his cell phone, and type something. He took a sip of his beer before pressing enter, and the next second, Valkyrie's cell phone rang. 

- This is not at all surprising, actually. - Steve joked, making everyone laugh.

Valkyrie gave Thor a surprised and mischievous look, but said nothing. Thor looked slightly flushed.

- If you guys are lucky, you can win seven minutes. - Sam teased.

Thor laughed but said nothing. He stepped forward to spin the bottle. Tony let out a pleased exclamation when he saw the bottle stop on him.

- Fuck, finally! - He said, and raised his hand to interrupt Thor, who was probably about to ask the choice. - No need, darling. Of course I want a dare, this game is no fun without it.

- Fine, Stark. - Thor laughed. - Since you love to show off, I dare you to give Rogers a lap dance.

The group burst into laughter, but Steve seemed considerably anxious. Tony laughed, a little awkwardly, and then stood up. 

Thor was quick to get some music playing, and everyone was quiet in anticipation. When Tony started to perform, you blinked awkwardly. You had no desire to see Anthony Stark do a lap dance on someone's lap. You pulled your cell phone out of your pocket checking for messages, and smiled when you saw that there was a message from Nat, just a picture of her and Bruce, smoking together in what you thought looked like the Skateboard Court near the school.

The group laughed again, and you lifted your head to see that Tony was riding on Steve's lap, with his shirt off. Steve was very red. 

- Okay guys, I think that's good enough! - Thor laughed, and Tony stood up. The group laughed at the visible erections on both of them, before continuing the game. 

- Can you keep up, Stark? - Thor sneered, pointing at Tony's pants. He gave a lopsided smile, and pointed a middle finger at Thor before picking up the bottle.

You felt your stomach flip with nervousness when the bottle stopped on you. 

- Well, well, this should be interesting. - said Tony looking at you mischievously. - Tell me, kitten, truth or dare?

You considered your options for a few seconds. If you asked for truth, Tony would not only tease you, but also find a way to make you confess something embarrassing. At least with dare, it would be quick and without much impact on your post-party life.

- Dare. - You say simply, and Tony looks surprised.

- It's been a night of surprises. - he scoffed. - And I think it's time for us to start the seven minutes in heaven.

- Damn it, Tony. - You mumble clumsily. Tony laughs and then flashes you a smile of fake kindness.

- I'll be nice to you. The bottle will choose your partner.  - He says, and you cover your face with both hands for a moment before grabbing the bottle.

- I hate you, - you mutter to Tony before swirling the bottle around. With luck it would stop at one of your friends, and you would spend seven minutes talking.

- No fucking way! - shouted Tony excitedly as the bottle stopped at Wanda. You felt your stomach drop. - I always knew you'd end up with a Maximoff, I never thought it would be with the most gothic of them.

The group laughed, but you were feeling extremely anxious. You felt your legs tremble slightly when Tony pulled you off the couch, seeing your lack of reaction. You tried to smile, but it must have come out as a grimace, since Tony laughed. 

- Remember girls, no cheating. - he warned, opening the closet door. You went in first, and then Tony closed the door when Wanda came in.

The closet was completely dark, and you could only distinguish Wanda's silhouette by squinting your eyes. You leaned your body against the wall, your breaths were the only sounds in the room, since the noise of the party was muffled.

- That's awkward. - You said trying to ease your nerves. 

- Why is it awkward? - Wanda replied. The closet was small, and looking at the floor, you noticed that your shoes were only inches from touching.

- I don't know, I guess I never thought I'd be in a closet with you. - you confess humorously. But with Wanda's lack of response, you bite the inside of your cheek, not knowing what to say next.

- Who did you think you would be stuck with? - She says after a moment, sounding as if she is trying to prolong the subject.

- I don't know. - You say, looking at your shoes again. You think you're imagining that the distance between you has decreased. - I don't really think about being stuck in closets.

Wanda laughs at your statement, and you feel your heart race at the sound. You count twelve seconds in silence before she speaks again.

- I never understood why we didn't become friends. - Wanda confesses, and you look up at her silhouette. 

Because I've been a gay disaster in your presence since I met you. You think, but think it best to just shrug. Then you remember that she can't see the gesture, and try to think of something to say.

- Different political views. - You joke, and Wanda giggles. 

- I like your humor. - She says next, and you feel your cheeks heat up, and look down, only to see Wanda's shoes signaling that she has taken a step toward you. You press your back against the wall, watching her move closer in the dark. - And honestly, I've always liked you a lot.

- W-what? - You ask breathlessly, feeling Wanda's presence right in front of you, your noses touching.

- I always noticed you, you know. - She says, drawing her face closer to your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair. You were thankful that there was a wall behind you, serving as a support. - I would see you around the house. Playing in my yard. And the jokes at the dinner table. Always so quiet and shy at school, so behaved and obedient. - Wanda whispered, and then she brought her mouth close to his ear. - Tell me, did you notice me too?

- Yes. - You confess breathlessly. And ignoring the uneven beating of your own heart, you continue. - I have always noticed you. Ever since middle school, when you started wearing leather boots, and painting your fingernails. Or when I was at your swimming pool and you sat quietly with a book. I noticed you.

Wanda lets out a sigh, bringing your foreheads together.

- Tell me to stop if you don't want this. - She whispered against your lips. You would have laughed if you weren't so anxious. 

You didn't answer, and wanting her to know how much you wanted her, you moved forward, pressing your lips together in a tender kiss.

Wanda took a step back in surprise, separating your mouths. You were about to apologize, thinking that maybe you had got it all wrong, but the next second she moved against you, her hands on your neck as your mouths joined in a firm, passionate kiss.

Bringing your hands to her waist, you pressed her against your body, and you gasped against each other's mouths. Wanda asked for passage with her tongue running over your lower lip, and you opened your mouth, gasping as you felt your tongues come together.

Kissing like this for a moment was enough to warm your whole body, a familiar discomfort forming below your belly. Having Wanda moaning against your mouth was not helping.

You slowed the kiss, stroking her tongue with yours slowly. Wanda pressed herself against you, one knee coming up between your legs. With the new friction, you felt your body tremble in anticipation, delighting in pleasure.

You were startled when you heard a noise, someone must have knocked something over outside the closet. And then you remembered that you were in a closet, with your best friend's sister, who was in the next room with six other people, with no idea that you were about to fuck Wanda.

You began to slow the kiss until you separated the two of you. Your chests were rising out of rhythm as you were breathing heavily

- We only have seven minutes. - You whispered out of breath, feeling Wanda nod her head slightly as you stood there with your foreheads pressed together.

- We can go to my room. - She spoke in the same tone. You nodded in agreement, beginning to miss the taste of Wanda in your mouth.

- Should we wait until the party is over?

Wanda let out a breathless giggle.

- Tell me. - She whispered, and removed her hands from your neck. With one hand she lifted her skirt, while with the other she took your hand from her waist and guided it down between her legs. You trembled as you touched her, pushing the fabric of her panties aside to feel her wet pussy. - Do you think I can wait?

- Fuck, Wanda. - You spoke breathlessly, and felt her moan as your finger moved against her clitoris. She squeezed your shoulder, closing her eyes. - You're so wet. So fucking wet for me.

You began to move your finger, penetrating her shallowly. Wanda buried her head in your neck, moaning against your skin.

It takes all your mental and physical control, but you withdraw your finger from inside her, while with the hand that was still on her waist you move up and down her back, stroking to calm her down.

- I want to feel you in my mouth. - You whisper to her. - I want you to come for me with your legs spread wide open on your bed. 

Wanda nods against your neck, trembling slightly. And then the door opens. You barely catch Tony's joke, feeling disconnected from everything that isn't Wanda. 

And before you can say anything, Wanda grabs your hand, pulling you out. 

- Where do you think you're going? - You hear someone shout, but neither of you even bother to answer. 

You can't help but smile when you reach the second floor, and Wanda pushes you into the room, locking the door as she brings your mouths together.

[wheresmynaya]

Hate to Date Ch.2 | Brittana

A/N - Back to back weekly updates? You can thank this damn head cold for keeping me in bed LOL. I’m so blown away by the response the first chapter received, like holy shit you guys love a good trope combo same as me! Happy that you’re all enjoying it so far, hopefully I can keep delivering. Have at it! 💙

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

“I cannot believe this.”

Puck looks over at Santana muttering to herself as she stares at her phone and quirks his brow. She’s shaking her head now as she scrolls and it makes Puck wonder.

“What is it?”

Santana’s eyes widen at the screen before she’s scrolling again. With the shake of her head, she continues to mutter.

“Like I cannot actually believe this is happening to me.”

“What?” Puck tries again.

When Santana doesn’t answer, he leans over the armrest separating them to take a peek at her screen, but she quickly yanks the phone to her chest.

Puck sits back a little and starts to smirk, “You getting nudes in class now or something?”

Several students seated around turn to stare at them – even Brittany. Santana can already feel the color starting to drain from her face as they stare. It’s not the possibility that everyone will find out she’s being sent risky pictures, because hello been there done that – but because this is way worse.

“Jesus, no!” Santana snaps, but her deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression doesn’t help.

Brittany shakes her head before turning back to her work. The other students around them follow suit, but Puck’s the only one that seems way more interested in whatever’s going on with Santana than taking notes. He continues staring at her while she furiously taps at her screen.

“Can you stop? You’re being weird,” Santana grumbles as she side eyes him while she puts away her phone.

“Me?” Puck lets out a laugh in disbelief, “I’m being weird? You’re the one talking to yourself.”

Santana gives him a look but he doesn’t waver. In fact, he scoffs at her attitude.

“Ever since you came back from your last trip home you’ve been all,” Puck motions at her with his hand, “Which like, you’re always a little on edge whenever you come back from a visit but it’s lasting so much longer this time. Not to mention that you haven’t had any of your late night visitors come around. Something’s up.”

Santana stays quiet though and turns to keep taking notes. Puck eyes her, trying to find a weak spot in her armor.

“I haven’t seen Denise around,” Puck ends up adding, “I figured after bringing her home with you that she’d have a least one more week before you’re kicking her to the curb.”

At the mention of Denise, Santana stiffens.

Puck notices and pushes further, “Shit. What happened? Did your mom like…walk in on you two…” Puck lifts his hands to gesture but Santana quickly swats them down.

“Will you just drop it?”

“I can’t! Not when you’re always huffing and puffing at your phone,” Puck reasons, “Just tell me what’s going on with you?”

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?

“Because it’s too embarrassing.”

“Now you definitely have to tell me!”

“No!”

Suddenly Brittany’s turning around again, a flash of blonde hair whipping past, and a scowl on her face. Her piercing blue eyes cut her like ice as she glares.

“Can you both keep it down?” She scolds, “Some of us are trying to pay attention.”

“Some of us are trying to pay attention,” Santana mocks.

“Grow up,” Brittany says with an eyeroll before turning around.

Santana only sticks her tongue out, but despite the reminder that they’re still in the middle of class Puck is determined to get Santana talking. He’s such a little shit like that when it comes to keeping secrets.

“Just tell me,” He insists in a hushed tone, “I told you about that one time I nearly burned my dick off using your fancy shaving cream.”

“Yeah, I didn’t ask for that,” Santana replies bluntly, “I remember specifically saying that I didn’t want to know.”

“But that’s an embarrassing moment, so now you have to tell me yours.”

“That’s not how it works,” Santana says.

Just then, her phone lights up on her desk. She glances to it as Puck does the same. She knows what’s about to happen, but she shifts her stare to Puck hoping that he’s smarter than that.

Of course, he’s not and soon they’re both lunging for her phone.

Santana’s closer so she gets a hand on it first, but so does Puck and he tries valiantly to muscle her out of the way. It’s a lost cause trying to beat him but what she lacks in brawn she makes up for in brain. She’s quick to pinch him right under the bicep and Puck instantly pulls back.

“Ow! Fuck!” He groans.

Santana only smirks, “Don’t touch my shit.”

His face is still screwed up in pain as he rubs the spot while Santana slips her phone safely in her bag.

“That was dirty,” Puck tells her.

Santana just shrugs, “Would you expect anything less of me?”

Puck starts to grin, “Guess not.”

“Okay then,” She smirks and nods to the front of the lecture hall, “Now leave me alone. I’m trying to listen.”

And Puck does as he’s told – for a solid five seconds.

“Come on,” Puck pleads, “This is just a review. You don’t even need to listen.”

Santana sighs, “You’re not going to drop this?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Santana leans closer to Puck and whispers, “Swear you’ll never repeat this.”

Puck’s eyes widen like he’s just hit the jackpot, “I swear.”

“Okay,” Santana closes her eyes and settles her racing heart, “My mom is setting me up on blind dates because she’s tired of the kind of girls I bring home.”

Puck sits back and blinks, “Wait. What?”

“Yeah,” Santana says dejectedly as she goes back to writing, “It’s the same shit. She doesn’t think I take my future with her at the firm seriously because of my so-called reputation with women so now she’s taking over like she always does and trying to set me up with the perfect person. God, she makes it sound like I’m some sleezy player, but I’m respectful!”

“Now that’s hilarious,” Brittany comments just loud enough for Santana to hear.

Santana doesn’t pay her any mind though and looks back at Puck, “I’ve wine and dined every woman I’ve been with, you know that. I’ve opened every door, paid every tab, I even make sure they come first!”

“Totally, yeah.”

Santana slumps in her chair and thinks aloud, “I can’t help that I’m attractive, that’s what I told her. What’s so wrong about keeping my options open, right? What’s the point of being young and in college if she already wants me to settle down with someone already? It’s crazy and it’s ridiculous!”

Puck stays quiet for a moment longer like he’s still trying to grasp the concept, but only one question begs to be asked.

“Are they at least hot blind dates?”

Santana looks to him unamused, but she can tell he’s being completely serious and he’s so used to her judgment that it doesn’t usually phase him anymore anyway. So she sighs again and shrugs.

“I mean, yeah but that’s besides the point,” Santana answers honestly.

“Looks are important,” Puck assures her.

“Obviously, but I’m not that shallow,” Santana waves him off.

Puck shakes his head in disbelief, “So Mama Lopez has you going on blind dates...”

“Technically she’s only set me up on one blind date but she keeps sending through these potential romance partners,” Santana replies, “She has them formatted like a damn resume with a picture and bio, likes and dislikes, future plans. Every one of them has professional goals and despite them being relatively hot, they’re boring as hell!”

Puck starts to giggle as Santana shows him an example which earns him a punch in the arm.

“This is no laughing matter, Puckerman,” Santana says, “This is serious shit! I wouldn’t be surprised if she signs me up for The Bachelorette or something. This really is a new low for me.”

Puck looks back at her with a brow raised, “Oh no, my mom is setting me up on dates with beautiful and successful women. My life is so hard.”

“See that right there,” Santana points a finger at him, “That’s why I didn’t tell you in the first place.”

“Come on,” Puck jokes, “I can kind of see why she’s stepping in. Your dating history is on the same level as mine and that’s not a good thing.”

“Why?” Santana cocks her head to the side, “Because you’re a guy?”

“I – well…”

“Exactly,” Santana huffs, “I’m tired of the insane double standards. I like to date, so what? Doesn’t give her an excuse to meddle in my love life.”

“More like lust life.”

Santana gives him a look, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Puck brushes off, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. You don’t do commitments and you don’t do long term. You’re there for the fun parts and then as soon as they get attached, you break it off. It’s text book Lopez.”

Santana hates how see-through she feels and crosses her arms over her chest in defiance.

“You’re one to talk. When was your last relationship?”

“You know the answer to that,” Puck says with an unexpected seriousness in his tone.

Santana grits her teeth and looks away, “Point is I don’t need her setting me up. I like my life the way that it is.”

“She’s doing the work for you though,” Puck reasons, “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic here?”

“Of course not!”

Suddenly Brittany’s turning around again, “You two are unbelievable.”

“Sorry Britt,” Puck apologizes and taps his paper, “I’m all ears now.”

Santana doesn’t have anything witty to say in return though, because now she’s finally letting the gravity of the situation she’s gotten herself into weight down on her. Since returning home, she’s been brushing this whole blind date thing off but now that she’s talked about it aloud it’s like the veil of ignorant bliss has been lifted.

She really is in deep shit.

There’s only so many times she can try to evade Maribel’s attempts before she’s being ambushed – hell, it’s already happened once before! Her mother’s never been one to back down easily, so Santana doesn’t see the end coming anytime soon, not until Santana has a proper suiter by her side.

“I have to figure a way out of this,” She says suddenly before turning to Puck. “She’s already set me up on another date when I come home for winter break.”

“Damn, Mama Lopez works quick.”

Santana reached over and grabs his wrist. Her grip is so tight that Puck winces.  

“Ow! What the hell?”

“You’ve got to help me,” Santana tells him, “What if I’m stuck going on boring dates for the rest of my life?”

Puck laughs as he pries her fingers off, “Why don’t you just date one of the girls you bring home for longer than a couple weeks?”

Santana shakes her head, “I can’t do that. Have you seen these women my mom has picked out? The Art Majors I’ve taken home can’t compete with that!”

“Well then I guess I can offer my services.”

Santana rolls her eyes, “One: that ship sailed a long ass time ago. Two: no one would believe it. Three: I need someone that’s actually impressive.”

“Rude,” Puck puffs out his chest, “I’m impressive. Check out these guns.”

Santana shakes her head as he starts to flex.

“You okay back there, Noah?” Professor Martinez asks, “You forget you’re not at football practice again?”

Puck instantly stops, “My B, Prof Martinez!”

While they get back to focusing on class, Santana’s gears are still turning, trying to come up with a solution to this mess.

\\

After another few days of dealing with Maribel playing matchmaker, Santana’s had enough.

She and Puck are home trying to wind down after their long day of school and practice. Puck’s in the middle of ordering way too much pizza while Santana’s in the kitchen already halfway through her second glass of wine. She’s mindlessly scrolling through her phone when a text from Maribel comes through.

“This woman doesn’t quit,” Santana laughs as she joins Puck on the couch, “Check this one out.”

Puck leans over and reads, “Likes quiet nights at home, reading and horseback riding.”

“She’s a horse girl,” Santana states, “My mother has recommended I date a horse girl.”

“She’s the hottest horse girl I’ve ever seen,” Puck compliments, “And hey, at least she’d know how to ri– “

“Don’t even,” Santana stops him.

“What?” Puck snickers, “Let me see the next one.”

Santana sighs but shows him anyway. They go through a couple duds before settling on another pretty blonde that sparks both of their attentions.

“This one’s in culinary school,” Santana says, “Not really a career path mom would’ve included in here but maybe she’s an heir to the throne or something.”

“Which throne?”

“Who knows,” Santana shrugs.

“Dating a chef would be cool. You’d always eat good,” Puck starts to smirk, “You see what I did there?”

Santana looks unimpressed, “Stevie Wonder could see that coming.”

Puck brushes her off as he takes a sip of his beer.

“You’re mean when you haven’t been laid,” He frowns.

\\

Once the pizza comes, they lay out the boxes on the coffee table and camp out around it while they continue drinking. Puck has something random on tv but it’s so lame that it starts to be hilarious – or maybe that’s the alcohol talking. They go between watching the screen and scrolling through more of the profiles Maribel sends through.

“I don’t even reply to these things anymore,” Santana giggles.

“You’re leaving Mama Lopez on read?” Puck asks with his eyes all glassy, “Damn. That’s cold. Even your own mom gets the Lady Killer Lopez treatment.”

“That’s not a thing,” Santana laughs, “Besides, I reply to her just not when she’s trying to set me up with a future wife.”

Puck shakes his head, “How you gonna ghost her when you go home in a few weeks?”

“Maybe I’ll skip going home?”

“Bullshit,” Puck jokes, “Your mom would kick your ass then she’d kick mine for not locking you out of the apartment.”

“You right,” Santana chuckles, “I guess I’ll just figure it out when I get there.”

\\

After a few more slices of pizza and more drinking, Puck gets an idea.

“What if you tell her you already have a girlfriend?”

Santana starts to giggle, “And who would this girlfriend be?”

“I don’t know,” Puck shrugs, “She’s made up!”

“Made up? That’s the worst idea ever.”

“She can’t send you pics of hot chicks anymore if you’ve got one though?”

“But I don’t have one,” Santana reasons.

“So lie.”

Santana quirks her brow, “You want me to lie to Maribel Lopez?”

Puck raises his beer, “Got a better idea?”

Santana thinks about that for a moment but everything’s kind of wine-soaked and cloudy.

“I guess not.”

Puck grins, “Then this is the answer to all your problems! Tell her you have a girlfriend already!”

It’s not one of her brightest moments in the world, but are any ideas bright after a bottle of wine? She just wants the constant texts about prospective suiters to stop and at this moment in time, Puck’s a goddamn genius.

“Done,” Santana says triumphantly and goes to send the text to Maribel.

“Liar,” Puck laughs, “You didn’t actually, right?”

“I sure fucking did,” Santana nods and shows the screen to her best friend.

“Can’t. Got a gf. It’s pretty serious,” Puck reads then falls on his back roaring with laughter.

“What?” Santana looks back at the text. The screen’s a little blurry so she squints, “Did I spell something wrong?”

“I can’t believe you actually sent that,” Puck says. There’s a brief moment of clarity where Santana regrets her decision but it’s quickly interrupted by Puck adding, “You never listen to me!”

“Yeah, there’s a reason for that…”

Santana looks back at the screen contemplating whether or not she should follow up with a jk or just leave it, but the alcohol is making her move slower than usual. By the time she decides, there’s a next text from Maribel.

“Shit!” Santana throws the phone at Puck’s chest, “You read it. I can’t.”

Puck sits back up and does his best impression of Maribel as he reads, “Lovely. Can’t wait to meet her.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

“You’re so screwed,” Puck laughs, “What are you going to do?”

“Hell if I fucking know! This is your fault.”

“Hey, I didn’t send that message. You did.”

“You know how I feel about peer pressure!” Santana argues, “Mama didn’t raise no bitch.”

“You’re right, she raised a dumbass!”

“Fuck off!”

Puck laughs while Santana goes to stand and starts pacing but instead of straight lines, her path is curvy and she nearly trips over the leg of the coffee table.

“Sit your ass down. You’re making me dizzy!”

“I’m making me dizzy,” Santana snaps but slumps down on the coach. She tries to relax but her thoughts keep whirling, “Shit. What did I just do?”

Puck glances warily in her direction, “Okay. You’re killing my buzz. You need to chill.”

Santana shakes her head, “What I need is a hot and smart girlfriend who can put all these women my mom is trying to set me up with to shame now because apparently I have one of those!”

Puck raises a brow, “Where the hell you gonna find someone like that?”

Santana only shrugs as she downs the rest of her glass.  

Puck nods, but something about Santana’s comment gets him thinking.

\\

It takes about a week before Puck’s finally ready to present Santana with his solution. He’s like a giddy kid on Christmas morning as he leads Santana to a vacant study room one day before her cheer practice.

Santana grows even more curious as they walk by the smaller rooms available for booking and head down to the very end where the larger rooms are situated. She wouldn’t say she trusts Puck’s judgement because he’s partly the reason why she’s in this mess, but part of her really is curious about this big idea he has.

Or maybe the curiosity is actually desperation?

When they get to the last door, Puck pauses and turns to her.

“You ready?”

Santana gives him a curious look before shrugging, “I guess?”

Puck nods and swings open the door in a showy fashion.

There is a single table with two chairs set up on the near side of the room and Puck leads the way over, pulling the chair out for Santana so she can sit. She’s looking around cautiously, trying to figure out what’s going on here when Puck calls out.

“Okay ladies, you can come out now!”

“Huh?” Santana deadpans.

Suddenly, a side door opens and line of six women come sauntering out. Santana’s looking at them, trying to figure out if she can recognize who they are. Instead, she finds them giving her flirty looks accompanied by brilliant smiles. Santana’s momentarily starstruck by their beauty, but then she turns to Puck and remembers that she has no idea what’s going on.

“What the hell is this?” She asks him.

“Well,” Puck smirks as he takes the seat next to her, “These are the most eligible girls on campus that you can take home to impress your mom.”

Santana’s jaw drops, “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m so serious,” Puck replies, “I listened to what you said the other night. You need hot, smart, and put together – someone who can put all the ones your mom suggests to shame. Well, look no further because here they are!”

“Why does everyone feel the need to ambush me with beautiful women?” Santana mumbles to herself before looking at Puck, “How did you find these people?”

“I’ve got my ways,” Puck smirks, “They tick all the boxes – mostly – so you just have to pick one to be your girlfriend. Problem solved.”

“Problem not solved,” Santana says, “I don’t want a girlfriend!”

“They know that,” Puck replies, “They’re all wannabe actors. They see this as an opportunity to go all Jared Leto.”

Santana wrinkles her nose, “They’re going to send me a dead pig?”

“What? No, they’re going to go all method acting on you! They know the relationship is all for show is what I’m trying to say,” Puck explains, “They’re just going to pretend to be your girlfriend.”

“So they’re basically escorts.”

“I mean,” Puck glances to them and back at Santana. He lowers his voice to a whisper, “I think one of them actually is. I’m not sure. No judgement though, do what you gotta do.”

Santana shakes her head, “No. Hell no.”

“Why?” Puck asks, “It’s like your personal episode of the Bachelorette. You love that show!”

Santana’s eyes widen, “Will you keep it down? I don’t love that show. I just like the drama.”

“Yeah whatever,” Puck waves off, “Just ask them a few questions and see which one you like the most and you’ll have a girlfriend. Boom!”

“I said no.”

“Come on, why not?”

“Why not?” Santana laughs, “Because I don’t want my life to be like that show. In fact, I was hoping it’d never happen to me and yet…here we are.”

Puck cringes but tries to smile through her anger, “At least we’re not on tv?”

Santana’s in disbelief, “Yeah. I guess there’s that.”

“You know, I worked really hard on this,” Puck frowns, “You know how many study sessions I’ve missed trying to find these people? I’m missing one right now, Britt’s so disappointed.”

“Boo-hoo,” Santana waves off, “I’m not doing this. I’m not about to pretend to date a random. First of all, they’re pretending to be someone they’re not on top of pretending to be my girlfriend. Second of all, I don’t know any of these people well enough to bring them around my family. It’s a shit show waiting to happen. God, you know what would happen if this got back to my mom? It would be way worse than what I’ve been doing.”

“How would it get back to her? Who would even tell?” Puck questions, “The girls have been sworn to secrecy!”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Santana argues, “Maybe her husband?”

Puck scoffs, “Coach wouldn’t – “

Santana gives him a look, “Who told her about the time cops busted up our Halloween party because some asshole tipped them off? And what about that llama that I helped your dumbass set free in the freshman dorms when you were drunk because of a ridiculous bet?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Puck slumps in his chair.

Santana stands and pats Puck on the shoulder, “This whole thing is a hard no. Good try though.”

“Thanks,” He sighs before calling out to the women, “Sorry, ladies! Deal’s off.”

The women all stop smiling and grumble beneath their breath as they exit the room, casting dirty looks at Puck and Santana.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” She says, “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“So winter break starts next week,” Puck mentions as the women file out of the room, “What are you going to do now?”

Santana shrugs, “I’ve been thinking of hanging back for Christmas so I can catch up on some work. Maybe make a little progress on that big assignment for Professor Martinez’s class.”

Puck’s brows rise, “You’re gonna stay home? I thought that was off the table?”

“Just for Christmas. I’ll definitely have to make an appearance for New Year’s,” Santana replies, “Maybe I’ll tell my mom I’ve gone home with my imaginary girlfriend to visit her family instead?”

“That could actually work,” Puck chuckles.

“Maybe,” Santana smirks, “Anyway…now you’ve got time for your study session with what’s-her-face.”

Puck laughs at that as he throws his arm around her shoulders, “You know I’m determined to figure this out for you, right? You asked for my help and I’m committed.”

“Yeah and I appreciate it,” Santana chuckles, “Go. Don’t want to keep Brittany waiting, she might draw a frowny face on your homework.”

Puck gets to thinking, “Don’t joke. She just might!”

\\

While Santana continues to ponder on this dilemma, she contemplates swearing off alcohol for a long time. If she hadn’t been drinking with Puck that night then maybe she wouldn’t have dug herself into an even deeper hole. The longer she thinks on it, the more frustrated she becomes, but what can she do?

The next time Puck approaches Santana with a potential solution, it’s through a single text message a few days later:

Puckerman: Meet me at Rise & Grind at 3.

Santana eyes the message suspiciously. Judging by his last attempt, who knows what her best friend has up his sleeve this time. Still, she agrees because honestly she doesn’t have anything better to do and she’s curious. What could he possibly do to top his little Bachelorette stunt from the other day?

When she arrives to the café on time, Puck’s waiting for her outside the entry doors.

“Yo!” He calls out to her.

“Hey,” She greets in return before nodding at the doors, “I’m not about to walk into a blind date, am I?”

Puck laughs, “Mama Lopez got you all traumatized now?”

“I’m just saying,” Santana replies, “I don’t know if I can handle another one of your great ideas so this better be good.”

“Damn. Where’s the faith?”

“Why do you think I agreed to meet you? You’re lucky I even showed up,” Santana answers as she follows Puck inside.

“Okay, so hear me out – “

Santana freezes when Puck leads her to an occupied table. More importantly, a table being occupied by none other than Brittany S. Pierce herself.

“What the hell is this?” Santana snaps and turns to Puck, “Why is she here?”

Brittany also looks to Puck for an answer, “I could ask the same thing.”

Puck’s all devious grins and confidence as he pushes at Santana’s shoulders so that she’d sit across from Brittany. He grabs a spare chair from a nearby table and takes a seat between the enemies.

