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siren-dragon · 3 years

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After Eight -- The Cat Returns fanfic:

So... I had a Ghibli movie marathon recently and remembered my old childhood OTP of Haru and the Baron. Then I read a few fanfics by @catsafarithewriter and landed in another fandom abyss, lol. And that later spawned this au one-shot from a prompt I read. Anyway, this is my first time publishing anything for another fandom so hopefully it’s good. Enjoy! ^_^

AO3 story link

Human AU -- “I need to finish my term paper and you’re the only 24-hour internet cafe open. Help me.”

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The front door of their small flat closed with a soft click as Haru shrugged her backpack higher onto her shoulder and soon hurried down the corridor and out onto the streets with a determined step. To be fair, Hiromi and Tsuge did try their best to accommodate her as she stared helplessly at her computer screen within her bedroom while they giggled and chatted on the sofa. And though Haru managed to continue through her term paper despite the late hour; her concentration quickly began to wane while the tell-tale sounds of snogging managed to reach her ears despite the closed bedroom doors. So, she rather quickly decided to pack up her supplies and laptop, stuff them into her school bag, and exit the flat in an attempt to find somewhere quiet.

Of course, she didn’t really consider the fact that a) it was 10 in the evening on a Friday and b) she would need wifi if she were going to try and continue her paper.

“There has to be somewhere open…” she groaned, having passed another bar filled with her fellow college students enjoying the beginning of their weekend. “Why are there so many bars everywhere?!”

After traversing the streets for a good 20 minutes, all the while debating if she could chance stealing the wifi from a late-night McDonalds, the brunette soon found herself pausing to stare at the building her feet seemed to have led her to. It was a rather quaint building, reminiscent of European cafes with it’s white and green paint and black sunshade. Written beside the glass and wooden doors was a simple plaque with the words The Cat Bureau scrawled across in dark lettering. However, it was the petite sticker smacked boldly on the corner of one of the windows with a drawing of a cat on a laptop reading “free wifi” that nearly made Haru weep tears of joy.

“Oh, thank God; an internet café!” she beamed with delight before hurrying inside.

If she thought the outside was charming, the interior was spectacular. Alongside the windows were various tables with off-set white tablecloths and a small flower vase as a centerpiece, while opposite sat a wrap-around wooden bar complete with stools. The entire room was bathed in a warm, golden glow from the hanging antique light fixtures and Haru couldn’t help but be captured by the small café. “Wow, this place is beautiful…”

“You are too kind Miss,” an accented voice chimed, causing her to swivel to the source.

Standing behind the countertop was a man, perhaps a few years older than Haru herself, offering her a kind smile with a rag in hand. Though Haru was practically half-asleep due to exhaustion and the creeping energy withdrawals her last study-snack tried to prevent, even she couldn’t deny how attractive the man was. Slightly tousled tawny locks and vivid green eyes stared back at her with an intensity that caused her face to take a distinct pink tint. His attire was a bit formal, what with the crimson vest and collared shirt with a bowtie- though his black apron and rolled sleeves didn’t undercut the professional appearance.

“Erm, I’m sorry- were you closing soon? I can leave if you want. It’s just that I saw you had free wifi and I needed a space where I could finish my term paper…”

The man gave a gentle laugh, “no worries Miss, this is a 24-hour café; stay as long as you like. The Bureau doesn’t often receive customers on Friday evenings, what with many preferring venues that serve alcohol.”

Haru grinned, “you’re a life saver. And this place, I’ve never seen such an amazing café before.”

“Thank you, and please sit wherever you like. Make yourself at home. Is there anything you would perhaps like to order?”

Taking a spot at one of the tables near the window, Haru immediately glanced at the menu resting upon the table, looking over the pamphlet for something cheap that would keep her awake. She was rather impressed by the modest selection- ranging from teas and beverages to cakes, sandwiches, and even a few pastries. “I’ll just have a cup of the house blend tea, please.”

The man smiled, “as you wish.”

If the food wasn’t going to bring her back here, the charming waiter certainly was- though as quickly as the thought crossed her mind Haru prayed her internal feelings didn’t make themselves known with the reddening of her face.

Quickly pulling out her laptop and research materials, in an attempt to finish her work and not stare at the handsome waiter, Haru set to work on trying to finish her paper. The quiet atmosphere gave a rather calm and ideal setting, allowing the brunette student’s work to continue at a steady pace. On occasion Haru would steal a glance to the waiter as he set about making her order, humming a gentle tune under his breath before returning to her paper. It was only when the cup and teapot was set gently beside her did Haru startle from her concentration while another plate- this one bearing a slice of angel food cake with whip cream and strawberries found it’s place beside her tea cup.

“Oh! Um, but I didn’t order-“

“On the house,” the man smoothly replied. “Besides, nothing goes better with tea than some angel food cake.”

Haru giggled, saving her work before closing the laptop and setting it aside for the meanwhile. “Thank you very much.” Pour a dash of milk into the cup, she raised it for a tentative sip and blinked in surprise. “Woah, that’s got to be the best tea I’ve ever tasted.”

“You flatter me with your kind words, Miss.”

“Wait, did you make this from scratch?”

The waiter laughed, “indeed I did. That’s my own personal blend, though it tends to be a little different each time so I’m afraid I can’t guarantee the taste.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than the school’s local Starbucks.” Haru complimented, making the man grin. “Did you make the cake as well?”

“Unfortunately, no. While I am no stranger to the kitchen, that particular cake was made by our resident chef Muta. He has a penchant for sweets which has earned quite a following from the locals.”

“I don’t blame them, if the cakes are as good as the tea- I don’t think I’ll be able to go anywhere else.”

This time the man gave a teasing smirk, “and here I thought it was the free wifi drawing in customers.”

Haru laughed, “well, it certainly did help. I’d take a quiet café with wonderful tea over my small flat and a roommate making out with her boyfriend any day.”

“Well, that certainly would cause a bit of a distraction to a working student. If that’s the case, feel free to stay as long as you like Miss.”

“Haru,” she answered back. “My name, it’s Haru.”

He gave her a soft smile that made Haru’s stomach do nervous flips as bright green eyes met her own warm caramel irises. “Humbert von Gikkingen, at your service but please; call me Baron.”

Now it was Haru’s turn to give a small smirk. “So, Baron… this teapot looks like there is enough for another cup or two. Maybe, you would like to share it?”

This time it was Baron’s turn to flush the faintest pink before giving a rather delighted grin and retrieving another cup from behind the counter and taking the seat across from her. “I would be honored. After all, nothing makes a cup of tea better than sharing it with a rather fetching young woman.”

If Haru’s face wasn’t red before, it certainly was now- and judging from the slight mirth dancing in Baron’s eyes, the warmth of her face was easy to spot.

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“I didn’t even know we had a 24-hour internet café near the campus.” Hiromi commented in confusion, “must have been nice since you didn’t come back till after midnight.”

“Hey, I was giving you and Tsuge some space so I could work on my paper.”

Hiromi grinned, “uh huh, then why were you frantically typing this morning in an attempt to finish it? Maybe you got distracted on your little night excursion.”

“Yes, by tea and cake.” Haru answered dryly, trying to keep calm and prevent a tell-tale blush to creep up her face. “Trust me Hiromi, you’ll love the place.”

“Alright Haru, I- hey is this the place?”

The two girls stopped in front of the familiar white and green painted café, same black sunshade up though this time there were a few tables set up outside and a few more customers than the previous night. However, this time, a waitress with white-blonde hair and a pink ribbon around her neck was serving customers outside while inside a tall and thin black-haired man clad in the similar formal attire Baron wore yesterday tend to the waiting patrons. Yet she couldn’t hide the small frown at the lack of Baron’s presence, wondering if perhaps he only covered the evening shift.

It was then did she finally hear Hiromi’s laughter, when the chestnut-haired brunette pointed to a sign on the door. “Haru, you did read the sign before you went in this place last night, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

She merely silently pointed to the hours of operation, which clearly stated that the café was only open from 09:00 AM – 10:00 PM, with it opening later in the morning on Sundays. Haru felt her jaw drop slightly as her face turned cherry red while Hiromi merely laughed louder.

Of course, she did get a slight just desserts when the two friends were seated inside and Haru noticed Baron nearly fly out of the kitchen, hastily tying his black apron before catching her gaze. The black-haired waiter was whispering frantically to him while Baron looked to be offering some polite apology. Though when he caught Haru’s eye he couldn’t help the knowing smile on his face while Haru gave a rather sheepish look as he approached the table to take their order.

“Welcome back, Miss Haru. I hope your paper was a success.”

“Yeah, it really was…. Especially after the extra 2 ½ hours I worked on it last night.” She said with an embarrassed groan. “I am so sorry for butting into your café last night. If I knew you were closed I would have left and-“

“Think nothing of it, you needed somewhere to work and I was happy to help.” Baron replied with a kind, though slightly tired smile from the previous evenings unintentional long shift. “Perhaps… I could suggest another cup of our house blend in the name of bygones?”

Haru gave a shy smile, “yes please.”

“Make it two,” Hiromi added. “And whatever pastry you would recommend.”

“Certainly. I shall return momentarily, ladies.”

As Baron returned to the counter, Hiromi waited perhaps 2.1 seconds before whirling upon Haru with a large grin reminiscent of a satisfied shark. “Do you think he’ll write his number on the napkin for you to take home?”

While Haru didn’t make a point of causing scenes in public places, she couldn’t help flicking a sugar cubes at her friend’s laughing face. Though judging from the laughter dancing in Baron’s vibrant emerald eyes and the tint of pink dusting his cheeks, she wouldn’t be complaining if that was the case.

#the cat returns #neko no ongaeshi #haru yoshioka #baron humbert von gikkingen #haru x baron #one shot #human au #cafe au #fanfiction #my writing

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kamilah-the-bloodqueen · 3 years

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Partners (Blaine x MC)

Notes: It’s been a while since I’ve actively written anything besides my three series, so I wrote this to A. Reintroduce writing into my life and find my style again and to B. Write something new, fresh and engaging so I don’t get bored and suffer from writing burnout. I know people have been patiently waiting for my series, and I do promise I am working on them but the burnout from last semester, along with a few other things have left me in one of the worst writing blocks ever and with little to no motivation to do anything. (Please gently bully me into writing them - it helps me motivate myself) Anyways, I hope you enjoy this quick little drabble - I loved the dynamic between Blaine and MC but I felt PB really squandered it with FA so I want to eventually compensate for the entire series. I might write a part two or I might just leave it as a cute open-ended one shot.

Pairing: Blaine x F!MC (Kennedy) (Gender Neutral Blaine)

Words: 1552 words

Kennedy strolled into the lecture hall with Dionne, the chattering of students and occasional shushing of Professor Masako filling the lecture hall. Kennedy and Dionne took their seats in the back left side of the hall, in perfect sight with the board as the rest of the class found their seats, Professor Masako clearing his throat and beginning to lecture as the back door opened. Blaine sneakily slid into the back left of the room, taking a back seat and sitting on their phone as Professor Masako and Ayna explained the first class project - a mock union with students representing their own countries but modified with different laws, ethics, and adapted cultures. Ayna began listing off partners for the assignment, Dionne and Peter, Alexei and Evelyn, Henri and Zaira...

“And that leaves….Kennedy Monroe and Blaine Hayes. You two will be partners for the mock union”

Ayna’s voice faded into the background as Kennedy met eyes with Blaine, their eyes locking in a heated gaze as Dionne tilted her head in worry.

“Maybe you can ask Ayna to switch your partner…” Dionne cut in, trying to ease the newfound tension that filled the lecture hall as eyes flooded to Kennedy and Blaine.

“There will be no switching partners, no exceptions.”

“Oh. Well...Blaine’s not that bad...it’s just your countries that are fighting…” Dionne toned her voice back to a faint whisper as Kennedy huffed in frustration, angrily packing her bag and striding out of the lecture hall, barely giving Dionne time to follow.

“Come on Kennedy, it’s politics...you’re not your country…” Dionne’s heels clicked as she raced to catch up with Kennedy, who was making a beeline for the library.

“Dionne, I know you’re just trying to help, but I’m so frustrated right now I just need to be left alone. I’m sorry.” Kennedy sighed and placed a hand on Dionne’s shoulder, glancing behind her head to make sure Murphy wasn’t planning her murder for it.

“No, I understand and I appreciate your communicative skills. I’ll see you at home. Don’t be late - I’m making brownies.” Dionne smiled softly, her usual princess smile that would cause anyone to smile back.

Kennedy walked to the back corner of the library, seating herself in the comfortable leather chair and pulling out her laptop with the intent on starting and finishing the entire presentation before Blaine got involved. She hastily typed away, eventually leaving to order a coffee at the built in starbucks at the center, only to return to her spot ten minutes later - with Blaine seated in her chair.

“What are you doing here? Go away.” Kennedy growled as her grip on her coffee tightened ever so slightly.

“Whoa, what’s with the hostility Rutherland? I’m here because we’re partners...partners work together.” The twinkle in Blaine’s eyes gave Kennedy butterflies, but she’d never admit that, at least not to Blaine - ever.

“Well then you can do the last 15 slides, deal? I want to minimize our time together.” Kennedy clenched her jaw as Blaine scanned over her laptop, being bold enough as to view her progress so far and critiquing it.

“Well, this isn’t wrong but your wording is a bit choppy, and the visuals aren’t very captivating. Maybe adding some animation or statistics may increase our probability of-”

“Wow...so you can be productive and get down to business.” Kennedy smiled at Blaine, before sipping her coffee to cover it so Blaine couldn’t make any snide remarks.

“To defeat the huns.” Blaine smirked as Kennedy rolled her eyes.

“You mean to defeat the Ardonians?” Kennedy commented back with a sly smirk as Blaine raised their brows, amused by Kennedy’s banter.

“An hour of horny sex followed by some rooftop stargazing would end all conflicts between our countries.” Blaine spoke with a straight face as Kennedy nearly spit her coffee out.

“I’m sorry what?”

“Nothing, you have no interest in resolving the conflict between our countries...oh...it’s okay…” Blaine whined and slouched in the chair dramatically as Kennedy forced a disgusted reaction, disregarding the butterflies in her stomach and the fact that her palms were growing sweaty.

“That’s...we would never!” It came out more desperate than Kennedy had expected, Blaine’s lips curling into a sinister smile as Kennedy felt her cheeks turn red.

“Never what? Have hot, heavy and horny sex on the library roof?” Blaine stared right at Kennedy, their eyes locking in a heated exchange as Blaine eventually stood and moved closer to Kennedy.

“No! I mean yes! Can we just finish the project?” Kennedy stuttered as Blaine leaned over her, their charming smile and perfect hair throwing all work based thoughts out of Kennedy’s head. For a moment Kennedy thought they were going to kiss, but Blaine took a step back and fell into the other leather chair as Kennedy relaxed.

“I’m just messing with you Rutherland, we should finish the project. I know you don’t want to work with me.” Blaine sighed and pulled out their laptop as their eyes scanned the screen and their fingers typed away.

“Yeah...okay…” Kennedy finally sat back into her chair, which was thrown off by Blaine’s weight from when they were sitting in it.

Hours passed, the night came and the light from the windows eventually became dim moonlight, and the light stemmed from the mildly lit chandeliers that hung from the library's ceiling. Kennedy’s stomach began to rumble which caught Blaine’s attention.

“Are you hungry Rutherland?”

“Nah, I can eat when we finish this.”

“Your body needs food, I can hear your stomach from here.”

“Okay well I didn’t bring food with me and I’d rather finish the project.”

“You’ll be more focused and diligent with a full stomach, come on let’s go get food and then we can finish this project.”

“No, we can finish it now, plus you don’t care about me Blaine.”

“I never said that, don’t put words in my mouth Rutherland, but please let me put some food in your mouth.”

“You’re one stubborn headass aren’t you?”

“The best.”

“Fine, food and then we finish this project.”

“Finally, come on.” Blaine hurried to pack and leave, Kennedy cautiously following behind as their bodyguards trailed behind at a 10 foot distance.

“Where are we going for food, isn’t everything closed at this hour?”

“My apartment.”

“No.”

“Come on, you said you’d get food. Plus if we want to finish this tonight we have to stick together.”

“Fine. But nobody finds out.”

“That embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“No it’s-”

“Politics. I know, come on then. Let’s go before anyone sees us.”

Blaine opened the door as Kennedy and Tatum stepped inside. The apartment was simple yet elegant, but the decor made both Tatum and Kennedy shift - Ardonian patterns were subtly tied into most of the designs, with a large Ardonian flag hanging above the archway that led to Blaine’s bedroom.

“This is a nice apartment, aside from the choice of decor I would say I like the design.”

“Thanks, make yourself comfortable.” Blaine tossed their backpack onto the couch and strided to the kitchen as Kennedy plopped onto the couch, the rustling of pots and pans following shortly after.

Kennedy pulled out her phone, texting Dionne that she wasn’t going to be back until the morning, to which Dionne teased her before saying goodnight.

“Order up.” Blaine offered Kennedy a plate with steak tips, mixed greens and corn - a Rutherland trademark.

“Blaine you made...Rutherland’s most well known dish?” Kennedy’s heart skipped a beat, did Blaine make her her own country's food out of courtesy?

“Well...you said you’d eat and...I think I already pushed it enough with the whole stubborn act...I’ll get you to try Arodnian food some other time...right now I’d rather deal with a happy Kennedy.”

“Blaine...that...that’s really sweet. Thank you.” Kennedy took the plate and dug in, Blaine watched her carefully for a moment before turning back and getting a plate for themselves, eventually sitting next to Kennedy on the couch.

“It’s not bad for an Arodnian.” Kennedy jested as she nudged Blaine in the side, both of them chuckling softly.

“Thanks, but next time it’s Ardonian food.” Blaine smiled and bit into a steak tip as Kennedy spoke softly.

“Next time?”

“Well yeah...we have to finish the project right?”

“Blaine once this project is over we...probably shouldn’t hang out around each other…” Kennedy whispered as Blaine sat their plate down on the coffee table.

“Yeah you’re probably right but...maybe I wanted to harass you again…”

“Oh? Did the ever so stubborn and mildly annoying Blaine want to hang out with Rutherland’s first daughter a bit more? It’s already pretty scandalous that I’m at your apartment on a Friday night at 11 pm.”

“I could think of more scandalous things we could be doing, but I suppose working on a class project will have to suffice.”

Kennedy felt it again, the butterflies in her stomach, the tingle between her legs and the pounding of her heart beneath all her clothes.

“Anyways...we should finish the-” Kennedy stifled a yawn as Blaine sat up from the couch, wrapping her in a blanket and turning out the lights.

“Night Kennedy.” Blaine sighed and retreated into their room as Kennedy’s exhaustion overtook her.

#blaine hayes #blaine x mc #foreign affairs #kamilah the bloodqueen post

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duchessfics · 4 years

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Business and Pleasure Part 6

(https://lauramaher25.tumblr.com/post/179156351521/ahs-billie-dean-howard-apocalypse)

Billie x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): None? Except toxic work environment?

Summary: While Billie thought that this would be a shared vacation, she soon realizes their first day in New York, that this trip is in fact a very different experience for you compared to her. And in the process of seeing you being mistreated, she also has to deal with her own feelings towards you and if this is meant to be more than friends with benefits.

Word Count: 6031

A/n: So...this is late because my first draft was deleted for some reason...I don’t wanna talk about it 😭 but I feel like I should preface this by saying that this chapter is SFW because it’s focusing on some of the emotional/feeling things that Billie and the reader have not really dealt with as much. Of course there will be more NSFW content in the future, but I hope you enjoy this change of pace.

Part 5, Business and Pleasure Masterlist

When the chirp of your alarm rings out in the dark room you nearly cry in exhaustion. Yes—you are an adult and shouldn't find yourself on the verge of tears due to only sleeping for around 4 hours. But the inclination is still there.

You try to reach out and grab your phone from the nightstand. However that's when you remember your devilish plan to charge your phone across the room so you have to get up.

Damn your ingenuity.

The loud sound pounds through your head and fortunately the woman sleeping next to you is separate enough for you to slip out from under the covers, stagger over to your blaring phone, and turn the alarm off. Now that the room is still once more you pause and find your senses slowly perking up at the unfamiliar space.

Your toes curl into the soft cushiony carpet that is a little firmer than Billie's but still pliable and cozy. At the same time you see a crack of daylight by the curtained windows and hear the muffled sounds of morning traffic in Manhattan. Because you didn't get a good look last night you softly pad over to one of the windows that nearly expands the floor to the ceiling and part the blackout curtains just a crack to keep the room dark while peeking outside.

Amber hues with streaks of marigold and coral blend together and reflect off of the surrounding steel structures that line the streets and reach for the sky. Although the time is still early, the sun is rapidly rising and you look down to see vehicles and people the size of toys rushing around to where they are required for the day.

A soft breath from behind you gets your attention and you step back to shut the curtain once more. It takes a moment for your eyes to fully adjust to the darkened room, but your ears hear each soft breath she exhales. Like listening to a distress signal pulsating from afar.

Luckily the floor isn't cluttered with items, so you cautiously brush your hands out in front of yourself and follow her small, sleeping breaths until the tips of your fingers skim the satin duvet of your shared bed. By now your eyes are able to see the beautiful woman in front of you who still sleeps peacefully.

Because she lays on her side, Billie's face is turned towards you and you can see the slight crease between her brows and her eyes moving just the slightest bit under underneath her eyelids as she dreams. With her eyes closed, the length of her lashes is accentuated. Every part of her looks perfect. Like she’s a gift bestowed by the gods above.

And for some reason she notices you of all people.

The sharp intake of air between her slightly parted lips startles you and she shifts while mumbling something. The noise made you jump, but you go from shock to concern when she lets out the softest whimper and her brows scrunch up. Before you can even think, you take a seat on the side of the bed and softly shush her quiet noises of anxiety and protest.

Then your hand comes up to cup her cheek that doesn't rest on the pillow and you run your thumb up the bridge of her nose to rest in the space between her brows. The area is still crinkled in worry so you gently but firmly run the pad of your finger from the beginning of her brow to the end to smooth out the space while soothing in a voice more prominent that a whisper, but softer than regularly spoken word, “It’s ok Billie. Shh, it’s ok. I’ve got you. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

You keep up the slow movement and soft affirmation, and within a minute or two she settles back into her relaxed state and breathes deeply.

In an effort to not jar her by pulling away and exposing her to the cool air you run your fingers along the edge of her face to tuck back some of her hair near her mouth. However that is the moment you see on the nightstand alarm clock that a half hour has passed since your alarm went off.

Shit.

So you reluctantly withdraw from Billie retuck the covers around her and rush into the bathroom for a speedy get ready…

By 8:00 you're all dressed and ready to go. When you re-enter the main suite Billie still sleeps. So you quietly call room service and order a breakfast sampler for her and something for yourself. But the main thing you need at the moment is coffee. Luckily there's a Starbucks just around the block so you make an order on the app. Since room service said it would take 20 to 30 minutes for the food to be delivered, you run downstairs to grab the drinks while Billie continues to sleep.

Compared to last night, the streets and sidewalks bustle with activity and provide all different sorts of sights and sounds to take note of. But time is of the essence and honestly, the atmosphere will be marginally better with Billie out here with you. So you speed off to the Starbucks, wait in line, and grab Billie’s usual with your own basic iced coffee that has two extra shots of espresso. Then you do your glorified run back up to her room and arrive just as room service does.

After warning them Billie is still asleep, you open the door and let them swiftly and quietly set the plates on the small dining table in the living area of her suite. Then you help them remove the tops of the dishes and thank the staff before they leave. The delicious concoction of breakfast smells fills the room and your stomach rumbles in response. You didn't realize how hungry you are until now and your mouth waters as the decadent items of food layout before you.

“Is that breakfast I smell darling?” Billie asks from the other room.

Her low, sleepy voice warms your insides and you reply, “Yes. I've got your coffee too.” You hear her let out a soft hum of approval and a couple minutes later the blonde enters the doorway wearing one of the hotel’s luxurious, white robes over her light coral baby doll nightgown and her hair loosely tumbles over her shoulders as she saunters over. However, before she actually sits, she comes over to where you stand and presses a soft kiss to you lips. Then she parts enough for her chocolate orbs to meet yours and murmurs, “Good morning sweetheart.”

Her intentional intimacy isn't lost on you and the feeling of her soft, petal-like lips on yours does more to wake you up than five shots of espresso could. And the way you breathe, “Good morning Billie.” tells her everything she needs to know.

Your employer backs away to take a seat and you watch her fingers delicately curve over the top of her to-go iced latte and pick up the item to take a sip before setting it closer to her dining spot. The way she shifts to grip her fork and knife maintains your attention and as her fingers flex and curl you can't help but wonder if she uses those same movements when her digits are buried deep inside you and stroking that sensitive spongy spot in your depths.

Jesus Christ. It's barely past eight in the morning! Get ahold of yourself.

That's when you realize Billie has slowed her movements to a stop. So you slowly lift your gaze from her hands to her face and see she looks up to you with a raised brow

“Is something wrong?” she asks and her lips twitch in amusement. Rather than stuttering out some incoherent response like you normally do, you automatically answer, “Nope.” And sit across from her. Of course that's the moment you remember you need your binder to say the day’s itinerary.

You’re about as smooth as sandpaper—as usual.

Rather than even trying to act suave or nonchalant you clear your throat and feel your face warming as you mutter, “I'll be right back.” Then you shoot up and rush from the entertainment room to the bedroom, snatch your binder, and run back to sit down . The medium chuckles at your behavior and looks to you with the devious grin as she inquires, “Awe do you miss being in my presence that much, dear?” Of course she would assume that.

Because you’re alone, you let yourself laugh and tease back, “Do you have a humble bone in your body?” Billie grins at the fact that you feel safe enough to tease back and playfully muses, “I do but I can't say where. I will permit a full body search by you though.” Her words make you roll your eyes and groan, “Ha ha, very funny.” But both of you know you're far from annoyed.

You both go quiet but it's not an uncomfortable silence. Instead you pause to enjoy this uncommonly ordinary moment with someone you care about.

However, the buzzing of your phone interrupts the stillness and you break eye contact to see it's an email. At the same time you see it's twenty minutes past 8:00 and know you need to keep things moving to stay on time. So you look back to your boss and suggest, “How about I tell you today’s schedule while you finish your breakfast?” She agrees and starts to eat the warm breakfast. Meanwhile you open up your binder, flipping through numerous pages as you take a generous sip of your bitterly strong iced coffee.

By the time you set your drink back down on the table you’re on today's date and tell Billie, “Today is a less intense day. We need to be out of here by 9:30 for your photo shoot with Vogue. And that is expected to last from 10:30 to 4:00 between makeup, hair, outfit changes, set changes, lunch, and anything else. Then we'll need to be back here for your virtual PR prep meeting. It's not until 6:00 PM so I can get you dinner by calling in room service or ordering something to go. After the meeting you’re done.”

You look up from her itinerary to see her neatly slicing the last sections of the two mini pancakes on her plate. However her movements pause when you stop speaking and she looks to you before purring with sparkling eyes, “So, we have the whole evening to ourselves?”

Of course that's the one thing that stands out to her.

You let out a sigh and reply with a lightly admonishing tone while trying to keep from smiling, “Yes we'll have the whole evening. But first we need to get you ready and at your photo shoot.” Then you pick up your phone and open it while asking, “Do you have any special requests for them? Certain music, temperature, smells, lighting—anything at all?”

The medium chuckles and smoothly replies, “Just my lovely assistant by my side.” Her shameless flirting prompts you to look up at her face and playfully warn, “Billie…”

However she giggles and assures, “Kidding. I can't think of anything. But thank you sweetheart.” You respond you’re welcome, set your phone to the side, and start to dig into your own breakfast. In between her final bites she asks, “What time did you get up?” Even the memory of your alarm going off so early causes you to cringe and take another generous sip of your coffee before answering, “6:30.” Billie must see the discomfort though because she nibbles her lower lip before asking, “Well, did you at least sleep well?”

Her look of concern warms your heart and you assure her with a smile, “I slept great. The bed and everything about it felt amazing.” Her eyebrow arches and lips quirk as she inquires, “And the company you kept? Was it satisfactory?”

Just when you think you've seen Billie's peak confidence; she surpasses that level by 100!

You clear your throat and straighten up a little before attempting to casually counter back, “I’ve had worse bed partners.”

While the comment was primarily a joke you don't miss the flicker in her darkened eyes or the way her grip on her fork tightens at the thought of someone else holding you as if she wants to snatch you close.

However one second she shows that and the next she's back to smirking and purrs, “Well I guess I'll have to up my game then. I don't mind some competition. It only helps to show why I'm the best.”

Her words prompt your mouth to gape and you gasp, “Billie!” She grins at your shock and scoots back to stand up while innocently saying “I guess they should start getting ready then.” Meanwhile you continue to just gawk at her.

When you don’t answer, she smiles even wider and turns to walk back into the bedroom. And as she starts to strut away your boss casually flings her hair over her shoulder while saying, “I'll be ready by 9:25. Don't miss me too much, sweetie.” And with one backward glance and a wink she's gone from your sight…

By 10:00 you have Billie set up with hair and makeup and she speaks to the head photographer about their concepts and ideas for her photoshoot. So you head off to find out about lunch for Billie. The studio space Vogue uses is larger than BuzzFeed and it takes you a moment to orientate yourself, but when you see three long tables with food warmers you are sure this is where you need to be. So you walk over to where two women who seem to be in charge stand.

Even though they face you and you are sure they see you walk up, both women still look down at the tablet one of them holds and taps on.

Maybe they’re finishing something up.

So you pause for a moment and watch them already sensing an air of entitlement with them. After a couple moments of watching them giggle and murmur to each other it's clear they're not on a work project. So you're clear your throat, trying to muster up your confidence, and squeak “Excuse me. I just have a small question.”

The one with beach blonde hair that looks down at the tablet but doesn't hold it lets out a dramatic sigh, looking to you, and the other with dark brown hair continues to scroll on the iPad she holds as she says, “Name.” On the inside you groan knowing it's been a while since you've had difficult clients. But you put on a smile and try to sweetly reply, “Well I don't know if it will be on there because—"

“We didn't ask for your life story. We asked for your name.” The brunette says earning a snicker from the blonde. Heat rises in your cheeks and you have to actively fight to not roll your eyes. While part of you wants to find a corner to hide in until Billie is done, you know showing weakness will make you even more of a doormat for these people to stomp over.

So you stand taller and confidently say your first and last name. That shuts them up for a moment but after a couple of taps, both women look to you with smirks and the blonde says, “Your name isn't on here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The use of Billie’s name for you makes your fists clench by your sides and you return a fake smirk back before coldly replying, “it's ok. I guess I'll just tell my boss, Billie Dean Howard I couldn't get her lunch information and she'll have to come here herself since her assistant’s name somehow didn't make the list.” And you begin to walk away, relishing in how their eyes widened at those words.

After going less than five steps one of them calls out, “Wait!” and you pause before slowly turning back around. While both women still look annoyed the brunette says, “There will be a selection of soups, salads, and sandwiches for lunch that she can choose from starting at noon.” You let a sickening sweet smile curve on your lips, and you channel your own confident demeanor when you purr, “Perfect. I'll let her know.”

As you walk away you hear one of them mutter, “Bitch.” But that only makes you smile a little more because even though they called you a name, you got what you wanted. And you can tell already today is a day to celebrate the small victories…

While you aren't allowed to be close to Billie today and get scolded when deemed so you still feel grateful to even see glimpses of her in different outfits, hairstyles, and makeup looks. The way she smiles, how she poses, and her eyes lighting up shows her true enjoyment of being photographed.

Shortly past noon you go back to the lunch table and let out a sigh of relief when the two women you spoke with earlier aren't present. However, that doesn't stop people from cutting you off in line or shoving past you like you're invisible. At first you try to assume it's innocent errors. But by the time you finish gathering her lunch you are fully annoyed at this toxic atmosphere. You're tired and just want to hideaway in the hotel.

However, as you walk up to your boss and see her laughing and speaking with the photographer you know this is a moment to shove your feelings down. If she sees you upset, she'll know something is wrong and this is the time for her to enjoy the moment.

So you take a deep breath roll shoulders back and put on a small smile to deliver her lunch. However the blonde from earlier steps in front of you and sneers, “You can't be back here.” The unexpected run-in makes your eyebrows flatten in annoyance and you retort, “I'm giving Billie her lunch.” She looks you over for a moment before holding out her arms and groaning, “Well, just hand it to me and I'll take it to her.”

Are you fucking kidding?! That’s so dumb! How are you not allowed to—ok, deep breaths. It’s just lunch. It’s not the end of the world.