“So I’m sure you guys are wondering why we’re here,” Puck starts to explain.

“No shit,” Santana grumbles.

“I mean, I was meant to be here,” Brittany says and looks to Santana, “Just not with you.”

“Believe me, there are many places I’d much rather be,” Santana rolls her eyes and looks to Puck, “What is this about? I thought you were presenting me another one of your great ideas.”

“I am,” Puck insists, “If you’d just shut up for two seconds, I can explain.”

“Big ask,” Brittany teases, “She loves hearing the sound of her own voice.”

“Says you!” Santana snaps, “Seriously Puckerman, why’s she here?”

“Like I said, I’m meant to be here,” Brittany replies, “I booked this table.”

“Okay okay,” Puck interrupts Santana’s next insult, “The reason why you’re both here is that I think you two need each other.”

“Need each other?” Brittany’s brows rise comically while Santana’s just laughs.

“I need her like I need a nail to the head,” Santana says flatly.

“Same,” Brittany agrees then looks to Puck, “I thought we were here to make up for those study sessions you’ve been missing?”

“Of course you thought that,” Santana shakes her head, “What a nerd.”

“Hey,” Puck says sternly, “Didn’t you kick a girl out of your bed because she made you late for class?”

Santana’s jaw drops at the low blow, “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Brittany starts to smirk, “Who’s the nerd now?”

Santana rolls her eyes and goes to stand, “This was a big fail, Noah. I don’t know what you were thinking but this – “

“I didn’t even explain yet,” Puck interrupts, “Just sit, okay? You two are already going to have to work together so you might as well start getting along now.”

“Back up,” Santana flinches, “What do you mean work together?”

Brittany gives them both a blank look, “I’m so confused right now.”

“No surprise there,” Santana quips to which Brittany scoffs.

“Okay look,” Puck starts again, “I may have spoken to Professor Martinez and now you two are sort of working together for the assignment.”

Santana’s eyes widen, “How the fuck did you manage to pull that off?”

“It was weirdly easy actually,” Puck shrugs, “A little fear and intimidation tactic to get Brittany’s partner to agree to the switch then I just hit up Prof Martinez to confirm.”

“I didn’t agree to a partner switch,” Brittany adds then cuts a glare to Santana, “Especially when that partner is you.”

Santana rolls her eyes at the blonde before looking to Puck, “Seriously, I’m this close to kicking your ass.”

Brittany sputters a laugh, “As much as I’d love to see that considering your bite-sized stature – ”

“I’ll show you bite-sized.”

“See!” Puck interjects, “You guys are already hitting it off!”

Santana and Brittany both stop to glare at him.

“Clearly, we are not,” Santana points out.

Santana’s starting to get really worked up about this now, she can feel her face heating with rage. Honestly, what the hell was he thinking? This might be even worse than the whole imaginary girlfriend idea!

Brittany on the other hand speaks more calmly, “I don’t know why you’d think it would be okay to switch partners without my permission or what you’re trying to drag me into but I’m not here for it. This grade is important to me. My education is important to me.”

“I know,” Puck says genuinely, “Seriously, I know. That’s why I did it. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Brittany frowns.

“Yeah, well it’s part of the reason why I did it,” Puck replies cryptically, “I think you two should work together, because you’re each other’s best chance at getting the grant. You’re the best in class!”

“I’m better,” Santana slips in.

Brittany gives her an amused look, “Sure.”

Puck shakes his head and looks at Santana, “I know you need this a lot more than I do.” Then he looks to Brittany, “So do you. And as cool as it would be to ride on Santana’s coattails for this, I don’t think I’d feel right sharing the benefits if I didn’t work as hard.”

“You’d have to win first,” Brittany comments.

“Right,” Puck agrees, “And it’s a slime chance of that if we’re teaming up – but you two? Together?”

Santana and Brittany share a glance, but they quickly avert their eyes back to Puck.

“Professor Martinez was right about what could be if you both put your differences aside,” Puck tells them, “If you two work together on this, it would be an easy win. You keep it the way it is, maybe none of us would get that grant.”

Brittany seems to really take in his words and consider the offer, while Santana watches him curiously. Since when has her best friend ever worried about riding her coattails for a good grade?

“Plus,” Puck adds, “It’ll help make your relationship a lot more believable.”

“Our what?!” Santana and Brittany gasp in unison.

“Your relationship,” Puck says, “You’ll be spending lots of time together working on this assignment, late nights at the library or whatever, sparks are bound to fly so a budding romance wouldn’t be the craziest thing ever. I mean, minus the whole hating each other part but you could just blame it on the sexual tension. Everyone’s already thinking it anyway.”

“Wait what?” Santana blinks blankly, “What do you mean they’re already thinking it?”

Puck ignores her, “You two working together on this assignment is the perfect cover! Like, how many lab partners have you hooked up with because you’ve spent so much time together? Personally, I’m at like a solid three and a half.”

“How can there be a half?” Brittany asks.

Puck only winks, “We got interrupted.”

Brittany looks taken aback, “Right…”

Santana, on the other hand, looks at Puck like he’s got two heads, “Have you lost your goddamn mind or have you been hit too many times out on that field and you’re now concussed?”

Puck sighs, “I’m serious.”

Santana stares back with her jaw tensed, still trying to decide how she feels about this proposition.

“I’m still on the relationship part,” Brittany mutters.

Puck looks to Santana with a proud grin on his face, “This’ll work.”

Santana doesn’t really know what to think at the moment. She hasn’t had enough time to process, but the logic is there – sort of. Call it a momentary lapse in judgement, but she let’s the thought roll around in her mind.

Unlike the girls he tried to set her up with the other day, she actually knows Brittany – she knows that she’s apparently a genius otherwise she wouldn’t be giving Santana so much grief. That’s at least one box checked so far?

“You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this,” Santana notes.

“Dude, you have no idea!” Puck replies excitedly, “It’s my best work yet. Look at her, she’s everything you asked for.”

Puck and Santana glance at Brittany who’s growing even more confused by the second.

“What exactly did you ask for?” She looks between the two skeptically.

The question goes unanswered though as Santana quickly interrupts.

“Puckerman, no.”

“Santana, yes.”

Brittany cuts in, “Can someone answer me?”

Santana looks to Puck, “Don’t.”

Puck doesn’t listen though, “Long story short, Santana needs someone to pretend to be her girlfriend for awhile so her mom will take her seriously.”

Santana’s face goes red as she gives Puck a death glare.

Brittany looks to her and smirks, “I’ve seen the women hanging off of you. It’s going to take a lot more than a fake girlfriend to do that.”

“You know what? Fuck you,” Santana mutters.

“I know,” Puck says to Brittany, “That’s why she needs someone hot and smart and impressive to convince Mama Lopez that she’s in a legit relationship and she’s serious about her future and stuff. She needs you!”

Santana’s heart plummets to her stomach. She can’t believe Puck’s just airing out her business like this to Brittany of all people. She can’t wait to give him a good kick in the crotch when they’re out of here, maybe remind him about what it means to be loyal.

“Okay, you know what?” Santana snaps, “Fuck you both,”

Brittany’s even more intrigued now though, so much so that she begins to smirk.

“So you need me?” She asks devilishly, “This is getting better by the second.”

“I don’t,” Santana rolls her eyes and stands, “You’re out of your mind, Puck.”

“Wait!” Puck tries, “I’m not finished.”

“Nah, I’ve heard enough.”

“I’ll listen,” Brittany says which makes Santana stop.

“You’ll listen?” Santana’s in awe, “Why would you entertain this?”

“Because I’m interested,” Brittany shrugs, “And I think it’s hilarious that you, Miss Santana Lopez, the supposedly smoothest talking femme fatale on campus needs help from little ole me.”

Santana can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Which is satisfying in of itself, but what’s in it for me?” Brittany questions as she looks to Puck, “Why do I need to be in a relationship with her?”

Santana goes to sit back down, drawn in by the banter, “I don’t know why you say it like that as if several women wouldn’t kill to be in your position.”

“Well,” Brittany starts to smirk, “They must not be as smart and hot and impressive as me or they’d be here, right?”

Santana rests back in her chair, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“That’s what I thought,” Brittany grins and looks to Puck, “So what’s in it for me?”

Puck looks between the two before settling on Brittany, “From what we were talking about yesterday, I think you know the answer to your question, Britt.”

Surprisingly, Brittany suddenly softens.

“You’d benefit from this just as much,” Puck continues, “It’s Santana Lopez after all. You know she has some pull around here.”

“Right,” Brittany answers quietly.

There’s something beneath the surface, Santana can see it, but she’s not sure what and she’s not sure why her pull means anything to the blonde. Brittany only nods like she and Puck share some secret and that tugs at something deep within Santana. But before Santana can try and delve into what that secret might be, the spotlight’s back on her.

“And New Year’s is coming up,” Puck mentions to Santana, “You really want to go home empty handed after telling your mom that you’ve got this serious girlfriend now?”

Santana groans, “Fuck that.”

“That’s what I thought,” Puck nods, “Think about it. You both need each other in more ways than one but hey, what do I know? Just the dumb jock here. You’ve got to admit though that this could work.”

Santana and Brittany exchange a look as if they are contemplating whether or not they’d actually be able to stand each other long enough to make this relationship believable.

“You wouldn’t need to do it forever,” Puck adds, “Just a few months or so.”

“True,” Brittany nods, “No way I could last any longer than that.”

“You got that right,” Santana agrees and looks to Brittany, “If you agree to this, you’ll have to fly home with me often. That means being around my family and there’s a lot of them. They’re going to be all up in your business too, can you handle that?”

“Easy,” Brittany shrugs, “Parents love me.”

Santana’s slightly impressed by the fact that Brittany’s seemingly confidence about this already. Most of the girls she has brought home either panic or don’t panic enough. She’s interested to see how much of this confidence holds up though when the time comes.

“And on campus,” Santana adds, “We’re going to have to act like a couple here too. We can’t slip up because word might get back to my mom and that’ll fuck up the whole thing.”

“It’ll be difficult,” Brittany replies, “But I’m sure I can manage, so long as you do your best work for Prof Martinez’s assignment. I need that grant.”

“We’ll get that grant,” Santana assures her.

“So,” Puck prompts, “What do you say? You two girlfriends now?”

Again, Santana and Brittany look back at each other. Santana eyes her analytically and she can’t believe she’s actually considering this. Ever since Brittany’s transferred here, she has challenged Santana academically at every turn, it’s been a nightmare. She’s never been one to share the top spot and now she’s expected to work with her? It’s crazy talk.

But the longer she stares, the more sense it starts to make because Brittany really does check all the boxes – no matter how much Santana hates to admit it. Obviously, the smarts are there otherwise they wouldn’t be in this rivalry mess but that’s not all there is. Brittany competes with the Brainiacs and she’s on the robotics team, she tutors in her free time and other nerdy shit Santana wouldn’t dare get involved with.

Not to mention, Brittany’s smokin’ hot. Like objectively speaking, Santana thinks. She’s got legs for days and this mega watt smile and those eyes – as much as she hates to make eye contact with her, it’s not the worst view in the world.

When Santana finally drifts back to reality, she lets out a deep sigh.

“Yes.”

“Really?” Puck clarifies.

“I’m not going to say it again,” Santana grumbles.

“And you?” Puck asks Brittany.

She hesitates first before nodding, “Yeah.”

“Yes!” Puck exclaims and looks to Santana, “See, I told you I was committed to figuring this out! Break out your phones, let’s make this Facebook official!”

Santana nods warily then looks to Brittany, “The first hurdle will be the annual New Year’s Eve party my mom puts together so we can use the week before as a practice run. Unless you’re heading home for Christmas?”

Brittany shakes her head, “I’ll be here.”

“Great,” Santana replies, “God, I can’t believe I’m even talking about this. I can’t believe I have to pretend to be in a relationship with you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Brittany says, “Like you aren’t even my type.”

Santana’s first instinct is to scoff, but she can’t help but wonder what Brittany’s reason for agreeing to do all this might be. Surely her parents aren’t also trying to set her up on dates with randoms? Either way, whatever it is – maybe Santana can have some fun with this? After all, what’s the point of fake dating your archnemesis if you can’t make them suffer a little?

“Please,” Santana smirks, “I’m the embodiment of your type.”

“Yeah. Right,” Brittany laughs, “You like them easy and ditzy.”

Puck only wears a proud smile as he watches from between them.

“Love the bonding, guys! No one’s going to suspect a thing!”

[derekcasey]

He Knows | Dasey Fic

Derek and Casey haven’t spoken in 7 years, but they meet once again at a bar where Casey’s friends are trying to hook her up with someone.

Read on FF.net 

For Best Formatting Read on Ao3

----

Haley: Casey. Come out with us! It’ll be fun!

Lindz: Not gonna happen Hale. The last time she came out was like… freshman year. And that was only because she was trying to impress us.

Haley: Pleeeeeease Caaaase.

Casey sighs, looking at her phone. She doesn’t want to go out. What’s the point? She’s aware her standards are pretty high. If they weren’t she’d be married already. She just wishes she knew what her standards were. It just seems that every man she meets fails some sort of internalized test that she doesn’t even know the questions to.

But they’re right. It has been a while. Not as long as Linz said, but it had definitely been a few years. And maybe there’s a different crop of men to choose from. So she agrees to go with them. Nearing 30 years old, they aren’t really in the “go out every weekend” stage of their lives. Haley is actually married already and Linz is in a long-term relationship with her girlfriend. So Casey knows that this outing is really just an excuse for them to try to hook her up.

She puts on a tight red dress, curls her hair in loose curls, does her make-up to impress. But her heart isn’t in it. Maybe she’s just meant to die alone, an old spinster with ten cats.

When she hears the horn of Haley’s car sound, she puts on some strappy heels and heads out.

-

“Open yourself up, Casey.”

“What do you mean? I’m open!” She argues.

Haley raises an eyebrow and gestures to Casey’s arms that are crossed over her chest. Casey huffs, letting her arms fall to her side.

Linz comes back to their table with their drinks and hands them out. "Your seltzer m’lady.” She smirks, giving it to Haley.

Haley rolls her eyes, “Did you scope the place out?”

"Yes. A few potentials… there-” Linz flicks her head to the left of them where a group of three guys are huddled at the end of the bar. Casey takes them in, they’re cute… but… missing something. Haley looks at Casey for her reaction. Casey grimaces.

Linz nods, lowering her voice, “Then there’s him.” She tilts her head just slightly to the right and backwards. Casey looks over her shoulder to see a mess of reddish-brown curls. Her heart stops. She could only see the back of his head but it was unmistakably, regrettably him.

Her lack of response seemed to spur the girls on and as some other guy comes up to his right to talk to him, Haley gets a glimpse of his profile.

“Didn’t he go to Queens?”

Casey feels her breath leave her body. This can’t be happening.

Linz turns to take another look at him. “Looks familiar. Maybe.”

“Yeah, I think he was the captain of the Gaels for a couple years.”

And then they’re all looking at him and Casey still hasn’t said a word, but someone scoots past him and he turns around to see and catches Casey’s glance. It’s only for a second, but it feels like an eternity and her cheeks are burning when he looks away.

Linz turns back quickly, laughing. “Shit. Whoops.”

Haley is elbowing her. “You have to go talk to him.”

Casey finally finds her voice, though she clears her throat first, “No- I mean. You said it yourself. Hockey. We’d have nothing in common.”

Linz supplies, "No one’s saying you have to marry the guy.” She pauses, noting the pink of Casey’s cheeks, “Case. You’re blushing, and the dude looked at you all of one millisecond.”

“I am not blushing.” But the blood rushing to her face betrays her even further.

“I’m going over there.” Linz announces before turning on her boot-clad heel and walking over to him.

Casey is mortified. She gets up from her stool and runs after her but it’s too late. Linz taps him on the shoulder and gives a smooth, “Hey there.”

She’s not his type, but he still gives her a once-over and smirks, “Hey to you too.”

“My fri-” Casey clears her throat, garnering the attention of them both.

“Lindsay, hey. I- uh- Haley needs- you at- over at the table.” Casey says, and his smirk grows wider, watching her flounder for words. Linz is confused, but seems to view this as Casey taking it upon herself to start a conversation with him, so she shrugs and walks back to the table.

“Casey.”

And she can’t breathe again. She hasn’t seen him in… who knows how long (she knows, it’s been 6 years, 9 months, and 3 weeks). He looks different but the same. And he looks at her differently but also the same way.

“Derek.”

The eyebrow raise, and the smirk, and she wants to punch him.

“Who’s your friend?”

Yeah, she’s gonna punch him.

“A lesbian.”

Both eyebrows go up at that point. “Hmm. I guess that checks out. Not married at 30, so you decide to switch teams?”

She rolls her eyes. “As fun as this little reunion has been, I’m going to go back to my friends and pretend you don’t exist.” Casey turns to leave.

“You are a pro at that.” She stops in her tracks. He’s baiting her, she knows it. She takes a breath and keeps walking.

“Nonono, you go back there right now!” Haley demands.

“He’s a jerk.” Casey explains, grabbing her drink and taking a large sip.

“Was he a jerk? Or was he just sexually interested in you, Case?” Linz asks. Casey scowls at her. “What?" Sometimes you have trouble deciphering the difference.”

“He did watch you walk away.” Haley points out and okay. That’s… information she didn’t need.

Casey folds her arms on the table and lays face-down onto them. Haley tries, “Come on, Case. You gotta get out there and have some fun.”

“But at what cost?” She whines.

“Hey…” Linz says, softer. Casey lifts her head a bit to look at her. Linz is smiling at her, “Let’s take a shot, and get on that dance floor. You can stun all these fuckers with your rhythm and they’ll be falling all over you.”

And something in her, some primal desire, lifts her from her stool and heads to the bar for the aforementioned shots. The music is pounding and as the alcohol courses through her veins, she feels emboldened. The three of them get lost in the music, the bodies on the dance floor weaving in and out of each other. She’s not drunk, but her inhibitions are definitely falling to the wayside.

After a few songs, a hand snakes around her waist. When her head falls back against the person’s chest, she expects to see Linz or Haley. Instead she sees his familiar brown eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve danced with each other. It’s not even the first time they’ve been this close to one another, but something about it is different.

She tries not to overthink it, just moves with the music. When he breathes, she feels his chest expand. His hand is gripping her waist at just the right pressure. She sees Haley in her peripheral and her wide-eyed glee is almost enough to take her out of the moment but this might be the only time she gets to enjoy this with him. So she shuts her eyes, and leans closer against him, wrapping an arm around his neck, hand nestling in his hair.

She can feel his breath on her neck, and it sends a shiver of delight down her spine. She can’t bring herself to face him, but just for these few minutes, she allows herself to feel him, to be close, to touch, to be touched. When the song shifts, the rhythm is stagnant but the variance brings her to reality. She slows her movements. His grip tightens on her waist. “Case.” He breathes. The music is loud, but his mouth is so close (too close) to her ear that she feels the vibrations of the word, rather than hears it.

She pulls away from him, turning to see the look in his eyes. She can’t read him, which seems impossible. She always can. But it has been seven years (6 years 9 months and 3 weeks). So who is she to say she can read him? She barely knows him, really. She thinks he looks disappointed, but he can’t be, shouldn’t be.

She doesn’t say anything else and neither does he as she walks away. She keeps walking until she’s outside. It only takes Linz and Haley 30 seconds to find their way out as well and get to Casey, who is leaning against the brick of the building, eyes shut tight, hand on her chest.

“You okay, Case?” Haley asks, and Linz rubs Casey’s shoulder soothingly.

“I’m fine. I just- I needed some air.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” Casey asks, because what is there to talk about? They won’t ever understand the scope of how badly she just monumentally screwed up.

“I mean… how seriously into each other you and that dude are?”

“Honestly, I thought I’d have to hose the two of you down.”

“No, I would not like to talk about it. What I would really like is to go back three hours in time, politely decline your offer to go out, put my pajamas on and watch grey’s anatomy for the 20th time like I normally do on a Friday night.”

“You are just a barrel of fun, aren’t you?” And he’s back. Her head falls back against the brick, knocking it just enough to ground her, not enough to hurt.

“Would you just leave me alone?” She whines, and her heart isn’t in it.

“Is that really what you want?” And he already knows the answer.

She looks at him. “Stop it. I don’t know what- what you think is going to happen here, but-”

“Fine.” His jaw is set. Maybe it’s anger…

“Good.”

He looks like he’s going to say something else, but he just turns, shows his stamp to the bouncer and goes back into the bar. She watches the whole thing, and there’s a part of her that wants to follow him, flow with the music again and get lost in him, just for tonight.

Haley must notice the forlorn look on her face, “Let's… let’s get you home, Case.”

-

So… are we gonna talk about last night?

No.

You knew each other, didn’t you?

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have it in her right now.

-

There’s a knock on her door, she expects Linz. She’s the type to not let things fester. She goes to couples’ therapy with her girlfriend Erin even though they were already the most functional and healthy couple to begin with. She’s always saying “We need to address our feelings as they come up.” and it’s just… exhausting. After running from her feelings for over a decade, she’s thinks she has that whole process under control, thank you very much.

But it’s not Linz.

It’s him.

“Got your address from George.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. She might kill George, and then this whole issue will be moot. Because then they’d no longer be step-siblings. So there’s that.

“Kinda sad, if you think about it, sis."

She takes a deep breath, fire in her eyes. “If I wanted you to know where I live, I would have told you.”

“You’re really gonna keep going with this ‘I hate Derek’ schtick?”

“Oh, it is sincerely not a schtick.”

“Your hips say otherwise, Case.”

And she wants to say her hips are dirty liars. But that’s really lame and Derek would never let her live it down (let’s not forget it’s also, of course, untrue), “Why are you here, Derek?”

“Not even gonna invite me in?”

She sighs but steps aside for him to enter. He looks around her living room. She notices him eyeing her pictures. She has pictures of Nora & George. Lizzie. Marti. Edwin. Of Emily, of Haley and her husband, of Linz and Erin. But none of him.

“You were always quite the decorator. Take after Nora that way.”

“Can you just get to it, Derek?”

He sits on the couch, making himself at home in a ways that makes her furious. “No pleasantries?” He puts a foot on the coffee table. She raises her eyebrow at it and he puts it back down on the floor.

“Okay then. Let’s start with, what the fuck, Casey?” He lets out a laugh but it’s not funny and the laugh seems to know that too. She looks at the floor, hoping that it would open up and swallow her into it.

“I don-”

“Seven fucking years. You sure have gone to a lot of trouble just to cut me out of your life.”

She’s pictured this moment a thousand times. She didn’t know it would hurt this badly.

“What do you want me to say?”

He laughs. “God. You really - you hate me that much? Won’t even give me a proper explanation?”

“Things change. People grow apart.” She lies. He stands up, and they’re close (too close).

“No. What you did was purposeful.” He takes a step toward her, “And I know I can be a piece of shit sometimes, but I thought-” He searches her eyes, for what? She looks away. He’s right, but she can’t admit it.

“We’ve always hated each other, Derek. Why should we put the family through our fighting? It was easier to-”

“Yeah, that’s just it isn’t it. It was easy. Easy for you to just-” He takes a breath, shakes his head. Why is he even this angry? “We don’t fucking hate each other, Casey.” He’s looking at the wall of photos, “I don’t hate you.”

“I don’t hate you either.” It’s small. So small, she hopes he doesn’t hear it, but he does.

He looks at her. Even though he seemingly knows this is true, it looks like her admission just saved his life.

“That’s- that’s why I had to. Do what I did.”

“You’ve avoided me at all costs because you don’t hate me?” He looks confused, but why? He knows already. They’ve both known it. For years. But admitting it… giving it breath and letting it sit out in the open between them… that’s a whole other beast.

“You should go.”

“Fuck that. We’re finally getting somewhere. I haven’t seen you in 7 years and then- then we meet at a club we fucking dance together like that and-”

“I was drunk.”

“Buzzed, maybe. Come on, Case. You were always a terrible liar.”

“We can’t do this.”

“Do what?” And why is he making her say it. He knows what.

“You know what.”

“Say it.”

She doesn’t.

“You should go.” She tries again.

“I’m not leaving until you fucking say it, Casey. Tell me the real reason you want me to leave, and I’ll go, if that’s what you really want.”

She doesn’t know when she started crying. It’s a silent cry. The tears just well up and slide down her cheeks. He’s still close and he’s still staring at her and she can’t take it. She shuts her eyes, tears getting caught in her eyelashes.

He reaches a hand to her face and thumbs away some of the tears.

“I love you.”

It spills from her mouth, and his thumb moves from her cheek to her lips.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks, simply, patiently, and it’s so unlike Derek, but so like him. In his moments of softness, of kindness.

She shakes her head, opening her eyes. He’s staring back at her, eyes her lips momentarily. It’s a question, she knows, and she nods minutely before he leans in and captures her lips with his own.

It’s everything. All of their pent-up aggression and rage towards one another, all of their love, all of their desire. It’s in this kiss. It’s in their hands as they hold each other. Finding balance within one another. They breathe and kiss and bite, and gasp and they move together. And he returns the I love you into her skin.

It ends with them on the floor, like many other times in the past, their bodies tangled together, just with less clothing than normal.

“What do we- what do we tell them?” She asks, when it’s over.

“Casey, they already know.”

[belladxne]

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 4

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 5,133

chapter 4: there’s a fog from the past that’s giving me, giving me such a headache

When Eijiro starfishes on the ground at the bottom of the tower, it’s not long before Inko’s leaning down over him, watching him with a fond expression. She’s content to chat with him like that for a minute or so while he gets his bearings, and when he gives an abridged, glossed-over summary of how atrocious fast travel was, she insists that if he lost his lunch he’ll just have to let her cook him a big dinner to make up for it.

“Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm about it,” he laughs gently, though he’s getting a little worried about overexerting her hospitality.

They agree again that it’s only fair he should help gather enough food for their dinner, and he figures it can’t set him back too much to hunt and forage a bit before heading for the nearest shrine. That decided, he dusts himself off from where he’d been slumped on the ground, and makes for the Forest of Spirits.

That’s where Eijiro meets his first Korok.

The little guy almost gives him a heart attack, too—Eijiro’s climbed an odd stone formation in the middle of the forest, hoping for a vantage point to hunt from, and is slightly puzzled by a large rock just… sitting there. It’s kind of huge, maybe bigger than his torso, but not quite big enough to make a good perch, so he doesn’t want to stumble over it while he’s focused on aiming his bow.

He heaves it over his head, just planning to heft it out of his way, when all of a sudden a triumphant little trumpet sounds and Eijiro drops the stone in alarm at an explosion of fairy lights in front of him. He barely hardens the dragonscales on his head fast enough to avoid concussing himself.

“Ya-ha-ha!” the forest spirit cheers, while Eijiro whines and rubs his head. “You found me!” The Korok bounces in absolute joy and utter delight for a moment, before suddenly tilting its head at him in apparent confusion. “Huh? You’re not Hestu!”

“Um,” Eijiro manages. The little spirit sounds so betrayed. “Sorry?”

“You can… see me?” the Korok asks next, apparently more concerned with this fact than with Eijiro’s apology. “I didn’t know your kind could see the children of the forest!”

“I… I guess I didn’t either?” Eijiro answers. It’s probably not strictly true—it’s more like the case of him being dragonblooded. He knows what a Korok is, recognizes one on sight—he’s probably seen them before? But he hasn’t thought about it at all, hadn’t even thought about their existence or the potentiality of meeting one, so he may as well have been blind to them before now.

“Wow!” the little plant cries, awed. Eijiro is glad to see that the betrayal has been left in the past. “You must be very special! Like the Deku Sprout!”

“Thanks?” Eijiro says, and it occurs to him that most of his contributions to this conversatiion have been in a confused and questioning tone. Might as well keep up the streak. “Um, and what is that exactly?” He feels like he should know. The term sounds familiar, like a mental sensation of a word being right on the tip of his tongue.

“Not what,” the Korok gasps, scandalized. “Who! The Deku Sprout is a person! We Koroks love the Deku Sprout. He’s the Great Deku Tree’s successor, and he’s wonderful!”

Oh. Of course—with that, the information does come flooding to mind. A long chain of heroes chosen by the Goddess Farore, with Her blessing passed down between them, tasked with protecting Her creations. Nature in particular, but She’d created all life in the land and this chosen hero was meant to look out for all of it, accordingly. Her magic would grow in them, keeping them strong and youthful until it would begin to overtake them, and they would have to settle in one place as Her magic transformed them into a giant tree—the Great Deku Tree.

And then they would pick another hero worthy of Farore’s blessing—someone to receive a mere sprout of their power, to store and cultivate on their own as they protected the land. That was the origin of the name Deku Sprout, but that name for them was probably more popular among creatures of the forest than regular Hylians. That was why it hadn’t been immediately familiar.

He was pretty sure Hylians had preferred other titles for the role, but the current Great Deku Tree, a legendary hero named All Might, had taken so long to choose a successor that most had forgotten the legends, and the titles with them. Eijiro could vaguely remember that there were tales of how All Might had prolonged his retirement and transformation for so long that he’d gone into his last few battles with bark already overtaking his skin.

“Oh—you’re right, sorry, sorry.” Eijiro nods his acknowledgement and understanding of the Korok’s words. “But… you said I’m like him? I don’t... think I’m the Deku Sprout.”

“Of course not!” The Korok uses a tone that makes it sound like he’s trying to explain a very simple concept to a very silly small child (and the irony is not lost on Eijiro), like Eijiro’s not understanding him on purpose. “The Deku Sprout is in the castle!”

“In… there?” Eijiro asks somewhat dubiously, nodding his head in the direction of Hyrule Castle, though their view is blocked by all the trees in the way. The place doesn’t exactly seem hospitable, clearly.

“Oh, yes!” the forest spirit chatters, clearly eager to gush about this topic. “He’s a hero, Mister! He’s protecting all of us! He’s been fighting the Calamity for a long, long time, but he’ll be back soon! All Might said it won’t be long anymore, and then he’ll come back to the forest.”

In the castle? Holding the Calamity off? “Huh...” Eijiro manages, but it comes out weak and distant to his own ears, as his thoughts race. The voice, his voice, he knows it’s coming from the castle—is that what the voice has been doing, too? It makes sense—he hadn’t said as much, really, but he was asking for Eijiro’s help, and he’d said he was waiting and that the monster was regaining strength. A long time… was he fighting All for One for all of those one hundred years?

“Um, I gotta... go...” he tells the Korok distractedly. He’s got a lot to think about now. For a moment he almost wonders, are his voice and the Deku Sprout one and the same? But, Farore’s associated with green, not golden light, and besides, nature powers wouldn’t let someone talk to him in his head. Unless they would, but it wouldn’t make any sense. So… are they in there together, then?

“Okay!” The Korok seems oblivious to how lost in thought Eijiro has become, dancing excitedly from foot to foot. “But wait! If you run into Hestu, please return this to him.”

Eijiro’s not sure where the seed that the Korok produces came from, since it’s not like the little guy has pockets, but he takes it and stares at it blankly. It’s… literally just a seed. There’s probably a lot of others like it. He has no idea why he’s being tasked with this. “Um… okay? But I don’t know who Hestu is.”

“Doesn’t matter! You’ll know him if you see him. You can’t miss him!”

Eijiro figures he might as well just accept it.

He returns from hunting with three Korok seeds in his pockets, and two foxes that he’d managed to catch—which he skins and cuts up for Inko to begin cooking into stew before he finally steels himself for the next shrine. Inko thanks him warmly and sees him off, but there’s something tense in her demeanor.

Her eyes seem tight with worry, but when Eijiro tries to ask what’s wrong she just waves him off and makes him promise to be safe. He doesn’t hesitate to give her his word—he couldn’t bear to make her worry, but really, as uneasy as he is about the shrines, he knows he can handle them.

The ruins aren’t far from Inko’s home at all—honestly, he’s had to pass them at a distance, a bunch. It doesn’t take him long to make his way to them, and they’re surrounded by… odd shapes of some sort, the kind he’s seen dotted around the Great Plateau in several places, but this is the closest he’s actually gotten to any of them. They’re all tarnished and moss-covered, too much so to make out what they might have looked like once, and he can’t figure out what they were for.

Not statues, surely, because their positioning is too random and too haphazard. The only thing he does know, is now that he’s close enough to make out details, they fill him with the most visceral unease and dread he’s ever felt in his life.

He spends a solid minute staring at one, throat dry and palms clammy, before he manages to convince himself to inch closer. There’s no reason he should be so—so—so scared shitless by a hunk of lifeless material. They’re stationary. What’s his problem?

Man up, he chides himself, swallowing roughly as he pokes around one. It’s… not so bad when he gets in close, because he can focus on just the area right in front of him, and ignore the whole shape. It’s made of metal, he realizes, knocking on a scuffed and dulled part of the material and hearing a hollow and muted clang as he does so. Squatting down, he leans a hand against the moss-covered material and peers into one of several openings near the bottom of the shape.

As he runs his hand around the opening, brow furrowed in thought as he tries to piece together what these things are and why they agitate him so much, something comes loose in his hand. Pulling it out, he stares at—a screw?

Something similar had come out of the automatons he’d been forced to fight in the last shrine. Looking up at the shape again, Eijiro bites his lip, his unease building again. Was this another machine just like those? Near the top, he now realizes there’s a circular indent that—that looks like the eyes of the automatons, where their lasers had fired from.

Eijiro blanches.

He can’t imagine what machines of this size would do—what kind of damage that eyes of that size could cause. He grips the screw he’d pilfered tightly to keep his hand from shaking, and suddenly his fear doesn’t seem as ridiculous or confusing to him now. He’s just glad they’re all clearly defunct. Taking in a shaky, steadying breath, Eijiro stands and backs away quickly, regardless.

He just… doesn’t want to be around them. That’s all.

He skirts around it as he moves further past the battered and half-collapsed walls of what the map tells him used to be the Eastern Abbey. Skirting through one opening, he makes his way into an area clearly far more open than it once was—there’s half of an archway in the center of the space, the only testament to whatever walls once divided this particular area. There are two more of those intimidating defunct machines lodged in the rubble on either side of that arch. Beyond them stands a complete doorway in one of the few whole walls, though its opening is sealed over with debris.

Still, these walls are all cracked and littered with ivy and plantlife, so climbing them won’t be any problem at all. Eijiro’s not worried as he makes his way forward—at least, not about how to get to the shrine. He wishes he didn’t have to walk so closely between the lifeless machines, though.

He’s hardly more than a few steps into the clearing when it happens—the machine on the right, it moves. The top of it rattles and lifts, the whole creation suddenly glowing red as it spins to face him, and then—that fucking sound, like a gong or a hand slamming down on an out of tune piano, and Eijiro—

Eijiro can’t fucking move as the eye lights up piercingly blue and stares him down. His blood turns to ice in his veins and his breath feels solid in his lungs as he tries to choke past it and every muscle in his body draws painfully tense and he can’t—he can’t—

He can’t move and can’t think and he can’t afford to run he has to stay and fight, but there’s no point it’s over he can’t do this they’re going to kill him, they’re going to kill them both, and then they’re going to kill everyone and he can’t stop it he just has to—

The eye shifts colors. The blue’s suddenly deep and dark—a line of red light beams out of it, directly onto Eijiro. A strangled gasp gets caught in his throat, and he runs. Involuntarily he scrambles, nearly tripping over his own legs. He manages to slam himself behind a ruined wall, in the same instant a white-hot beam of light flares past where he’d just been. It blasts into a wall behind him, a sob escaping Eijiro as an explosion of flame and light bursts at the impact point. It sears his skin, even fifteen feet away.

Eijiro presses himself flat to the wall, legs curled close to his chest, face buried in his knees as he struggles for breath. His heart’s pounding so painfully he thinks it’ll break his rib cage and he grips tight around his legs with one arm, his other hand gripping at his own hair tight enough to hurt.

He needs—he needs to—fuck, he has to get away from here, he can’t—he doesn’t know what that thing is but some deeply ingrained part of him must, because he still can’t control the trembling of his limbs or the stinging of his eyes. He can hear it, on the other side of the wall, a constant whirring and deep, menacing humming all paired with a mechanical grating as it turns its head back and forth, searching for him.

He has to go. He knows without trying that his sword would break on this thing before he could get any real damage done. It’s armored, heavily, and even its insides are made of metal. His sword’s fine, but he knows the difference between fine and good or even great. It could never survive an attack on that thing.

He could just… he could continue to use this wall for cover, and get as far as his legs will take him, keeping obstacles between them until he’s gone and doesn’t ever have to do this again. It would be easy. It would be easy, but…

He has to get to that shrine. He has to get off this plateau, and help the voice—fuck, the voice, he’s in the castle, with something so much worse than this stupid, stuck robot that can’t even move. Why the hell can’t Eijiro get himself together? He knocks his forehead against his knees over and over, trying desperately to manage something other than the choked, hiccuping gasps that keep escaping him.

How can—how can he even think about running away from this? If he can’t jump into action now, when it’s his own life on the line and his enemy can’t even move, how is he ever going to help anyone else? How is he ever going to face All for One? The voice… Eijiro’s going to fail him. He can’t give in here.

He still can’t even draw a full breath properly, but he can’t let it stop him. He moves to grab the hilt of his sword, starting to push himself up against the wall beside him before—before—he slumps, sliding back down the wall and onto his ass. His knees are still too weak to hold him, but even if they weren’t, it’s his resolve that failed.

Eijiro knows he can’t fight this thing. He hasn’t seen a weapon on this plateau that could even make a dent. He’s being a coward, he knows, but… but he doesn’t want to die fighting a battle he can’t win. He’ll never help the voice that way. So… so he has to figure out something else.

His mind scrambles through what he knows, trying to figure out something—any piece of information he can use. Think. He tries to comb through what just happened, to pinpoint anything…

It hadn’t targeted him right away. That’s what he realizes first. It had taken a moment, to find him, and only then did the red light flash towards him. And—and it hadn’t fired right away either. The red light had lingered on him, a strange clicking sound emanating from the machine, until a final beep. It had fired a split-second after that. But—but it also hadn’t moved. The line of red light had locked in place after the sound, while Eijiro kept moving, and then it had fired, at where Eijiro had been.

So—so if he moves fast enough…

He can get past this thing.

He doesn’t want to risk getting close to the machine, and he doesn’t want to bet his life on being fast enough to dodge only in that split-second where it can’t track him, but… there are walls littered all around them. The shrine is surrounded on all four sides. If he can just keep to cover, moving faster than the beam can focus in on him, until he can scale that last wall—it won’t be able to target him.

Eijiro has a plan. He can do this.

It goes off without a hitch, more or less, for the first sixty seconds or so. Yeah, he’s scared out of his godsdamned mind the moment he sees the flash of red, every time he sees it—but he only has to sprint through the open twice, and both times are fleeting. He makes it around a corner, out of the thing’s sight, but even as he sags with relief he refuses to believe he’s out of the woods.

The place is littered with the remains of those machines, and now he knows he needs to be wary of all of them. He finds himself at a dead end, walls around him on most sides, so he tries to loosen his muscles and gets to climbing. Despite his protesting muscles, he heaves himself over quickly.

He finds himself a little too out in the open—the machine has a line of sight on him from here, if it thinks to turn around, so he sprints again for the wall to the side of the shrine. It won’t see him from there, at least. But just as soon as he makes it, he sees—there’s another one up ahead. And it gives a shudder.

The second one lights up, its eye turning to Eijiro, and his heart stops.

His heart stops and he runs—he doesn’t freeze up this time, bolting for the wall, and he doesn’t even waste time looking for handholds. He just feels claws overtaking his hands, and he jabs them into the stone with enough force to crack it himself, making his own handholds as he claws his way up. He’s over just as the beam locks on, hurling himself past the wall heedlessly of the fall waiting.

He rolls to dispel as much of his momentum as he can, scales hardening across his skin to absorb what force he can’t, and then—

And then it sinks in. He did it. Part of him wants to whoop for joy but the rest of him is still too breathless and shaky, and he lets himself flop flat on the long grass that’s overtaken the ruins, right at the foot of the shrine. He doesn’t remember if he was the praying type before he woke up in that shrine, but he lays a hand over his pounding heart and thanks each of the Goddesses and Bakusatsuo in turn, earnest and sincere.

Ja Baij Shrine does give him another rune. It won’t get him off the plateau, but it is badass.

He can now summon bombs, two types of them, out of the slate at will. He doesn’t know how often he’ll need that, but just having the option makes him feel pretty damn powerful. Admittedly, the trial this shrine offers is just as easy—maybe easier—than the magnesis trial had been, but he keeps messing it up.

When he first comes in, the adrenaline is only just draining from his system, and all of his limbs feel heavy with exhaustion. The fear response from earlier hasn’t fully left him, either, and it makes his hands just a little shaky—the result is he keeps fumbling his grip on the bombs, not quite judging his throws correctly. Several times he has to stop to take a few deep breaths, shake his hands out, and hope for the best as he attempts the same toss he’s messed up two or three times already.

Still, he gets through it in about the same amount of time, and he endures Ja Baij’s weird purple mist and spontaneous disintegration with only some contained distaste and not outright panic this time. Progress!

When he steps out of the shrine, the same odd energy that’s been humming under his skin since the first one is there still, stronger now. He’s still unsettled by it, but—but whatever it is, the ‘strength of these monks’ spirits’, it’s supposed to help, so he tries not to let it bother him. He steps out into the beginning of sunset, and he realizes—

He’d thought there could be nothing he’d ever hate more than fast travel, and he was so wrong. Standing on the surface of the shrine, realizing he’ll have to get past those looming machines on the other side of the walls, Eijiro doesn’t have to debate long. He pulls out the slate, braces himself, and taps Oman Au Shrine on the map—it’s farther, but like hell is he going to climb down the tower a third time, in this state.

He’s in hell for all of the five seconds it takes him to be ripped across the plateau, but, hey, he doesn’t throw up this time!

Sure, he stumbles to his hands and knees as soon as he arrives, and he has to close his eyes to ride out the waves of nausea that hit him, but he doesn’t even dry heave so he’ll take the win. He takes as many deep breaths as he needs to to calm his stomach, and then he pulls himself to his feet, heading back towards Inko’s home once more.

It’s really nice, to have somewhere that cozy and safe to recoup, after all the worst of today.

Inko looks about ready to cry when he arrives back at her tiny house, two more Korok seeds in his possession. Actually, he can’t be sure she doesn’t actually start crying—he has to look away fast, just in case, before he’s in danger of his own waterworks possibly starting in response to hers.

“Oh, you’re safe, thank goodness,” she breathes, waving him in almost frantically. He can’t even get a word out before she’s ushering him into a seat at her table, and she keeps him there with a hand firmly on his shoulder, not even letting him move to dish his own meal up. She ladles the stew she’s had simmering for the past two hours or so into a bowl herself, and puts it in front of him.

He’s not sure where all the nervous energy comes from, but it doesn’t fully fade through most of the meal, even as they talk over their dinner. Every time she stands—to dish up seconds for either of them, or to grab something across the room—she finds an excuse to touch Eijiro, laying a hand on his back or shoulder. One time, she even strokes his hair, the gesture motherly and caring. It’s like she has to keep reminding herself he’s there and not hurt. Eijiro doesn’t know what to make of it.

It’s well and truly dark out by the time Eijiro finishes eating, and that’s when it finally hits him—

“Oh… I should probably figure out somewhere to camp out for the night.” He hadn’t even thought about it before, and he wishes he’d thought to get set up someplace before it was dark out. Still, he doesn’t think it’ll be too hard. It feels like something he’ll know how to do.

Inko raises her eyebrows at him. “What are you talking about? You’re staying here, of course.”

“Really?” he blurts, surprised and hesitant. “Are… are you sure? You’ve already fed me twice, and given me hair ties, and helped me out so much today, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to, and I will,” she says, firm. It’s hard to argue with her, especially with gratitude swelling in his chest, but…

“I—I really don’t want to be a burden—”

“You could never,” she insists gently, but she leaves little room for argument. “I would never forgive myself if I made you fend for yourself in your situation. You’ll stay here tonight. And tomorrow, if we haven’t figured out how to get you down from the plateau, either. I want to do this for you, and you’re going to let me, young man.”

“Okay...” He swallows, and his voice is not just a little wobbly, thank you very much. “Um… where...”

“You’ll take the bed,” she says without looking at him as she begins to gather their dishes, and Eijiro shakes his head.

“I can’t! I couldn’t make you sleep on the floor, and it’s your house!”

Inko just shakes her head, glancing his way with a warm smile. “You can. I wouldn’t be using it much, anyways. It would be a waste. Trust me, dear, getting old ruins your sleep. You can’t sleep through the night anymore, and you’ll be napping throughout the day no matter what you do. You’ll take the bed.”

“But that’s not fair,” Eijiro protests. “You keep doing so much for me, at least let me repay you by letting you keep your bed.”

Setting their stacked bowls down, Inko reaches across the table to lay a hand over his, regarding him with a fond, no-nonsense look. “Eijiro, honey, you do not have to repay me for a single thing. You deserve a good night’s sleep after the day you’ve had, and I won’t accept no for an answer. Besides, I have some things I want to work on tonight. I think I have an idea how to help you get down safely, so I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyways. I insist, and it will make me happier than any other sort of repayment you could give me.”

Eijiro presses his lips together, and he can feel a lump in his throat. She’s so kind and helpful, and he doesn’t even know what he did to deserve it. Letting him have her food, some of her things, even her bed, and on top of it all she’s planning to lose sleep working on a way to help him tonight. He doesn’t understand but he’ll never forget how much he owes her as long as he lives.

“Why—” He has to clear his throat, voice a little hoarse. “Why are you… so nice? You’re doing so much for me—and I appreciate it! I really, really do! But you don’t even know me, why...”

Inko’s expression softens, and turns just a little sad. She takes a deep breath, and the smile she offers him is heartbreaking.

“You remind me—an awful lot, actually—of my son,” she tells him quietly. She clasps her hands in front of her and her eyes grow distant, but thinking about him clearly brings her so much joy. “I haven’t seen him since he was your age, but you’re just like him. You’re both such sweet, polite boys. It’s—it’s a terribly dangerous world out there, but he’s keeping people safe, just like you want to. You both think so much about other people—and you’re so brave.”

Her voice wavers on the last word and then—and then she’s crying, tears an absolute flood, and before Eijiro realizes it he’s got tears spilling down his cheeks, too. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all r-right,” Inko says, but he can barely make it out through her tears. “Really, it is, I just—I just love him so m-much.”

“I can tell,” Eijiro says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, but it doesn’t do much to stem the flow of his sympathetic tears. “He’s—he’s got a really great mom.”

“I have a really w-wonderful son,” she responds, and Eijiro can’t see with his hands pressed to his eyes, but he can hear that her weeping is only getting worse, and it just makes his worse in response. “I kn-know he’s thinking about m-me every day, just like I think about him. And that’s why I’m looking after you, Eijiro. I w-want to look after you the same way I’d—I’d hope someone would look after my baby. So just l-let me do that, okay?”

“Okay,” Eijiro just barely manages, his own voice wobbling and wavering just like hers. He pulls his hands away from his eyes to see her frantically trying to stem the flow of her tears with a handkerchief, but it’s not getting her very far.

“Good,” she wails, and together the two of them are a complete and utter mess.

Eventually they manage to pull themselves together, enough so for Inko to finish cleaning up after their dinner and for Eijiro to get ready for bed. He doesn’t have the heart, after all that, to argue with her further, and the complete and utter happiness on her face when he finally starts to climb into the bed makes getting past his hesitation completely worth it. He hopes that wherever her son is, he understands exactly how wholeheartedly wonderful his mother is, and cherishes her appropriately.

By the Goddesses, Eijiro hadn’t realized how exhausted he was after everything until the exact moment his head hits the pillow—he tries to stay awake long enough to plan out how to get to the two shrines left on the plateau tomorrow, but it’s in vain.

The last thing he sees before his eyes shut for good is Inko pulling out a sewing kit and something that looks like a blanket, maybe? It’s vibrant red and has the winged Triforce symbol of Hyrule on it. He doesn’t even have time to wonder how a blanket might help him get down from the plateau before sleep barrels into him with all the force of one of his newly-acquired bombs.

[nicostolemybones]

3 Days + 1: Plus 1

Solangelo Spring Ball 2020 collab with @solangelover

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

Linking all these together so make sure you reblog the linked posts, also please go check out my collab partners works! Also posted to ao3, and also FF.N for my collab partner.

@solangeloweek

-

Will didn't get back until morning, and Nico felt a little empty. He hadn't gotten to get to know Will as much as he'd have hoped to, and whilst he was happy at the prospect of being let out of this place, he'd kinda miss Will's company. He hadn't fully processed why he was so drawn to Will until he'd realised the skeletal butterflies were more than just social anxiety, and now? Now Nico had one mood and that mood was gay panic. 

Because now, in order to interact with Will, he'd actually have to approach him, and if there was one thing guaranteed to make Nico go non-verbal, it was approaching people. And Nico would probably freak out and kill all the plants out of nervousness anyway, so, he was thoroughly screwed and isolated if he left the infirmary today. So that left him with the crazy plan of pretending to still be sick or injured, but, that was crazy and obsessive and Will would know he was faking it anyway, so, Nico was doomed to admiring the cute kind guy from afar, and whilst being friends with the cute guy with feelings involved probably would have gotten messy in the long run, the cute guy was still a genuinely kind person Nico would like to have been good friends with, but no, he was destined to be lonely, of course. 

Nico took a deep breath. Over thinking his gay panic really didn't work out well, ever. 

By this point, he was sitting up in the hospital bed hoping to keep his hospital pyjamas after he was discharged, but also desperately hoping that he wasn't discharged or that Will would maybe wanna spend some time with him. He doubted it, but he still craved it, of course. 

It was several hours before Will bounced into the infirmary with a bright grin and a bright glow and an even brighter smile- seriously, just what was this guy putting on his teeth they shined- Nico huffed, realising he hadn't seen a dentist in years, and, much to his chagrin, Will was carrying several leaflets about root canals, fillings, extractions, and braces. You admit to having a dental abscess once and suddenly hot boys want to poke around in your mouth with pointy drills.

"No," Nico said with a warning scowl, but Will beamed at him, his own blue rhinestone braces showing, and honestly? Nico would let this boy take his kidney if he asked. "Okay, fine," Nico relented, fixing Will with a playful glare, "but I want black ones fitted."

"Cool!" Will beamed, "we'll get you booked in for next week for your extractions! Then the root canals, then the fillings, and finally braces!"

"Joy(!)" Nico rolled his eyes, picking at an itchy patch of acne on his cheek. Will had quite a few acne scars on his, although he was also currently going through an acne flare-up right now too.

"So! Are you ready to be discharged today? I just gotta sort out your prescription and book you in for check-ups, then you can go!"

"Can't wait," Nico said with a grin, and Will smiled back, dumping all the leaflets on the hospital table.

"I, will be right back!" Will announced, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "You should get changed, I won't be very long! smell you later!" Nico snorted and rolled his eyes, watching Will leave before letting out a frustrated huff. He supposed he should probably do as he was told and get dressed without arguments.

Will didn't take long to return, as promised, holding a bag of medications for Nico. "Okay, all that's left to sort out now is your discharge papers," Will said, "then I'll process them and book your future appointments, and you can go. You never have to see me again!" 

Nico didn't pick up on Will's joking tone effectively, frowning. "Or maybe we could… see each other outside of the infirmary and hang out together?" 

Will flushed darkly, a blotchy wine blush spreading over his now ruddy cheeks. Nico cringed internally- he'd gone way too far in asking to be friends, and he'd almost definitely creeped Will out by now, no doubt about it. "Uh- I'd love to! It's a date! I, uh, didn't realise you were into me too, otherwise I'd have asked you out a lot sooner!"

Wait. What? Nico almost corrected him by saying he'd meant as friends, before the smart part of his brain, thankfully, shut him up and prevented him from doing so. He'd just accidentally asked out Will Solace, who had confessed that he'd wanted to ask Nico out first. Nico wasn't going to screw that up now. No way. "It's a date," Nico confirmed, turning a dark cherry puce at the realisation that he'd just rather embarrassingly accidentally asked his crush out, and that now, apparently, he had a date with a boy. 

It didn't take very long for Will to sort out all the appropriate paperwork, and he was rather endearingly smitten with Nico, generally more relaxed around him, save for the bright glow. Nico was going to need sunglasses, it seemed. It was… really cute, actually.

Nico had to leave, though- after all, he had a date to plan on a whim, so, with the hope of pulling off some miracle, he told Will to meet him in the strawberry fields before dinner. Will, of course, gladly accepted it, and Nico silently congratulated himself for being smooth.

He headed to his cabin first, pacing around. He needed an idea… a picnic? That was romantic, and Will loved picnics. Maybe Nico could cook and bake, could leave the food on the hot plate and pull it out of the shadows, a private, romantic dinner date, but in the casual format of a non-pressured picnic. That… was actually a good plan, Nico mused. He could totally pull that off, no problem. He just needed a suit, something he could bother his father about, of course.

-

Will was beyond excited. He'd been on dates before, of course. He'd dated two others in the past, although one girl found him too intense and was pretty biphobic to him, one boy was only in it to date a doctor, and the agender person he dated had to move away. So whilst Will had been on dates before, he was a little nervous of things going wrong. 

Which lead him to his current predicament. His siblings had evacuated the cabin and left him alone. Usually he'd love the prospect of being completely alone for a while with no siblings in the cabin and no interruptions to whatever alone time activity he decided to do in that time, but this time, they'd evacuated the cabin because he'd screeched and squealed and stressed so much about his date that they'd decided to simply leave him to it.

Will had the entire contents of his wardrobe strewn across his bed, had tried on the same outfits several times, and had screamed into the void. He wanted to look cute, and babey, but also hot and handsome. He had so many pastel clothes and he could look pretty adorable in them, but again, he wanted to be hot, and Nico would probably be all dressed up. But, then again, being his authentic self was best.

He usually wore clothes that clashed, purely because he could, and he wanted to, so he did. He picked out a pastel lilac hoodie, a little oversized, and some pastel pink and blue jeans where one leg was pink and the other was blue. He figured he looked pretty bi, and he put on some pastel mint trainers to top off his look. He was dressed casually, but more presentable than usual, like he'd made the effort but also like he felt comfortable to be himself too.

He looked to his hair. He had natural curls, although he looked after them terribly- they were salt damaged from all his time spent in the sea at the beach, and he didn't take care of them beyond shampoo- and, unfortunately, dry shampoo more than actual shampoo. So his hair was full of split ends, rougher to the touch then they should have been, and being as he rarely brushed it, he usually had to spend some time working out matts with his detangle spray, which really wasn't made for curly hair and honestly made it ten times worse. 

He wasn't very gentle when he brushed it, either, so he ended up with a sore scalp and a palmful of hair, wondering how the hell Nico's curls were back to looking beautiful again after so much damage.

It had to be witchcraft, Will was sure of it.

He wanted the date to go well, badly, and he didn't want to be running late, so he hurried as quick as he could to get ready. He hoped that he was a good date for Nico, because he really liked him, and he kinda really wanted to impress him. He grabbed his stim toy, counting down the minutes until he'd be meeting Nico, except they'd set a vague time, so Will figured he'd give it about half an hour.

-

Nico cursed loudly, pulling his hand back. He really should not have stuck his hand on the ring to make sure that it was hot enough. He shook his hand, quickly running it under cold water before glaring at the hob as though it could possibly comprehend what it had just done to him enough to feel guilty for it.

He returned to the stove nonetheless, and fixated like a mad scientist on perfecting his food- it had to be perfect. This was a date, and Nico was Italian, dammit, and he'd had to threaten the Stolls not to give him penne lisce because he needed tagliatelle for this and he refused to touch penne lisce with a ten foot pole. That didn't mean he was particularly good at cooking though, so he'd had to rope in some help in the form of Percy, who helped his mom with the cooking and cooked a lot for Annabeth. He picked it up pretty quickly, though, once he'd figured out how to use an oven. Time was ticking away, so Nico quickly went to get changed whilst Percy watched the stove for him.

His dad had, thankfully, sent him a suit to wear, simple black with a dark red shirt and a black bow tie, which Nico had to go and fetch Reyna to help him with. Needless to say, she was a little surprised at his impromptu shadow travelling into her bathroom, being as she was showering at the time, so that had certainly been awkward, but she helped him with the knot and an offer to gut Will like a fish in the event that he mess up, so he quickly shadow travelled back ready for his date.

He managed to plate it up on his own, placing the food on a hot plate to keep it warm, before shadow travelling to the strawberry fields ready for his date. Will wasn't here yet, which gave Nico the opportunity to lay out a picnic blanket and make the area look presentable. He radiated a slight death aura just to keep the ants away, and lighted a candle or two which he kept weighed down to make sure that he didn't accidentally set Will on fire. After all, that would be a terrible first date experience, for both of them.

He was anxious about whether Will would change his mind or not, whether somebody would see him on a date with a boy before he was fully out. He had an irrational fear that this was all an elaborate practical joke, the kind girls at camp had played on him before, only designed to mock and ridicule his sexuality, but then he reminded himself that Will wasn't like that, and besides, he wanted this with his whole being, so of course, he didn't regret his plan and he vowed to himself that he wouldn't regret it even if Will didn't show up.

Will did show up.

And he was breathtaking. 

-

Will couldn't believe his luck. Nico looked… he looked stunning. He looked nervous too, smoothing his hair back and flushing puce, but he was in a suit, an expensive looking suit for a picnic. Will almost felt underdressed, but he could see in Nico's eyes that Nico found him beautiful. Will couldn't doubt that he did when the boy looked at him with such gentle affection and awe. 

Will sat down slowly, a blotchy blush spreading down his cheeks as he noticed how the rest of the world seemed to fade away, the strawberry plants providing a nice level of cover and shade without making the space feel too closed in. Will was about to ask about the food when Nico reached into the shadows and pulled out a plate of pasta, placing it in front of William before grabbing his own, and Will decided that this was already the best picnic he'd ever had. 

"You made a romantic meal for a picnic?" Will asked with a shy blush, and Nico nodded with a half shrug.

"I wanted our first date to be special and memorable," Nico said, looking down shyly, "you're the first guy I've ever… been on a date with, and I want it to be memorable."

"It's amazing, Nico," Will replied gently, "best date I've ever been on already."

"What if you decide I'm weird or creepy," Nico asked nervously, and Will shook his head adamantly.

"You're a human being," Will replied, "and my friend, and hopefully maybe more, and if I found you creepy, I wouldn't be sitting here now."

"I…ve never had a- a boyfriend before," Nico added nervously, fiddling with his fingers and looking up slowly, and oh… gods, Will melted.

"We can figure it out, together," Will said softly, reaching over nervously to brush his hand against Nico's. Nico pushed lightly against his hand in reciprocation, and Will brushed Nico's knuckles with the back of his hand, blushing at the little gasp that Nico let out from the sensation.