On one hand you want to resist and insist on taking it to her yourself. But you also don't want to cause a scene and feel too tired to fire back a response. So you hand off the items with a lowered get gaze in clenched jaw. And as you walk away and feel your shoulders slumping you remind yourself it's less than four hours left here. You can make it through the time…

By 3:30 you are on your fourth cup of coffee and Billie is getting her hair brushed out and makeup removed. After checking to make sure the coast is clear and she doesn’t speak to anyone, you rush up to her. And when you smell her sweet jasmine and vanilla scent your eyes gloss up at missing her. It's like you didn't realize how much you missed her until now that you're close and can meet her warm brown eyes and you find your voice wavering as you ask, “What would you like me to order for dinner tonight?”

Right away the mediums brows furrow at your thick voice and she asks, “Are you ok, honey?” Her concern only makes you feel more emotional, but you clear your throat and nod with the reserved smile.

Of course that's about the time you see the two women who have been on you all day headed your way.

Fuck.

So you look back to Billie and practically plead in the hopes of not getting scolded again, “Or is there a certain type of food you would like?” Her eyes narrow for a split second at your behavior, however she knows you are a private person. So she tries to casually reply, “I'm…fine just ordering room service when we get back.”

In the process of her answering, your eyes briefly dart over to the women as much as you try not to. And when Billie finishes speaking you make a curt nod and quickly squeak, “Ok. And just as a reminder you have a zoom meeting with your PR manager at 6:00 tonight.” Before the blonde can even utter a thank you, you look down to your rough-looking shoes and say, “That's all . I-I'll let you finish up now.” Then you step away and try to stand tall but feel like the dirt on the bottom of someone shoe.

Billie tilts her head in confusion at your unfamiliar behavior but gets pulled back to reality when one of the head staff members rushes up while saying, “I'm terribly sorry for the interruption Miss Howard. I've been trying to explain to your assistant that she doesn't need to keep bothering you. She must be new or something.”

That's when things start to click into place and Billie realizes how absent you've been from her today. She tries to shrug it off by saying with her usual smile, “I don't really mind she's always so...”

However her words trail off when she sees one of the staff members reprimanding you with her arms crossed across her chest and speaking loud enough for Billie to hear,

“Who do you think you are walking around anywhere you would like? You're an assistant. So just find some little corner to do your work in and stay out of our way.” You clench your fists by your sides and open your mouth to say something back, but after reminding yourself that to some this is how assistants are and not wanting to expose your personal relationship with Billie you let out a sigh of defeat and answer with a clenched jaw and bowed head, “Fine.”

Meanwhile your boss is both horrified and furious at what just played out in front of her. Has this been going on all day? How could she let this happen?!

Her inner rage is interrupted by the hair stylist saying, “Oh shit, did I just yank your hair too hard Miss Howard? I was trying to be gentle, but I noticed your grip on the chair arms tightened.” It’s only then she realizes her own jaw is clenched and her nails do dig into the leather of the arms.

So she makes herself relax a little and assures them, “No you're fine, honey. I just had my mind on...other things.” However she does turn to the woman who just apologized about you and says with an icy tone, “There’s no need to apologize. I told my assistant to keep me updated on my day. Is that a problem?”

The brunette that has held the tablet in her hands all day now has wide eyes and shakes her head while sputtering, “Well—I—no—”

“Good.” Billie cuts her off and continues in a stern tone, “If you have any problems with her, you come to me. Am I clear?” She stutters out a quick yes and another apology before running off.

After that heated exchange, the medium flicks her fingers in her desire to have a cigarette, but she forces herself to relax as the crew finishes unpinning her hair and removing her makeup. She'll ask you about it on the way home...

You feel Billie's eyes on you as you look out the car window and fiddle with your thumbs. But you don't look to her. It's been a long day and you feel completely and utterly drained. In fact you're sure that if you closed your eyes for longer than 10 seconds you would fall asleep.

However you do perk up a little when your employer puts up her car window. She must have thrown out her cigarette. Then she says in her warm, honey voice, “I saw you being mistreated earlier... at the photo shoot.”

Her voice isn't the usual suave, confident tone and you look down to your lap so you can sneak a glance in her direction out of the corner of your eye.

Billie is turned to face you but stays quiet to allow space for you to speak. You keep your eyes down on your hands in your lap and respond, “It's nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes workdays are just like that. I'm more tired than anything else.”

If it were anyone else, they would likely just say ‘ok’ and move on. But this is Billie and she knows you better than that. She lowly says your name and you finally make yourself turn your face to make direct eye contact.

There's no smug tilt of her lips or raised brow. Rather the medium’s lips curve downward, and her eyes have a warm, molasses color that you can nearly taste the sweetness of. You have rarely seen her look so distraught and once you make eye contact, she says, “I'm sorry I didn't notice earlier.”

Immediately you're filled with guilt and you shake your head. Before you’re fully conscious of it, you take her hand and give it a squeeze while reassuring “Billie you have nothing to be sorry for. Some people are difficult but at the end of the day they won't see me again and they're probably projecting their own self-consciousness onto me.”

The blonde looks down to where your hands join, and she runs her thumb over the top of your knuckles as she says “But you shouldn't have to put up with that and I'm sorry you have to. It hurts me to see you being mistreated like that because I-I—”

Love you too much.

Billie cuts herself off before she can speak those powerful words. Where did that come from? She doesn't not love you. But is she willing to open a door that can't be shut once opened?

That's when the medium notices your eyes rapidly scanning her face and your brows wrinkled so she clears her throat and finishes, “I- I care about you so much. Not that I don't think you can't handle tough workdays, but—you just, you deserve the best, y/n.”

Did Billie Dean Howard just stumble over her words to articulate her care for you? Yes. Yes, she did.

You can't help but smile at her unusually vulnerable demeanor and reply, “Well I appreciate your words. That means a lot to me Billie.” You both look to each other for a moment and it finally feels like the weight of the day is starting to roll off of you.

After a moment you break eye contact but keep your hand in hers as you pull out your phone and say, “I saw that they had a variety of pizzas on the room service menu including your favorite—meat lover’s. Would that interest you?”

Your boss gets that familiar grin that sends butterflies to your stomach and replies with a wink, “That sounds perfect sweetheart.” You go ahead and place the order now so that there will be a hot and fresh pizza waiting for you both in her hotel room...

One meat lover’s pizza later, you are barefaced and changed into a matching set of sweatpants and sweatshirt for bed, sitting in one of the lounge chairs next to the windows overlooking the city.

Billie still wears her clothes, sans her heels, and sits on the bed leaning back against the mountain of pillows the hotel staff so meticulously positioned back against the headboard. Her legs extend in front of her with her ankles crossed and she looks to the screen of her laptop resting on her thighs as she listens to her new PR manager.

In an effort to prevent distracting her and to keep quiet since you technically should be in ‘your room,’ you curl up with a blanket and read your book. At the same time, you halfway listen to her PR manager explaining, “Tomorrow morning at 9:00 you will be interviewed by Savannah and Hoda on the Today Show. Now that's their prime-time slot...”

Between the ambient city sounds, Billie’s soft voice when she asks a question or affirms something, and your own fatigue, as you run your eyes down the novel’s page you find your eyelids getting heavier and heavier until they can't stay open.

Of course the medium notices you nodding off until you finally fall asleep and smiles at how hard you fought to keep your eyes open. However she also realizes she hasn't seen you crash like that since she made love to you on the kitchen counter. You're always up before her, keeping track of her even when she takes breaks, and more often than not you're asleep after she is. Yet you never complain or make a big deal out of it.

“Miss Howard? Is something wrong?”

Brings Billie back to reality and her eyes snap back to her computer screen to see the PR manager with furrowed brows. The blonde clears her throat and her eyes flick back up to peek at your sleeping figure before she puts on her practiced smile and looks to the computer screen. “No sorry. Just worn out from the day's activities.” She responds, telling a half-truth. They smile and nod in understanding before assuring, “Well I'm just about done so I'll be quick.”

As the PR manager rambles on Billie does her best to pay attention, but they don't speak to her like you do.

You put so much thought into your advice, watching and observing her, always taking notes about possible blind spots. And you do everything in your power to prevent those from showing up in public spaces or interviews. Whereas they give obvious suggestions. But if it gets the TV producers off of her back she'll grin and bear it. In the meantime, the blonde sneaks glances at your huddled up sleeping figure and tries to memorize every minute detail.

When the PR manager ends the video call, she shuts her laptop and you shift to get more comfortable, resulting in the book that was precariously held in your hand falling to the floor. But the noise has no effect on you except you wrap your now free arm around yourself and let out a deep sigh as you settle further into the chair.

Billie sits up and sets her laptop on the side table before uncrossing her legs and sliding off the bed. Then her slender feet pad against the luxe carpet to where you sleep.

First she bends down to pick up your splayed out book and properly places it on the coffee table nearby. When the medium stands back up, she looks down at your serious sleeping expression.

Without thinking one of her hands comes up to cup your cheek and she watches the corner of your lips twitch and your eyes roam beneath your closed lids. There are moments when Billie swears she can read your mind like a book. However then there are moments like now when she wishes that she could just get a glimpse of the complex galaxy of your thoughts and experiences.

As usual your skin is cool to the touch, so the warmth of her flesh against yours prompts you to nuzzle into her hand even in your sleep. Billie lets out of soft chuckle at the movement and brushes her thumb along the peak of your cheekbone in a soothing manner as she whispers, “Do you even realize how special you are y/n? You're so precious to me sweetheart. So, so precious.”

Of course you don't hear any of that but a small smile forms on your lips at the feeling of her thumb and she's more than ready to advance from caressing your face to holding you close in bed.

So she glides the palm of her hand from the apple of your cheek, down the column of your throat, to your shoulder and gives you a small shake while murmuring, “Y/n, darling?”

Her low, velvety voice pulls you out of your slumber and you inhale deeply, unintentionally filling your nose with her sweet scent. Then you slowly open your eyes while rasping, “Hmm?” Billie chuckles at your groggy response and moves to lightly scratch your shoulder with her smooth, rounded nails while softly suggesting, “How about we get you in bed?”

At this point you're awake enough to yawn and make a big stretch as much as your seated position will allow. But your brain is still too foggy to speak so you merely nod.

Billie goes to take her hand away, however in your sleepy daze you reach out and take it, knitting your fingers with hers before standing up. The blonde's eyes widen at your instigated touch, but you don't notice her changed expression—too focused on gathering your blanket in your other hand. And when you do have it gathered you skip looking to her face for instruction. Rather you begin to walk and she follows suit.

Once you sit on the edge of the king-sized bed you keep ahold of Billie's hand and ask, “You're coming to bed too, right?”

Her heart melts at the hopeful twinkle in your eyes and for a moment Billie is overcome with so much joy her eyes glass up. However she reins herself in and puts on her well-practiced smirk, attempting to effortlessly reply “After I've changed out of my clothes I will. Ok?”

You don’t want her to leave your side. And in your state of fatigue, a little whine escapes your throat. But you reluctantly unwind your fingers from hers and answer, “Ok.” Then she helps you pull back the covers to lay down. After you’re laid back on the firm, yet pliable mattress, you let out a lethargic sigh and say in a small voice, “Billie I have a question.”

The blonde tucks the covers around you and leans down to peck your lips before replying with a smile, “Fire when ready.”

You smile at her phrase and now that you’re all warm and cozy, your eyelids begin to feel heavy. So ask with the lowered gaze, “Could you hand me my phone so I can set my alarm please?” You force yourself to wake up enough to you look back at her chocolate brown eyes she pecks the tip of your nose before purring, “I would be happy to, honey.”

After bringing your phone over, Billie goes to the bathroom to change and you use every last ounce of your willpower to stay awake until she comes out with the same light coral negligee on that reminds you of creamsicle ice cream and her hair brushed out.

First, she flips the lights off leaving you shrouded in darkness. You feel the duvet lift and her weight shift the mattress as she climbs into bed. And when you sense her close to you, you roll over and wrap an arm around her middle while intertwining one of your legs with hers. Only then do you mumble into the bend of her neck, “This is ok-right?”

The medium chuckles at your ability to be so bold one second and so timid the next. But her hands slide up your back to hug you close to her chest as she whispers, “This is perfect.” Thank goodness.

You nuzzle into her silky locks, let out a contented sigh, and whisper, “Good.” Within minutes you're fast asleep in her warm, comforting embrace.

Billie listens to your deep breaths and absentmindedly strokes her fingers up and down your spine as she tries to navigate her feelings for you. However, the more she thinks about it the more her thoughts spiral out of control. So for tonight she lets the steady stream of your breaths lull her to sleep, relishing in the present moment with you in her arms and letting the future worry about itself.

Tagged: @marilynroselleprentiss, @saviorinsilk, @chokemepaulson, @versonstar, @find-me-a-constellation, @cordwliagoode, @psychobitchtess, @midnight-lestrange, @mysweetdelia, @venablesbitch, @peachesandlesbians, @nerdaroo, @cordeliafoxxe, @leskaksel, @lovelymspaulson, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @whatabluddymess, @natasha-danvers, @saucy-sapphic, @marvelfansince08love, @wilheminawinters, @dontsblameme, @mssallymckenna, @myheadmistress

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Part 7

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destiniesfic · 4 years

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Folktober 05 — for @jurdannet/@jurdannetrevels. In which Jude was never taken to Faerie and grew up in blissful ignorance of the fair folk—mostly—until the night they tried to steal her twin sister away.

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The door is the first test. It is difficult not to stare at every new thing I see. There are lamps on either side of the polished wood doors, and at first I think they’re just regular lights, but of course nothing here is that simple; the light comes from two tiny glowing faeries, trapped behind glass. I am immediately filled with questions. Did they volunteer for the job? Is this a punishment for some unknown crime? Do they eat, and if so, who feeds them? Do they live forever, miserable in their prison, or do they eventually burn themselves out?

But I am meant to be glamoured and not ask questions, so I don’t, even though I want to pound my hands against the glass until they bleed and the tiny faeries are freed. I keep my eyes straight ahead and hardly even flinch when I notice the grotesque carving on the door. It looks horrible, a twisted and terrible face, the knocker piercing its nose.

Cardan acts as if this is all totally normal, because of course to him it is, because he lives here and none of this is new to him. Without any hesitation, he reaches for the door knocker. And as he does, the carving’s eyes spring open.

To keep from screaming, I bite my lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. My entire body goes taut, a coiled spring waiting for release. I force myself to breathe in through my nose.

“My prince,” says the carving.

Cardan smiles at the door in a way I am not even sure he smiled at his friends. “My door.”

I am relieved when the next words from the door’s awful mouth are “Welcome home” and it swings open to admit us. Cardan stalks inside, and I follow.

There is a faerie servant waiting for us, wearing some kind of livery. “Prince Cardan,” they say, with a small bow. “Your brother would like to speak with you.”

“A pity for him,” Cardan replies, handing his cloak to another servant. No one offers to take the jacket I am wearing. “I would like that less.”

“I am afraid it was not a request,” the first servant says. “He wishes to speak with you and the mortal girl you have brought back with you.”

Cardan glances back at me, a frown turning down the corners of his full mouth. “Very well, although I cannot imagine why. Come, Jude.”

I bristle at the command, but I follow after him; it’s what the glamoured girl I’m supposed to be would do. I force a little smile on my lips and trot after him. “What’s going on?” I whisper through it.

“I know not.” The frown deepens. “And I like that even less. Stay close to me and face front, no matter what you see. And under no circumstances may you antagonize Balekin as you do me. Am I understood?”

I want to tell him that if he thinks my meager resistance so far has been antagonism, he doesn’t really know anything about hardship, but there’s an urgency to his voice, maybe something like nerves or fear, that makes me think he’s being serious.

“Totally,” I say, and then I fall back a little so that I trail him.

Soon I see why he warned me to stare straight ahead. As we walk through the hallway, I see another human for the first time, a young man dressed in the same palace livery. At first I want to call out to him, to scream, to tell him I’ve been taken and he has too and we should both run away from this place, but I notice the glazed look in his eyes, and, as we approach, his cracked fingers and chapped lips. He hums to himself as he polishes an old suit of armor on display, and doesn’t seem to notice as we pass.

I shudder. Cardan may have kidnapped me, true. He and his friends might have intended to do terrible things to my sister, and he may still intend to do terrible things to me. But at least I have been spared that fate, the loss of my all my faculties, of any control.

I’m not relieved for long, because Hollow Hall still has horrors in store for me. Soon we come to another set of gleaming doors, through which I can hear the sounds of chatter and the faint thrumming of music. The doors are thrown open for us by another pair of servants, and then we are in the middle of the great hall.

There is what is clearly a party happening. Well, I assume it’s a party, what parties are in fairyland. It looks like the kind of scene HBO would get in trouble for when casting a bunch of nude extras. I mean, by human standards, it would definitely be considered an orgy, but I am beginning to think that human and faerie standards are very different.

And that’s not to say all of the Folk are embracing. Some are eating golden fruit. Some are drinking wine and mead from great goblets, like the ones Cardan brought for his picnic jaunt into my world. Others seem to be falling asleep. Two might be strangling each other to the amusement of onlookers. There is a small band on the other side of the room that includes a green-skinned pixie playing a flute and a boy with goat legs playing an honest-to-god lute. And, yes, there are faeries in varying states of undress, on couches near the perimeter of the room or cushions on the floor, and some are definitely, um, occupied. They are clearly inhuman, but their bodies are human enough that I find myself blushing, out of embarrassment or mortification I don’t know.

But Cardan said I couldn’t stare, so I do my best not to. I face front and think about the places I would rather be. Which is pretty much anywhere. I imagine myself at the Starbucks downtown, sipping pumpkin spice lattes with Taryn, or bingeing She-Ra on Netflix with Vivi, like we had the last week of the summer. Then I think about how my parents will panic when they realize I’m not there in the morning—probably just a couple of hours from now—and I nearly feel sick to my stomach.

“Jude,” Cardan hisses through his teeth. “With me.”

I don’t nod. I just follow him as we chart a path through the revelers, managing to hold it together. A naked girl with daffodil-yellow skin and pink flowers for hair laughs and calls to him, trying to coax him into joining her circle, but he ignores her. I guess being a prince makes you popular.

Our destination is on the far side of the room, unfortunately, which means I have to do a lot more repression to make it there in one piece. For example, I can’t think about how a sharp-toothed faerie seems to be using a tiny bone to pick his teeth, or how another revel guest’s lips shine red like they’re wet with blood. At least I can easily pick out where we’re going and focus on that as I keep from tripping over any outstretched limbs.

Another faerie, one who looks much like Cardan with dark hair and high cheekbones, reclines in a wooden chair carved to look much like a throne, up on a dais. He is in conversation with a very lovely woman in a blue gown, but when she sees us approaching she kisses his ring and leaves. I almost want to tell her to come back, to not leave us with the host of this debauched fete. But there’s nothing to say. I’ll have no help here.

Cardan climbs the dais seps and stops before the chair, inclining his head with deference that seems a little mocking. Without being told, I know that this is Balekin, whom Cardan said was the eldest of the princes.

Brother,” Balekin says, and even I, an outsider, can sense the danger under the familial cheer. “How was your jaunt to the mortal world?”

“Tiresome,” Cardan says, stifling a yawn as he raises his head.

“I was told you brought a companion back with you.”

“Word travels fast.”

Balekin waits for him to say something else, and frowns when he doesn’t. I, meanwhile, am thinking of how I felt like we were being watched as we rode through the forest. Maybe we were. Or maybe the goblins who’d paddled the boat were spies. Nothing here was safe.

“Well, won’t you call her hence so I may examine her?” Balekin asks at last.

“Oh, indeed,” says Cardan, who clearly isn’t happy to have been called out for this. Still, he waves for me, and I take a step forward. “This mortal girl interfered with our fun. She was unhappy that Locke wanted to play with her twin sister.”

“Twins?” Balekin sounds intrigued. He sits forward. I’m learning that twins are probably rare among faeries if Taryn and I are so consistently interesting. “Why not keep them both?”

Cardan shrugs. “It was better sport to promise the freedom of one sister and then take the other. This one was so angry when she found her twin glamoured, and now she suffers that fate.”

I’m angry still, I want to shout. I’m angry now! I want to stomp my foot. I want to haul off and punch him. But I stay where I am, trying to keep the placid smile fixed on my face. I’d thought Cardan and his friends terrifying and wrong, but now that I am face-to-face with an adult faerie, I realize that Cardan can’t be much older than me—or whatever the faerie equivalent is. Maybe he’s ninety and just looks nineteen. But Balekin is clearly grown, less lanky than Cardan, more dangerous. He is looking at me in a way I don’t like.

“Come closer, child,” he says to me, and he almost sounds kind. I try not to hesitate as I approach his chair. When I am near enough, he reaches out and takes my face in his hand. There are thorns poking out of his skin, sharp enough to prick me. I stay very, very still and try to breathe normally.

“She’s not unpretty, is she?” he asks Cardan.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan shift uneasily. “If mortals are your flavor.”

Balekin frowns, turning my face from one side to the other. “She has a familiar look. What is your name, girl?”

“Jude,” I say obediently.

“Your surname.”

“Smith,” I lie. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. Telling a faerie prince my actual full name seems like a really bad idea.

Balekin’s eyes narrow, but he releases me. My jaw tingles. He swirls the wine in his goblet the way sophisticated people do in movies, and then he leans back in his chair. “So, brother. Now you have a mortal girl. What will you do with her?”

“I have not yet decided,” Cardan replies, sounding thoughtful. “I would rather not put her to work in the kitchens or the hall. Mortals are so fragile, with such clumsy fingers. It amuses me to think of her carrying my schoolbooks, serving my wine, and sleeping at the foot of my bed like a faithful hound.”

“Trite amusements,” says Balekin, but I notice that he doesn’t seem displeased with his younger brother. “If you misplace this one it is of no consequence to me. Do as you will.”

Cardan inclines his head in a mock bow, then says again, “Come, Jude.”

Like the faithful hound, I follow at his heels. Unlike the faithful hound, I chafe doing so. But I can’t see another way out just now, so I will play this game until the end. Whatever that is.

---

Tag list: @lilithsaur @highqueenofelfhame @charrise @emeralddaydream13 @b00kworm @amandlas @gellavonhamster @ireallyshouldsleeprn @misskillerdarkness @nahthanks @lohep @awkward-avocado-s @alittledribbledrabble @kittkatandbooboo @harrymoncheri @gxndrya

If you want to be tagged in future posts, let me know!

#jurdannet #jurdannetrevels #folktober 2020 #jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #mine: fic #fic: folktober #how long does october last? let's find out

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medicallyinevitable · 3 years

Text

Medically Inevitable

Chapter 15:- Hopeful Happenings

Characters:- Arielle Valentine, Ethan Ramsey, Ines Delarosa, Kyra Santana

Pairing:- Ethan Ramsey x Arielle Valentine

Warnings:- Slight mentions of cancer

Word Count:- 1700+ words :)

General PoV:-

As the sun shines bright in the late morning, Arielle parks her car and heads straight towards Edenbrook’s locker room, a to-go cup in hand from Starbucks instead of Derry Roasters not wanting any chance to bump into Dr. Ramsey, despite knowing that he’s her boss. Making her way to the nurses’ station, she picks up her charts and textbooks and heads toward the cafeteria.

Arielle’s PoV:-

You keep at your textbooks, scouring the pages for anything that could explain Nigel's symptoms, and the tidal wave of self-doubt doesn’t help either. You let out a sigh, "Maybe Dr. Ramsey's right. Maybe I really don't belong here..."

"Mind if I join you?" A cheery voice snaps you back to reality.

You turn around to find Kyra. Dread fills in you as you see her. "Kyra, what are you doing here? Is your cancer back? Is something wrong?", you start asking.

"Woah! Dial down the doom and gloom there, Dr. Sob Emoji. I'm in remission." Kyra beams.

"What?! Oh my god congratulations! I’m so happy for you!" You envelope her in a warm hug which almost melts all your tension away.

"Just had another check-up. Will be coming a lot for those," she catches you up with her remission plan as you two sit. "No offense but I definitely look in better shape than you!"

"Ugh I know. I'm exhausted.” And just like that, all the tension fills your mind as you give her the details. " My shift ended like five hours ago, but instead of going home I am sitting here and reading till my eyes bleed."

"You should probably get that looked at." Kyra's face morphs into something serious but genuine as she continues.

"Look, I don't want to be that cancer survivor… but it did make me realize that life is too short." You give her a sad smile knowing how painful it must have been for her.

"We only get so many chances you know? But maybe you need that lesson more than I do," she continues after pausing for a moment.

"Is it that obvious?" You raise your brows.

"Let's chalk it up to my incredible intuition." Kyra smiles," Anyways there's an amazing ice cream shop nearby. They make an triple chocolate gelato that's literally to die for," she jokes, " You can take my word for that." "Why don't we visit that place? It'll give you a distraction and a much needed break."

You look at her and then your textbooks, not understanding what to do. All you can see is blurry lines. the words and concepts swim around in your very exhausted brain. You close the textbook with a slam after your answer is crystal clear.

"How can I say no to chocolate gelato!", you say dramatically.

"That's more like it!", Kyra beams. The two of you collect your belongings and make your way out as you tell Kyra everything about the dilemma with your latest patient.

"This place is pretty cute.", you say as you look around.

"Try nauseatingly adorable. I want to make it tiny and keep it in my bookshelf," Kyra replies. You laugh.

"You collect tiny shops?" You ask as the two of you made your way to the counter.

"I collect many sickeningly adorable things," she laughs before turning her attention to the boy behind the counter. "I’ll have the large Death by Chocolate please. And my absurdly attractive friend here will have…”, she nods for you to continue.

You roll your eyes at her before placing your order. You take a look at their menu before deciding to have the same one as Kyra as it's the most chocolatey one.

“I'll have the same.", you smile at the server.

The server scoops your gelato into two big cups and slides them across the counter while Kyra rummages through her bag for her wallet.

"I'll pay.“, you say getting your card out.

"No way!", she stops you by swiftly taking your card from you. You whine but to your dismay she doesn’t budge.

"This was my idea. Besides I didn't get out much during recovery. I've got months of dining-out budget to blow."

The next minute she's handing the cash to the server and then guiding you to a booth. As you two take your seats, Kyra hands you your card.

She takes a spoon full of her Death by Chocolate and sighs blissfully.

“Mmmmmm…”

You smile at her antics. "That good?" You ask before taking a bite.

"Orgasmic. I never used to eat junk food before my diagnosis."

She takes another bite and you take your first. You can't help but let out a moan as the chocolatey silkiness melts on your tongue. Kyra smirks and gives you a smug look.

She then continues, "I was super into exercising and calorie counting. I never did anything I wasn't supposed to." She smiles sadly. "And I still got lung cancer. At my twenties!"

"You must have been so strong!", you reply.

"Everyone keeps saying that but-", she pauses, "I don't know. I just went to the doctor to see why I was breathing weird."

She sighs. "Then suddenly I was going for all these tests, and then I had cancer."

She laughs humorlessly. "Life went from jogging and juice every morning to chemo and puking."

You can almost feel the pain as she speaks about her experiences even when you’re aware you’ll never truly understand.

"But I didn't do anything," she says, " Those things had to happen , and I had good insurance, so I did them. And it's not like I had any alternative."

"I think you should give yourself more credit.”, you reach for her hand and squeeze it in a comforting manner.

"You faced death with a smile on your face. I'll always remember you cracking jokes on the way to surgery-", you stop for a second before adding,"You are the strongest person I know Kyra."

Kyra blushes, a little embarrassed. "Well you can laugh or you can cry and I chose to laugh.”, she shrugs with a smile on her face.

"And like I said, I don't want to be that cancer survivor but it does put certain things into perspective."

"That kind of clarity must be nice.", you reply.

"Well yeah, you have to get some kind of consolation price for nearly dying, right?" She then shakes her head.

”But enough about that. If we keep talking about this you'll always see me as a girl who beat cancer."

"I'll never, Kyra." you say truthfully. "That's not how I see you."

"Oh yeah? And how do you exactly see me?" She asks playfully.

"I think you are inspiring."

A blush creeps on her face as she’s caught off guard, but quickly retaliates with a sassy reply. “If you keep giving me compliments then I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

“We’ll see about that.” You both dissolve into fits of laughter as Kyra fills you up on the hospital gossip...

“What wait?! Seriously?! I can’t believe it!”

“Me either, but you know how gossip is!”, she replies with a shrug.

Just then your phone chimes. You pull it out to see it’s a reminder for your shift.

“Crap, I have 10 minutes till my shift.”

“Oof, you better hurry!”, she replies.

“We should do this again, this was really nice.”, you say as you gather your things.

“We should! Besides there would have to be 12 different things wrong with someone to turn down Gelato!”, she jokes.

“..12 different things wrong….. oh my god, Kyra, you’re a genius!”

You scramble to your feet and quickly throw away your cup.

“I like to think I am but what did I do?”, she asks.

“I’ll explain later!”, you yell.

“Ookay…” You rush back to the hospital, typing out a message on your pager as Kyra sits there in utter confusion.

“Well I guess I could get another scoop of gelato…”

————————————————————

An hour later, you take a deep breath before entering Nigel's room to find Ethan and Ines already inside.

“Well what are you waiting for?”, Dr. Ramsey says. Pushing back all of your invading memories of him, you continue with your explanation.

"I spent the last two days trying to figure out the one thing causing all of Mr.Platt's symptoms.”, you say as you stand beside Nigel's bedside.

"And?", he asks. For a split second, you can see a slight look of hope in his eyes, but it passes as quickly as it came, leaving you to believe it was a mere delusion of yours.

"That's when I realized nothing was causing all of them-" But before you can continue, you’re interrupted by Nigel.

"Are you calling-", he burps, “me a liar?", he asks, rude as always.

You control the urge to roll your eyes. He could've at least let you finish your sentence.

Ignoring him, you continue what you were saying," Mr.Platt has been experiencing tingling and hair loss but also cold sensitivity and some hearing problems." You pause for a second before continuing,"All of which point to hypothyroidism caused by Hashimoto's disease easily treated with levothyroxine."

"Go on." Ethan orders in his usual cold bossy tone.

"I couldn't fit in the constant burping and the chest pain… because it was completely separate." You explain. "I ordered a barium swallow X-ray and detected a hiatal hernia in the esophageal hole through the diaphragm."

"The treatment?", he asks, motioning you to continue.

"I have already booked a laparoscopic surgery to repair it.”, you answer with a touch of pride.

"Good work Dr.Valentine." Ines smiles at you.” You return it with a nod and a tentative smile.

"So ... I'll be cured?" Nigel asks.

"Yes-“, you calm yourself down before you rip him apart and then continue.

"You'll be good as new." you say instead with a forced smile.

"Good... because I don't want to spend a -" he burps, " second more in your hopeless company."

Your blood boils at this point as you bite your lip to control yourself. “The audacity! Ugh, he's a patient, Arielle. You have to be nice to him.”

"Mr. Platt, might suggest viewing this as a new lease on life. Perhaps a life where you don't make everyone around you miserable.”, Ethan's stern voice retorts, shocking you and Ines.

“No way...he did not!”

"Dr. Ramsey!" Ines exclaims with a shocked expression on her face, which you’re quite sure your face resembles.

"I'll report you! I want to talk to your manager," he says more angrily than before.

"Go ahead," Ethan says with a sarcastic smile." Maybe she can't talk to you like this but I sure as hell can."

You look at Nigel who looks like he's about to say something but just then Bryce struts in. He winks at you playfully as he passes you.

"Someone called for a laparoscopic surgery?"

"Oh great, first Barbie and now the damn Ken doll!” You don’t even attempt to hide the disgust on your face as you roll your eyes.

By the time you’ve finished your consultation with Bryce, Ines and Ethan have already left the room. Pleased with yourself, you take a left in the hallway without noticing Ethan standing leaning against the wall.

"Rookie..." His velvety baritone voice calls out, pulling you out of a haze.

Wincing, you stop dead in your tracks as the memories of the previous day replay in your mind. Still embarrassed with your encounter, you turn around but never meet his eyes. You’re sure you look like a kid, standing before him with your feet crossed, one hand fiddling with your hair as you bite your lip.

"So, you figured it out in the end. And you kept things professional.”, he nods, barely visible.

"I guess I just needed a… push.”, you reply in a timid voice laced with embarrassment.

"Maybe you aren’t so hopeless then.", he says.

Unlike yesterday, his voice isn’t filled with disappointment and malice.

So mustering up some courage, you look up to meet his eyes. Relief washes over you as you don’t detect a hint of disappointment in his eyes. He isn’t smiling but something in you tells you he isn’t angry. You don’t realise you’ve been staring into his oh-so blue eyes until his pager beeps, shaking you out of your reverie.

“..Uh- I’ll see you around, Dr. Ramsey.” You can almost swear that you see longing etched into his chiseled features as you lose yourself in his eyes once more.

“Likewise, Valentine.” With that, he turns around and stalks away.

You sigh and lean against the wall, the events since you started your residency swirl around like a hurricane filled with memories.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

******************************************

And this concludes Season 1 of Medically Inevitable!