Will decided to be a little bolder, curling his fingers around Nico's own until their palms were pressed together. Nico looked down at their hands, and then up at Will, and it was clear in his awestruck expression that he wasn't used to this kind of affection. Will squeezed his hand, watching the puce blush on Nico's cheeks spread down his neck. Will leaned in a little closer, gently kissing his cheek, but hesitating before he pulled back. He stayed close, eyes searching Nico's face for some sign of consent. 

If Will was honest, he'd never had his first kiss, and he hoped it wasn't too soon but he really wanted to kiss Nico, providing Nico wanted to kiss him too, of course. He chickened out, clearing his throat awkwardly and finally turning his attention back to his food.

He immediately noticed how it was most certainly home cooked, because it looked to be too good a quality to possibly have been a ready meal. It smelled amazing, and Will took his first bite. It was warm, and comforting flavour, yet not overpowering on the palette. It reminded him of his mama's cooking- not because the flavours were similar- because they weren't, his mom always used the smooth penne pasta- but because he could tell that it was made with love. Or, rather, affection, at least.

It was a little nippy, and Will noticed Nico leaning into his warmth slightly. Will made a silent note to himself to cuddle Nico sometime, finding himself suspecting that Nico may quite enjoy hugging him, for a while. 

"Have-... have you ever had a boyfriend?" Nico asked nervously, and Will blushed a little. 

"Not exactly," Will replied, "all my past dates kind of… didn't work out. So far you're probably the best date I've ever had." Nico blushed at that, both boys giggling slightly as they resumed eating. They fell into a comfortable silence, although the conversation soon picked up after eating.

Will learned that Nico really liked all kinds of music, even if he learned more towards alternative music. He liked pirates and vampires and reading, he played mythomagic, which was a shared hyperfixation, they both liked horror podcasts, and both really loved junk food. Even where they didn't have shared interests, they still had chemistry and an easy vibe between them.

Will finally decided to bite the bullet, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Hey Nico…"

"Hm?" Nico furrowed his brows, looking up at Will with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

"Is it okay if I like maybe try and like- uh- kiss you? Like, on the lips?" Will felt himself go red, although he saw Nico physically turn red. 

"I- uh- you- wanna kiss me?" Nico looked shocked, and Will hoped that he hadn't crossed a boundary.

"Uhm… yeah? If- if that's okay!"

"Uh- yes! You uh- you can- um- yeah. You can kiss me."

"Cool! I'm uh… kissing you now, uh… ha." Will took about few seconds to calm his nerves, before pressing his lips to Nico's in a gentle kiss. It was softer than he imagined, more tasteless, but also so much better than he imagined it could be. His first gay kiss was pretty great.

-

Nico was freaking out in all the best ways, because he was actually kissing a dude. His lips were pressed against a guy's lips, he was kissing him. They were kidding, two boys, in a strawberry field, being gay together. 

Nico felt alive.

His heart was pounding wildly, nerves intense and distracting as he kissed back softly, because he was finally allowing himself to act on his gay feelings, to be queer, to engage in a homosexual act, kissing another man. 

And it was perfect. 

The kiss was sweet and tender and rough and manly all at once, then Will was cupping his jaw and Nico was melting because his calloused hands felt so big and manly against Nico's cheek. Will began tracing his jaw with his finger, and Nico let out a soft whimper, knees like jelly, reaching up to cup Will's jaw and oh… he had stubble and it felt so masculine and hot, and when Will let out a soft gasp, Nico had to pull back to stop the escape of any embarrassing sounds.

Will looked beautiful. His skin was completely flushed, lips shiny and slightly kiss swollen, and Nico's brain was screaming because he'd just kissed a boy in a strawberry field for his first kiss, and that felt amazing to realise.

Nico never wanted anything different from life. 

Nico finally felt free.

And that was enough for him.

Will tucked Nico's hair behind his ear, resting their foreheads together with a wide grin. 

"Hey," Will beamed breathlessly.

"Hi," Nico greeted, voice shaky with adrenaline as both boys let out as slightly buzzed laugh, high off the adrenaline of a first gay kiss.

"So, we're really doing this, huh?"

"We're really doing this," Nico confirmed, intertwining their fingers together. 

Nico was filled with a profound sense of pride, and a sense that somehow, things were going to be okay, that things would work out, and that maybe- just maybe, he was going to fall in love.

[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 2

Title: “I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great” Ch. 2 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia and implied child abuse Word Count: 3950

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

Fuck.

Fucking, fuckity fucking fuck, fuck.

Isak’s fucked.

This was supposed to be his year. The year where he turned everything around, the year he got well again, managed to take care of himself again, the year where he wasn’t so damned sad, where he’d finally be happy again.

The year he’d finally get over Even fucking Bech Næsheim and get on with his life; move towards getting his degree in Biovitenskap where he’d finally managed to excel in that fucking physiology class last semester – he fucking aced all of the anatomy questions after having studied for three days straight with only one hour sleep – and things were going to get better, for fuck’s sake!

He’s so angry. His fists are clenched and he can’t keep his breathing under control. People on the street keep looking at him as if he’s about to attack anyone who walks too close. A mother moves her pram over onto the other side of the street and Isak wants to shout at her that he’s raging about the unfairness of his life, he’s not a baby-murderer.

Because everything is unfair. So unfair.

He’s worked too hard for this; for his friends, his education, this new life he’s trying to build – a life without Even – but somehow it’s all ruined again.

He knows the guys will ask too many questions, things are too suspicious and he can’t fucking answer any of them, fuck. And Magnus is Even’s biggest fan, he’s not getting out of this.

Isak’s panicking, he knows he is. He can’t breathe and he doesn’t know if he’s even headed towards the flat because the earth is spinning all around him and suddenly he’s on the ground, head hurting from the impact.

He’s not bleeding, at least, Isak can’t help but think as he sits up and looks around. There’s a group of young women warily watching him, not sure if they should go over and help or just pretend he doesn’t exist. Isak doesn’t know whether to shout or cry.

He hasn’t been this bad, hasn’t let himself fill his body to the brim with alcohol, for several months by now, and just the thought of how much he’s regressing just from seeing Even less than a second makes his throat tighten and chest hurt. He feels unshed tears burning in his eyes as he slowly gets up.

He needs to get home.

He stumbles forward and tries to ignore the group slowly beginning to go their own way, still keeping an eye out for him. The hard knock on his head was at least beneficial in startling him out of the full-blown panic attack he was about to have.

He’s not far from the apartment, actually, but when he glances at the clock on his phone, he sees it’s been at least four hours since he left fucking Mikael’s apartment.

The guys will surely be back by now; maybe they’ll have been there for a while because Isak ruined the party by freaking out. Maybe they’re still at the party and Magnus is hanging onto every sound that comes out of Even’s mouth, just like Isak once did.

Well, maybe not quite like Isak did, because he’s at least 79% percent sure Magnus isn’t interested in dicks – the male sex organ, not the personality, although Even sure does fit into both categories – but were Magnus to go gay for a guy, it would definitely be for Even.

He can almost hear Eskild huffing at that phrase, but Isak tries not to think of Eskild too much, even though it makes his stomach churn from guilt. Eskild, the only one who’s actually figured out Isak even though he never confirmed it as much as he fled the Kollektiv.

He’s good at that. Fleeing, that is.

But not as good as Even was.

Isak breathes out and tries to make the world stop spinning as he turns the corner and heads down the street he knows is a straight-way to the apartment.

It feels shorter than usual, though, even though he knows objectively it’s supposed to take nearly ten minutes, it feels like he blinked and then he’s typing in the code for the apartment complex’s front door and then he’s trudging up the stairs to get to his own front door.

He pats his front pockets, and then his back pockets, and then the front again because, fuck, if he’s dropped the keys somewhere he’s completely screwed. Not only does he not have enough money to get a spare made, Jonas will rip him a new one and he’ll be on kitchen duty for a month because of that stupid bet they’d made when they moved in.

He’d been so certain Magnus would be the first to lose, though, and Magnus makes the best pasta dishes in the entire world, so at the time it had seemed like a safe bet. Besides, Isak had never actually managed to lose anything important – sure, he’d forget a hat somewhere, his headphones if he was really scatter minded, but he’s never lost his keys or his wallet anywhere, which is something that can’t be said for the other guys.

“Fuck it,” Isak mutters, just about to bang his head against the door frame, body already moving towards the wall, when he feels a lump in the pocket in his jacket.

Alright, so he’s a forgetful idiot. He doesn’t even have the excuse of being drunk, because he hadn’t actually stuck around the party long enough to have more than one beer and then the two beers he’d had during their pregame before they’d left.

He fishes his keys out of his pocket, cringing every time he they clang against one another. His head is already starting to hurt, but he’s more bothered by the completely irrational idea that the guys – if they are even home yet – can hear every single noise he manages to make, but if he inserts the key really slowly and then twists it equally as slowly so that he can literally feel the movement of the lock sliding out back, then they won’t know he’s gotten home.

Door unlocked, check, handle down, check, door opened to just a big enough slot that Isak can slither in smoothly?

Isak sneaks in past the doorstep, careful not to step on it because it creaks like hell, he turns around, holding onto the handle with one hand, the other hand pressed against the door on top of it as he slowly closes the door. He doesn’t dare to breathe until he’s heard the small click of the lock.

All the air he’d been holding comes out in a low whoosh as Isak straightens up, smirking at the door because he definitely won this round, thank you very much. Now he just needs to get to bed, and then –

He turns around to see Magnus, Mahdi, and Jonas all staring at him.

Their arms are crossed over their chests and Isak has a weird, unwanted vision of being the villain to their heroic tales where they take him down in their formation.

Isak shakes his head to get rid of the image, but stop as soon as he sees Jonas’ nostrils flare slightly.

“What the hell, man?” Mahdi asks. He looks like he wants to move towards Isak, but he doesn’t, and Isak is pretty sure his legs no longer function.

“Hva skjer?” Jonas asks. He looks so irritated, they all do in fact and, yup, Isak’s legs definitely don’t work anymore, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to cry, so he doesn’t have to worry about his lacrimal system.

“Where the hell have you been?” Jonas tries again. His arms are uncrossed, but he doesn’t look any less pissed, and Isak doesn’t know how to do this. “You’re supposed to pick up your phone when we call you. Are you aware of that? That’s how phones work?”

Isak opens his mouth, but he honestly isn’t sure if it’s to talk or to throw up. Maybe he’ll throw up some words – that would be a nice change, because he honestly doesn’t know what to fucking say.

“It’s been four hours, man!”

Magnus is surprisingly quiet and Isak can’t help but worry that this is the beginning of eternal silence because Isak is now a traitor. He clearly knew Even and had never introduced him and Magnus, and he loves Magnus, he really does despite all the Even-fangirling and the invasive questions and he’s still pretty sure he might cry any second now.

“What the hell happened at the party?” Jonas now sounds more angry than he looks, and Isak can’t stand to look at him but he can’t seem to look away either.

But now Jonas isn’t talking anymore, and Mahdi hasn’t said anything since his initial outburst and Magnus is still just looking at him, and Isak isn’t even sure if he looks worried or betrayed and his head hurts and he just wants to disappear. Right about now, actually, would be really, really great.

“Hmm?” Is all he manages to get out, and it’s the wrong thing to say. It’s quite possible the most wrong, the wrongest thing he could’ve said, because now even Magnus looks slightly angry and Mahdi is positively fuming.

“’Hmm’? Are you fucking kidding me? ‘Hmm’?” Mahdi repeats angrily, actually breaking superhero-team formation and taking at step towards him.

Isak instinctively takes a step back, his back hitting the door harshly and the force of it jars all the way up his spine.

Mahdi thankfully doesn’t notice, but Isak can’t tell if Jonas does or if it’s just a reflex to grab onto Mahdi’s shoulder to hold him back. Jonas’ facial expression doesn’t change at all, though, so maybe Isak’s lucky for once.

They’re all quiet, heavy breathing almost echoing throughout the flat. Isak can’t meet their eyes, so instead he looks at the shoe rack that none of them actually bother using, which is why he’s standing in a pile of shoes at the moment.

“Do you even have anything to say?” Jonas asks. His voice is harsh and Isak now feels the anger start to bubbling inside of him. Fuck, he’d promised himself that the angry outbursts were a thing of the past.

“You disappear for hours, and like that isn’t enough of a shitty-friend thing to do, Magnus met his goddamn hero tonight, and I know you for some reason don’t like the guy, but you could be a decent friend and support Magnus!”

Isak can’t hold the wince back. He’s not even sure if it’s because he feels bad about not being a better friend to Magnus or if it’s from hearing Even being spoken about as someone’s hero. Some fucking hero. Isak learnt that the hard way.

“Not even mentioning that Even – Even Bech Næsheim, world-famous director apparently knows your name? How do you know him?”

“Jonas…” Magnus starts, reaching his hand out to hold onto Jonas’ shoulder, but Jonas shrugs him off.

“No! I’m sick and tired of this. Are you going to start this shit again? You said you were going to stop, or was that just another lie?”

It feels like a slap. Or maybe a punch to the gut, because Isak can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he needs, he needs –

He fumbles with the door handle without even turning around, mind barely registering that he needs to unlock the door first, but then his fingers apparently remember and he twists the handle, body thrown backwards with the force of the door opening and then he’s gone.

He can hear the boys shouting after him. He doesn’t even know if they’re trying to follow him – he just slams the door behind him and then starts running down the flight of stairs before he bumps into the front door.

He thinks he hears the apartment door open behind him with a last frightened “Isak!” but then he’s outside and he’s running and he doesn’t stop until he’s turning so many corners he’s managed to get himself lost.

Isak stumbles for a moment, trying to get his bearings back, but all it accomplishes is the nausea rising up until he’s throwing up on the side of the street.

There’s no one there to see it, thank god. He’s even more grateful no one’s there when the first sob escapes him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This is not happening. This is so not happening. God, why is this happening to him? This was supposed to be his year, god damn it!

He bites down on the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to keep any and all sounds in. The last thing he needs right now is someone calling the police because of a disturbance, it’s bad enough that he’s publically intoxicated. At least he’s not a minor anymore.

Isak knows he can’t stay here, though. First of all, he’s in the middle of a street in a very nice area in Oslo, he clearly doesn’t belong here. Second, he’s absolutely freezing and he really doesn’t want to go home.

It almost feels like another punch when he realizes that it’s the first time in a couple of years that he feels like that. Alright, he needs to leave unless he wants to give himself another reason to be crying.

He gets up on wobbly legs, almost stumbling into the pile of vomit before he manages to grab onto a street light and balance his weight out properly.

He knows he should call Eskild up, but Isak knows Eskild will want to talk about everything and he’s definitely mad at him at this point for the radio silence.

Isak will survive. That’s all he seems to be good at, anyway. He hopes he’ll one day know how to live again.

He can find a basement somewhere. He was practically a pro at breaking into them back when he was starting high school; he’ll recall the practicalities when he gets there.

 Past

He shouldn’t have done this. He really shouldn’t have done this. He is an idiot for doing this, and he can’t stop pinching his underarms even though it hurts like hell, because he’s a goddamn idiot and he shouldn’t be doing this.

The coffee shop is loud around him, or behind him, really, seeing as he’s sitting at the elongated table along the window, nervously twisting his cup of black coffee in his hands. Isak watches the people’s reflections, trying his best not to pay attention to any couples or any mothers. There’s a small group of friends sitting near the back. They’re the furthest away from him, but they’re the ones he can hear the clearest.

Isak’s an idiot and he doesn’t even like coffee, especially not black coffee, but it’s all he can afford right now until either of his parents remembers his soon two-week overdue monthly allowance.

He shouldn’t have come. He’s already regretting this and Even hasn’t even shown up yet.

If he even shows up, a morbid part of Isak’s brain gets through before Isak can force himself to think differently.

Isak’s regretting showing up, because Even is clearly regretting asking him to come, because Even himself hasn’t even bothered to show up, and Isak kind of wants to leave, but then he really doesn’t want to risk it because what if Even actually does show up –

Oh god, what is he even going to say? Isak hasn’t prepared for this, despite not having thought about anything but Even since he kissed –

He can’t start blushing now, not if Even is just about to walk in – which he should be, considering he’s fifteen minutes late – because if he does, he’ll never be able to stop.

Although his face will be turning red for an entirely different reason if Even doesn’t show up soon. Not that there’s any actual public embarrassment in it – no one here knows that Isak’s supposed to be on a… on a date, oh my god, he was asked out on an honest to god date with a boy, with Even, and, yes, he’s blushing, but his pulse is also racing in a bad way because Even still isn’t here, and –

The small bell hanging over the door rings out clearly as the door pushes open, Even gracelessly stumbling in, eyes frantically moving over the people sitting in the café.

Even’s shoulders slump when he’s finished going through all of the people sitting at the tables; most of them at this point already done with the distraction to their everyday lives that Even had caused.

“Fuck,” Isak hears Even mutter, his hand raises to push his hair off of his sweaty forehead. Isak watches as Even’s entire body sort of just slumps in on itself.

Even lets out a shuddery exhale that Isak knows he’s only able to hear because he’s sitting right next to him.

“Fuck,” Even repeats, words coming out at an even lower volume this time. “Did he even show?”

“Maybe he’s fifteen minutes late,” Isak says, voice matter-of-factly as he tries to keep a straight enough face that he can take a sip of coffee without spilling all over himself.

He doesn’t even manage to take a sip before he’s sputtering into his cup because Even fucking jumps, one hand grabbing onto the table, the other grabbing onto his chest over his heart and Isak can’t wipe the smirk off of his face.

“Oh, you asshole,” Even moans, but he’s already sort of laughing as he doubles over, utterly failing in drawing in deep breaths. “Fuck, I have, fucking, palpitations!”

Isak actually lets out a startlingly loud laugh at that. “Oh, dear me.”

“’Oh, dear me’,” Even mocks as he clutches onto the vacant high chair next to Isak, already clambering onto it as he pushes against the metal step on the chair. “What are you, eighty?”

Isak snorts and tries to give Even an indignant look, but he can’t keep the grin off of his face.

“Well, let’s hope the guy you’re meeting is a little closer to your age than that, then,” Isak draws the coffee cup up to his face in order to hide his smirk away from Even.

“Asshole,” Even repeats, tone so fond and expression open and honest that Isak kind of forgets to draw in a breath.

Even hooks his foot around the leg of Isak’s chair, pulling back sharply and with enough force to actually move Isak’s chair towards his own. He’s grinning so widely even as Isak has to grab onto the table with both hands, nearly sending the cup flying as he drops it in order to save himself.

Even lets out a laugh as he grabs onto Isak’s left arm, curling his hand around his bicep, not letting go even as Isak manages to right his balance again. God, Isak is well on his way to palpitations.

They just sit there, not saying anything. Isak switches between actually looking at Even, who doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere that isn’t at Isak, and looking out of the window, not seeing anything really. He doesn’t have any attention span left that isn’t already directed at Even.

“So what should I say to my date when I’ve shown up fifteen minutes late?” Even asks, gaze finally moving from Isak’s face to the coffee cup he’s pushing around on the table.

Isak hums, scolding his face into a completely serious grimace as his stomach flutters with giddiness at the word ‘date’. “Well, it depends.”

Even breaks character immediately, cheeks already splitting from a too wide grin. “On?” He prompts.

“Did you tell him you were going to be late?” Isak twists his upper body to better face Even, faux-serious expression on his face.

Even shakes his head whilst trying to mimic Isak’s facial expression. “No. You see, I was kind of an idiot and didn’t ask for his number, nor did I give him mine.”

“Ah,” Isak sighs out. “A rookie mistake,” Isak says, nodding slowly like he has a lifetime of experience on the matter.

“Hey,” Even whines indignantly, giving Isak’s arm a soft push before resting one arm on the backrest, the other on top of the table, his hands hanging in the air, wrists crossed over in front of his chest. “For your information, I was quite nervous when I asked him to meet me here!”

Isak doesn’t even try to hide the grin on his face. “Is that so?”

Even hums affirmatively, grinning back himself as he presses the tip of his shoe against the metal bar functioning as a foot rest on Isak’s chair. Isak can feel the side of his lower leg, all the way up to his knee, pressing against his own leg.

Forget palpitations, he might just combust on the spot.

Even clearly feels the same, because his hands can’t seem to stay still, so he reaches out and grabs onto Isak’s coffee cup, his hand so large it curls all the way around the cup, before drawing it to his lips.

Isak doesn’t even bother moaning about that Even is technically drinking his coffee.

Maybe he should’ve, though, in order to save Even from literally sputtering it back out.

“Jesus!” Isak exclaims, moving back instinctively even though Even didn’t even spit it in his direction, his hand already moving to pound Even on his back. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell is this?” Even coughs out, voice hoarse as he rubs his throat with his free hand.

Isak’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “Coffee?” This was a coffee shop, after all – surely that fact that he was drinking coffee shouldn’t come off as too big of a surprise.

“That was not coffee!” Even replies crossly as he puts the cup back down on the table. “That was…” Even stops as he searches for words to properly describe the atrocity he just tasted, “utter despair!”

Isak shouldn’t be laughing – he doesn’t think, anyway, that he should be, but the first laughter kind of just bubbles out of his chest all the way out of his mouth, and then he can’t really stop himself.

“Could you be any more dramatic?” Isak asks rhetorically once he’s managed to get his breath back.

And promptly regrets it from the look Even gets across his face.

“Wha–“ Isak starts out, but Even has already locked his hand around Isak’s wrist, tugging him off of the chair, only stopping long enough to make sure Isak doesn’t fall flat on his face.

“First, we’re getting some real coffee to drink,” Even starts out, twisting around so he’s walking backwards to the counter.

Isak laughs as he grabs onto Even’s hoodie, holding tight to make Even stop moving so he won’t bump into the woman standing in front of them in the line.

Even’s eyes are twinkling and Isak can’t look away.

“Does ‘real coffee’ mean overpriced, hot, sugary water?” Isak asks petulantly, making Even give him a look of faux-horror.

“Real coffee, Isak,” Even repeats. His hands curl around Isak’s wrists once again, pulling Isak closer until they’re standing toe to toe again.

It feels so much like the last time they were standing in front of each other that Isak almost pushes onto the tips of his toes so he can kiss Even. He probably would’ve if they hadn’t been standing in the middle of a busy coffee shop.

“And then,” Even continues without missing a beat. One of his hands leave Isak’s wrist to curl around Isak’s waist underneath his jacket instead, “We’re going to see the world.”

Isak thinks his own eyes might be twinkling as well.

Next part

[a-writing-bear]

[AmeriPan] Chapter 2: The ‘Hell on Earth’ Task Agency

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286367/chapters/31876020

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’ But it is not formatted as well as the AO3 version.

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing:  Alfred F. Jones & Kiku Honda (America & Japan)

AU:   Demon AU/HellTaskAgency!AU - Demon!America & Businessman!Japan

Age Rating/Mature:  Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings:  None in this chapter (Future addiction and other themes such as crime, murder, corruption etc.) A bit more PruCan in here

Organised as ever, Alfred should have expected this kind of planning from his handler. They knew that HETA had placed Matthew and him close to their targets, although the jean cladded boy didn’t assume he would be residing this close to his goal. The man in question was quite...adorable to say the least. Coffee-brown eyes paired with a 5’5ft stature was the least intimidating figure, his suit didn’t make the guy look any scarier either. To say the least, it was strange to believe that a cute being like that would be capable of the destruction of an entire company. Then again, Kiku had this weird aura that came off as unnerving and as Alfred had focused in on his soul (or as much as he could within the 30 seconds of the meeting) he recognised a bitterness within him. Slightly stunned and already geared in the mood to pester his new client he strode into the apartment whistling. The sibling glared at him suspiciously,

“Al. You have your fangs out and you smile looks like the time you started a riot.”Matthew noted with peculiar intrigue, eyes going wide as the tanner man explained that his client lived right next door. Alfred tucked his fangs away distractedly, realising that he needed to get used to the unfamiliar blunter teeth.

“But I thought you had to go for that fake job interview thing on Monday?” Nodding, Alfred was slightly puzzled too. His new alias already gave him an excuse to be near this Kiku guy as a personal assistant, somewhere he would be able to meet the man every day. Arthur was probably tryna make it easier for him. Fuck that guy. He didn’t need help adjusting to a human life! He could manipulate that soul easier than a kid using a finger puppet. First order of business, he had concluded, would be to get certain of their surroundings. They decided to get out into the streets and explore the cityscape of New York City. fumbling with his hands they walked out into the streets looking quite clueless to the world, however, they could sense all the different souls whizzing past them, locked within humans who knew nothing of how bright and blinding their souls could be. Noting with interest he recalled that Kiki’s soul had been a cool blue that greyed out ever so slightly, while the woman who had walked past was a dazzling bright red (Too kind-hearted for his liking).

His partner had already started moving down the street in the cold air, clearly in search of something interesting to find. The street lights marked their pathway as they strolled through the cool breeze, every now and again enamoured with any particularly bright soul that puttered nearby. A dainty bell dinged as they entered a quaint cafe a few minutes away. As his Mattie fumbled with a wallet and order on behalf of the two, Alfred occupied a vacant table before hearing a very loud voice which seemed to override any chatter from the other customers. He turned ready to give the stink-eye to the ruder patron but as he came to view a body whole obviously carried no human soul he was left speechless. The culprit in question had looked up sensing Alfred’s aura strongly- pale skin and red eyes all in return with a heavy amused laugh following. Could this be..? The figure partially revealed his wings using his cloaking (which was against HETA guidelines!) and winked before murmuring to whatever company this obvious demon had attracted.

Making his way the man was drabbed in a black zip-up hoodie, left unzipped showing off the thin white t-shirt and his tight black ripped jeans. The demon strolled towards Alfred pleasantly as if making a way to an old friend,

“Hey, there kiddo! New to town- Although I think I know you?” His hands dug further into his pocket as this mysterious thing stuck out his human hand to shake.

The figure tutted as Al failed to respond, “Jeez, at least pretend you’re a real human ma-”

“Are you Gilbert?” Blurting out, Alfred felt embarrassed as there was a pause- worried that he had gotten mixed up - heck for all he knew this wasn’t a demon he even knew! Yeah, those black wings looked quite similar to the description Arthur had given….

“I’m not surprised you recognise me...but uh.I don’t think we’ve ever met in the underworld...you remind me of someone... Am I still talked about?” The American noted that Gilbert’s human form had been given a very distinct German accent and judging from the appearance was residing under the cover of a recent art graduate, his silver-white hair matched with a young face seemed weird but somehow exaggerated the rough and rowdy aesthetic the man held. Recalling the tales and exploits that his former mentor, Francis, bragged about he already could imagine meeting the so-called prodigy demon Gil- the one that had set off many huge chaos points that he had to be put on suspension. If anything, Alfred was jealous that this demon was so highly skilled….and yet he was amazed.

“Yes! Oh but I don’t think we have actually met-I’m Arthur’s mentee. Formerly Francis’...” He had not noticed a sudden peak in Gilbert’s interest, those red eyes flickered with some sort of curiosity and familiarity. “I didn’t think we’d run into another employee this soon...we just got stationed to HETA literally yesterday.” the white-haired man eyes grew wide before bellowing even louder attracting the attention of Matthew who had just arrived with their drinks and those red eyes trailed Matthew’s human form. Did he know Matthew?

“‘We? Are you relate-’”

Suddenly as he came to introduce his partner to Gilbert, his brother stopped before the older demon, lowering his hands- seemingly nervous and suspicious. Gilbert took very little time to appreciate Matthew, that was clear as day as those blood red eyes grew vivid and his smirk faltered into a slight gasp. The two exchanged glances that even Alfred could not decipher, it was just like when he asked about Francis and Arthur’s gave would morph into a mixture of so many emotions that seem to override many others. Okay, he must have met Mattie befor-

“You’re not supposed to cloak your wings. Not even have them out, that’s breaking article 7.” Matthew hissed disapprovingly at the cocky looking demon, disregarding the clear as day brilliance of the veteran demon in front of them. Smooth. His brother obviously was not a seducer, so much for a demon right?

Surprisingly, Gilbert only smiled with gritted teeth, a low growl in his throat as he barked out a reply with feigned hurt: “Ouch, I’m so hurt, although you little thing... aren’t you aware I’m exempt from nearly all commandments and articles?” Alfred got anxious...had he just found himself stuck in a quarrel though Matthew’s aura of awkward annoyance died down and melted easily in the atmosphere as they continued. Alright. they knew each other, he concluded. No One would be caught dead calling Matthew ‘Little thing’ - they would be drop-kicked all the way to Heaven and down to hell in a fury of pain.

“Fuck off man, What ARE you doing here Gilbert?”

“Last time you were happy to find me, Not so excited to see me anymore Little birdie? I think you forget this is my turf this time.” Alfred cringed, God how DID these 2 know each other and why the fuck did Matthew never introduce the legend to him before???

“I meant this cafe! Not the district Gil, I’m not that unprofessional..”

Alfred kept staring at the squabble, The two look back at him embarrassed as they recognised he was still present watching them. Matthew flushed before sitting down at a nearby table, tugging on Alfred to join him- attempting to avoid the gaze of the older being. He huffed dignified, obviously trying not to be pleased that Gilbert had sneaked and sat beside the two twins. Alfred sent Matthew a questioning glare and his brother wavered for a minute before sighing as Gilbert leant closer next to him.

“We met at a directors meeting, Francis brought me to intern that morning-” the pale man had already started fumbling with a lock of Matthew’s hair absentmindedly as if it was a normal thing to do.

Alfred was even more confused “How come I wasn’t invited?!” Again Matthew huffed but this time more peeved than ever but replied firmly and calmly- this interested Gilbert obviously and the older demon grinned focusing on Matthew’s voice.

“Arthur invited you, but you forgot you fuck. I had to take notes for you remember? Too busy seducing some harlets…” His brother’s voice trailed off and an awkward silence fell upon the table. Their drinks were left untouched as Gilbert decided to ask about their missions and who stationed them here. He snickered as they hung their heads in shame when they told him it was because Alfred screwed them both.Gilbert had been in this section of town since the project started, and in fact was the district’s advisor (Matthew proceeded to tell him off considering all of these facts were given in their job file).

*Ding*

A jingle sounded through the small cafe and suddenly Matthew turned to look at his watch before turning to Alfred whispering about how their targets were about to enter simultaneously. Punctual and precise, Matthew was correct as a trio entered through the door, 2 short men dressed in fancy business suits, one was undoubtedly Kiku- Alfred Narrowed his eyes taking close attention to the man’s change in soul aura: It had been bluish gray this morning but now it had morphed to a dull rather very pitiful dark gray, there was a tinge of deep blue but it seemed much more complex than just the first tone from before. Besides him, a slightly taller and more...Germanic(?) Looking lad had a grumpy look on his face and fiddled with a briefcase in hand- to this person’s side was a young girl, her face too gleeful and innocent to be garbed in such professional pencil skirts and a jacket that fit her a bit too snuggly. The rounds of her face and her tiny nose mirrored that of the blonde man- obviously they were siblings or some sort of relatives and she seemed to follow the man closely like a doe infatuated by its mother dear. Hold no doubt though this little lady was not as innocent as she came closer.  Her cheery bright yellow soul had a very deep red core- not the dazzling passionate kindness he would have expected. it was the exact shade as the blonde man’s: an almost wine red, too close to blood and the black fog between the two connected souls obviously hinted to something sinister. The only difference between the assumed brother and siblings was that the man had a green tint instead of amber- this man was greedy. At that moment Alfred once again cursed the fact his brother got a double case, so unfair, these siblings looked like a fun case. They watched carefully as the tallest of the 3 told the girl something and pointed towards the Cafe cashier, they parted as she went to take an order and the 2 men moved for some seats.

Alfred knew Kiku would be naturally drawn to him, so it wasn’t peculiar to see Kiku suddenly perk up confused and look around before spotting him. The perks of being a hell-giver hah. Selfishly he mouthed a ‘hey there’ trying to seem casual and welcoming- yikes he really wasn’t used to his new body but at least he knew his smile was good since Kiku was actually quick to bring his guest towards their table. Thank the devil he didn’t accidentally use his fangs, he still hated these blunt biters. Kiku looked unsure but it was too late as his swiss accented partner had already ask who got him in such a rush and to “Not leave Lili confused as to where we are!”

“I must apologize to my new neighbours, please hold on Mr Zwingli.” That Asian meek voice still seemed so devoid of any evil. Mr Zwingli’s eyes twitched and his brow furrowed, he had seen the Japanese man apologize before but never quite so eager for supposedly the young men that were sitting near this table.

“Yo, Mysterious no-name neighbour! This is Matthew, he’s also in our apartment like I said before and that’s just a friend of ours”He pointed to Gilbert before jutting out a friendly handshake and Kiku obliged before giving his name (Alfred laughed internally, he knew more about Kiku than the man could ever assume, he didn't need an introduction- silly humans) Matthew nodded but took more interest in the man with the Swiss flag lapel pin.

“Pardon me, but are you the Mr Zwingli of Germanian Banking?” The man flinched before looking suspicious but Matthew’s smile was so disarming and seemingly too precious was able to be stop any detection of malice from the blonde man, he coughed before answering shyly.

“Formerly of Germanian Banking, I’ve gone independent now- working in finance with multiple new companies and clients on contracts, Mr Honda’s company is one of them in fact. Excuse my bluntness but...How do you know me? no offence but you look some college kid who woke up without coffee before a midterm…” Alfred could tell Matthew wanted to go hostile but his ass knew it would ruin the job, besides he was a professional even if it meant biting his tongue after insults.

“Finance and Econ.Grad,” his brother spoke, Alfred could only laugh, in the underworld, Matthew was the equivalent to a high ranking lawyer- not some shitty recent grad, what an awful cover-up they were given on earth.

Matthew’s voice carried on, ignoring Alfred’s scoff “In fact I’m looking for some internship work..got any space?” wolfishly Matthew smiled knowing full well his request was undeniable- charms always worked well on the less-socially inclined, and he had studied his case file well enough to know Vash Zwingli was not a social man at heart. In a way Alfred pitied him as he watched Matthew strategically manipulate, humans were too easy he supposed and he hope he was never cursed to be reincarnated as one- Devil have mercy if he was ever stuck with Matthew as one. Alfred’s own target had left quickly to assist the girl who had been stumbling and meekly making her way with 3 coffees on a tray, a balancing act as she navigated the closely knit tables. Her soul was so wild and strange but lightened even more as she arrived next to the banker, she felt more comfortable around him and only as Kiku stood behind her did her light aura flicker once more.

“Grüezi mitenand….” Her voice trailed off after looking at the rest of the crowd.

// (From Lili) [Swiss German] - Hello (to a group, formal) //

Vash huffed before quickly mumbling to his sister “Setzen Sie es auf einen anderen Tisch, wir werden nicht mit diesen ... Zeitverschwendern sitzen. Lassen Sie Herrn Honda einige persönliche Dinge tun. Hämmer kafi?”

// (From Vash) [German] - “Put it on another table, we will not sit with these ... time wasters. Let Mr. Honda do some personal things.” (From Vash) [Swiss German] - ‘“Do we have Coffee?”//

As the two shuffled to another table Kiku continued to stare at the twins, Alfred noted his calculating eyes and how his soul was tinting to an intrigued purple the longer he stared. This was going to be great.

For the first time ever his new human voice came out with an almost southern drawl- one that even the demon himself was surprised to hear come out of his mouth; none the less the new accent definitely caused the Japanese man to snap out of his long stare

“You ‘kay there Mr Kiku?”

God again those bright red cheeks, Al was pleased to know for the next few years he will be able to be the source of those blushes.

[swaps55]

what’s your favorite type of thing to write? dialogue, action, gettin’ down, exposition, a very specific thing not listed here?

Edit: I think you’d enjoy knowing that when I asked @n7zachammer what he thought my answer would be, before I even finished the question he said, “Longform pain fic.”

(he’s…not wrong? But.)

D-I-A-L-O-G-U-E 

(I had to check the spelling of that 3 times.) 

There are lots of things I love to write, but dialogue is still my bread and butter. I like to think I have a good rhythm and cadence for it. One of the exercises my creative writing mentor always made us do was go out and record actual conversations, then transcribe them. You know what it taught me? People are messy, and barely intelligible. Of course we can’t write the way people speak, because we’d have NO idea what characters were talking about. Ever. 

But it is important for that dialogue to feel like something real people would say. Dialogue tells you so much about a character, from their cadence to their word choices and so on. Do your characters sound different enough that a reader can pick out who’s speaking without a tag? (Brian Jacques has always been my favorite example of this.) When it comes to fanfic, do your readers hear your dialogue in the character’s voice? 

Even more fun is overlaying actual dialogue with inner dialogue. What’s happening externally and internally can be gloriously different and fun to play with, and it can do all kinds of things for threading, plot, etc. 

I still think the best dialogue I have ever written is for an unfinished wedding!fic that is not on Ao3, because I don’t like putting unfinished stuff there. I have always sworn I would finish it, because it’s genuinely some of the best writing I have ever done. I’m in a headspace now that maybe I *could*, so if someone wants to bug me to finish it, PLEASE. BUG ME. 

Anyway, here’s that dialogue: [Edit, wow, the formatting on this post exploded. I have fixed it now]

For someone who hates water, Garrus is really fucking good at skipping rocks. Obnoxiously good. To the point where Shepard cheats and uses a flick of dark energy to send his own stone sailing out past the fading ripples from the turian’s last throw.  

“You’re still not over that shot on the Citadel, are you?” he asks.  

Shepard shrugs, and hefts another stone. “I like to win.” 

Garrus chuckles. “Which is why I had my money on you when it came to who would propose, and most everyone else had money on Kaidan.” 

“Really?” Shepard asks before reaching back and letting it fly. Without the biotic assistance, he manages two skips before the plop.  

“They all figured Kaidan for the ‘make it official’ type,” Garrus says, rolling a stone in his talons. “But I know you. If Kaidan asks you first, in your screwed up head it means he loves you more.” 

Shepard could deny it. But with Garrus there isn’t much point. “I have a weird head, don’t I?” 

The turian flicks the stone. “Not to mention the fact I’m pretty sure you want to make it illegal for anyone else to get their hands on the person you saved the galaxy for.” 

Six fucking jumps, how the fuck did he do that?   

“C’mon, Garrus. I saved the galaxy for you. You know that.”  

“Well, of course I know that. But I figured you wanted to keep that just between us.”  

“Ha.” 

Shepard’s turn. 

“Though I have to say,” Garrus muses as Shepard winds up for another throw, blue sparks erupting around his fingers, “I like to think I’m largely responsible for keeping you alive long enough to save that galaxy.”   

Shepard looses the stone. This one makes seven jumps before squelching beneath the surface, and he smirks with satisfaction. It’s all in the wrist. 

“Speaking of that.” 

“Oh, boy.”  

The corner of Shepard’s lip quirks in a grin. “Relax, big guy. Look, I don’t know how turians do it, but humans like to make a big production out of marriage ceremonies. You have to find people to take on certain duties.” 

Garrus holds up another stone. Shepard bets he’s using his damn visor to scan it somehow. That must be his secret. Bastard. No chance he’s going to feel bad about using the biotics now.  

“Shepard, are you asking me to work at your wedding? That hurts.”  

Shepard raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to stand there and complain or let me finish?”  

“What I’d like it to get this rock to that post out there. I don’t know what the post is supposed to be for, but I’m using it to set life goals.” 

“No chance.” 

“Watch me.”  

Garrus steps back, squints, then lets it fly.  

Motherfucker. Shepard scours the ground for a new stone.  

“I’m sorry, what were you saying, Shepard?” 

“I’m going to rip that visor off your head and throw it in the lake, that’s what I was saying.” 

Garrus’ subharmonics thrum with laughter. Two lackluster throws later, Shepard checks his amp settings.  

“Okay, so human weddings,” Garrus continues. “Assuming your inability to throw rocks hasn’t changed your mind about whatever you were asking.” 

[nervousgaylaughter]

stolen glances and missed chances (chapter 1)

the 5 times Kate didn’t notice Eva and the 1 she did

read on ao3

1

Eva is only five years old when she’s captivated by a girl at the park.

There's not too many kids there for a breezy summer day, but Eva likes it better this way. This is the 'good park' as her mom calls it. It's on the other side of town, the park by her house is where all her friends go, but this one has a better playground than hers. The kids who go here all know each other from Kindergarten, Eva's the outsider, and when there's less of them Eva feels less alone.

She’s on the swings, daydreaming and staring at the sky when yelling pulls her out of her serenity. She looks over to see an auburn haired girl yelling at her friend from across the monkey bars. “Kate, it’s only six bars you can do it!”

The girl, Kate, looks nervous but her friend’s words of encouragement send her leaping to the first bar. Eva stops swinging as she watches the brunette reach for the second bar. “Chess it hurts I don’t wanna.”

“Hey are you gonna swing or can my friend have a turn?” Eva’s attention is pulled away by a sweet looking boy around her age who gestures to his friend, a girl with a high pony tail wearing a pink shirt with a horse on it.

“Sorry you can go,” Eva says as she makes her way towards the monkey bars. By the time she looks back up Kate is on the fifth bar. The girl is shaking, but has a look of determination in her eyes.

“C’mon Kate one more!” The girl named Chess yells as Kate makes the reach for the last bar and suddenly swings herself onto the landing platform.

“You did it!” Chess pulls the shorter girl into a hug, but before Kate can respond Chess says, “Now let’s try the big kid bars!” And Chess runs off, leaving a wide eyed Kate behind.

“You did really good on those. I can never get past one,” Eva says as Kate finally meets her eyes.

“Thank you! I was really scared but I bet I can help you do it too,” Kate says earnestly.

”Kate let’s go!” Chess screams from a ways away. Kate looks at Eva and says, “I’ll see you at school,” before she runs after her friend. Eva knows she won’t ever see Kate at school, but is left wondering if she’d ever be friends with the intriguing girl on the monkey bars.

The thought leaves her five year old mind quickly, however, when her mom calls her name. "Eva! Come over here and take the twins on the slide please mija." So, Eva runs over to her mom and little brothers and the memory of Kate has already been forgotten as she enjoys her day in the sun.

2

Sophomore year had just begun and Eva, despite not making it as a freshman, had just been accepted on West High’s cheerleading team. Right off the bat, she’s proving all of them wrong about not letting her on last year. By their third game, it’s looking like Eva is going to be one of the highest ranked flyers in the state. Though she has no dreams of pursuing cheerleading beyond high school, she lives in the moment and is enjoying the ride of being on the winning team.

Everything is going smoothly until the rival game: Giles Corey High vs. West High. Tigers vs Titans. It’s the privileged private school rich kids vs the local public high school kids, but somehow, even with all their money, the Tigers are absolutely atrocious at football.

It’s thirty seconds until half time and the score is 58-0 for the Titans when their cheerleaders, ever the positive force, are trying and keep up everyone’s spirits with a new routine. Six girls are making a pyramid while a flyer and few bases are setting up behind them. Eva can’t see how or why, but suddenly the flyer is on the ground, she must have been dropped and had passed out and rolled into the pyramid, toppling over the whole squad as the girls fell on top of each other. The whistle is blown for half time, the paramedics are rushing towards the cheerleaders, and West High’s squad is just staring at the pile of girls on the other side.

“I’m gonna go use the bathroom,” Eva says to her captain who nods in response. Eva makes her way towards the stalls, and goes past the Tigers cheer squad.

“Is Farrah gonna be ok?” One girl insistently asks the paramedics, but she’s pulled aside by the Tigers’ captain.

“Farrah isn’t drunk again, right?” The captain asks the teary eyed girl as Eva keeps walking.

“She’s totally stoned, you do know that Riley.” A dark skinned girl says to a redhead who is anxiously biting her nails.

”Uh guys I don’t think we’re gonna win anyways so it’s fine right?” The girl in the mascot suit says.

Eva doesn’t like eavesdropping but it’s impossible not to hear the panicked words of a squad in shambles. She finally makes it to the bathrooms where a dark haired girl wearing a black choker is banging on one of the stalls.

I didn’t know Giles Corey allowed their cheerleaders to wear jewelry, Eva thinks.

“Chess, no one is mad at you please come out.”

“Gimme a second Kate,” the girl behind the stall says.

“Chess please I don’t care what everyone else thinks I just wanna know if you’re ok.” Kate gets frustrated and turns her back to the door, slouching down to the ground.

“You know, I thought your guys’ formations were really on point tonight,” Eva offers to the girl in distress.

“What does it even matter? We can do a whole night of perfect cheers, but one slip up is all anyone will remember tomorrow,” Kate says dejectedly, and Eva notices that, though the girl is upset, she’s kinda cute. But Eva doesn’t let herself think about it, they’re rivals and cheerleading is an overwhelmingly straight sport.

“Well, screw everyone else, I’m rooting for you guys,” Eva says.

“We don’t need your pity,” Kate says as the door behind her opens.

“Let’s get back to the squad Kate,” Chess says, not looking her friend in the eye. Kate nods as she follows Chess out of the bathroom. Eva is about to say goodbye as Kate nearly walks into Eva’s shoulder as she passes her.

Eva doesn’t blame the girl for her rudeness though, Kate is taking out her anger on the first ‘enemy’ she could find. If what she overheard was any indication, the Tigers had a lot of shit going on that they so desperately need to deal with. Eva walks back to her squad thinking about the cute angry brunette who probably wasn’t allowed to be wearing that choker at all.

“Did you wash your hands?” One of her teammates asks her jokingly when she gets back.

“Oh yeah,” Eva responds as she realized she was so distracted she forgot to actually use the bathroom. Her team begins gossiping about and berating the Tigers, but Eva zones out daydreaming about the girl she met.

3

As the year progressed, Eva found herself becoming more and more captivated with science. Specifically the science behind climate change. Lucky for her, there’s a townhall tonight in Giles Corey High School’s auditorium with a Senator up for reelection who doesn’t believe in global warming.

Eva decides to observe for the first half of the town hall. Even though it’s a huge election coming up, she notices a distinct lack of people in the room. Eva came alone and was sitting by herself. There’s two girls sitting a few rows in front of her, a crew of guys to her right, and several teachers, but the 1250 person auditorium is practically empty.

They’re on the topic of foreign affairs when one of the girls in front of her gets the microphone.

“Hi. I’m Kate. I just wanted to ask what makes you think it’s ok to ridicule and sexualize a 16 year old girl on Twitter.”

Eva’s eyes widen and she mutters “Oh shit,” to herself. She looks up to see a girl wearing a flannel standing with her arms crossed. Eva recognizes the snark, it’s the Tigers cheerleader from the bathroom that night.

The politician’s eyebrows quirk, looking visibly annoyed by the question he replies, “And when would I have done that?”

“March 3, 2018 you tweeted ‘What a shame about that gymnast Francesca. Her talents and looks will be missed (by me especially).’ That’s when you would have done that,” she says with a sarcastic glare.

The girl next to Kate, who must be Francesca- Chess Eva realizes- shrinks in her seat, but Kate won’t back down. There’s an awkward silence

Who shortens Francesca to Chess of all things, Eva wonders when the Senator responds, “I was merely expressing my sadness that dear Francesca couldn’t go to the Olympics, that’s all.” He gives Kate a cheesy politician smile, but she won’t take that for an answer.

Well I guess all things considered it's better than Franny.

“Bullshit-” the moderator interrupts the girl, “Kate please restrain yourself-” but Kate just cuts him off too, “You’re gonna delete that Tweet and apologize right now.”

“I have no obligation to a girl like yourself.”

“This town hall is being livestreamed. Unless you wanna be the asshole of the nation I think you better do what I asked.” Kate and the Senator are in a staring match, and the young girl will not back down. Eva would say she was surprised at the girl’s directness, but she remembers her prior interactions with Kate and cannot deny her feisty nature. Though there’s only about 15 people in the room, the tension is palpable. If anyone knows the power of going viral, it’s Giles Corey High School.

The politician begins to look uncomfortable, he fixes his tie, “I will delete the tweet after this meeting, and Francesca, I apologize for the content of my tweet.”

Kate, finally satisfied, sits back down and looks at Chess who is anxiously playing with the sleeve of her jacket, but gives a grin to Kate. Eva is no longer paying attention to the moderator as she watches the interaction between the girls. If she’s being honest with herself, even though Kate is a cheerleader, she gives off gay vibes, and Eva is intrigued with the girl.

The two girls are having a hushed conversation when Chess gets out of her seat, making her way towards the back of the auditorium. Kate follows the girl’s path until she’s out of sight, when Eva catches her eye. They hold eye contact for a second, Kate scrunches her eyebrows trying to remember why the girl seems familiar which Eva finds adorable. Eva gives her a wave, and Kate just responds with a head nod, when her attention is diverted by the return of her friend.

Kate smiles for the first time that night when Chess sits down and Eva has a realization. Kate’s totally in love with Chess, but Chess is most definitely straight. Eva feels sad for Kate and the seeming hopelessness of their situation, Eva herself had a crush on her best, well ex-best friend, but the moderator announces, “Now onto climate change.”

Eva puts her thoughts about Kate’s disposition aside as she raises her hand to ask the politician her question. The microphone is brought to Eva as she notices Chess seems far more relaxed than she had been a few minutes earlier. She has stopped fiddling with her jacket sleeve completely, and is laughing at whatever Kate is telling her.

It's none of your business Eva, just forget it, she tells herself. She grabs the mic and begins her leading question on climate change as Chess and Kate make their way past her and out of the auditorium.

Once again, Kate follows Chess, and Eva watches and wonders if she would ever get to know the snarky girl better.

4

Eva is at JJ’s Bikes and Boards looking for a new skateboard when she hears the shop’s bell ring. Thinking nothing of it she continues to scan her options. For her thirteenth birthday, Eva’s parents got her a simple black longboard which she has covered with stickers over the years, but she wants to get into skate tricks which requires a skateboard. The rainbow one immediately catches her eye, but Eva thinks that might be a little too much, so she grabs the plain black one. She decides stickers are more her style.

She has to choose quickly though because her shift at the local pizza joint starts in 30 minutes which means she’s dressed in her signature red pizza hat, red pizza polo, and of course her favorite jean jacket. Not necessarily a skater girl look, but more of a girl who needs to support her family look.

“How would one go about painting a skateboard?” Eva hears a girl ask JJ.

Eva is endeared by that thought. She loved personalizing her longboard, but couldn’t do any form of art to save her life. She peaks over the rack of pennyboards to see who asked the question and of course it’s her. Eva just cant seem to stop running into the small angry girl from the Tigers. Eva hears JJ describe the kind of skateboard she needs and grabs the right one for Kate.

“So basically you have to sand it down and then when you’re done cover it with sealant,” JJ describes to a very interested Kate.

“Hey I overheard so I grabbed the skateboard you need,” Eva taps Kate on the shoulder.

“Oh. Thanks,” Kate begins to turn back to the register, but Eva wants the conversation to keep going.

“So why are you painting a skateboard?”

“It’s my best friend’s birthday soon and her current one is so ratty that I thought I’d make her a new one that’s unique like she is,” Kate says with a smile.

“Oh that’s nice,” is all Eva could manage before JJ rung up Kate’s purchase. There’s a box full of buttons on sale for 99 cents a piece and Eva sees Kate pick up one with a rainbow heart, fiddle with it a bit, and put it back before grabbing one with a black star and handing it to JJ.

Oh yeah, Eva thinks, she’s in love with her best friend and probably super repressed. Kate finishes buying her items and she gives Eva a kinda awkward salute on her way out, which Eva found completely adorable.

Why out of all the girls do you have to be so charmed by the repressed Tiger?  Eva’s thoughts are interrupted by JJ.

“Hey girl, whatcha buying this time? New wheels?”

“Nope, I’m getting a new skateboard so I can learn some tricks and not just cruise around.”

“OOOOH when you learn you have to come back round and show me some videos, ok sweetheart.”

“Of course JJ,” Eva hands JJ her debit card and, somewhat impulsively grabs the rainbow heart button. JJ makes no comment, she just smiles as she adds that to the purchase.

Eva grabs the skateboard and the button and heads back to her car to drive to work. She stares at the button in the palm of her hand. Everyone at school knew she was gay, so why did pinning it on her jacket seem like such a big deal? Kate was considering buying it, but so what, it’s not like Eva had a crush on the girl she barely knew. It should be nothing, but for some reason she can’t explain, it feels significant to Eva.

With a deep breath, Eva puts the button on the pocket of her jacket and begins to drive to work.

5

It’s been an overwhelmingly boring shift for Eva so far. She delivered the usual 2 cheese pizzas extra sauce (who gets extra sauce?) to the Andersons, the weekly munchie order for the stoned kids at the nearby college (they tip horribly), and even a whopping 15 pizzas for a spoiled eight year old’s birthday party (she got out of there as quickly as possible), but nothing eventful had really happened.

Her next stop was in a gated community (she hated delivering there, the guard always took so long to let her in) with a gluten-free cheese pizza going to 16 Hartcourt. She rings the doorbell several times before two girls come to the door.

One of the girls abruptly grabs the box and asks, “Do I know you?” They recognize her as West High’s flyer. That’s a first. No one has ever bothered to remember her before. The girls explain that they’re Tigers, and now Eva notices the Tigers jersey one of them is wearing. Eva awkwardly fumbles through her ramble about how she’s rooting for them, but she keeps thinking about the fact that this means Kate is somewhere nearby.

Just as she’s talking about the unfairness of their viral video she’s cut off as she sees the unamused expression on their faces.

“Well, uh it was nice to officially meet you.”

“Yeah well I’m sure we’ll see you again soon,” but the girl looks as if she wished that would never come true. Eva tips her hat at the girls and makes her way back towards her car when a figure comes storming though the darkness towards her. They just barely avoid colliding with each other when Eva recognizes the figure as a distressed Kate. She has tears in her eyes, her fists are balled up, and she’s breathing heavily.

Despite her better judgement, Eva calls after the girl, “Hey are you ok?” Kate completely ignores the pizza girl and continues into the house. Eva just sighs as she does unnoticed by Kate once again as she gets into her car.

Eva checks her phone to see how much they tipped her, since they’re rivals she’s not expecting much but a $3 tip for a $12 pizza is not too shabby. Riley might be the captain of the Tigers, but at least she’s not a monster.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It wasn’t until three days later when she’s scrolling through twitter and sees something about the Tigers that she realizes she was there that night. She was there when a drunk freshman killed a boy and two of the other girls, one of which is Chess. Kate's best friend.

Eva knows it’s absolutely none of her business, but she can’t help but wonder how Kate is doing. There’s no way the short-tempered girl is dealing with her feelings healthily. But then again, anyone who loses their best friend, crush or no crush, can’t be expected to react rationally at all.

Eva has no way of contacting Kate without it being totally creepy, so she just hopes that the girl is doing alright.

Then she gets an email. It’s from Giles Corey High School. They’re offering her a full scholarship, holy shit that’s $60,000, Eva thinks, and all she has to do is be on the cheer team. On one hand the Tigers have an amazing science program, and murder squad or not, she doesn’t think she can pass up that opportunity.

There’s no way someone on the cheer team will be murdered again, that’s just statistically improbable, Eva reasons. How can one pass up this chance, she loves West High and all her friends, but in order to go to college, she really needs a full ride, and more Tigers than Titans get scholarships, so the choice is obvious.

[still-not-king]

Actually Talking About It

Schitt's Creek ficlet

Patrick / David

Rated G

Notes:

So this is a quick ficlet that lived half-formed in my Google Keep notes for a while. I just finished for my bff while we were waiting for "The Hike" to air. :-) Enjoy!

***THIS IS A FIRST XPOST FROM AO3 SO IF I NEED TO FIX FORMATTING PLEASE TELL MEEEEEE 😁😁😁******

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

Patrick Brewer looked up from restocking at the sound of Rose Apothecary's door bell. Alexis Rose swanned in, zeroing in on his position immediately.

"Pah-triick," Alexis called out, like she wasn't the only other person in the building. (Patrick didn't know when she's started adding that little lilt to the way she said his name, but he liked it. Somehow very few things made him feel more comfortable in his relationship than the fact that she half-whined his name with the same cadence she called for David).

"Hey Alexis. What can I do for you?” He smiled. “David's not here. He went over to Heather's to pick up -"

Alexis got very close, hovering at the edge of his personal space. "Hey, yeah, so... I know David's not here. That's actually, specifically why I'm here. See, I wanted to touch base with you about something." She looked around conspiratorially, petting her hair with a happy, nervous energy and studying the candles in the shelf over his shoulder. "Umm... So Ted was talking... And I agreed... That maybe, umm... Third time's a charm?"

Patrick looked at her blankly for a moment while she widened her eyes, trying to convey her point.

"Third...oh, oh wow!" He’d taken a moment to get her meaning, but now gave her a bright, genuine smile. Alexis bounced excitedly, heels making a delighted clomp-clop on the store's hardwood floors.

"I know, right!?!?" She squealed. She abruptly shifted to her best genuine-seriousness face and grabbed Patrick's hands. "So I just need to know your plans so I can get back to Ted on the best timeline."

Patrick, still smiling but now vaguely bemused, blinked back at her. "I'm sorry, I - I don't follow. We'll be happy to help with... Wedding stuff? If you want?

Alexis smiled conspiratorially and hit his bicep playfully. "Oh my God, Patriiick," there it was again, that sibling lilt. "You don't have to be coy, I won't TELL him, OBVIOUSLY. I just need to avoid a stealing-each-others-engagement-thunder situation, because that would just be... cringey. And I don't want this to be one of those he-thinks-you-did-it-because-of-me-and-Ted things either, because literally everyone knows this is full endgame for you guys so I'm not going to put that anxiety on him over a sure thing.” Alexis' face got a soft, faraway look for a moment before she shook her head, bright smile slipping back into place. "He'll never let me hear the end of it, anyway. And he deserves..." She pursed her lips, then smiled again and gestured vaguely. "Well it's not like he's ever gonna get engaged AGAIN, so. He should have a solid three weeks to gloat and be disgusting before Ted is allowed to do it."

Something equal parts nerves and delight twisted in Patrick's stomach at Alexis's casual statement.

Like or was a given.

Well she wasn't wrong. But...

"Alexis, I'm serious. I'm not planning anything. We really haven't even discussed it." He looked around at the store, hoping against hope that no customers chose the next few seconds to come in. He suddenly found he was having a hard time looking at his boyfriend's sister. "I, uh... I'm not even sure that's something David would even really be, be interested in, y'know?" He stole a glance back at Alexis's face. She was staring at him like she couldn't tell if he was serious, and blinked rapidly when he stopped talking like she was trying to process the information. They stared at one another in silence for a beat. Then Alexis laughed, throwing her head back and hitting Patrick again in the chest. "Oh my God, don't do that! You nearly had me, oh my God!” She howled, tears forming she was laughing so hard. “You’re so mean! I'm crying, and this mascera is not NEARLY as waterproof as advertised, oh my God!" Her laugh turned into giggles and the bell over the shop door rang as a gaggle of ladies that looked like they were on a day trip from Elmdale walked in, ooh'ing and ahh'ing at the decor. Both Patrick and Alexis glanced at them, Patrick smiling professionally.