Authors’ Note:- Hey everyone, hope y’all enjoyed this chapter! As you’ve probably seen before, this is the last chapter of Season 1! Season 2 will be out soon, as soon as we work out the kinks and pump out a few chapters with different moodboards and title themes! Season 2 will be much more eventful, more drama, angst and shocking cliffhangers mixed in with the string of festivities that Thanksgiving and Christmas bring! Stay tuned and check our blogs and Instagram’s (same handle) for more updates! And lastly thank y’all so much for all the support, we are extremely grateful.

Love,

@drariellevalentine & @mysticaurathings

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #open heart fanfic #ethanjonahramsey #playchoices #open heart #medically inevitable #ethan jonah ramsey #ines delarosa #harper emery #modern au #thank you for the support

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thecassadilla · 4 years

Text

Of All the Apples

Pairing: Kristanna

Word Count: 3,752/AO3

Summary: Though Kristoff is uncertain about his relationship with Anna, he agrees to go apple picking with her, where he is forced to confront his feelings.

Author’s Note: Though Kristoff is uncertain about his relationship with Anna, he agrees to go apple picking with her, where he is forced to confront his feelings.

Author’s Note: Okay, so there may be a teeny bit of projection here - I really wanted to go apple or pumpkin picking at some point during this month. I doubt it’ll happen, so I may as well just write about other people doing the things that I want to do, right? Anyways, for some strange reason this was *incredibly* difficult to write - I think I revised it 30 times. I still don’t know if I’m completely satisfied, to be honest. I don't even know if it makes any sense?? But I'm just going to post it anyway. Enjoy!!!

Hearing the doorbell ring had become a familiar and expected sound. Every single day, around the same time, Anna rang the bell and patiently stood on Kristoff’s doorstep. She waited to be invited inside, even though he had told her multiple times to just come inside when she felt like it. He left the door unlocked for a reason, after all.

“Come in!” he called. He heard the door open and close from where he was, and dainty footsteps made their way towards the living room. In no time at all, she had made it to the couch, quietly collapsing into the empty spot next to him. For some reason, it made him think back to the first time they had met.

He remembered it like it had happened yesterday instead of a year ago. He’d just moved into his new rental - the tiniest house on the street - which happened to be right next door to the grandiose mansion Anna and her sister had inherited from their deceased parents. Anna, still very much a stranger at this point, had shown up on his doorstep with a store bought box of chocolate cupcakes. After apologizing profusely for not baking them herself, oversharing about her lack of skills in the kitchen, and apologizing again for assuming he’d like chocolate, she handed him the box and welcomed him to the neighborhood. That very day, he fell in love with the girl who lived next door.

She walked into his life on her own volition and for some reason that he couldn’t understand, she kept coming back. Since their initial meeting, much had changed. Before he knew it, she was spending more time at his house than she was at her own, and they were sharing intimate conversations and passionate kisses. Their relationship evolved before his own eyes - from neighbors, to friends, to starting an incredibly fulfilling sexual relationship.

Despite the fact that he was completely and utterly in love with her, he spent nearly every waking hour convincing himself that she’d never want to be more than what they currently were; that every shared moment between them was some form of pageantry as opposed to something very, very real.

Instead of believing in the possibility that she could be as in love with him as he was with her, he attempted and failed to keep her at an arm's length; she was intoxicating and it was too difficult to stay away from her, no matter how much he knew that it would hurt when it ended and she moved on with someone else. So, he kept his feelings to himself and never defined their relationship.

But today, something was off. She wasn’t acting like her normal, perky self; she was quiet.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked.

“Nothing is wrong per se,” she answered with a sigh. “But I have a question for you and I think that I already know what the answer is going to be.”

“Go for it,” he encouraged her.

“I know you hate going places, but I really want to go apple picking tomorrow, and I was hoping that you’d want to come along with me.” She gave him a hopeful smile, batting her eyelashes at him.

Though she always attempted to make plans with him outside of the house, they rarely went out in public together and when they did, it was only to the grocery store. He was too afraid to be seen with her because in his eyes, a guy like him didn’t deserve a girl like her. “Oh. I don’t really think I’ll be useful -”

“You’d be useful!” she insisted enthusiastically. “Because you’re so tall! And I would really love to go with you. Can you please come apple picking with me?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Somehow it was the best answer that he could come up with. He didn’t have a real reason to say no, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to say yes, either. He cleared his throat. “Elsa’s busy?”

She forced out a laugh. “Bold of you to assume that Elsa wants to spend her day off with me.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowned.

Any hope she had quickly melted away and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s okay, I get it. I can go by myself, I guess.”

She moved to stand up, and acting on an impulse, he grabbed her hand, knowing that he may come to regret it. “Wait!”

She turned to face him. “What?”

“If it’s really that important to you, then I’ll go with you.”

She hardly gave him a chance to finish before she was throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Kristoff!”

He awkwardly patted her back. “You’re welcome.”

She pulled away suddenly. “Oh crap, I forgot my phone charger at home! I’m just going to go grab it and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nodded, and she smiled before rushing out of the house.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wasn’t sure what time she had snuck out of his bed that morning, but she was gone when he woke up just after ten. She hardly ever woke up before him, and it was even more unusual for her to have left at all. He rubbed at his eyes a few times before reaching for his phone, and sure enough, she had sent him a text explaining her whereabouts. She was right next door, in her own house, getting ready for their excursion. He sighed, knowing that she must have been extremely excited to have gotten up so early when they weren’t even leaving for several more hours.

So, he climbed out of bed, aware of the fact that for the first Saturday in a long time, Anna wasn’t with him. He had grown used to their sleepy weekend mornings together, half-dressed and sitting at his kitchen table with plates of pancakes in front of them. Without her there, he followed his weekday routine; he ate, showered and got dressed, keeping it casual with jeans and a black t-shirt layered under a red flannel. And then, he waited.

When the time had finally come, he went out and stood by her car, hoping that she’d be out soon. His jaw nearly dropped when she finally did. Clad in a grey v-neck sweater and light wash skinny jeans, she paired the outfit with ankle boots. Her hair was half-up, half-down and softly curled.

“Hey,” she smiled when she saw him waiting. “You ready to go?”

“Born ready. You look great, by the way.”

“So do you, I really like that flannel. You should wear red more often.”

“Thanks,” he blushed, looking down at his shirt. “Aren’t you worried about getting dirty though? We’re going to be walking around in the dirt.”

She laughed. “I don’t plan on rolling around in the dirt.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to ruin your shoes or something.”

“It’ll be fine,” she assured him, before unlocking the car doors and tossing her purse in the backseat. “Climb in.”

He did as he was told, sliding into the passenger seat.

“This is kind of a rare occurrence, huh? Me driving you somewhere,” she observed aloud as she started the engine. She crossed the seatbelt over her lap and glanced over at him.

He shrugged. “I like driving.”

“Yeah, but you’re not my chauffeur. I should drive you around more,” she remarked. “Which would mean that we’d have to go out more.”

He shook his head. “I don’t...we shouldn’t -“

“Oh god, do you think I’m a bad driver?”

“What? No!”

“I swear, I’ve only gotten one speeding ticket in my entire life and I wasn’t even going that fast.”

“Anna, your driving is fine. I was just going to say that you don’t have to worry about driving me around because we shouldn’t really be going places together.”

“Okay then,” she responded, noticeably taken aback. “May I ask why you think that?”

“It just seems like a bad idea.”

“So going to dinner after this is out of the question?”

“We could order takeout,” he suggested. “Or I can cook for you.”

She muttered something inaudible and for a few miles they sat quietly, listening to the radio. He stared out the window and admired the fall foliage, hoping that the day would go by smoothly.

Anna finally spoke up when they were about a mile from the orchard. “So, I want to get enough apples to bake a pie -”

He snorted. “You? Bake a pie?”

“Yeah,” she answered confidently. “I know I’m not great in the kitchen but I’ve never made an apple pie before and I want to try. I could really use your help.”

He glared at her. “Do I look like I’ve made an apple pie before?”

“No, but you’re more competent in the kitchen than I am.”

“Cooking is straightforward. Baking is precise. You mis-measure one ingredient and the entire thing is ruined,” he explained. “That’s why whenever you mention wanting dessert, I always go to the store and buy it.”

“I know the grocery store sells pre-made pie crusts. We can stop there after the orchard, and then that’s one less thing to worry about.”

“I did a little research about the orchard that we’re going to and they sell pies in their store,” he pointed out. “You can save yourself the stress and just buy one.”

“But what’s the fun in that?”

“I guess that’s why we’re going to a farm to buy apples and not to the grocery store,” he remarked, rolling his eyes.

“This is what people do in October. Apple picking, pumpkin picking, corn mazes. It’s fun!”

“They do that stuff to get likes on the Internet, too.”

She didn’t answer, but simply pursed her lips.

He sighed. “Let me guess, you want me to take pictures of you for Instagram?”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t you stop at a Starbucks and get a pumpkin spice latte to pose with while you’re at it?”

“Rude.”

“It’s what people do in October,” he said, mimicking her sentiment from moments ago.

“Stop criticizing fall, it’s my favorite season. And I’ve never had a pumpkin spice latte, so ha,” she said, before sticking her tongue out at him.

“I’m not criticizing fall. I’m criticizing what people do in fall.”

“As we’re pulling into the parking lot of an apple orchard, to pick apples.”

“Your idea, not mine,” he reminded her.

“You agreed to come, mister.”

“Because you need someone to grab the hard to reach apples for you. Remember?”

She shook her head, though a knowing smile spread across her face. “Can you at least try to have fun?”

“No promises,” he answered, a small smile of his own appearing.

The lot was packed with cars, but she was able to find an empty spot with ease. They climbed out of the car, and walked toward the picking area. The attendant at the entrance handed Anna a basket, provided some instructions for them to follow, and told them that the apples would be weighed for purchase when they finished their walk-through.

When they finally entered the picking area, Anna spoke up. “What should we do first? Apples or pictures?”

He shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Apples first, then.”

There were kids and families everywhere, running from tree to tree, snapping pictures, and chattering away. They walked side-by-side along the center path, trying to avoid bumping into the other people. After walking a few feet, her fingertips brushed against his and he bit down on his lip, trying as hard as he could to ignore it. She moved to take his hand in her own, but he gently pulled away and took a step to the side to create a bit of distance between them.

“Do you not want to hold my hand?” she laughed.

“Oh, um,” he started, looking down at his palm before offering it to her. “I do.”

She accepted with a smile, and laced her soft fingers through his. “This is really nice, we should do stuff like this more often.”

“Apple picking is a seasonal thing,” he remarked, trying to deflect.

“That’s not what I meant,” she giggled. “I meant we should go out more in general.”

“Hey, this tree has a lot of apples.” He pulled her toward it, hoping that it would distract her. He dropped her hand and motioned to the tree. “Pick away.”

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not.”

She handed him the basket, and reached for an apple that was hanging near her head. “Yeah, you are. Is something bothering you?”

“No,” he lied. She gently placed the apple in the basket before trying to take it back from him. “Only one apple?”

“This place is huge, we don’t have to get all of our apples from this one tree.”

“I’ll carry the basket for you,” he insisted, hoping that it would prevent her from noticing that they weren’t holding hands anymore. It didn’t work.

“Can you hold it in your other hand? Or should I just walk on the other side?”

“I’ll hold it in my other hand.” He transferred the basket and she immediately took his hand again.

They walked for a while, occasionally stopping at trees and picking a few apples before repeating the same routine. When they were approaching the last section of trees before the weighing station, Anna paused.

“Since we’re almost done and there aren’t that many people over here, we should stop for a few pictures now,” she said, dropping his hand and digging through her bag. “If you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah that’s fine.”

She dug out her phone and handed it to him, dropping her purse by his feet and taking a few steps towards the trees. He placed the basket down next to it before opening up the camera app on her phone.

There was no simple way to describe how beautiful she looked as she posed for the camera; between the sunlight that was bouncing off of her hair and the radiant smile that was spread across her face, she was absolutely ethereal. He was so entranced, that he hardly noticed that she was moving toward him and continued snapping pictures until she was much closer than before.

“Can I see how they came out?” she asked, holding her hand out. He placed the phone in her hand and she swiped through them. “They came out great! You’re a pretty good photographer.”

“I guess,” he shrugged.

She slid her phone into her back pocket and then held out her hand again. “Give me your phone, I’ll take a few pictures of you.”

“I don’t need any pictures of myself.”

“You can post it to your Instagram!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve only posted to Instagram, like, three times. I hardly use it.”

“It’s never too late. Don’t you want your friends to see what you were up to this weekend?”

“Not really. I don’t have a million friends to impress.”

“I don’t have a million friends and I’m not trying to impress anyone,” she scoffed. “I just think that it would be nice.”

“Which is why I took pictures of you for your Instagram. You don’t have to worry about me.”

She opened her mouth to argue back, but was interrupted when a woman approached them. “Hey, would you mind taking a few pictures of my boyfriend and I?”

“Of course!” Anna answered, accepting the phone from her.

The couple posed and Anna snapped a few photos before handing the phone back.

The woman looked through the pictures. “Thank you so much, they look really good. Do you want me to take a couple for you guys?”

Before he could say no, Anna was handing her phone to the woman. She grabbed his arm and dragged him back a few steps. Before he knew it, she was pressed into his side, her arm wrapped tightly around his lower back. He was unsure what to do with his own arms, and at the last minute, he draped his arm around her shoulders. He was positive that the pictures would perfectly encapsulate the tension he was feeling in his face, but he did his best to smile. After what felt like an eternity, the woman handed the phone back to Anna.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it,” she said to the woman, who smiled in return.

“Please don’t put those on the Internet,” he begged once the couple had wandered away.

“Why? You look great,” she said, holding the phone out to him. He took a quick look, and just as he expected, they looked way too couple-y for her to casually post it online.

“Just...don’t.”

“But we look so adorable! I want all of my friends to see it.”

“You’re probably better off just posting the pictures of you alone,” he insisted. “Your friends may get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?”

“You know, they may make assumptions.”

She looked up from her phone, and stared directly into his eyes. “What assumptions do you think they’ll make?”

He didn’t answer, instead choosing to look away from her.

“I need a legitimate reason for not posting this picture,” she insisted. “Tell me, what assumptions do you think my friends will make?”

He hesitated, thinking of how to properly phrase the thoughts running through his mind. “I don’t want people to think we’re a couple when we’re not. It’s weird and embarrassing.”

“We’re not a couple?” she asked incredulously, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

He was suddenly questioning everything he was certain of a mere moment ago. “Are we?”

“I assumed we were! We’re always together, and you know all of my secrets, and not to be too candid in a public place but we have a physical relationship - oh god, have I been reading this wrong? Are we just friends with benefits? Is that why you didn’t want to hold my hand? Are you, like, embarrassed of me?” She blinked a few times, not taking her eyes off of his.

“No!” he exclaimed loudly, causing a few people to turn around and stare in their direction. Grotesquely aware of the fact that people were paying attention, he continued in a hushed voice, “I didn’t think you’d want to be my girlfriend.”

“Why on earth would you think that?” she squawked, raising a shaky hand to her chest.

He could feel his world crumbling around him. “I’m me and you’re...you. You’re amazing and gorgeous and funny and I’m a boring, grumpy homebody.”

“You’re so much more than that; you’re kind and caring and respectful.”

He took a breath, trying to hold it together. “I don’t think I’m as great as you think I am.”

“I’m in love with you, Kristoff,” she confessed suddenly, the words tumbling out of her mouth with little regard as to how they’d be received. “I wasn’t planning on telling you like this, but you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and I need you to know that.”

Though the revelation had hit him like a ton of bricks, for the first time ever, he felt at ease with his own feelings. “I love you, too.”

“You do? You aren’t just saying that because I said it?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean it. I’ve felt this way for a long time but I’ve been too much of a coward to say anything, too busy convincing myself that you’d be better off with someone else.”

She was in his arms, then, squeezing as tightly as she could, her cheek smashed up against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. “You silly, silly boy, we have got to work on this self-deprecating attitude of yours. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry,” he grimaced, biting down on his lip.

“And for the record, I don’t think that I’d be better off with anyone else.”

He nodded against her instead of answering.

“I would kiss you but people are staring at us,” she said, pulling back slightly so she could look up at him but still keeping her arms firmly around his waist. “We should get out of here.”

“Good idea.”

“Can I please take you out to dinner tonight? I know you don’t -”

The smile on his face was enough for her to stop speaking mid-sentence. “That would be great.”