"Good afternoon ladies! I'll be over to help you in just a moment."

Alexis, laughter still hovering at the edges of her smile, grinned at him. "Well, I'll let you get back to it. Thanks for that, I needed it." She delicately dabbed her eyes, still smiling, and turned to go. "But seriously. Patrick? Like, you don't have to tell me your plans but, like, do you think you could get a move on? Because if I have to wait more than like 3 months, it's gonna be Christmas, and I do NOT want to be in one of those your-engagement-ring-is-your-christmas-present situations. Because Ew."

"Sure, I'll get…” he sucked on his teeth. “...right on that." He finished with a nod and a tight smile.

Alexis shot him a grin over her shoulder as she opened the door. "Thanks! Oooo I'm so excited!!" She squealed as she swanned out.

Patrick shook his head and slapped on his customer-service smile, walking over to the ladies. One in a green visor smiled maternally.

"Friend of yours?" She asked, raising her eyebrows towards the closed door of the shop.

Patrick's smile shifted to genuine. "Uh... S-Sister-in-law, actually," he corrected, trying out the term.

"Oh," the lady replied warmly. She turned back to the scarves she'd been thumbing through. "Do you have something like this but more summery? I don't want to wait until it starts getting colder to have to wear this."

Swallowed his glee, as well as the feeling he was getting away with something scandalous, Patrick cast about the store. "You know, there's nothing knit, but we did just get some hand-dyed scarves in from a new vendor. Let me grab some for you to look at."

And just like that, he fell back into the rhythm of the day.

.

.

.

.

.

    That is, until David got back just before close and greeted Patrick with a familiar kiss on the cheek and a cup of tea. The unexpected appearance, along with his favorite beverage, brought that knot of nerves and butterflies back full-force.

"I thought you'd go home after dealing with vendors all day," Patrick had prompted, elbows leaning on the counter, tea clasped in both hands. David waved his hand dismissively and floated around the skin care products. "Well, I was coming literally right past the store. It would have made me unreasonably and unjustifiably anxious to drive by and not check in to make sure you haven't put those fugly baba yaga brooms out by the candles again."

"You mean the brooms we agreed you'd let me put out for Halloween two days ago?"

"...Mmhmm" David bit his lips and continued studying the moisturizers.

"Ah. And the tea?"

David pointedly ignored him.

Patrick sidled his way around the counter and made a show of looking David up and down until his boyfriend broke and, flustered, turned to him. "What."

"Just, ah... Where your coffee?"

David made a face like he was smiling through a lemon. "Ok, so maybe I didn't get a coffee. Maybe I decided I didn't need caffeine at 445 on a Tuesday, ok?"

"Wait," the overly-sincere tone betrayed Patrick's straight face. "Are you saying you just... Brought me tea? Out of the goodness of your heart?"

David preened a little, swinging drastically from avoiding the admission to over-confidence. Which meant he no longer felt self-conscious about making the excuse to come into the store.

"What can I say, I'm incredibly generous,"

Patrick lightly grabbed his boyfriend's face with both hands, enjoying the mischievous sparkle David's eyes got whenever he did that, and brought the taller man down to meet him for a gentle kiss.

"I missed you too," he admitted quietly. "I always miss you when I don't see you all day."

David made a dismissive noise, but couldn't hide his delight. "Ughhh, ugh! How'd we become these people?" He stood up and shook his head and upper body like he was shaking water off. "I thought moving in together was supposed to make people want to spend LESS time with each other! Blech."

Patrick screwed up his face in over-the-top concern. "Uh oh, you think you'll survive my conference next month?" The familiar tease came easily, as did David's radiant, faux-tragic response.

"I'm seriously considering checking myself into rehab for the entirety. I hear Lindsay Lohan's back in again, we'd have SO much to catch up about. I'd probably barely miss you."

Patrick crowded into David's space, the taller man taking the cue and draping his arms over Patrick's blue dress shirt, playing with the collar.

"Well, I mean, you could always come with me," he suggested casually. "We could leave Alexis to run the store-"

"Hard pass."

"-stay in a hotel with actual room service. You could learn about tax exemptions and human resources."

"Hawt," David replied sardonically, leaning in to steal a kiss.

"We could learn how to overhaul the online ordering system together. Maybe even hold hands in the liability and osha regulations seminar," Patrick continued, grin sneaking in against David's mouth.

"Hot sexxxxy sex," was his boyfriend's response before they left off the banter for a minute to carry on with the more important task of kissing one another thoroughly. As it was, Patrick could feel David's laughter on his tongue and both men were still smiling as they pulled apart.

   Eventually, David floated away to finish restocking while Patrick locked up and closed the register. He was bagging up the deposit before he had convinced himself this conversation would be completely normal.

Which... Yeah. Sure. Totally casual.

Totally casual to bring up marriage.

For the first time in their three years together.

"So speaking of Alexis-" he started.

David turned and pinned him with a critical squint/head-tilt combo.

"Were we, though?" He asked pointedly.

"Well, she came in today," he charged on, pointedly keeping his eyes on the deposit slip he was filling out. Totally natural. Very casual.

David sighed dramatically. "She didn't come in scamming for more free stuff, did she? I told her, 10% off is my final concession. It's not like we didn't pay her for-"

"Apparently she and Ted are talking about getting married."

Patrick looked up in time to catch David's cascade of expressions. Surprise melted into a pained look, which was chased off by a kind of bemused internal self-assessment Patrick mentally referred to as his boyfriend's Whadda-huh face, which melted into a what looked most like disbelief. The smaller man pretended he hadn't been watching intently when David turned to face him fully, blinking rapidly like he was struggling to process the information.

"Alexis and Ted?  Broken-up-with-twice Ted? Married. Wow, ummm... Okay," he processed aloud. He squinched his eyes shut and struggled valiantly to mask a level of emotion that appeared to be a surprise. "When, umm, whennn, when, okay," David shook his hands like he was trying to disperse all his disparate thoughts, took a breath, and tried again, striking a casual pose and smiling brightly. "Married?!" He almost completely masked the hysterical bent to his voice.

Patrick gave David an indulgent smile and continued his closing paperwork. "Yeah, she came in... It's not a done deal or anything. She was just excited, I guess."

David rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. That sounds like Alexis. Definitely. Just excited, that's why she came in here to tell us. Personally. That it's even, even, even on the table again." There was an unexpected, nervous frustration Patrick couldn't quite parse radiating off of David, but he carried on as though he hadn't noticed.

"I mean, it's nice for them. That they're back to that place. Where they can talk about spending the rest of their lives together." Patrick shrugged, trying so hard to be casual but only barely succeeding.

David heaved an exasperated sigh. "People don't have to talk about getting married to know they're going to spend their lives with a person, I mean... Ugh!" He spun out like leaning on the counter was restraining him somehow and started gesturing wildly in the way he tended to when a simmering issue had come to a full roiling boil. "I mean, look at you! You were engaged and look how THAT turned out. Traumatic. I'm not going to, to... foist the idea of marriage upon you simply because it's what we’re supposed to do. It doesn't change anything. I don’t need to peer-pressure a ring and a ceremony into your life simply to prove our relationship is just as real as the one you almost… almost… guh.” He shook his head. “No. No, she’s just dangling a potential 5th engagement in front of me because she found my private pinterest boards once." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and started worrying the sleeve of his sweatshirt between finger and thumb. His body language was closed and tense, and - like always - Patrick’s nerves evaporated in the face of David’s anxiety. Because David had thought about this. Like, a LOT.

It sounded like he wanted it just as much as Patrick did, and was just as nervous to bring it up. Possibly more. A beaming grin escaped before he bit it down, broadcasting fondness but choosing to undercut the tension with a joke. “I’m sorry - Foist marriage upon me? What do you think this is, Little Women?”

David’s eyeroll was so hard it took his whole head with it, but his arms dropped and he returned to the counter so Patrick counted it as a win. “You know what I mean. I never wanted to… I’m the first man you’ve ever been with. I didn’t want to come off as some desperate Bachelor-reject type.”

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d never want to get married and we’d somehow avoid the discussion until we died.” Patrick couldn’t fully hide his amused smile, but he didn’t really want to either. He reveled in the sparkle David’s face had for a moment at his casual acknowledgement of forever. The taller man leaned further across the counter, mirroring Patrick and getting into his personal space. He looked unreasonably smug. “Yeah, basically.” He leaned in to kiss Patrick and they both melted into it for a moment. Patrick pulled back first, face serious.

“You know, for a long time I didn’t think I’d ever get married,” he told David softly, anticipating his boyfriend’s soft, sad smile and understanding nod. “But now? I find the idea isn’t something I’m terribly adverse to. One might actually say I’m solidly a fan. But I figured you…” He looked down at the counter for a moment,  retroactively embarrassed. “Honestly I figured marriage might be something you wouldn’t be interested in. Too… traditional? I dunno.”

David’s smile brightened until it was almost too much to see so close. He screwed up his mouth, trying and failing to keep his expression at least marginally schooled. (He failed miserably). “Well, I could probably be convinced it’s not the worst idea, given an adequate venue and budget,” he replied, tracing a ringed finger through the hair behind Patrick’s ear.

“I hear doing it with the right person is pretty important too,” Patrick snarked back, diving in for another quick, light kiss. David smiled against his lips.

“I mean, I guess.”

There was a beat, then Patrick put on an exaggerated look of skepticism and pulled back. “Did you just-”

David looked aghast and flailed a bit helplessly. “Oh! God! No! No no no, this is NOT how I ask you to marry me, no. No.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to light up the room with a smile. “So you want to?”

“No! I mean, I mean… oh god,” David ground his palms into his eye sockets. “This is not the engagement story I wanna tell the kids.”

Patrick about swallowed his tongue. “... kids?” As much as he hated how small and vulnerable he sounded, he needed to be sure he’d heard correctly. Because David had just casually dangled an entire, perfect life in front of him and he needed to be sure.

David’s loose fists floated down in front of his mouth, eyes terror-wide and eyebrows high. His shoulders were up around his ears, tension having pinned him to the spot.

“... oh god,” he whispered nearly inaudibly. “Patrick, I didn’t… we don’t… it’s just, I’d just have the thought… sometimes… it’s so stupid, I’m sorry…”

That was the moment. He’d been sure for months, maybe even years at this point, but that was the moment he saw everything so clearly he was concerned he’d hallucinated. They were on the same page, crazy as that sounded. They wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. David wasn’t just ok with the idea of getting married - he’d thought of them having a family.  Patrick was looking at his future, packaged in black and white and standing in the middle of the life they’d already built together.

   But first he had to short-circuit the panic attack he could see brewing in David’s body language. He rushed around the counter and gently but firmly brought his boyfriend’s hands down from in front of his face. Then he pulled him forward and down with another hand on the back of David’s neck, and wrapped him up in a solid, steady hug. David clutched Patrick with only a hint of the panic he’d had a moment ago and buried his head in Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, I mean, it’d be… I’d be okay with… I’m not-”

“Hey, hey, breathe.” Patrick rubbed a soothing, steady hand up and down David’s back until he felt the tension melt. “You calm enough to listen to me?” he asked with a smile. Feeling David nod and hearing the huff of laughter against his neck, he allowed the taller man to stand but not back up. He caught David’s eyes and held them. “I wanna marry you too, David.” Patrick found himself on the receiving end of one of David’s incredibly rare, hyper-focused, entirely open stares. A distant part of him wondered if there was a way to bottle this feeling. “I wanna live with you and get annoyed with you and bug the shit out of you and spend all day every day working for a great life with you. I wanna have a family, and I don’t care if it’s kids or dogs or just nieces and nephews, as long as it’s with you. You’re my Mariah Carey, remember?”

“Okay, that’s not fair, I’m already emotionally compromised,” replied David archly, unable to hide his overly-dewy eyes when they were this close. He fluttered his eyelashes and smirked at the smaller man in his arms, trying to diffuse the tension. “Mr. Brewer, did you just…”

Patrick smirked. “Oh, no. No, you’ll know when I’m officially asking. It’s gonna be a great story. The kids’ll love it.”

David sighed and patted Patrick’s shoulders, making a put-upon, sour face that couldn’t really hide his laughter. (Could it ever?) “Okay.” He pulled away, making a show of gathering his things.

“I’ll make sure it’s in front of your whole family… maybe even the whole town?”

“It’s time to go, I’m leaving!” David grabbed his things in a flourish and made his way towards the door. Patrick grabbed the deposit and turned off the lights, making his way to where his boyfriend was holding the door for him with theatrical impatience.

“Why thank you, Mr. Brewer,” he replied just to get that last needle in. It landed perfectly.

“Oh, you KNOW we’re both going to be Roses, right? Because I am NOT changing the name of this store.”

The debate over last names continued all the way to the car. Patrick couldn’t help but think “Brewer Rose” had a nice ring to it. Not that he’d admit that until just before the paperwork was signed. Maybe he could convince David that “Brewer” would make a good middle name, considering he was pretty sure nobody remembered what his real middle name was. Maybe Alexis could help convince him. Actually, speaking of Alexis...

They got all the way to the apartment before Patrick’s curiosity got the better of him. “Wait, FIVE engagements?”

[jaaswolfen]

Format Ch4

Hello hello! Wolfn here with anew update. It was so long, But I hope you enjoy it!

As always, thanks to @yuukazuto for inspiring this piece of work, and everyone else who work in fanart, fanfic, and the such to keep this ship alive.

Read it in AO3

The following days were torture for the Korean, in more ways than one. The mission had gone public, for the better or the worse. And while MEKA was aware of D.va’s involvement with the newly (re)founded Overwatch, it did not mean they approved of unauthorized tempering with their technology. That blow was taken by D.va herself, claiming that she did the tempering herself, and that was purposely done as to leave no evidence whatsoever of her involvement. Which worked. Kind of. She had gotten an earful of her team and friends, but ultimately knew just how much of a wild card she was sometimes and resigned themselves to saying it was “just D.va being D.va”. Nothing was mentioned to them about her relationship with the hacker. And while it broke her heart to lie to her team again, she knew it was for the best.

Secondly, she had to answer to Overwatch herself. Of course, the fact the two of the more prominently figures in the institution, that being Angela and Winston, were aware to some extent of her shenanigans played in her favor. But there were others, particularly on the more traditional side of Overwatch that were at cross with her actions. Torbjorn was not a happy man. Well, he was never happy, but even less happy with what had happened. Claiming that Hana was indeed not ready for a place in the organization, and that she should face the consequences of her actions. Once the emotional high left him, Commander Morrison also took a more professional approach to the incident as well. “Professional” meaning he was deciding whenever she should kick D.va out and execute Sombra, or, execute them both altogether. Thankfully, the older Amari was quick to shoot that idea down, on the grounds that they both were guilty of using similar tactics as mercenaries. And who knows, maybe one of them had used the hacker’s services themselves.

Worse of all, Hana had been prohibited to enter Sombra’s resting room. This sent the pilot into a frenzy almost immediately, but was subsided just as quickly as it appeared when it wasn’t Morrison, but Angela who alleged that it was ill advised to have her absorb so much shocking information at once.

The truth of the matter was that they had to make a choice. Not an easy one at that, but a choice. What had happened to D.va was absurdly tragic, but she nonetheless betrayed the trust of plenty of her teammates. And even though Sombra had saved one of their own, was one right enough to forget of her previous wrongdoings?

Winston knew that something like this could spell tragedy, so in an effort to clear any lingering questions, he summoned a post-mission meeting to all and everyone who wished to attend. Unsurprisingly, pretty much everyone confirmed as soon as they could. And before he realized, what was intended as a meeting became a trial.

Factions were quickly formed in the base. The younger generation, led by Lucio, firmly believed that both D.va and Sombra had already redeemed themselves by virtue of their actions. And that there was no way in hell that them “Heroes” would leave to die someone who had saved one of their own. They also believed that Sombra could prove herself even further once she was fully healed, and some even dared to say she could one day form part of the team.

The complete opposite, leaded in part by Torbjorn and Morrison believed firmly that while Hana had been a valuable assent, proven to be too much of a risk to continue serving under the name of Overwatch. And instead should return to the MEKA force back in Busan, if they would have her. And Sombra, while a helping hand this one time, was still a criminal and a terrorist. And should be prosecuted and punished as such. Which would mean life in prison, or even worse.

Surprisingly, a third party was formed as well. This led by the Older Amari. She, alongside others like Mc Cree and Genji, claimed that things were not as black-and-white as everyone claimed, and that both deserved a chance to prove their case. But doing so safely and with the necessary precautions taken. They would never question D.va’s loyalty to the cause, but love made us do stupid, stupid things. And this they knew maybe better than anyone.

Hana, now fully healed up, stood anxiously with her arms crossed over her chest. Her determination irradiating from her slim body. It was just a couple of days since the incident, but she already looked ready to pick a fight with whoever dared to look her way. On the opposite side of the room, stood Zarya. The Russian was imposing as always, but ever since the arrival of their unfortunate guest, her mood seemed fouler than usual. Alongside her also stood the swede, if only opaqued by the fury of the one besides him. Little by little, the room began filling up. And indeed everyone had confirmed assistance except the usual. That being Orisa who returned to Numbani, Brigette who was yet to join Overwatch in their base, and Bastion who…

Well, his opinion as a team member was valued, but the language barrier imposed quite the predicament.

They all stood in silence as the last member entered the room. Tensions high as all factions huddled together, wordlessly announcing their thoughts on the matter. Once McCree graced everyone with his presence, Winston’s baritone voice called everyone’s attention.

“Everyone, thank you all for coming in such a short notice.” He called. “I’m sure you all have your own personal duties to attend to, but today’s matter is something that needs to be discussed.” He stopped. Quickly glancing around the room, pretty much everyone knew exactly what today’s meeting was about. Even those who didn’t hear the complete story did not miss their enemy just chilling in their infirmary.

“Today there are two subjects that are to be discussed. First: the consequences for Agent Hana Song, A.K.A. D.Va for her actions leading to the mission in Monaco, and whenever she is fit to continue as a member of Overwatch.” He started. Everyone casted their sights towards Hana, yet she stood firmly. A twinge of guilt crossed her chest, but was completely drowned for what came next.

“And Second: The course of action regarding the ex-Talon agent Olivia Colomar, formerly known as Sombra, based on her actions leading to the same mission previously mentioned. Since both incidents go hand in hand, I ask of all of us present to speak in an orderly fashion, and address the matters in that same order.”

Immediately, Lucio raised his hand, and it wasn’t Winston, but Athena who acknowledged him.

“Yes, agent Dos Santos?” She asked.

“Ok. So the deal with Sombra I can get. But you all still are giving Hana a hard time? She already came clean with you guys!” He claimed. Hana was about to stop him, before Torbjorn answered from the other side.

“So what? It doesn’t change the fact that she lied to us all. She is not a child anymore, and she needs to pay her dues, whatever Commander Winston and us decide!” He claimed. This turned several heads towards him, and some others couldn’t help but nod in agreement. To this, it was Angela who intervened.

“It was not her responsibility alone. She felt confused, scared and alone. If anything, it shows that we were not trustworthy of her, and not the other way around. What about us others that were aware of their relationship and kept it to ourselves? What about Winston? Or Athena? Or me?” She called.

“Bah! If everyone here had a tenth of Winston’s intelligence the world would be a better place! And Athena is a robot. And robots follow orders. It’s just a matter of making sure it can’t pull a stunt like that again!” He claimed again. 

“I am an Artificial Intelligence Module created by Dr. Winston. I can assure you Agent Lindholm, I am far more than a mere ‘Robot’.” The voice came from the ceiling. He didn’t grace her with an answer.

“And me? Don’t you trust my judgement? My medical opinion?” Asked Angela.

“You, child?” He stopped. His eyes wondered unconsciously to Ana. To the patch that decorated her eye, and the reason behind it. “You have been wrong before.” He said nonchalantly, adverting his eyes. Angela’s widened, and her pale skin took to a fiery red. It was a rare sight to catch the good doctor angry, and Torbjorn’s words made her livid. While not all knew of the implications of what Torbjorn had just said, those who did could not help flinch a bit at the hidden meaning. Before Angela could lash out, Jesse took the opportunity.

“That was a low blow Torb, even for someone as “low” as yourself.” He chuckled. Jesse still did not understand the concept of “Time and Place” for jokes. At the silence of his audience, he continued. “Fine then. What about everything else hmm? All of the missions, all of the missed opportunities?” He walked around the room and came face to face with Hana. “You know exactly just how much damage her mech could do, yet she has never dared to even point the damn thing at us. She had literally a bomb capable of tearing down buildings for months stationed right here and yet she never used it.” He lit a cigar, and rested his arm around the Koreans shoulder. “My opinion? Lassie is as trustworthy as any of us. She had her partner, like any of us. She screwed up, like any of us. And yet she always puts the team above everything.” Not like any of us. He wanted to add. But he was trying to defuse the situation, not blow it up. To this, Hana smiled. She didn’t like the situation. She didn’t like that the team was split like this, but she was grateful that Jesse and the others had her back.

To this, Winston once again took the lead. “Ahem. Yes, I do believe that if she wanted to harm us she had had plenty opportunities to do so. But I wish to remind you all that we are to discuss D.Va, the past mission, and Sombra. And Not past incidents regarding the team. Is that clear?” He said as he turned towards Torbjorn. This one only grumbled, but ceded the point. Angela seemed less angry as well, but you could see the mixture of anger and guilt on her face. Others, like Zenyatta and Ana took the stand, but ultimately it was Wintston’s call. He was their commander, and treated his words and experience like such. Both the old Overwatch and the new one. Everyone had a fair point, and he needed a swift resolution.

“Regarding what Angela said, it is true that others, including myself, were aware of the situation. I personally took the proper actions in order to keep Overwatch activities confidential and everyone’s safety to the best of my extent. D.va has been a member of our team for quite some time, and I dare say she has added nothing but good things since her arrival. Therefore, I also believe that D.Va’s loyalty is something we cannot question. Anyone objections?” A low rumble of mumbles went around the room, but no one dared to speak up. Ana and Soldier, the only ones that would be able to speak up to Winston kept silent. Torbjorn let his frustration show, but refused to continue the train of thought, and Zarya simply checked her nails and readjusted her gloves, completely uninterested in the Korean.

“Right. Well then, we will take this matter settled then. However,” he turned to Hana, “The fact that you did lie and use Overwatch resources for other activities is undeniable, and there will be a disciplinary action to be decided. Is that clear?” That improved Torbjorn’s mood significantly. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the Korean, but he had been used and lied to for far too long. Internally, Hana wanted to argue, just for the heck of it. But there were more important matters to settle, so she managed a professional “Yes Sir” and that was the end of that.

Winston took a deep breath, and prepared to address the elephant in the room. “With that settled, it is time to address the second theme of our meeting today. Athena, if you please.” He asked. As per his request, a hologram appeared in the middle of the room. On it, the complete file of one named “Olivia Colomar” with the pseudonym “Sombra” written right above it. On it, a flash of pictures, documents, and clips from several encounters with the hacker on the battlefield appeared. Glitched images and blurry security footage accented just how difficult was to record anything regarding the person in question. And some could even go as far as to argue that the person on the images was a different one each time. Except for the obnoxious tone of purple that served as a dead giveaway. Afterwards, a brief image of the scene in Monaco appeared. As well as a rather graphic image of the aftermath.

“Around 21:00 Hours Monaco time, intel of what it seemed to be a Chemical weapon arriving in Monaco was leaked to us by an anonymous source. Because of the small timeframe, an impromptu team consisting on Agents Soldier 76, Mc Cree, Pharah, Mercy, and D.va were dispatched in order to destroy the cargo and eliminate the Talon forces surrounding it. This would be an oversight of our part, since the so called “leak” was, in reality, a trap set by Talon.” The images turned to a video recording of a nearby security camera depicting the harbor. “During the operation, the modifications made to the self-destruct mechanism in D.Va’s mech malfunctioned after a surprise assault by Akande Ogundimu, better known as Doomfist. This trapped our agent inside the still self-destructing mech, and with the surprise elements of Talon Agents Widowmaker and Reaper, they attempted to use the mech’s power against us.” Once again, the hologram in the middle of the room turned, now to depict a text message, written in a particular shade of purple. The text read as follows:

Mono,

Don’t let them go, It’s a trap.

I’m on my way, pull them back.

S

Murmurs appeared once again in the room, but Winston’s voice silenced them in a polite fashion.

“As you can all see, this is an encrypted message sent by Sombra around 25 minutes after the leak was sent, and 20 minutes after the team parted towards Monaco. Thanks to this, Agent Reinhardt and I were able to arrive as backup for rest of the team, but because of the situation we were not able to reach agent Song in time before the explosion occurred. Luckily for all of us, Sombra did. And she managed to take Agent Song to safety moments before the explosion.” And with this, he changed the image to an aerial shot of the Harbor, now a crater filled with scrap metal and water. After allowing everyone a moment to observe the scene, he then took a deep breath, and change it again to a photograph of Sombra after the explosion. D.Va just closed her eyes and looked away, but the image was forever burnt in her memory. Loud gasps could be heard in the room, and even Zarya had to swallow hard at the scene.

“This. Is the moment after the blast. In saving D.Va, Sombra took the blast full force, and only survived thanks to Doctor Ziegler’s prompt aid, and a genuine miracle.” He took a moment to thank the heavens for that, and to let everyone take that image in. “But by all means she should have died that day. And was prepared to give her life forfeit in order to save out agent.”

A thick Russian accent interjected Winston’s voice. “And the Enemy?” Zarya asked. Winston turned to her and answered.

“Unlucky, the main perpetrators of the ambush managed to escape via dropship. Everyone who got caught in the explosion was either deceased or unable to continue fighting. Local authorities arrived shortly after our departure, but official data tells us that there were…” No survivors.

“They left her to die..?” Mei whispered.

Winston nodded his head solemnly. No one dared speak after that comment.

He then continued the explanation for the rest of the team, but it all became word salad for Hana. There was nothing she didn’t knew about that day. She had replayed the memory time and time and time again. But she needed to move on. For her. For Sombra.

“In strict theory, this was a huge achievement for us. We were able to stop the ambush, cut enemy lies, and strip Talon of one of their greatest assets. Yet it is a bittersweet victory if any. We fell into an enemy trap, and almost lost one of our best agents. If it wasn’t for Sombra, we would have five less agents now. I want you all to think of this before you decide how to proceed with Sombra.” Winston called. Angela walked besides him, in order to continue his train of thought.

“She is now at a physical level enough to engage in some physical activity, and records show both her skills in and outside the field are outstanding. But her mental state is still greatly unstable. If we were to release her into society again, there is a high probability she will end up in Talon’s clutches. If that was to happen, I have no doubt that we would all suffer the consequences. Including herself.” She said.

“Is it possible to for her to regain her memories?” Mei asked.

“We are… Unsure, to be honest. The damage is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, but we theorize that a backup of her memories exists somewhere.”

When she said this, something inside Zarya woke. “A backup? Like a computer?” she asked.

“Yes… Well, basically what she has implanted in her body mostly resembles a computer, but there are other factors we need to take on account. We are unsure if said backup even exists, or how it can be accessed.” She continued. Zaya entered deep in thought. If something like that existed, then she could get her answers herself, without having to rely on that liar of a woman. And depending on what she would find, it may become a great asset to have in the future.

But she would need to find it first. If the rest of the team got their hands on it, who knows what they might find. If they found about Volskaya and her underground deals, would they make her fight her motherland?

No. She would not allow it. She would get her answers first. No matter what.

“Where is this backup?” She asked. This time, it was Winston who answered.

“We do not know. We have been assured is not within Talon, but would they know of its existence, they will surely aim to acquire it first. Therefore, this information stays inside these walls, and will be treated as top secret information. Am I clear?” A resounding Yes was as good as an answer he was going to get.

Winston nodded, and unraveled the plan. “Team! This is what we are going to do. Dr. Zhou, you, Efi and I will continue working in Sombra’s neural system.” Mei nodded frantically, letting him know he had all of her help. Winston appreciated the gesture.

“Agents Genji, Mc Cree I want you two to investigate this backup. Use your own information webs and see what you can find. Anything regarding Sombra is good, but we mainly want the Backup. Work alongside Agent Hana on this, and leave no stone unturned.” Jesse tipped his hat, and by the time he was finished Genji had already disappeared.

”Cpt. Amari, Dr. Ziegler, Agents Lucio and Zenyatta, you two are to assist in trying to help Sombra get her memories back and monitor her mental status. Depending on what she remembers, it could spell trouble. Specially for you Zenyatta. Be extra careful.”

“Please, worry not Dr. Winston. She will be made whole in the warmth of the Iris.” He answered.

“Everyone else! You will continue to operate as normal.  We still have missions, we still need people. And please be careful from now on regarding last minute intel. Today we are all here. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Hana could not believe her ears. They were actually gonna help her? They were gonna help Sombra? “So that means…” she called to Winston.

And Winston answered, a small smile on his features. “Yes, she can stay. And she is not our prisoner. However, you will be responsible for her at all times. That means no missions. And please, don’t sneak out the base anymore.” He said, perhaps a little bit more exasperated than he needed. Hana rushed him and tried to tackle him with the biggest hug she could muster. She couldn’t believe this was going so well. Even Lawn-Gnome kept his mouth shut! Oh boy, she owed him big time for this one! Little did she know, that favor was already payed for.