She heaved a sigh of relief, finally letting go of him so she could grab her purse and the basket. They walked hand-in-hand to the weighing station, where she bagged and paid for the apples they’d picked before walking back to the parking lot.

“Thank you for convincing me to come today, Anna,” he said as they walked to the car. “I’m really glad that I came.”

“I’m really glad that you came, too. And I’m glad that we were able to clear up that misunderstanding.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you like that. I spent a long time convincing myself that there was no possible way that you’d want to be with me, and it became believable.”

“I wouldn’t spend every single day with you if I didn’t want to be with you,” she assured him. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,” he nodded.

“I’ve lived on our street for my entire life, and tons of people have come and gone, obviously. I can faithfully say that I have only ever welcomed one person to the neighborhood, and that was you.”

“Really? Why?”

She smirked. “I needed an excuse to talk to the cute boy who was moving in next door.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, feeling his cheeks warm up.

“I haven’t stopped bothering you since,” she said, matter-of-factly.

They climbed back into her car, and buckled their seatbelts before she started the ignition.

“And by the way, you should check Instagram,” she remarked, as she started to back out of the spot.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and launched the app. He had a few notifications, but the most recent one led him to a post that he’d been tagged in. Anna had posted the picture of the two of them with the caption: “All the apples in the orchard, and I’d pick him every time.”

He smiled to himself before liking the picture. “Would you mind sending me the pictures we took? I want my friends to see them.”

#kristanna #kristanna fanfic #anna #kristoff bjorgman #frozen #frozen fic #my writing

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softbiker · 4 years

Text

Agent 14 Oneshot

Warnings: maybe a couple bad words

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: While this is a continuation of the Steve x Agent 14 series, this particular installment has...almost no Steve lol. Just wanted to warn people before I get in trouble for that. It does, however, feature Agents 41 and 28 (from series written by @nacho-bucky and @kentuckybarnes )! Also, I plan on expanding and posting the full “menu” of custom drinks that 14 makes for her friends, so stay tuned for that! As always, enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

She squeals when the ad pops up as she’s scrolling through Instagram.

There it is, in all its glory, right between yet another engagement photo and a “no filter” celebrity selfie.

The S’mores Frappucino.

A towering frozen swirl of sweet vanilla and creamy milk chocolate, topped with the most mouth-watering promise of all: marshmallow whipped cream. And all of it dusted with a generous sprinkle of crushed graham cracker pieces. It’s enough to make 41 want to lick her phone screen.

With a flailing little backwards somersault, she rolls herself off the couch and bounds down the hallway towards Clint’s room, tie-dye socks slipping on the freshly polished floors.

“Guess what season it is?” She flings the door open with one hand, brandishing her phone in the other, her grin nearly splitting her face as she bounces up on her toes, eager to see his reaction - only to pull up short, a soft frown dragging her lips back down. The room is empty.

“Tweets?” 41 glances around the room, taking stock of the discarded socks and inside-out jeans littering the floor, a pair of her own boots flung to one corner, a plush sea turtle smiling at her from the bed. There’s a Sharing Size bag of peanut M&M’s on the nightstand, next to an open can of Red Bull, leaving a ring on the cover of last month’s Men’s Health which he’d permanently borrowed from Sam. She looks up at the ceiling - typically he leaves a vent open as a point of entry if he’s been…exploring up there. But no dice. Their vent remains screwed in place.

Shoving her phone in the front pocket of her hoodie, she backtracks towards the kitchen, rounding the corner from the hallway and sliding into the room Risky Business-style. A blazing mid-morning sun floods the room with light through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bouncing off of the metalwork backsplash and casting sparkles across the empty table. Hands on her hips, she huffs to herself, wondering where he’s run off to, before the clinking of glass bottles catches her attention.

Sticking up from the open door of the fridge is a vaguely familiar yoga-panted ass, waving in the air as its owner rummages through the shelves and drawers, muttering under her breath.

“Nat?” The red curls bounce in her ponytail as she stands at the sound of 41’s voice.

“Oh, hey, kid,” Nat smiles, propping a hand on her hip. If she’s at all bothered by the fact that her friend and coworker just got an eyeful of her backside, she hides it all with a poker face she probably mastered in super spy kindergarten. “What are you up to?”

“Just looking for Clint.” 41 pouts. She shifts her weight to one leg, scratching at her ankle with the toe of one sock. “You haven’t seen him have you?”

Natasha’s eyebrows flicker up as she closes the refrigerator with her hip.

“Oh - he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“The boys are all out for the day,” she sighs, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Some kind of belated bachelor party for Tony - even though he’s been married for a year, he said he missed out on the experience; so he kidnapped all of our male counterparts for the day.” Nat shrugs one shoulder, smirking. “Frankly the concept seems outdated - and sexist. But when has Tony ever listened to me?”

Nat notices the way her shoulders fall, the way her hands roll up inside the sleeves of her hoodie. Poor thing. And she’d come in here looking so excited, too; now her frown settles too deeply at the corners of her lips, eyes cast somewhere on the floor. Abandoning her search for a snack, Nat slides onto a bar stool at the island, propping her chin in one hand.

“You have any plans for today?” she prompts. She’ll deny it till her dying day, but the formerly made-of-marble assassin feels…soft at her core now. No, not her abs - her backflips are as tight as ever; but somewhere behind her ribs, deeper than her muscles, there’s a marshmallowy give to her now - the press of fingers could leave a dent on her.

And that’s why, God help her, she couldn’t stand the sight of 41’s frown. Couldn’t endure the downcast disappointment in her gaze. Couldn’t walk away from her halfhearted, sighing shrug.

“Not really,” 41 mumbles, licking her bottom lip. “I was just gonna see if Clint wanted to go get Starbucks with me. They’ve got the S’mores drink now.”

Pulling her phone from where it’s tucked into the waistband of her yoga pants, Nat quickly swipes through her messages and pulls up a group chat named ‘No Boys Allowed’.

I’m so gonna regret this, she thinks, but she types up her proposal anyway and taps send. Time to assemble.

***********

The bell over the door dings cheerfully, and 14 fights her inner groan long enough to yell over her shoulder, “Welcome to Starbucks!” She doesn’t turn from the drink in her hands, too afraid of spilling the milk (again) and having to remake this caramel macchiato. Gaze intent on the cup in her hands, she drizzles the sides with caramel, watching the sticky sweet goop glide down the walls of the cup. Satisfied that this should meet the customer’s request for “extra, extra caramel”, she reaches for her milk jug, glancing up from the machine where her espresso shots are queueing.

41 waves ecstatically when she meets her gaze over the espresso machine, a suspiciously casual Nat smirking over her shoulder. Wanda is following close behind them, hands shoved in the pockets of a denim jacket, despite the summer heat. Maria is already standing in front of the register, eyeing the menu, with 28 next to her, a pair of dark sunglasses pushed up on top of her head.

14 blinks.

With quick, nimble fingers, she finishes the drink in front of her and sets it up on the mobile order stand, awaiting the customer. Chase, the barista who should be covering front, is nowhere to be seen; but she doesn’t have any other drinks waiting, so she strides up to the register, tilting a curious brow at her friends.

“Ladies,” 14 smiles, tilting her head to one side. “This is…a nice surprise? A kidnapping? A mission?”

“Relax,” Maria says, punctuated with a good-natured eye roll. “We’re just here for the coffee.”

“Oh, sure,” 14 crosses her arms, leaning a hip against the front counter. “You guys are a little short-staffed, aren’t you? Where’s all the testosterone?”

“Looking for a certain star-spangled specimen?” Nat pipes up. Their group has clustered around the register in a close semicircle. “Boys’ day out. Some kind of adventure that will probably land Tony in the doghouse…but then again, he’s partying with a couple centenarians, so how bad could it be?”

“You’d be surprised,” 28 mutters with a quirk of her eyebrows.

In front of a group of super spies, superheroes, and super intelligent women, 14 fights to put on the best poker face she’s ever had in her life. At the mention of Steve - as well as the news he wouldn’t be joining them - Nat watches her closely; the only sign of her disappointment is the way she purses her lips, eyes flicking towards the door as though she might prove them wrong. And then it’s gone, her eyes turning back to her friends, a beaming, nose-scrunching smile fixed on her face.

“That sounds awful,” she giggles. “But very on-brand for Tony.”

A chorus of assent from the ladies, rolling their eyes and scoffing at the endless supply of evidence they have to that fact.

“Alright so…what can I get you?” 14 prompts. As much as she’d like to stand here, chatting with her friends, she’s still on the clock for another hour and a half - and there’s work to be done. Maybe it stings, chafes her heart a little, that this little outing doesn’t quite include her; that she’ll make their drinks and then they’ll leave, and then more drinks for more people for the rest of her shift. But these customers are more pleasant than most, and it’s not as though she won’t see them later, so she shoves down her insecurity and taps at the screen of the register, opening her till.

“Well we were thinking…” Wanda starts, glancing at Natasha. The two share an amused smirk that 14 doesn’t like at all. “…that maybe you could surprise us?”

“Except me!” 41 raises her hand, bouncing up on the balls of her feet. “I haven’t had a S’mores yet this year, I need one! Please?”

Stunned, 14 looks around the group, cocking one eyebrow.

“So…one S’mores, and then - you all want to be surprised?” What a request - she didn’t trust anyone to make a drink for her…that could really backfire.

“Well, you know us,” Nat shrugged. “You know what we like, what we hate, what we won’t drink…”

“Besides, it never hurts to try something new,” Maria smirks.

Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, a slow smile spreads across 14’s face.

“Alright, ladies, say no more-”

It takes her little more than a minute to line up her plan, squinting at each of her friends in concentration, a Sharpie poised to mark each cup, labeled with a name in her characteristic block-print scrawl. They crane their necks over the tops of the machines, trying to see behind the bar and guess what she’s whipping up back there. Ingredients flit through her hands, shaken into one cup, then exchanged for something else for the next. Syrups, cinnamon, juices, toppings. They try and fail to keep it all straight from one cup to the next, but she’s too fast, hands reaching between two drinks at once.

Finally, with a last look over her shoulder, goofily sticking her tongue from the corner of her mouth, she piles 41’s coveted marshmallow whip on top of her drink and sprinkles the graham cracker topping with a generous hand. 41 barely contains her squeal as she grabs 28’s elbow and points at it.

“That one’s mine! Doesn’t it look amazing?”

One by one, she lines up the drinks at the end of the bar, turning the cups so each name is properly shown.

“Alright, so what am I in for?” Maria cautiously waves her drink under her nose, letting the steam waft up from the small opening in the lid. Hers is a hot drink, its contents concealed in a thick paper cup proudly bearing the same green logo as its cardboard sleeve.

“I thought you wanted to be surprised?” 14 smirks, sliding 41’s frappucino across the bar into her glitter-nailed hands. 28 grabs hers as well, a refreshingly cold…something - she plunges in a straw and swirls the ice as she examines the pale pink color of the drink.

“Well, bottoms up girls,” Nat shrugs, inspecting the layer of foam on top of her drink before raising it to her lips. Wanda taps her cup with 41’s before tipping hers up as well. Standing behind the bar, a rag in her hands, 14 gnaws on her lip as she watches them sip her creations. She shifts her feet as she waits for the verdict.

“Wow.” Wanda’s brows shoot up, tongue flicking over her lip. “This is really good.”

“Yeah,” Maria agrees, going in for her second taste.

“Don’t know why you sound surprised,” 41 says around her straw and a mouthful of whipped cream. “Everything she makes is delicious.”

“Oh, thanks,” 14 brushes off the compliments with a one-shouldered shrug. “If you like it I’ll give you the recipe, so you can order it again?”

Various noises of agreement, all enthusiastic, all from full mouths. She smiles, grabs a blank receipt paper from the register and a pen from the pocket of her apron.

“Okay, so yours Wanda is a double dirty chai with cinnamon…”

***********

Folding her apron over one arm, 14 releases her hair from its butterfly clip and reaches for her backpack. She keeps a spare change of clothes folded neatly in the bottom, in case she has to run errands after work and can’t go out covered in coffee and syrup. The bathroom is empty and she ducks inside, slipping into a pair of cutoff shorts and and a tie-dye t-shirt; her faithful sneakers can make it through work and life, thankfully, so she wiggles her feet back into them, not bothering to untie the laces.

It’s been a long day. And a glance at her watch tells her it’s only…1:09 p.m.

Backpack on one shoulder, sunglasses perched on her head, she makes her way back out of the café, pausing at the end of the bar to get her drink.

“Here, girl.” Jade, the barista who made her drink, smiles as she hands her a straw. “You look like you need this.”

“I feel like I need this.” 14 smiles back as she jams her straw into the cup and takes the first sip. Iced blonde americano, 2 pumps toffee nut, a splash of sweet cream. She makes a small noise of pleasure - hits the spot every time.

“See you tomorrow!” she waves to her coworkers as she backs out the door, dropping her sunglasses down to her face as she steps into the unrelenting summer sun. Not two steps out the door, turning to the street, and she nearly bumps into-

“Nat?”

“Hey, long time no see.” Nat wiggles her fingers in a mocking little wave. The rest of their posse is clustered around a couple of bistro tables haphazardly shoved together outside the café.

“What…you guys are still here?” 14 cocks her head to the side. It’s been over an hour and a half at least, their drinks are sitting empty on the tables in front of them. She had assumed they’d be long gone.

“Well, duh,” 41 grins. “We’re going to lunch! And then - oh, we should get pedicures!”

“Oh, can we go to that new Thai place?” Wanda asks, leaning her elbows on the table. “It’s only a couple blocks down from here.”

“God, the things I would do for some egg rolls right about now-” Maria agrees, patting her stomach.

They start to stand from their tables, the metal chairs scraping loudly against concrete, and 28 gathers the empty cups to throw away in the trash cans next to the door. The group shuffles and chatters, eager at the prospect of lunch; purses and wallets are snatched up, phones tucked back into pockets. Wanda leads the way as they march off in pursuit of pad thai and egg rolls, the rest of the group falling in behind her on the sidewalk. Even in the early afternoon heat, they link arms and laugh and stand too close together, sharing giggles and gossip.

Nat lightly bumps 14 with her shoulder, her green eyes gone pale and glittering in the sun.

“You didn’t really think we’d eat and run on you?” she smirks. “Come on, I’m starving.”

14 ducks her head and grins.

“Just one second-” she says, sliding her phone from her back pocket. She snaps a picture of her drink, then smiles at Nat. “Okay, now we’re good.”

Nat rolls her eyes.

“Wow, that was so basic-”

“Shut up.”

A few minutes later, sitting in a blessedly air-conditioned Thai restaurant, she captions the photo ‘new drink for you to try next time - I highly recommend it’ and hits send.

Somewhere across town, shoved cheek by jowl with his buddies in the back of a stretch limo, the interior vibrating with music and lit with flashing LEDs, a super soldier smiles at his phone.

#agent 14 #steve rogers x agent 14 #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic

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semperintrepida · 4 years

Text

The Sellout, chapter five

five: the changing levels

Kyra awoke with something hard jabbing into her thigh. She pulled the sharp corner of a book away from her leg, and blinked back the veil of sleep while she regained her bearings. The chair she sat in was uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and she shifted positions, feeling wool under her fingertips, concrete under her feet. She was still in Kassandra's condo, and this hadn't been some stress-induced dream.

The owner of the book and uncomfortable chair and concrete floor was still sleeping on the couch nearby, blissfully oblivious to her presence.

Kyra glanced out the windows. What time was it? The skies outside were chalkboard black, the city winking back at her through the glass. She touched the screen of her phone awake. Two-thirty in the morning. Opening the shop in three hours was going to suck.

She only had herself to blame. She was the one who'd offered to drive Kassandra home. She could have ignored Kassandra's protests and called an ambulance. Let the EMTs haul her away. Problem solved.

That there was a problem to be solved at all was also Kyra's fault. She'd left the front door unlocked, and the shop's bright lights had drawn that tweaker inside with the gravitational pull of the sun. If she hadn't done that, he wouldn't have been able to attack her, and Kassandra... Kassandra wouldn't have put herself in danger by stepping into his path instead.

The incident took no more than a few seconds. Kyra's memory of it flickered past in still frames from a blurry video, but there was no mistaking the central figure in each one.

Kassandra.

She'd done Kyra a reckless, foolhardy kindness, despite Kyra's best attempts to give her every reason not to.

Kyra looked at Kassandra again. She really was gorgeous, stretched out like a slumbering lion across the couch. Kyra shook the thought away and studied the book in her hands, with its thick cover and mix of heavy paper and vellum pages, hefty for an otherwise small volume. Anne Carson's reimagination of Antigone. I like a good argument, marrow versus marrow...

The moment Kassandra had fallen asleep, Kyra had gone to the bookshelves and found a collection of tomes as tasteful as everything else inside this concrete box of a condo. All the titans were there, from Atwood to Zola, Booker prize-winners rubbing covers with Pulitzers, their spines uncreased and bookstore-fresh.

None of the books had been read. It was as if Kassandra had arranged to fill her bookshelves with a cross section of capital-L literature without bothering to crack them open even once. Kyra had a vision of Mars as seen through an old telescope, its surface cloaked with dark expanses once mistaken for seas until closer inspection revealed them to be as barren as the rest of the planet.

Kyra had rolled her eyes at the fakery, but then her gaze snagged on a book unlike the others, and she realized that her first glance may not have been entirely accurate. Then curiosity took over, which was how a copy of Antigonick had ended up in her hands. Apparently, there was life on Mars after all.

With hours to fill, she'd settled in and started reading, flipping pages in a book so worn that its cover flopped open flat on its own.

Now it was two-thirty in the morning in Kassandra's home, with Kassandra's book in her lap, and she remembered how the Greek chorus in that book sang accusingly at the god of desire: You change the levels of a person's mind.

She stood up abruptly. She returned to the row of shelves, slid the book back where it came from, and studied the others, looking for signs of wear, looking for signs of life.

She was snooping and she didn't care. Kassandra slept on, none the wiser, as Kyra found worn covers on predictable heavyweights like Wolf Hall and The Prince mixed with surprises like Chiang's Stories of Your Life and Others and a copy of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius that was so tattered from use it nearly fell apart in her hands.

She never would have thought Kassandra a stoic. Spartan maybe, given the simplicity of her surroundings, but not stoic.

The surprises kept coming: in the amount of poetry contained in Kassandra's shelves and in the fact that the poetry was more likely to have been read than the prose. And then Kyra hit paydirt, in a heavy, library-bound tome with "Ψάπφω" embossed on the cover, filled with pages of photographic reproductions of what looked to be papyrus fragments.

And in the margins of each page were annotations written in a forceful, propulsive scrawl. English mixed with what looked like Greek. Kyra would have to take the words written in English at face value; despite her Greek heritage, she'd never learned the language or any of its ancient forms.

among mortal women, [know that?] you could release me from every care

Kyra couldn't read the book's title, but she still had a good guess what it was. She turned the page, then the next, skimming translation after translation, some crossed out, others given a second attempt, and then she spotted one that leapt off the page:

someone will [did??] remember us I tell you in another time

The book in Kyra's hands was Kassandra's attempt at translating Sappho.

If studying Kassandra's bookshelves was snooping, this suddenly felt like reading her diary. Kyra shut the book, the covers closing with a loud snap, and she winced and held her breath while Kassandra stirred on the couch.

A momentary rustling, then silence again. Kassandra hadn't woken up. Kyra returned the book to its home on the shelf and went to the windows. There wasn't just life on Mars, but an entire hidden ecosystem, and now having discovered it, she wished she could forget it existed.

She frowned into the darkness. Somewhere to the east, Mount Hood was waiting until dawn to make its grand entrance onto the cityscape. Kassandra's view would be spectacular, as a view from a penthouse should.

Kyra's frown deepened. Penthouse. "PH" in the private elevator that serviced a private garage. Follow the trickle of money down to the space-age car, the hand-tailored suits, the twenty-dollar lattes. She'd missed the obvious, over and over.

A place like this couldn't be bought with a VP's salary — even one at Starbucks. It would take real money, fuck-you money, the kind of money that cascaded from one generation to the next in an endless flow. Kyra looked back at the couch and the woman sleeping upon it.

Kassandra wasn't just rich — she was fucking wealthy.

It made sense now: the careful curation of Kassandra's social media, the steady stream of favorable press, her reluctance to call the cops. It was how someone with vast amounts of money could hide in plain sight, floating through life without needing a security detail to protect her from the crazies like Bezos and Gates did.

But with all that money, why did she even bother with work?

Kassandra would take Kyra's shop, not because she needed to make a living, but because she simply could, and it didn't matter if she liked Marcus Aurelius or read poetry or translated Sappho. She'd do the job and Kyra wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to stop her.

Kyra didn't belong here. Maybe in another time things could have been different. In this one...

She walked across the room and knelt by the couch. "Kassandra. Hey."

Kassandra's eyes blinked open.

"You alive?"

"No," she said, then smiled. "Yes." She glanced around the room. "What time is it?"

"Almost three."

"Shit. I'm sorry." She sounded like she meant it.

"What time's your alarm set for?"

"Five-thirty."

Good. Kyra wouldn't need to stay much longer. "You've lasted this long, you'll probably survive to hear it."

The smile faded. "You sound disappointed."

"Get some sleep," Kyra said. "Five-thirty's coming up fast." She got up before Kassandra could answer, moved back to the chair, sat, and tried not to think of anything while Kassandra's gaze bore down on her with the weight of a hydraulic press.

It took forever before Kassandra's breathing finally relaxed and deepened with sleep, but when it did, Kyra quietly moved across the room and slipped out the front door. Her debt to Kassandra's inexplicable gallantry was paid in full.

The elevator whisked her to the building's lobby, an airy chamber of blonde wood and minimal metal, warm and smelling faintly of lavender. Then she pushed open the glass door, stepped into the cold, damp, river bottom air of the real world, and left Kassandra and her gleaming tower far, far behind.

.oOo.

Eleven o'clock and the Sunday morning brunch rush was still underway. The flow of customers had been steady since she'd opened at six, but as nice as it was to ring up sale after sale, she was running on fumes.

Pete could tell. They'd bumped elbows once and had a few near misses behind the bar, and after that he kept giving her sidelong looks.

She was pulling a shot under his watchful gaze when her patience with him finally frayed. "Say whatever it is you want to say."

"Take a break after this drink. Fifteen minutes would do you good."

And give every person standing in line an excuse to whine on Yelp because their drinks took a few minutes longer than they wanted? "Not yet."

"When?"

She lifted the pitcher of steamed milk, then stopped just before the pour. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn't get them to stop.

He stepped into her space, his bulky powerlifter's body towering over her, and gently took the pitcher from her hand.

She watched silently as he finished the drink for her, and when stillness returned to her hands and forearms, she picked up a to-go lid from the stack and gestured for him to put the drink down on the counter. "When Phoibe comes in," she said.

"Kyra..."

She snapped the lid onto the cup and handed it to the customer waiting on the other side of the counter.

The man sipped his drink and gave her a grateful nod, now fortified with enough caffeine to wait two hours in line for a seat at the diner up the block. Pete was already talking to the next customer, but before he could tell her what to make, a flash of color pulled her eyes to the front door.

A tiny, black-haired Korean woman bustled into the shop, dwarfed by a sprawling bouquet of flowers in her arms. Every eye in the shop turned to watch her walk up to the counter. "Are you Kyra?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"For you, lucky girl." She placed the glass vase at the edge of the counter and stepped back to inspect her work.

Kyra's hand slid into her back pocket for her wallet, but the woman wagged a finger at her and said, "No, no. All taken care of. Enjoy." Then she smiled brightly and disappeared out the door.

Kyra eyed the slice of meadow that had appeared as suddenly as spring: sprigs of white serviceberry blossoms hovering over matte green leaves, pink clusters of sea blush, all nestling contentedly in a bed of ferns, the serrated fronds twined with sweetpea vines in full bloom.

They were the real life inspiration for the tattoo that wound around her right arm, every plant and flower growing wild in Oregon. They'd greeted her every spring, after Nia had taken her in and they began spending the warmer months up at the homestead in Estacada, its lush forest and sparkling river a shocking change of scenery to a gutterpunk who grew up in the grey grime of Portland's streets.

A card peeked out from the greenery, its handwriting familiar. She could almost hear Kassandra saying its words out loud.

Thanks for the ride home — and for looking out for me.

-K

Kyra's ears buzzed and her head swam dizzily as she floated on a curious feeling of elation. Then she blew out the breath she'd been holding. It was the lack of oxygen making her feel loopy. That's all.

So Kassandra was observant. All hunters were. And Kyra would be a fool to think otherwise, that this was anything other than a ploy to soften her up.

Kassandra would be back. The only question was When?

.oOo.

It wasn't Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, and after Thursday crawled by and Kyra had begun to hope that maybe, just maybe, her prayers had been answered and Kassandra had moved on to richer hunting grounds, the door to the shop clanged open five minutes before close.

This time, she didn't even turn around when Kassandra walked up to the counter. She just kept spinning the cup in her hand against the towel she'd been using to dry it off. "How's your head?" she asked.

"Much better, thanks."

She put the cup away with the rest, then turned to Kassandra, noting her lack of suit jacket and the extra button open at the neck of her dress shirt. Working late, perhaps. "I got the flowers."

"Good." Kassandra's face gave nothing away, her answer too short to offer any clues about the purpose of her visit.

"They were beautiful," Kyra said. "Where did you find them?"

"I've been exploring the city in my off hours. Sometimes I end up at a farmers' market and find a Korean family selling the most amazing wildflowers. Sometimes I end up in coffee shops where I find more than I bargained for."

Kyra tossed the towel next to the rack of cups. "Why are you here, Kassandra?"

"You keep asking me that."

"You never give me a good answer."

"I like the way you make coffee."

Kyra folded her arms.

"Ahh, you're not really asking about me then," Kassandra said with an air of amused patience.

She'd guessed wrong, but Kyra didn't correct her.

Eventually, she sighed into the silence. "Like I said, a new flagship store. That's the plan."

"There's already one in the Pearl." A massive shop, three stories high, a layer cake of espresso counters and seating and retail encased in a shiny frosting of glass and steel.

"Seattle has more than one, San Francisco does too. Time to add another on this side of the river. Little Portland's growing up."

Kyra stepped out from behind the counter. This time, she locked the front door before doing anything else. "You'd be better off at the Convention Center than all the way down here," she said over her shoulder.

"Probably. But I wouldn't be doing my due diligence if I didn't know the landscape of the entire east side." Kassandra moved to the windows and began helping flip stools onto the bar. "My offer still stands, by the way."

Kyra stopped mid-flip, then put the stool in her hands back down on the floor. "Suppose I said yes. What do you think I'd do with myself then?"

Kassandra didn't have a ready answer for that. She tilted her head, squinting at Kyra as she thought. "I don't know," she said. She seemed surprised by her own admission. "Take a vacation?"

"You're damn right I would. Someplace nice and sunny with enough five-twelve routes to keep me climbing for weeks. And afterwards, I'd come home and... what then?" She ran her hand along the bar. Ten years ago, she'd rescued the oak plank from the collapsing ruin that had once been the homestead's workshop. She'd attacked it with a sander, finished it with shellac, installed it against the window with her own hands. "Selling this place would net me — what, a hundred thousand if I'm lucky?" Ten years of work, only to end up with less money than she'd started. "That money won't last forever."

A rattle at the front door turned both their heads at the same time. A woman stared back apologetically through the glass. Just someone looking for a last-minute caffeine fix. Kyra mouthed a Sorry and nodded up at the inert neon sign above her head.

"You could open another shop."

"And bust my ass starting over from scratch while waking up every day wondering if today's the day another suit like you is going to show up? That sounds fun." She was tiring of this conversation. "But worrying about things like that isn't something you'd understand."

"What do you mean?"

"How much does a gallon of milk cost?"

Kassandra's eyes narrowed. "Between three and five bucks a gallon around here. I know the price of bananas too in case you think I'm too out of touch to know that either."

The question had pissed her off. Good. Maybe she'd go away sooner. Kyra started sharpening another volley of words, knowing that Kassandra would raise her shield, and look at her with that mirror-finished glint in her eyes she'd used to turn Kyra's pointed remarks aside before. Kyra's heartbeat sped up, ready to rise to the challenge.

Instead, Kassandra's shoulders sagged and a strange expression slumped across her features, one that took Kyra several moments to identify as hurt. It scattered Kyra's snark, and left her with a pounding heart and nothing to say. She stared at Kassandra as the silence grew second by second, and when she was finally able to muster some words, they snuck out from her with a weary softness. "You didn't come here to talk about work, did you?"

"No." Kassandra turned away, straightening the stool she'd lifted onto the bar so its edges were lined up square. "I was hoping to get your help with something."

It was bait. It had to be. The longer Kyra let this conversation keep going, the more likely it was that she'd do something stupid. "My help with what, exactly?" she asked, while her brain howled in frustration.

"I've been invited to a... gala of sorts."

Kyra didn't like where Kassandra was going with this. "A gala," she said flatly. "Like ballgowns and dancing?"

"Not really. More like Patagonia fleece vests and fat wallets bumping into each other."

"And?"

"Will you come with me?"

"I think you're asking someone from the wrong social strata."

Hurt flickered through Kassandra's eyes a second time, but she smoothed it over with a faint smile and didn't miss a beat. "On the contrary, you'll fit in better than you think. It's a fundraiser for the Multnomah County Library."

"Surely I'm not the only person you know who reads books."

"You don't just read books. You climb."

An oddly specific combination. "You're plotting something."

"Nothing shady, I promise. Just come with me and talk to people. It'll only be a couple of hours — and there'll be an open bar."

Kyra was half-tempted to lie and say she didn't drink. "You actually think I'll say yes to this? I don't even—" Like you, she meant to say.

"It'd be an excellent opportunity to expand your network," Kassandra said, but then she shrugged off her own suit-speak with a grin. "Anyway, the Library wants to build a new children's wing, and I'm on a mission to separate some people from their money for a good cause. I think you can help me do that."

Think of the children. Kassandra's audacity seemed to have no bounds. "When is this thing?"

"Saturday night."

Shady or not, Kassandra was up to something, and saying No would cut Kyra off from any chance of finding out what it was. "Fine. Two hours, then I'm done," Kyra said. Against reason, against her better judgement, brain still howling as—

Kassandra's face lit with a triumphant smile.

The kind of face that made Kyra do stupid things.

Chapter five of The Sellout. Continued in chapter six...

Author's Note: The translations of Sappho herein are loosely reworked versions of Carson's, from her foundational translation "If Not, Winter."

"among mortal women..." is a snippet from fr. 23.

The "did??" in Kassandra's translation of fr. 147 is a reversal of Casaubon's commonly-accepted emendation that changed "did remember" to "will remember". (Oh, to have a photo of the original papyri so I could puzzle out what the text actually said, but I'm no classics scholar...)

#kassandra #kyssandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #god this fic is such an indulgence lol #subtle as a sledgehammer #but i'm beginning to have a clear picture of where i want it to go #my relationship with this story has taken a strange turn #for better or worse #the sellout

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ceruleanmusings · 3 years

Text

Fireworks

Summary - The pitching became frequent as of late, a strange topsy-turvy sort of flutter accompanied with an irregular heartbeat. He'd confided in Ray at one point, supposing he was suffering from some sort of medical emergency. Ray merely laughed, a sparkle gleaming in his golden eyes, telling him he'd be fine. Happy New Year! Pairing - Kai Hiwatari x Crystal Manning (OC) Fandom - Beyblade Contains - watching fireworks, a skittish dog, actually feeling feelings for the first time Note - Happy New Year, everyone! What better way to celebrate the year from hell that was 2020 finally ending than to write Kai agonizing over having feelings for someone for the first time? I also didn't anticipate the challenge I would be facing trying to write Kai grappling with having feelings for someone when he's not much of a talker but I had fun with it! Enjoy!

Also on FFN

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A pounding boom from the blooming flower overhead nearly drowned out a yelp.

Kai’s eyes opened with a snap and his relaxed posture against the side of Mr. Dickenson’s home stiffened, eyes darting around the stretching expanse of lawn. When seconds passed and any sort of danger failed to make its’ presence known, his shoulders lowered from his ears and his tense muscles eased. One of these days he’d be able to live his life without needing to be ready at a moment’s notice to drag his teammates away from whatever calamity they dove into headfirst. It took a full minute for his clenched jaw to ease and trust that, indeed, no danger had presented itself. Habits die hard, even at the onset of a new year.

Crossing his arms, he resumed his previous leaning position only to snap to attention at another yelp following a burst of green up in the black sky. So he hadn’t been hearing things; in fact he’d heard the sound once before when he’d accidentally stepped on Hana. She always had to be at his heels, following him around his home, kneading at his feet, staying close. And yet now she was nowhere to be found.