Winston fondly returned the hug, and with the other hand, dismissed everyone. Hana bolted outwards, rushing towards the Infirmary. And eventually everyone left. Their orders were clear and after such a display, the felt compelled to do something. The moment Hana arrived, she became family, and seeing her like that, it just made everyone feel a little bit better.

  But in the room, now all alone, stood Zarya. An uncharacteristic chill growing on her spine. And after debating for a moment, pulled her communicator, and imputed a very specific number.

“Доброе утро, Volskaya Industries Main Desk.”

This number was the direct line to Volskaya Indistries CEO, Katya Volskaya.

“I Need Katya on the line now. Its Important.”

“Of course. Who is speaking?”

Zarya hesitated for a second, before finally speaking out.

“A Friend.”

[breitzbachbea]

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like), 6. What character do you have the most fun writing? 10. How would you describe your writing process? 16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?) -> I'm beging nosy and asking FOUR questions 👀😂

Oh Amber, PLEASE be nosy. I love answering questions about my writing or characters, even though I take 5000 years to answer.

Fun meta asks for writers

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Okay, I thought about this for a while and I think I have a few more I could also share (and I'd probably have a sizeable amount of scenes or sentences if I reread ALL I wrote). But this scene was the thing that came to mind first and stuck the most.

From Italian Affairs, Chapter 9 "Drained Chances", Scene 3:

“I know I have to make up for what a jerk I’ve been”, he said. “But I still wish I could just forget.” He looked back into the room and spotted the wine bottle on a sideboard. “Charlie, you’ve got to face this”, Harry said and Michele sighed: “Okay we’ve got to think sober about this situation. Well, you do, Charlie.” “Damn right”, he muttered before walking over to the sideboard, almost falling over when he came to a hold with his hands on its upper side: "I have to correct my mistakes tomorrow!" “That’s the spirit!”, Harry said and Michele smiled. “You most certainly have the right ideas even now, Charlie.” “I have fucked up but I am a grown man and like that I will take responsibility for my actions!” He had grabbed the bottle even before the other two could yell “No!” and they only watched in horror as he emptied it. Charlie held down a burp, put the bottle back on the table and smile confident: "I have to talk to him again and explain myself." “And there it goes down the drain, the last piece of his common sense”, Harry hissed. “Thanks for lending me your ear, guys”, Charlie said and took a wobbly step away from the sideboard. “I am going back to my room now, enjoy your night.” He walked towards the door: “Or maybe I could try to talk to Marco again – no, that’s a stupid idea.” “You just drank half a bottle of wine in one go, mate, you are not going anywhere”, Harry said and Michele sighed but Charlie waved his hand while he staggered towards the door. “Don’t let me cockblock you, Happy fucking.” And with that he tripped and fell to his knees. He frowned at the floor while Michele got up to help him. “You know, Michele”, Charlie said while the Sicilian pulled him on his legs. “On second thought it might have been six beer.”

'Don't let me cockblock you, happy fucking', followed immediately by Charlie tripping and nearly falling on his face is deadass THE funniest thing I have ever written. I love how hilarious the entire situation is, solely because Charlie is an impulsive son of a bitch who keeps making bad decisions. Whenever he seems on track, he just cannot shut his mouth, he just cannot control a whim for a moment too long and it bites him in the ass the very next second. I love him so much. Furthermore, the scene itself is a perfect blend of wit and slapstick. I've outdone myself here.

Also, fuck you, ao3 says I have 382 170 words uploaded right now and that is still far from all I've ever written. So you're getting another scene.

From Smudged Makeup & Cleaning Up:

“I hate myself,” she said in French. “I hate myself and I hate him, I hate both of them so much,” she sobbed as her breath hitched and tears began to run down her face again. “Don’t cry again, shhht, don’t do that,” Hugo whispered and began to rock from side to side. “It’s okay, it’s nothing to cry about.” “I wouldn’t have to see it if I had just opened my stupid mouth and had told him how I felt, if I had just told him these stupid three words I now wouldn’t have to see this.” Her voice was something between a whisper and a hiss.

There are at least two more little paragraphs I could have shared from that one-shot, so I decided to go with the most emotional part. I reread it last night and I still think it is a pretty damn good piece of writing. It's funny, interesting and it shows all of the characters (Timothea, Hugo, Arielle) and their relationships to one another marvellously. I'd sincerely reccommend it to everyone, although the (not as good for sure) A French Trio Of Bad Decisions may be required reading to understand who Arielle is talking about in the above excerpt. (Amber, since you already read that one though, you can just go and enjoy Smudged Makeup & Cleaning Up as your first taste of Thea before you delve into The Amulet for more <3)

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

That's a good question! I was going to go through Irish Problems and Italian Affairs again, tallying up who has how many POV Scenes, but gave up rather quickly; it's just very hard to determine with all the headhopping that happens in the beginning. Last time I checked it was Harry. The following list is by no means exhaustive and talks mainly about the characters as POV characters. I very much enjoy writing all of my children, whether they're the POV character or not in any given scene.

Charlie is definitely one of them, I feel very at home in his head and he's so much fun to write. His catastrophizing, his intense but jumpy emotions, his impulsivity and kindness, his dialogue and thoughts ... He is so much fun. I'd have to lie to say this gay adhd mess doesn't hold a special place in my heart.

Francesco is another good one, solely because I love being in his head. It's a nightmare in there at times, but that's what makes it fun. Let the sadism fight the catholic guilt, the lust for pleasure at all cost the need for kindness. He's a very vibrant character with an undeniable presence in each scene he is in and it's always fun to write interesting characters.

Lovino's also always a blast. His ranting, his annoyance, his fidgeting (oh, god, if someone asks me for a favourite scene again, I am sharing the one where he shuffled around too much during a car ride and ended up folded like a lawn chair in the footwell). The tumultous inside of his head, his doubts, his fears. I have nothing but love for him and I already miss him, despite not technically having finished Italian Affairs. The rewrite is still ahead of me and I am going to savour every single moment I get to write my favourite South Italian.

Last but not least a shoutout to Hugo. I think he is very interesting as well, with the masks he wears and the intensity that lies beneath them. He's both a sweet young man AND a fuckboy AND a little bitch. The only problem with Hugo is that I'm never 100% sure in his characterisation and have to consult Jonah, his creator, in those cases.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Messy as shit for being this organized - or Surprisingly organized for being messy as shit. I've developed this process over the past eight years and I'll probably keep tweaking screws as time goes on.

This is my process for my big, multi-chapter, novellength main series entries. Anything else usually gets done in a similiar fashion, just with some of the steps lacking. (I didn't vomitdraft for rarepairweek, for example, nor did I do the proofreading on paper because deadline.)

1. I make an outline. I used to call this "Scene Plan", because it is just that - a list of each scene, with a very short description that makes no sense to anyone but me. Seriously, YOU tell me what is going on here:

2. I collect all snippets that come to mind for a series in a document; if I already have an outline, I copy whatever scene they would belong to as a header. Those things happen all the time, it isn't a conscious effort.

3. I take those snippets, paste them into Quollwriter and then vomitdraft for a few days. Each day around 500 words, as fast as possible. Whatever comes to mind goes onto the page, rarely backtracking. It's not about it being presentable, it's about having something written that serves as skeleton for the scene. I research jack shit at this point and directly type (Look this shit up) into the text.

4. Once a scene/chapter is done, I copy it into word and read through it to take notes in a little notebook. I write down what to research, what I like in the draft, what I dislike and what I still ponder. I try to draw the first connections to give the chapter a coherent feeling. (Chapters for the main series consist of three scenes, so I take notes for a scene and edit it before I repeat the process for the next - I don't take comments for three scenes in a row.)

5. I begin to edit the scene with a goal of 200 words a day. I usually exceed it; during a very bad day I fall a little short of it. I try to write every day or every two days, unless something else requires my focus more (like a term paper). Oftentimes I start a writing session with tweaking what I did the day before, before I continue. I usually also do the research as it is called for at this stage - The Amulet was the only time I did research before I even begun to write. My usual timer is 30 Minutes, but I tend to write for a little longer if I am in the flow. Or I sit there for 4 hours to finish a scene because I am THAT much in the flow and I want the GODFORSAKEN THING DONE.

6. Once I finished editing the chapter or one-shot, I print it out and go through it with a red gel pen. I correct typos, formatting errors or formatting choices I don't agree with. I rewrite sentences that I think read clumsily and cross out words that repeat too much. I sometimes add things to moments that are lacking or I cross out sentences that now feel unnecessary. Once finished, I apply the corrections to my document.

7. If I have a beta-reader (like the lovely @swabianmapley for Herz Auf Beat), this is the point at which I send them the document and wait for their feedback & corrections.

8. I post the thing onto the black void that is The Internet, lie to myself that I don't care about feedback & yet still keep checking ao3 for new hits/kudos/bookmarks/comments and begin the same process for my next project a few days later.

16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

Hmm. I don't know if it counts, but in the coffee one-shots for rarepairweek I tried to make peace with the 'holes' I left. To not explain everything, but let the reader draw their own conclusion. Aside from that ... Been trying to put more emotion into my writing. I felt so unsatisfied with the big Charco kiss at the end of Italian Affairs that I'm now making an effort into describing emotions and sensations more, especially internally and not simply physically.

[princeofdespair]

Don’t Screw It Up

Pairings: Platonic Polyamsanders/LAMP

Summary: Thomas has a date and his sides do their best to keep him out of trouble, all the while looking after each other.

Warnings: Minor food mention, minor swearing, negative thinking. Let me know if I need to tag anything else!

Word Count: 4,992

A/N: This is a...very different format then what I usually write. I wrote this in just a couple of hours but it usually takes a few weeks when I'm working on a fic, so I apologize if this isn't my best work. I just had this idea floating around in my drafts for a while and thought it would be a good fic for the one year anniversary of the Sanders Sides! I really hope you guys enjoy it!

Side note: I didn't give his date a name and kept his features up to the imagination because the alternative felt almost like making an oc to ship a real person with and I wasn't comfortable with that. Also, if the sides are arguing while in Thomas' mind think of it as when you're trying to make a quick decision and your brain is running a mile a minute, as in, Thomas is not just standing there blankly lol.

[Read on AO3!]

“Here, Thomas. This red shirt looks amazing on you. Wear this tonight.”

“I think the blue one would be a better match, it doesn't clash with his hair as much.”

“Um, excuse me?”

Roman turned his attention to the logical side, holding the red button up shirt in one hand, the other resting on his hip. He looks Logan up and down and sneers, “The last time I checked, I was the romantic side, not you.”

Logan rolls his eyes and grabs the blue polo from the closet. “I wasn't aware that made you the designated fashionista out of the four of us.”

“Well of course it does!” Roman exclaimed, clearly not picking up on his sarcasm. “The red shirt is obviously-”

“Blue. You'll thank me later, Thomas.”

“Red.”

“Blue.”

“Red!”

“Blue!”

Thomas puts his hands up and says, “Guys, please! Can we just agree on something!”

Logan and Roman are too busy glaring at each other and arguing to notice Patton slip between them to set a simple, gray long-sleeved shirt on the bathroom counter. It matches. Thomas silently thanks him and slips it on, ignoring his creativity and logic so he can start working on his hair. Patton goes back over to Virgil and sits down next to him on the bed where the anxious side is currently holding his head in his hands. Patton pats his back and Virgil only grunts. Did they really have to pull this crap already? They didn't have much time before Thomas had to leave to go pick up his date. Virgil was already on edge and the arguing wasn't helping his nerves one bit.

Roman finally notices Thomas' choice of an outfit and he huffs, throwing the shirt on the ground. “Fine, don't listen to me! You're romantic side! I mean come on, Thomas! This,” he gestures wildly around him, “is my thing!”

Thomas runs more product into his hair with his fingers and sighs. “I know, Roman. But you have to work with the others too, we've talked about this.”

Roman deflates a little and drops his arms to his side. “I...you're right. I apologize, Thomas. I'm just...”

“Are you nervous, kiddo?” Patton asks from his seat next to a still distressed Virgil.

Roman bristles, “No! Of course not! This is a date after all! Why would I of all people be...” He trails off. Who was he kidding? They were all connected, of course they knew. Roman sighs and joins Patton, sitting on the other side of him and quietly says, “Yes.”

Patton just smiles and rubs his back with his free hand, “Hey, that's okay! This is the first date we've had in a while, it's normal to be a little bit nervous!”

Roman leans against Patton's side and Virgil feels those old scars from Thomas' last relationship start to sting again. They needed to keep it together and play their parts if they wanted this to go smoothly. Virgil wasn't expecting anything good to happen tonight but he could at least hope it was just disappointment they had to deal with and not sadness or anger. Disappointment fell on him, sadness was Patton's to bear and although the moral side was currently smiling and excitedly trying to keep everyone’s spirits up, Virgil knew Patton was just as nervous. Maybe even downright scared.

Logan rubs the sleeves of the polo still in his hands and says, “Ten more minutes before we have to leave, Thomas.”

Thomas nods and walks out of his bathroom and back into his room. He spreads out his arms and asks, “How do I look?”

Roman sits straight up, a smile planted back on his face and exclaims, “Amazing as ever! Though, I still think the red-”

“Adequate. You're date will most likely find you more appealing than usual.”

Patton claps his hands and says, “Aw, you look so gosh darn handsome, kiddo! He'll love it!”

Virgil bites his tongue, thinking that the outfit was alright but not great and his face could be clearer and his hair was always a mess and they'd probably think he was a slob...but the others don't wait for his opinion anyway and it wasn't like Thomas didn't know that was what he was thinking. Virgil could let them boost him up a little, no harm in that.

“Right. Okay. Got my keys, wallet, pants are on, I think I'm all set!”

Logic hangs the shirt back up in his closet, brows furrowed in thought but Virgil is the only one who seems to notice. Great. He hates having to be the one to call them out.

“What's on your mind, Lo?”

They all turn to Virgil and then their eyes are on Logan who clears his throat and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It's just...I'm not sure I understand why you're all so nervous.”

Patton cocks his head to the side. “Well, it's a first date, Logan. Anyone would be-”

“But the two of them have already established that they have, ugh, feelings, for each other. This isn't a stranger Thomas met online, it's someone he's known for years and had started to develop a romantic interest in months ago. Isn't the more obvious response to be excited about the beginnings of a potential relationship?”

Roman is the first to answer him saying, “Why, that's precisely why we're worried, Specs. We want tonight to be as perfect as it can be.”

“But one can assume that everything will turn out just fine! Thomas likes him, he likes Thomas. They've been friends for years, they're far past the awkward getting to know each other stage. They date, they become partners, maybe copulate-

“Logan, please!” Thomas yells, turning bright red.

Logan sighs and his voice is calmer when he says, “Apologies. All I’m saying, is that there doesn't seem to be a need for all this tension.

“Yeah well, I'm trying my best here.” Virgil draws his knees up to his chest and looks down at the floor. He really wanted them all to be happy but, he was anxiety. He couldn't always help it.

Logan reaches out and then draws back, he shakes his head and says, “That's not...Virgil I didn't mean to-”

Thomas' phone goes off and all five of them jump, Virgil actually whimpering as he's startled. Patton puts an arm around him.

Thomas turns the alarm off and says, “It's time to go. Guys, look...”

The sides turn their attention to him and Thomas does his best to literally pull himself together.

“Yeah, I'm pretty nervous. Heck if I'm being honest, I'm terrified, but I know it's been long enough and I really miss having someone to take care of and vice versa. Just...be on you're best behaviors tonight, okay? It'll be...it'll be fine. More than fine. I'll have an amazing night.” Thomas knows full well that he's saying this to himself, just as much as he is to the sides.

Logan beams at him. “That's the spirit, Thomas!”

Virgil buries his head against his knees and tries his hardest to calm down. Those nagging shadows won't leave him alone right now. They've been whispering to him all day and the closer they got to the date, the harder it was to tune them out.

Because, what if it's all some cruel trick and they get stood up? What if Thomas says the wrong thing and he gets upset and leaves right in the middle of it? What if he turns out to have been an asshole this whole time or what if-

“What if we get hurt again?”

Patton looks up when he feels everyone's eyes on him and quickly puts a smile back on his face. “Oh don't mind me! I was just-”

“No. We're not doing this again.”

Logan walks over to them and kneels down in front of Patton, he puts a hand on his knee and says in a hushed voice, “Patton, while that is an unfortunate possibility, nothing good will come out of dwelling on those thoughts. Thomas has learned a lot since...since the last time. We won't make the same mistakes again and we certainly won't let someone else hurt him.” He glances over at Virgil who clings tighter to Patton. No. He would not let that happen again. He'll keep them all safe but...what if keeping them safe means making Thomas unhappy?

Virgil stays silent but gives him an understanding nod. Logan turns back to Patton and says, “We have to look forward to the future, Patton, not shy away from what it has to offer.”

Patton wipes at his eyes and this time when he smiles, it's genuine. “Okay. Thanks, Teach.”

Thomas takes a moment to get a good look at each of them and then says, “Alright...you guys ready?”

Roman is the first to go, stopping to rest his hand on Patton's shoulder before he sinks out. Logan follows, then Patton. Virgil and Thomas meet eyes for a moment, and then he joins the others.

Thomas thinks, as he gets into his car and heads over to his dates house, that it's both a blessing and a curse to have the ability to deal with oneself so intimately.

One thing Thomas still didn't know about his sides is exactly what happens when they sink out and into his mind. He knows they have rooms sure, and he knows now that when he visits them, he's just projecting a part of himself into that section of his mind while his physical form stays where it is. What he doesn't know, is that when Thomas doesn't need to see them directly, they assumes a new form entirely.

The closest thing to describe them would be ghosts. They seemed to float around in the openness of the mindspace, a giant window where they could see through Thomas' eyes in front of them. They all glowed a different color. Respectively, Virgil was a deep purple, Logan a dark blue, Roman a brilliant red and Patton a light, teal blue. They had no solid facial features but they could feel each other more intensely than they could in the physical world. Right now, Patton was beaming and the feeling from his smile was warm against the others forms.

P – He's almost there!

R – We should have gotten him a gift! If only someone hadn't talked Thomas out of stopping to pick up flowers.

He glares at Virgil who just rolls his eyes and repeats himself from earlier.

V – That would be too awkward. He would have to go back inside his house and find a vase and someplace to put them and, ugh.

L – Do not forget this dates circumstances are different from the others Thomas has been on recently. We know this person fairly well. There's no need to try and 'woo them' with trivial gifts.

R – It's still a date, nerd! You're supposed to shower your love with gifts!

P – Now kids, there's no need to fight...

Thankfully, the sides had gotten good at keeping their arguments low enough that Thomas didn't have to pay much attention to them. He was pulling up into their driveway now and Virgil could feel how anxious he was, which in turn, made him anxious and if he wasn't careful they would just bounce back and forth until one of them started to panic. Virgil kept his breathing even, the nervousness Thomas was feeling now was healthy. This was a new situation, he needed to have his guard up.

Thomas got out of his car and took a deep breath in and out, shaking his hands as if trying to shake off some of his nerves and then walks to his front door. He knocks three times. His date answers exactly thirty seconds after. Logan was counting.

He grins as soon as he sees him and says, “Hey, Thomas!” His date looks him up and down and whistles, “Looking good, man.”

R – DID YOU HEAR THAT?! HE SAID-

P – Hush!

Thomas swallows the sudden lump in his throat and chuckles nervously. He had always been very outspoken, this shouldn't be so surprising. “Thanks. Um...”

R – Tell him he's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. That his eyes sparkle like-

V – Do you have any chill?

“...you too.” He cringed inwardly, feeling Virgil cursing his awkwardness.

His date just laughed and started to head towards his car. “You don't have to be so worked up, okay? Let's just, you know, hang out like we always do.” He smirks as they get into his car and adds, “It's just not so platonic this time, if you know what I mean.”

He raises his eyebrows up and down and Thomas snorts out a laugh. They could all feel him starting to relax. It was just like Logan said, they knew this person, there shouldn't be anything to be afraid of. Virgil still wasn't convinced. The others could get all comfortable if they wanted to but he wasn't letting up. He promised Logan he wouldn't let Thomas get hurt again. He wouldn't break that promise, even if it meant making Thomas a little more anxious.

They stop and get dinner first. A nice sit down restaurant, but nothing too fancy. Despite what his date said earlier, everything still felt somewhat stiff. They stuck to safe conversations while they waited for their orders (“How's work? “Good, good. And you?”) but after a while, they slowly fell back into something familiar. Making dumb jokes and geeking out over things just like they always did.

Virgil feels Logan's presence behind him as he reminds Thomas (again) to stop drinking so fast or he'll choke.

L – I know what you're doing.

V – Making sure we don't die? Yep.

Logan actually chuckles and settles down next to him.

L – Thomas is doing really well, but I can still sense that he's anxious.

Virgil doesn't respond. He was determined. Not even Logan could talk him out of this. To his surprise, Logan smiles at him.

L – Thank you.

V – What?

L – I asked you to protect us and that's what you're doing, isn't it? Making sure he doesn't put too much of his heart into this one date?

Virgil stays silent, he's not sure how to respond to that.

L – You're managing to keep his anxiety levels low enough that he can enjoy himself, but high enough that he doesn't go too far. I'm quite proud of you, Virgil.

Logan leaves him then, just in time to go over and stop Roman from throwing another unnecessary compliment at his date and Virgil stares at the screen, trying to process all of what he said. He never really learned how to take a compliment.

After dinner, they go to an aquarium, an idea all four of the sides could easily agree on. A little nerdy, a little romantically cliché, fairly quiet and basically perfect. Roman pushes Thomas to slip his hand into his dates before Virgil can stop him, but he just intertwines their fingers and smiles at Thomas who's thankful that the dim lighting could shadow his blush.

They enter a room with a giant jellyfish tank right in the center and his date runs towards it, eyes wide and full of wonder like a little kids. The butterflies Virgil was doing a good job of controlling up until now, fluttered helplessly inside Thomas and he sighed.

He turns around and says, “I love these guys. They're so freaking cool, don't you think, Thomas?”

Thomas hums in agreement and walks over to them, he's feeling nervous all over again. “Some jellyfish can actually clone themselves.”

R – Oh no, not this again.

L – What? I was just thinking how fascinating it is that in some cases, an injured parent can create...

“...hundreds of baby jellyfish with pieces of itself”.

V – Logan! Knock it off, you're making us look like an asshole!

P – Virgil, watch your language! But...Lo, maybe ease up just a little before-

“Seriously? That's freaking awesome!”

They all stare in shock at the screen, even Logan who truly didn't mean to get over excited. It had proven to have negative effects on people in the past.

They take Thomas' hand again and drag him to another tank. “Alright smart guy, know anything about these cuties?” He points to the butterfly fish swimming around in the tank and looks at him expectantly. Thomas looks at the fish and then back to his date and gulps. “Um...”

The three of them focus in on Logan who would probably be sweating right now if he was in his physical form.

L – Uh. Those are-

R – He knows what they're called, Genius!

P – Be nice...

R – You got us into this, Logic! Just dig down in that big head of yours and tell him, Logic! What do we know about butterfly fish, Logic?!

L – I don't know, okay?! Do I look like a marine biologist?

R – No, but you do look like a jackass!

P – Creativity!

Roman flinches at Patton's raised voice. Virgil tries his best to tune them out while he focus on keeping Thomas from sinking.

(V – Tell him the truth. It's fine, Thomas.)

“I actually don't know anything about them.” He laughs nervously and adds, “But I got a whole lot of jellyfish facts if you want!”

He raises an eyebrow at him and Thomas wishes he would let go of his hand because he's trying hard to keep them from shaking.

“Why do you know so much about jellyfish?”

Thomas shrugs. “I don't know, I get bored and start researching random stuff when I can't sleep. I just happened to have read the entire Wikipedia article for jellyfish once and managed to retain some of what I learned.” He gives another awkward chuckle and then adds,“Super weird, right?”

“That's actually kinda cool.”

“It-it is?”

“Yeah! I mean I always knew you were smart, just another reason why I fell for you I guess. Among other things.”

Roman stares at the screen, and then slowly turns to Logan who looks just as surprised. Then his aura glows a little brighter and a smugness, that could only have been directed at the fanciful side, washes over them.

“Oh,” was all Thomas managed to get out.

His date quickly looked away from him, and cleared his throat. “Ahem, anyway! Give me more facts about jellies.”

Thomas feels Logan's presence flex happily in his mind and says, “Yeah...I can do that.”

They had been out for several hours but it felt like only a short amount of time had passed. When they walked out of the aquarium they were greeted with the night sky. It was past ten p.m and they both had work to do the next day which meant...this was it. Their date was coming to an end.

There was a strange atmosphere in the mindspace. Happiness, because the date went so well. Sadness, because it was over. A hint of fear, because...what comes next? Virgil feels Roman sigh and glances over to see Patton circling around him. Trying to cheer him up, whispering to him.

P – Don't worry! We can ask him out another time! I'm sure he had a good time too!

Virgil got the feeling it wasn't just Princey he was trying to convince.

The drive back was quite but the atmosphere was much more comfortable than it was at the start of the date. Thomas catches his eye at every stoplight and he always greets him with a warm smile. Virgil can't help it as he flickers and the butterflies in Thomas' stomach flare up, every single time.

When Thomas pulls into his driveway, there's a sense of sadness around them now. He didn't want this night to end but it was getting late. Logan reassures him in the back of his mind, that the date seemed to go well so he would most likely ask to meet again. Roman pushing for Thomas to ask first this time, ignoring the anxious energy Virgil pushes onto that idea.

They sit in the car in silence for a few moments until his date says, “Well...this is my stop.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I drove as slow as I could.”

He laughs and then bites down on his lip nervously. He hesitates, then finally manages to say, “I know this is gonna sound dumb but...can you walk me to my door? Please?”

Thomas tenses up. That smile driving the butterflies in his stomach crazy. Such a harmless request and yet-

R – Oh my god.

L – What? He is simply asking Thomas to walk with him to his door? Perhaps he has some irrational fear of the dark or-

R – He wants us to kiss him.

L – Roman, please, he's obviously...

Logan's words trail off as he reassess the situation, then his form flickers. He goes to push his glasses up, forgetting momentarily, that he was in the wrong form. A nervous habit he pretended he didn't have.

L – Oh. Ahem. I believe you may be right for once. This scene does look very textbook.

Roman's form is glowing brighter than ever now. His smile is so wide and bright the others can't directly look at him without squinting.

R – Thomas! Listen, as soon as you get to his door you sweep him off his feet and-

V – NO! Are you freaking kidding me?!

Roman fixes his gaze to Virgil and glares, his form changing to a fiery, dark red.

R – This is my territory, Anxiety. I'm not letting you ruin this for us.

V – They don't want a kiss you idiot! He’s...he’s going to tell Thomas he doesn't want to see him anymore...

R – What?!

Fear shoots through Thomas but he's thankfully gotten good at hiding it. He puts on a smile on says, “Yeah. Of course I will.”

They both get out of the car, his date leaning against the passenger side as he waits for Thomas to walk around from his side. He smirks at him and, man it would be great if his sides would stop bickering in his head and just let him enjoy this.

They all get the message loud and clear and the three of them turn to Virgil. He shrinks into himself but his aura starts to glow brighter as he works himself up.

V – Oh god, what did we do wrong this time? Shit. Shit, shit, shit this was a bad idea, I knew it! Thomas has been lead on before but this bad?

P – Virgil...

V – I messed up. I messed up so bad Thomas is gonna get hurt again I messed up I messed up I-

Virgil feels a warm presence wrap around him, he tries to shrug it off, literally holding his arms around himself and shaking back and forth. The presence doesn't relent, moving all around him, annoying but somehow comforting all the same. Virgil looks up at Patton's smiling form. He sticks close to him, pushing as much positive energy as he could on the darker side.

P – You're doing so good, Virgil. You've been such a great help tonight, I'm really proud of you.

Virgil shakes his head and Patton brushes his fingers through his spectral hair.

P – I know you're scared...I'm scared too, but...we'll be alright, Verge.

V – You can't know that.

P – No. But you can't know that this will all fall apart either.

Virgil stares at him wide eyed. Patton was giving a lot of himself to this person and after they were burned so hard the last time...that should scare him. Virgil should be pulling him back in, protecting him. Protecting all of them. But...

Thomas and his date have reached the door. Logic thankfully taking over for the small talk that was commencing. Roman, for once, patiently waiting beside him. He glances at the other two, a pleading look on his face. Virgil looks back to Patton who just nods reassuringly.

Maybe this time...

“I uh, had a really great time tonight, Thomas. Seriously you're um...pretty great.” He snorts and rubs the back of his head, his cheeks are flushed and gosh he was so pretty. Roman is practically whining as he looks back and forth between Thomas' vision and Virgil. They wanted this so bad. Virgil takes a deep breath, in for four seconds...

“I'm so dumb...sorry.”

“No, no! You're...you're perfect.”

...hold for seven seconds...

He giggles and Thomas' heart is racing so hard he's starting to worry that they can actually hear it. His date hums and rocks back and forth on his heels, not quite meeting Thomas' eyes. “I know this is cliché as hell but I didn't want to do this in the car. I just...look I know this is only our first date but I've liked you for so long and you...said you felt the same?” It came out as a question and Thomas could only nod, as Logic was busy keeping Roman and Patton in line. Both of them waiting with bated breath, their forms blindingly bright.

…breath out for eight seconds.

“Yeah. Yeah uh, fuck it. You want to skip all the awkward dates and just...be my boyfriend?”

Logic short circuits. Princey is staring starry eyed and completely dumbstruck. Anxiety can feel how fast Thomas' heart is beating and that usually works him up but now. Now he doesn't know what the hell to think. They're all frozen and just vaguely aware that Thomas is staring at his date (boyfriend? Boyfriend?!?!?) mouth agape like an idiot and they're finally snapped out of it when Morality let's out a joyous shriek.

Thomas squeaks out a giggle and then quickly slams his hand over his mouth (Patton, please!). His date just laughs and says, “You're such a dork. A cute dork.”

R – I'm going for it.

V – Roman, wait!

R – I'M GOING FOR IT!

V – ASK FIRST YOU IDIOT!!!

Thomas takes a deep breath and says, “Can I...kiss you?” They're cheeks flush pink and he nods.

Logan and Virgil stand back and let Roman and Patton take over as Thomas takes his face in his hands and gently pulls him into a kiss. Everyone is glowing now, a feeling of pure happiness washing over them so strong, not even Virgil could overpower it. It's short, far too short in Roman's opinion, but he lets up and when Thomas pulls away, his date is the one looking love struck and dazed for once and a fierce sense of pride, coming from Roman, fills all of them. Roman turns to Virgil and smirks and Virgil just shakes his head with a smile of his own. Patton is floating around the space, cheering and Logan finally gains some control back and goes to calm him down.

“Wow.”

“Yeah...”

“So...is that a yes?”

Thomas let's out a surprised, oh! And then nods, “Yes! Of course!” They both laugh and their date boyfriend pulls him in for another kiss, much to Roman's delight. It is late and Logan insists on saying goodnight, so Thomas does just that. A kiss on the cheek, a wave as his new boyfriend goes back inside and then he just manages walk, not skip, back to his car. Once inside, he leans back against the seat and-

V – Hold it...

-makes sure that no one can see him-

V – Okay, now.

-and then loses his shit. He actually screams and bounces in his seat, throwing his hands up triumphantly. Virgil feels Patton around him again, whispering 'thank you', over and over, he doesn't say a word but he smiles. Yeah, this was kind of terrifying. It could end just as bad as the last relationship, or way worse even. Virgil had no way of knowing but the others might be right, something new didn't have to automatically spell out disaster.

On the ride home, Virgil feels Thomas call out to him and he manifests in the passenger seat. He beams at him and says, “About what Patton said earlier. I'm proud of you too, Virgil. I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Ahem!”

Roman had appeared in the backseat, arms crossed in a pout. Thomas glances at him in the rear view mirror saying, “And you too, Roman. I'm so blessed to have all of you, just the way you are.”

“Eh, good enough, I suppose.”

Thomas shakes his head and chuckles as Roman sinks back into his mind. Virgil rubs the sleeve of his hoodie between his fingers, his voice is soft when he says, “He can still hurt you.”

Thomas lets out a heavy sigh, “I know. I'm not letting my guard down but...I got a good feeling about this, Verge.”

Patton had a good feeling about his last partner too but Virgil keeps that to himself. There was no reason to upset him right now, especially after all the good that came out of tonight. Thomas was still riding on that high and he wasn't going to bring him down just yet. He does however, sit up and give him his best menacing glare and says, “Don't screw this up.” He couldn't not pump at least a little bit of fear into him, couldn't let him think he was going soft.

Thomas doesn't seem to be fazed, he just grins and says, “I'll try.”

Virgil shakes his head, “Nope. Not good enough. Don't. Screw. This. Up.” And then, as he sinks out he adds, “You got this.”

As Virgil retreats back into his mind, Thomas grips the steering wheel and whispers to himself, “Yeah. I got this.”

A/N: *blows a kiss to the sky* I put a lot of energy into this, here's hoping it helps the universe send Thomas an amazing boyfriend.

[setepenre-set]

Safe If We Stand Close Together: Safety Instructions Not Included (chapter 5)

The Roxanne and Megamind are friends as children AU.

K+ rating

AO3 | FFN 

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

(Follows Safe If We Stand Close Together and Happy Returns.)

There aren’t any guidelines for being best friends with an alien, no map key, no index, no safety instructions.

Roxanne tries, so very hard, to get it right in spite of this.

On Thursdays, they have gym class. After the dodgeball ordeal of P.E class at ‘Lil Gifted, going back to normal gym classes is a relief—although Roxanne definitely misses having gym class to talk to Syx and Minion.

Today, they’re doing relay races on those flat, square wheel-y things that Mrs. Kimber, the gym teacher, calls ‘scooters’. First they sit on them normally and propel themselves to the other side of the gymnasium and back using only their feet—then they kneel on the scooters and propel themselves with their arms—and then finally they lie down on their stomachs and use their feet again.

Mrs. Kimber’s divided their class into four lines of five people; the first person does the sit-and-leg-propel move, then gives the scooter to the next person in line and moves to the back of the line. Once they’ve gone all the way through the line like that, they move on to the kneel-and-arm-propel move, and so on.

There’s a certain amount of time, between the back of the line and the front, in which they can talk to the people standing in front and behind them. Strictly speaking, they’re not supposed to talk to each other, but as long as they’re not actually shouting, Mrs. Kimber pretty much turns a blind eye and a deaf ear to it.

Which makes it frustrating that Syx is in another line.

Roxanne is standing in front of Monica, though, so there is at least that. They laugh at the way Roxanne’s hair keeps falling down from her ponytail—the elastic band she’s using is all stretched out—and Monica offers to braid it for her. Which is risky, considering Mrs. Kimber’s right there. But Monica says she can finish it quick, so Roxanne lets her, and Monica winds the elastic band around the end of the braid just in time for Roxanne to take the scooter and send herself rolling across the gym floor.

When they’re both back in line again, slightly out of breath, Monica fusses briefly with the end of Roxanne’s braid, repositioning the elastic band.

“My parents say I can have people spend the night this tomorrow,” Monica says. “Will your mom let you come, do you think?”

“I can’t,” Roxanne says, “I’m going over to Syx’s tomorrow after school.”

“—oh,” Monica says.

She’s silent for a minute as the line moves forward. It isn’t until they’ve both had their second turn on the scooter that she speaks again.

“Caitlyn and Nicole are coming,” Monica says. “And Lindsey’s coming.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Roxanne says.

Even if she can’t come, she won’t be ruining Monica’s chance to have a sleepover altogether; that’s a relief.

There’s a pause.

“Lindsey moved here from New Jersey,” Monica says. “Her mom is in the army.”

Roxanne makes a noise of mild interest.

“I went over to Lindsey’s house last weekend,” Monica says. “Her family has a dog.”

“That’s cool,” Roxanne says. “What kind of dog?”

“—a black lab,” Monica says. “His name is Max. You still don’t have a dog, do you?”

“No,” Roxanne says. She laughs, a thought occurring. “Syx made a robot pet out of my dad’s toaster, though. After he set it on fire on accident. It was pretty funny; he was trying to—”

“Max does tricks,” Monica says.

Roxanne blinks, startled and confused at the interruption.

“Oh,�� she says, “that’s—that’s cool.”

At this point, she is handed the scooter, and has to propel herself across the gym floor for the third time. When she’s finished, she watches Monica push herself across the floor. Monica’s face is set in a scowl and her legs work furiously as she turns the scooter around and races back.

Why she’s bothering to go so fast, Roxanne doesn’t know. Monica’s always been competitive, but it’s not like Mrs. Kimber gives out prizes or anything in gym class, and their group is already second to last. Maybe she just doesn’t want to end up in last.

She doesn’t, anyway, and then Mrs. Kimber tells them to stack the scooters in the equipment closet and go line up.

“Lindsey’s my best friend,” Monica says, as they’re moving to the line.

Roxanne makes a noise of approval.

“I like Lindsey,” Roxanne says. “She’s nice.”

Lindsey had been very understanding that day at lunch when Roxanne asked her not to correct Syx’s pronunciation. And, the next day, after Roxanne had quietly corrected Syx herself once, Lindsey had taken Roxanne aside and reminded her in an undertone that Syx didn’t like to be corrected. Roxanne had explained about her and Syx’s arrangement, but she’d definitely appreciated Lindsey worrying about Syx’s feelings.

“I’m sorry I can’t come tomorrow,” Roxanne says. “It sounds fun.”

“—yeah,” Monica says.

Syx is already in line; Roxanne moves to stand behind him.

Monica moves to stand with Lindsey.



That night, when Roxanne is in bed, reading, her mother comes in.

“I just got off the phone with Anne Hansen,” she says. “Why didn’t you tell me Monica had invited you to a sleepover tomorrow?”

Roxanne lowers her book.

“Because I’m going over to Syx and Minion’s tomorrow,” she says. “Remember?”

“I’m sure they won’t mind if you leave a little early, dear,” her mother says. “And then you can go to Monica’s.”

“—but I don’t want to leave Syx and Minion’s early,” Roxanne says. “And Monica’s having other people over, too; it’s not like she won’t be able to have the sleepover just because I’m not there.”

Her mother frowns.

“Roxanne,” she says, “it’s important not to drop your old friends just because you have a new friend. You and Monica were always so close.”

Roxanne blinks, taken aback.

She’s never…been under the impression that she and Monica were ever particularly close.

Back before she went to ‘Lil Gifted, Roxanne had spent more time with Monica than with Caitlyn or Nicole, yes, but that was just because Monica’s mother used to work with Roxanne’s. Right?

“—I’m not dropping them,” Roxanne says. “We sit together at lunch and everything. And I already told Syx and Minion I would come over.”

“And you will go over to Syx’s still,” her mother says. “I’ll just come and pick you straight up as soon as I’m finished with work. And then we can drop you off at Monica’s. Why don’t you pack a bag tonight, so it’s all ready for tomorrow?”

“This is awful!” Minion says, as soon as the three of them are alone together in Syx and Minion’s cell bedroom. “I can’t stand this; we have to think of something else!”

He’s in his new robot suit today, and his metal hands gesture agitatedly. He looks—kind of pale, too, Roxanne thinks, and tense.

“Is it always this bad when you guys are separated?” she asks.

Syx shakes his head.

“It would be one thing if it was a—a voluntary separation!” Minion says, feet clanking as he paces the little cell. “Instead of something we’re being forced into, and if he wasn’t leaving everyday to go to—school.”

He says the last word as if it’s a curse.

“It isn’t like ‘Lil Gifted, Minion,” Syx says. “I told you; it’s—”

“I know you told me, Sir,” Minion snaps. “Unfortunately, my instincts happen to run on past experience! And don’t tell me you wouldn’t lie to me if it was bad; we both know that you would!”

Syx opens his mouth as if he’s going to deny it, but when Minion gives him a hard look, he flushes and looks down at the floor.

“I wouldn’t, though,” Roxanne says.

Minion looks at her.

“Yes, I know,” Minion bites out. “Thank goodness you’re there; it’s the only thing that’s kept me from going completely out of my mind with worry. It really isn’t bad, Miss Roxanne?”

“No,” Roxanne says. “It really isn’t. It’s—the kids are nicer here; we have friends—Syx, too—and Miss Anderson is nothing like Miss Simmons.”

“She’s nice!” Syx says, face screwed up as though this still confuses him deeply. “She lets us help people! She doesn’t make me stand in the bad corner! She didn’t make me stand in the bad corner even when I set my desk on fire yesterday!”

Minion shoots a look at Roxanne, who nods in confirmation.

“I think maybe she doesn’t even dislike me!” Syx says, gesturing wildly with both hands, his eyes wide.

Again Minion looks at Roxanne, hope warring with incredulity in his expression. She nods again, slowly, thinking. Syx and Minion begin talking again to each other, but Roxanne isn’t really completely listening.

“—Minion,” she says, interrupting them, “were you—did you mean it, when you said you wanted us to think of another plan?”

Minion and Syx both turn to look at her.

“…do you have another plan, Miss Roxanne?” Minion asks.

Roxanne bites her lip.

“I think I might,” she says, and starts to explain.

Minion is on board with the plan almost immediately; an indication, Roxanne thinks, of how much this involuntary separation really is upsetting him. Syx, though, is worried—he’s terribly concerned for Minion’s safety. In the end, they all agree to give it another week—wait and see if Syx thinks it’s feasible.

They don’t have much time for talking about plans, in any case; Minion’s tutoring is vitally important whether they decide to use Roxanne’s new plan or not. The three of them head down to the prison library, where the Warden has let Syx build a very large tank for Minion’s tutoring.

The tank was Syx’s idea; Minion’s species, he says, communicated both verbally and gesturally—so it should be easier for Minion to understand about letters and reading if he thinks of them not as symbols he’s having to write with the hands of his robot body, but as patterns to swim in.

Minion and Syx both get into the tank; Roxanne looks on from the other side of the tank’s glass walls. She can see Syx’s mouth moving as he tells Minion the names of letters, and then the two of them swim each letter together. They’ve clearly been working on this before now; Minion goes through the letter formations with confidence.

(it’s like an underwater dance, Roxanne thinks, watching them, and wishes, wistfully, that she could move that gracefully either in the water or out of it.)

After the letter review, Minion gets back into his robot body while Syx remains in the tank. This is the part, Roxanne knows, where her help becomes useful.

Syx swims a random letter formation. Minion, frowning in concentration, watches him.

“R?” he asks Roxanne.

“Yes!” she says excitedly, and gives Syx a thumbs up to show that Minion has gotten the letter correct.

Then Syx moves on to another letter formation.

They go through the whole alphabet seven times, random letter order each time. Minion only makes five mistakes.

Syx is grinning as he climbs out of the tank and Roxanne is, too. Minion heaves a sigh of relief and then smiles proudly as well.

Monica’s sleepover isn’t bad, when Roxanne gets there. They eat pizza and play with makeup and paint each others nails, and then they watch a movie.

Roxanne is the only one awake at the end of the movie, but not because she was particularly interested in it. She spent the entire time it was playing thinking about Minion’s tutoring, and going over her new plan in her head.

On Monday, when they get to school, the classroom has been rearranged slightly. The bookshelves have been moved down closer to Miss Anderson’s desk, and the art supplies have been moved to the other side of the room, leaving one of the room’s corners empty.

A desk has been placed in this corner—not a wooden desk, like the rest of the desks in the room, but a metal one. Hooks have been hung on the wall; on these hooks are several pairs of plastic safety glasses and a lab coat. There’s a fire extinguisher on the wall beside the hooks.

On the metal desk is a scale; a bunsen burner; several glass beakers; and a very battered, very old microscope.

Syx and Roxanne walk into the room together; Roxanne hears the sharp breath he takes, hears the way he stops breathing after he takes it.

She watches him as they both go to their desks; he looks dazed, and he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of the rearranged corner.

When everyone’s in their desks, Miss Anderson moves to stand in front of the chalkboard. Then she smiles at them all and explains that this is the new science corner, that people are allowed to work on projects in the science corner when they’ve finished their other work—and that the first thing they’re going to do today is go over some science safety guidelines.

As she leads them all over to the science corner to demonstrate, Roxanne catches Syx’s gaze.

His eyes are very wide, with a sheen of tears to them, and when they meet hers, he swallows visibly and then nods.

Roxanne nods back in understanding.

The plan is a go.

...to be continued.

HAPPY DAY SEVEN OF MY NINE DAYS OF MEGAMIND! 

Thank you all so much for continuing to read, like, and reblog. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter update!

[itsclydebitches]

Title: To Forgive, Divine

Fandom: Flash (2014) 

Summary: Months after Flashpoint and Cisco is still giving Barry the cold shoulder. Things are coming to a head and if they ever want to move past this, Cisco will need a little push.Harry was always good at pushing.

Rating: General audiences

Warnings: None (except maybe whiplash from fluff to angst and back again) 

Pairing: None

Status: Complete

Where can I read it? On AO3 or below the cut (AO3 recommended for formatting) 

To Forgive, Divine

“And that’s how it’s done!” Cisco crowed, swinging one arm up around Wally’s shoulders. “Now you just gotta learn that being a superhero isn’t just about kicking bad guy ass... oh wait, that’s exactly what it’s about.”

Iris and Joe were chuckling at their antics, loose-limbed and giddy now that Savitar was safely contained within the Speed Force and Wally had proven that, yes, he was more than up for the task of playing superhero. Even so, Caitlin was already trotting up with a handheld biometric reader, her smile only growing as the results came back exactly as before: perfect metabolic rate despite the high speed and exertion; physical perfection overall. There was a joke about how that was unlikely—didn’t you pack away four jalapeño pizzas before that fight?—and HR used the opening to brag just the tinniest bit. Hadn’t it been such a grand idea to train Wallace? Look at all that weaving and dodging! The fact that Joe only chuckled indulgently at that was a testament to how far they’d come. There was an intimacy to the group that had finally solidified and only continued to grow. In the background the screens played crowds cheering Kid Flash’s name. In a flash of familiar lightning Wally changed back into his clothes, depositing his suit on the one available mannequin.

Everything was perfect and no one noticed Barry slipping from the room.

***

“We need to do something about this,” Caitlin sighed, eyeing the multi-dimensional portal with just a hint of unease. “I mean, it’s probably Harry. Right? 90% chance it’s Harry.”

Cisco made a noncommittal noise. He wanted to make the same hand motion, but he was currently holding a very powerful rifle that did... something. Something with a strong kickback, no doubt. Shit, he hoped he didn’t have to actually fire the thing.

“More like 87%” he countered. “We need passwords.”

Caitlin nodded. “Codes. Like SG-1.”

“You know Stargate?”

“I wanted to be a theoretical astrophysicist before I got into bio-engineering.”

“You wanted to be Samantha Carter, is what you mean.”

“...Yeah. Only reason I’d even consider going blonde.”

Cisco grinned, thinking that right there was the closest thing to a joke about Killer Frost that Caitlin had ever made. He was about to suggest that they weasel honorary military ranks out of Dig—to go with his honorary police badge—when the portal gave a sudden, massive lurch and deposited Harry at their feet. He was up on his knees by the time Jesse came speeding through next.

“Glad I didn’t have to shoot this,” Cisco said amiably, giving Harry a hand up. The portal closed with a sound like something caught in the vacuum. “Also you need an access code.”

“Like Stargate?”

“Yes. Fucking same wavelength, man, I love it.”

He did too. It was a decent day all around, Cisco thought, what with Wally stopping the bad guys and Harry gracing them with an impromptu visit. Cisco was only half-listening to the marginally frantic way Harry had cornered Caitlin, blathering on about how Jesse (sitting slumped against the railway, rolling her eyes) wasn’t getting nearly enough calories each day, even with their improved energy bars, and he’d run a number of tests with no discernible problems, but maybe you could find something...? And she found something all right. One critical look at Jesse was all Caitlin needed. She wrapped professionalism around herself like a safety blanket and asked, straight faced as she could, if Harry recalled caloric intake increasing right before certain times of the month...

While he was choking Cisco caught a glimpse of Jesse’s bright red cheeks. “I tried to tell him,” she muttered.

Caitlin patted Harry’s arm. He looked a little pole-axed. “She’ll be fine. She just needs a bit more than Barry once in a while.” Suddenly, a strange look crossed Caitlin’s face. “Oh... I wonder how much Jesse would need if she got pregnant.”

“NO—” Harry roared at the same time that Jesse stood, shouting out a pre-emptive defense. It was only her wobble that kept Harry in line, going from pit-bull to protective puppy in an instant. He guided her back to the floor as Caitlin ran out to fetch more bars. Cisco stealthily snapped a pic.

Yes, definitely a decent day. It was one of those lull moments, the kind he’d really only come to appreciate once his life had started getting threatened every other hour. Danger made you appreciate the simple stuff. Like Red Vines. Good movies. Better friends. Caitlin ran back in apologizing for the “iffy” flavor of this batch while Jesse downed the mints Harry had found hiding in his jeans pocket. The West family was waiting with dinner a few hours down the line and the S.T.A.R. alarms had yet to blare some awful warning, further damaging their ear drums. Cisco was going to count this day as a win.

So why did things feel so off?

It was something about Jesse’s cheeks, still flushed from the fussing and sudden sugar intake. Except it wasn’t really Jesse at all, just that bright, familiar red color—

Cisco, genius that he was, didn’t get it until Harry had lifted his head, brow furrowed.

“Where the hell is Allen?”

***

Each member of Team Flash had two cell phones on them at all times—one for everyday use and one that was disposable—and of course, Barry had been out of his coma for all of an hour before Cisco had added them all to a group chat. It had changed a lot over the years. “Dr. Wells” had been viciously deleted. A lot of new names had been added. It was mostly a space for playful bitching and quick coffee orders. It could act as an emergency alert.

Anyone seen Barry? (Or hey Barry, wanna just answer?) ~ Jesse

He didn’t answer and for the next ten minutes their phones buzzed with all the obligatory excuses. He was probably working late at CCPD. Or out picking off minor thugs for stress relief. Maybe he ran to Star City? No wait, definitely thugs. Wally chimed in that Barry had been in his suit the last anyone had seen him.

There was a collective sigh of relief when Caitlin pulled up his vitals. One supernaturally fast heart, beating as expected.

HR tapped the screen with his drumstick. “See? Kid’s fine. Look at that ticker! Bet you he just ran off to get some air. Heh, running. I mean, he’s a speedster right? Little jaunt for him is likely to take him halfway across the country.”

“Yeah,” Caitlin agreed, rubbing her mouth. She didn’t look particularly happy about that reminder. “I just wish he’d answer his phone...”

“Why the hell would he do that? It’s not like Barry’s reliable nowadays.”

Four heads turned his way and Cisco realized with a pang that he really hadn’t meant for that to sound so cold… It was true though. Everyone else might be willing to forget that Flashpoint had ever happened, but Cisco had actually lost something important through Barry’s meddling.

He crossed his arms and tightened his hands. The only other movement was HR’s awkward shifting and Jesse, swinging her head between Cisco and the rest of the team.

It was Harry who spoke first.

“Come,” he said, a one word command. He raised a finger in emphasis and stalked out of the Cortex, not bothering to look back and see if Cisco was following. He just left in a... well, flash.

Cisco grimaced.

“This should be fun,” he muttered and amidst varying degrees of support slumped his way out too.

***

“You’re not still moping about your brother are you?”

Back down in the breach room and Cisco was suddenly glad he had a metal railing beneath his hands. He hadn’t realized how much of a hair trigger that still was, his knuckles spasming white as he squeezed.

He relaxed deliberately, turning to smile at Harry. Nothing about the expression was genuine.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Gone a few weeks and you come back even more of a dick. Congratulations, dude! Want me to make you a trophy?”

Harry only tilted his head. He had a funny little smile of his own going on. “I’m a correct dick though, aren’t I? You’re holding a grudge.”

“Of course I’m holding a grudge!”

Cisco didn’t realize he’d stepped forward until he was right up in Harry’s space, his body acting like it could actually take on the 6-foot, highly trained, ex-soldier. All Harry did was spread his hands though. He gestured for them to sit.

Cisco’s legs were shaking as he did.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Never mind that. Answer me this, Ramon,” Harry said it all softly. “Do you want your brother back?”

“The hell kind of a question—”

“Just answer it.”

Cisco ground his teeth together. “Of course I do.”

“Of course you do,” Harry agreed, still in that soft, foreign tone. “Would you do anything to get him back?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Even change the timeline?”

“Yes. I begged Barry to do that for months!” and no it didn’t matter if that technically wasn’t the Barry he had now. The refusal still stung. “If he had just—”

“You’re a hypocrite.”

Cisco’s mouth snapped shut with an audible clap! It took him a moment, but when he got his brain back online it felt overly hot in his skull, pulsing out into his eyes and sinuses—threatening something like tears.

“Excuse me?”

Harry laughed. “You heard me. Look at you. You’re willing to do the exact thing you’re condemning Allen for. You’d screw up this timeline even more if given the chance, just for your own personal gain. Hell, you just admitted that you’ve begged for it. Repeatedly. Grab a dictionary, Ramon. You’re gonna find your ugly mug plastered next to ‘hypocrite.’”

Cisco threw up his hands. “I only want to do that to fix what Barry broke!”

He just got a Look for that argument, a clear ‘you’ll have to try harder than that’ message. They were pressed thigh-to-thigh and arm-to-arm now, and if Cisco had been in a better place he’d have remembered that Harry rarely let anyone touch him like this—that this was a basic 101 comforting measure, a way of grounding him when it felt like everything else was falling apart. But Cisco wasn’t in that place (wouldn’t be until hours later) so he used the closeness only to whirl on Harry, going for a kill of his own.

“Like you wouldn’t do the same for Jesse,” he spit.

“Oh, I’d tear the multi-verse apart to get her back,” he said, with such conviction that it sent a chill down Cisco’s spine. “But, as we’ve already established, you and your merry band of misfits are better people than I’ll ever be. Besides,” he leveled another Look. “You can’t compare the two. She’s my daughter. From what I’ve heard, you and Dante were estranged for most of your life. Barely got along.”

Cisco wasn’t much of a puncher, but he’d never been closer to decking someone with all he had. Maybe it was the implicit accusation. More likely, it was hearing his brother’s name for the first time in weeks, other than in the back of his own head. Either way, Harry’s whole body was tense and ready for that possible hit. He didn’t move away though.

“Don’t... don’t you dare say I didn’t love him,” Cisco whispered, voice wet.

“I didn’t say that. You loved him. You do, even after all the fighting and hardly ever seeing each other. Just... take that feeling for a second. Now imagine Barry’s instead: losing a mother... and after Zoom severed his dad’s heart in half. You of all people know what that’s like.”

And oh, that was a feeling alright; an awful tightening in his chest as the memory of Thawne’s hand went tearing through Cisco once more. Except maybe it was something a little more mundane, because the feeling bubbled up as an ordinary sob.

God he hated crying. Bad enough to be the short nerdy kid his whole life, but Cisco’s face did this horrible blotchy thing whenever he cried. No pretty tear-tracks here, folks. He was all obnoxious noises and snot, scrubbing a shirtsleeve over his eyes and crying harder because dammit the abrasive cuffs hurt.

“Hell, I’m not good at this,” Harry sighed, but he tugged Cisco against him nonetheless. Cisco collapsed there, too aware of the awkward fingers trying to thread through his hair. “Jesse cried. Fuck she used to bawl. Pretty sure this woman was close to calling child services that time I wouldn’t get her an ice cream.”

Cisco barked out a hysterical laugh.

“Uh huh. What a brat I’ve got.” It was probably the most fond he’d ever heard Harry sound. “Funny though, she’s not the only brat I’ve felt like I’ve been raising recently. Go to Earth 2 to save one kid and come back with... what? Six?”

Cisco squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a massive breath. “Seven if you include HR.”

“...that’s horrifying on a number of levels, but I suppose so.”

It was familiar, this back and forth, and it gave Cisco the strength to push himself back up, blinking rapidly at Harry before he gave his shoulder a firm pat. “You know, you’re actually not totally shit at this.”

“Build me a trophy for that then.” Harry suddenly sobered. “Right. Is what I’m saying penetrating that idiot brain of yours at all?”

Cisco winced. “You’re not subtle about it, but... yeah. I’m not blind, okay? Wally being a speedster prodigy is obviously getting to Barry and he’s been giving me space for months now. Time for me to be the big man then, right? Forgive him, move on, blah, blah, blah, I just... I don’t know how. How to start that.”

Harry gave his back a final slap and used it as leverage to stand. “You already have. It’s not going to be the same as it was before, but it can be better than this. You’re smart enough to figure that out.” Here Harry hesitated, for the first time that night looking like he was truly out of his depth. He worked his mouth helplessly for a moment. No spit, Cisco thought.

“Cisco... for whatever it’s worth coming from me, in many ways you have shown me what it’s like to have a son.”

He stared, a good ten seconds passing between them. Cisco didn’t have words to express what that meant to him, in Harry’s voice instead of Thawne’s. Screw biology. They were nothing alike.

Hmm. Abort, abort. Make a joke instead.

“… Holy shit. Who are you and what have you done with Harry?”

“I’ll deny I ever said it,” Harry called because he was already beating a hasty retreat, leaving Cisco to once more pick up and follow him.

***

Their group was complete by the time they got back. Well, almost.

“Where have you two been?” Joe asked, opening up a mess of pizza boxes and shoving it their way. Harry grabbed a slice and went to join Jesse. She was already demolishing a pie all on her own.

“Nowhere,” he sniped around the pepperoni.

Caitlin and Iris exchanged a look, the latter looking like she wanted to call Cisco out on his bright eyes and runny nose. Some message passed between them though and she graciously didn’t ask.

“Have you been crying?” HR blurted loudly. There were groans all around. Wally face-palmed dramatically. “What? What did I say?”

“Thanks, man. Thanks for that.” Cisco shook his head, weaving around Caitlin waylaying HR (“We need to work on your interpersonal skills...”) and threw himself into his usual chair. With everyone watching—and feeling their gaze—Cisco opened up the program that connected him directly to the communication device in Barry’s suit.

Quiet descended. It wasn’t lost on anyone that this was the first time he’d willingly initiated a conversation.

“Hey, Barry,” Cisco said. He winced a little at his own overly loud voice. “C’mon, man, get your ass back here already. We need you.”

Caitlin took a step forward, a spark of hope lighting up in the back of her eyes. “There’s no emergency,” she pointed out.

Cisco made sure the line was still open.

“I know. Didn’t say there was an emergency, just that we needed him.”

When it finally came down the line the voice was so quiet Cisco nearly missed it: “...be there in five.”

It was all they needed though. A collective sigh blew through the Cortex. Cisco grabbed blindly at the nearest box, hardly realizing that he was grinning until he was trying to shove hot cheese into his mouth.

“Better hurry, dude. Pizza’s gonna be gone in a flash.”