Eyebrows crinkling, Kai scanned the backyard again, taking care to sweep over his friends huddled together beneath large wool blankets Mr. Dickenson provided them, faces tilted upwards for the light show. Mr. Dickenson had retired to his room a few hours ago; Kai supposed with the man being his age, he’d seen enough new years to last him. His friends, however, nearly vibrated with excitement the closer time edged towards midnight.

A hum rumbled in his chest, finally spotting Hana curled up in Crystal’s blanket-covered lap. Her body formed a tight C, her tail tucked tight next to her hind leg. Head laying near her paws, her dark lips quivered, and her big, wet eyes blinked with every color-filled pop overhead. Crystal’s hand gently scratched at Hana’s copper coated back, her other hand covering one ear. It was with another resounding gold-tinted boom did he notice the wince on her face and the tremble rippling her body.

“I know, Hana, it’s a little loud isn’t it?” she said, glancing down at the shiba inu. Her smile, once so wide and exuberant, waned to a wobbly, lopsided feeble effort.

Something pitched hard in Kai’s stomach at the sight of it, something he would much rather not put a name or a label to even if he couldn’t ignore it outright. The pitching became frequent as of late, a strange topsy-turvy sort of flutter accompanied with an irregular heartbeat. He’d confided in Ray at one point, supposing he was suffering from some sort of medical emergency. Ray merely laughed, a sparkle gleaming in his golden eyes, telling him he’d be fine.

Another firework exploded overhead; another yelp punched the air. Whether it came from Hana or Crystal Kai wasn’t sure. He gritted his teeth, his fingers twitched against his crossed arms. Was he supposed to do something about it? Hana he could help and no one would bat an eye, but how could he help her? Fix that problem? His team was chock full of them, problems that is, and he tended to be the one to fix them lest he wanted to be driven insane by their inane grievances. And, okay, maybe after all these years being a team, their well-being, whether physical or personal, became important to him. The happier they were, the less effort he had to put into keeping them that way.

But Crystal, well…they were…hmm.

Kai could admit their relationship had shifted over the past couple of months. He didn’t mind her presence, in fact he found himself more at peace with her knowing he didn’t have to worry she’d say or do something stupid he’d then end up needing to drag her out of. They weren’t together though he didn’t mind their time spent together lately: early morning walks with Hana through the farmer’s market for her to get ingredients for dinner (apparently going the crack of dawn is the best time to get fish), quiet study sessions at a nearby Starbucks, lying on the soft grasses of the riverbanks as the team got a few blading matches in nearby, reading after dinner, she tried to teach him mahjong and he tried to teach her chess (both to disastrous results), somehow she’d even convinced him to take up yoga which he didn’t hate, and if he had a particularly hard time sleeping, well, there were worse people to be up eating ice cream out of the carton with.

They were…they were something.

And it was that something which had him tense on two folds, to move and to remain in place. No one else noticed Crystal’s discomfort, her attempt at standing strong to see the fireworks despite the pain it brought her. Of course she could always go inside but she wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t rob herself of an experience with her friends on such a spectacular scale. Who would want to watch the fireworks inside on a nice night?

Still, she didn’t need him to protect her. He knew this. Her independence streak may as well be painted across her face, she could hold her own and not just in the beydish or the gym. Still, if they were…something, shouldn’t he be doing something?

Kai’s eyes flickered over to Tyson, squinting at the grin on his face, the relaxed rounding of his shoulders, the ease to his arm slung around Hilary’s jacket-covered shoulders. Tyson’s jacket, Kai noted with a lip curling sneer. Hilary pulled one lapel tight across her chest, keeping warmth in, and, with her free hand, laced her fingers with Tyson’s, a pleased flush reddening her cheeks. They sat close, Hilary leaning into Tyson’s side, eyes skyward, Tyson’s eyes on her. Next to him Kenny droned on and on, something about the chemical makeup of the fireworks to create different shapes and colors. Not that it mattered, Tyson’s gaze wouldn’t be shifted even if a buffet had been laid in front of him.

Fucking Granger, making it all look so damn easy. How that immature buffoon managed to land himself a girlfriend, let alone Hilary, he’ll never know. (Okay, it was inevitable Tyson and Hilary would either kill each other or get together. He always thought Hilary would have some sense about aligning with him, but if she got Tyson to be less…Tyson, then Kai would count his blessings.) Still, how was Tyson able to crack the secret code about being…something with someone? He couldn’t figure out even the most basic Sudoku puzzles without gorging a hole in the paper due to his heavy erasing, but, somehow, he made a relationship with Hilary work? It rankled.

“Whoa! Check out that one!” Max uttered, pointing upwards in the sky at a blue explosion.

“Dude, it looked so much like a beyblade right?” Ray commented, his grip tightening around a steaming mug.

Hana let out a high-pitched squeak and Crystal sighed, uncovering her ear to cover both of Hana’s. “We should probably get inside.”

Huffing out a growl of a breath—frustration or resolution, Kai didn’t place—he pushed off the wall and, in a few strides, reached his friends. His hand cupped her shoulder when she began to rise, and she turned a surprised and curious gaze up at him. He pressed down on her shoulder; she caught the hint, settling back on the ground, cuddling Hana close to her chest. Kai settled on the cool grass behind her, sliding his hands up the lines of her neck, pressing on her pointed ears.

In a matter of seconds it occurred to him how much of a bad idea it was: being this close, getting a strong whiff of jasmine from her inky blue-black hair, taking in heat radiating from her body when she leaned against his chest, seeing Hana so content wrapped in her protective hold.

His stomach swooped hard and heat crawled up his neck, reddening tendrils stretching and reaching like ivy on a wall. He gulped, shifting rising lump in his throat and wondered if she felt the thrumming of his heart at her back. He really should have gotten that second opinion.

He chanced a glance to the right only to take in that familiar sparkle in Ray’s eyes and a stretching, curling smile Kai suddenly wanted to wipe from his friend’s face. Nothing good came of it, not especially the air of amusement wrapped around it. Kai lifted his chin, waiting. With raised brows, Ray brought his mug to his mouth, took a sip, and broke eye contact.

Closing his eyes in a slow blink, Kai took in a (jasmine scented) breath and turned his eyes up to the flaring sky, taking care not to focus on the fact he swore Crystal outright purred at his thumbs brushing against the backs of her ears before uttering a soft, “Thanks Kai”.

They were something, it was the best label he could offer in the circumstances.

As for the swooping, it came with a striking clarity like the glittering shower above:

Fireworks.

#beyblade #beyblade ficlet #beyblade oc #kai hiwatari #beyblade!crystal manning #my writings #first fic of the new year!#have kai being a lovestruck doofus

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accioharry · 4 years

Text

just stay for a moment & heal with me | brightwell (post 1x10)

dani reunites with malcolm after his kidnapping.

this fic is based off the song All of the Love in the World by Lily Kershaw. I fell in love with it and it's literally brightwell and now I'm emotional!!!

read here on ao3 | word count: 3.2k

Dani woke up to her phone ringing on her nightstand. She grumbled, knowing full well she put her phone on do not disturb before she fell asleep. The moonlight coming in from her window allowed her to see in the darkness as she fumbled for her phone, answering it without even checking the caller ID.

“We got him,” Gil’s voice came through before she could even say anything. “Malcolm…we…we got him.” His voice was full of emotion, as though he couldn’t believe it himself.

She shot up like a light, suddenly fully awake. Her hand shook as she gripped the phone. “What…what? Is he...” she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Where? How?”

“He’s alive, but it’s not looking good Dani,” Gil’s voice cracked. “Just…get here, to the hospital.”

Dani had never obeyed an order so quickly as soon as Gil hung up the phone, presumably calling JT or Edrisa. She nearly fell out of bed, rushing to her dresser to throw on a pair of jeans and an old college T-shirt. Her mind was racing in a thousand different directions. They got him. They got him…They saved him.

It had been six weeks since Malcolm disappeared, taken by the Junkyard Killer. Six weeks of Dani crashing on the couch at the station, of Gil and Jessica fighting, of JT not cracking a single joke. Six weeks of Ainsley bringing coffee for the team on her way to work every morning and Edrisa bringing homemade desserts every other night. Six weeks of exhausting every resource, every lead, every interview, and they always came up with nothing. For six weeks, Dani had never felt so alone.

Malcolm Bright came into her world unexpectedly, crashing into her life like a hurricane. At first, she didn’t know what to make of him. Here was the son of The Surgeon, one of the world’s worst serial killers, brought onto a case without any clarification from her colleagues. Within hours of meeting he was in her arms waking up from the worst nightmare she had ever seen someone go through. She frantically caught him as he held a person’s hand in a cooler after a bomb had gone off in a building. She made sure he stayed alive the night he accidentally got high, admitting to him more about her past than she had ever planned on sharing.

That was the night she started to feel things for Malcolm Bright, but she’d never admit that. The night he told her she could trust him, and the night she decided to let him in.

Then he was gone.

The drive to the hospital was the longest drive of her life. It was raining but Dani didn’t think about running back inside for an umbrella. At 2 am the only thing on her mind was Malcolm. An ambulance passed her apartment complex as she was walking to her car, and her heart stopped. The chances of it being Malcolm were next to nothing as she knew darn well Gil would have a police escort to the hospital, but it still made her pause. It still made her heart drop as the rain fell on her.

The street lights felt like spotlights as she drove. Each one highlighting a different part of her short time with Malcolm Bright. She smiled to herself as she remembered when Malcolm brought her tea, or when he told her that her hands were too cold. She didn’t bring gloves and knew JT would tell her she’d get hypothermia, but she didn’t turn back. Her hands were cold and all she wanted was Malcolm to get the chance to tell her that one more time.

She parked badly but didn’t stick around long enough to check. She followed the sounds of sirens to the back of the hospital, to the ambulance entrance. She recognized Gil helping Jessica and Ainsley out of a police car, no doubt he sent an officer to pick them up.

“Gil!” She called, running to catch up to them. She was out of breath by the time she reached them, Jessica putting her arms out to steady her. In the past six weeks, Jessica and Ainsley Whitly had become something of a family to her, another part of Malcolm’s life she never thought would intertwine with her own.

“Dani, where’s your umbrella?” Ainsley asked. Dani shook her head.

“Where is he?” She asked as they walked into the ER. There were cops everywhere.

“They flew him in about a half-hour ago, he’s in surgery,” Gil explained. A helicopter meant things were serious…it meant Malcolm didn’t have a lot of time left.

“Where was he? What happened?” Dani knew she was still shaking, but she wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the cold.

Gil pulled her and Ainsley aside as Jessica spoke to doctors across the room. “I need to prepare Jessica and Ainsley for this, but I meant what I said on the phone, it’s not good.” He gestured for Ainsley to step aside. She refused.

“Gil,” she protested. If Dani had learned anything about the Whitly family in the past six weeks, they all were extremely stubborn and resilient. Asking Ainsley to walk away would be asking Malcolm to walk away from a homicide case. It wouldn’t happen.

Gil stared at the two for a moment before nodding. “We found him about two hours north of here, in the middle of nowhere in a cabin. Watson was shot on scene after he attempted to shoot at officers. Malcolm was in the basement.”

“What was his condition?” Ainsley asked.

“He…he was barely conscious. I got to him first and he was dehydrated, starved, and badly injured. There was…a lot of blood. He was holding on for us, and when they prepared to take him to the hospital...” he trailed off.

“He what?” Dani asked. When Gil didn’t answer she raised her voice and asked again, “What happened?”

Nothing could have prepared her for when Gil said the words, “His heart stopped.”

Suddenly, Ainsley had dropped into the chair behind her. Dani was frozen, stuck standing in what felt like hell. This had to be hell because what could be worse than this? She didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt a teardrop.

“No,” she mumbled. “He didn’t die, he’s…he’s in surgery. He’s going to be fine, right? Gil, please tell me he’s going to be fine.”

“Dani, I can’t promise anything…you know that.”

“I should’ve been there!” She argued. “I should’ve been with him! Why didn’t you take me with you? Why’d you send me home tonight?”

“It was a long shot, Dani, you’re too close to this. The FBI said they didn’t want any of us there, I fought tooth and nail just to override that for myself. I did my best, but I knew it was better to not disappoint you again in case we came home empty-handed.”

“But you didn’t come home empty-handed,” her voice broke. “Gil…I can’t…” she sobbed, feeling Ainsley’s arm pulling her down into the chair next to her.

“Dani,” she started. “He’s going to be fine, he held on for us, remember that. He held out until we got him, now we have to hold on for him.”

Dani nodded, looking up when she heard footsteps entering the room. JT and his wife came in, both looking frantic and confused. Both were speaking to Gil in hushed tones, probably not to alert Jessica. Dani knew Gil would tell her in a few minutes, but wanted to spare her the pain for as long as possible. JT came to her, pulling her into his arms, and Dani let herself cry.

Malcolm was in surgery for eight hours. Gil broke the news to Jessica about Malcolm’s heart stopping, and Dani feared she’ll never forget the sound of Jessica Whitly’s heart shattering. Gil and JT did their best to comfort her, reminding her that Malcolm was still alive, just as Ainsley had to remind Dani. Regardless, his heart had stopped. They got there in time, but was it enough?

Dani paced the halls of the ER for the first few hours until Edrisa showed up around 4 am. She took one look at Dani and shuffled her and Ainsley out the door to the nearest 24 hour Starbucks down the street. Together the three of them sat and watched the sunrise, as the city woke up and began their day. Cars honking, people running in for coffee before work, even doctors from the hospital coming between their shifts.

“How can the world still be going?” Ainsley had asked at one point, her eyes not leaving her coffee cup. “How are they so oblivious to what’s happening?” Her voice was so quiet, it reminded Dani that even though she was hurting, Ainsley was hurting more. She was still Malcolm's baby sister, the one who saw his night terrors first hand and slept on the floor of his room when they were children. Dani didn’t say anything, but Edrisa reached over and took Ainsley’s hand.

They got back to the hospital around 7 am, not even realizing they had spent the past three hours in a coffee shop. Dani felt guilty but also knew the fresh air was good for her. They had brought back breakfast for everyone else, even though Ainsley had begged Jessica to go with them, knowing it was no use. The ER was different, a shift change meant new nurses and new doctors, new families waiting for their loved ones. A doctor had come out at one point, briefing Jessica and Gil about something Dani didn’t understand. Something to do with his brain activity and that was all she needed to force herself not to listen anymore.

Malcolm was out of surgery at 10 am.

By some miracle, his heart kept beating. The next 12 hours were critical for his brain, but things were looking positive. A doctor had the group moved into a private waiting area in the hospital as Malcolm was taken to be admitted to the ICU. He had a punctured lung, a few broken ribs, and had wounds on his abdomen causing him to bleed out, most likely from a knife of some sort. His lack of oxygen and his heart working to make up for the lost blood is what put him in the cardiac arrest.

Right now, Malcolm needed blood and a lot of it. The critical part was until Malcolm woke up, there was no way to tell how much damage was done to his brain during his arrest.

Dani refused to go home and change, let alone leave the waiting room. Jessica, Ainsley, and Gil went into the ICU first, not wanting to overwhelm Malcolm or the nurses. The doctors were slowly taking him off the sedation medication, but the time it would take him to fully wake up would at least be a few days. Regardless,

Dani knew she was here for the long haul, regardless of the circumstances.

Ainsley came back around thirty minutes after she had gone into the ICU. Her eyes were red and her face was stained with tears. Her normally curled blonde hair was falling out of the messy bun she had it in when she arrived, and Malcolm’s old college sweatshirt looked as though she had been chewing on the sleeves from her nerves. She sat down in the chair next to Dani, tucking her feet under her.

“How is he?” JT asked after a moment of silence. Ainsley took a deep breath, fiddling with the sleeves of Malcolm’s sweatshirt.

“He’s on a lot of morphine,” she started. “The nurse said he could potentially hear us talking to him, but he wasn’t reacting to anything Mom or Gil were saying,” she wiped tears from her eyes. “They aren’t giving him any more sedation medication, so he could start waking up in a few hours or as long as a week.”

“How are his injuries?” Edrisa asked, sipping her coffee.

“It’s hard to tell. The doctors decided he didn’t need to be on a ventilator because he never crashed during surgery and his heart rate was able to maintain normal levels once they started the blood transfusion. The nurse who changed his bandage on his stomach said it looked better already compared to when he came in, but he isn’t out of the woods yet. Not until we know his brain function.”

“Go see him, Dani,” JT said. Dani shook her head.

“Family only,” she muttered, nodding to Ainsley. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“Gil pulled strings. We all can’t go in together until he’s out of ICU, but I can sneak you in Dani.” Ainsley stood up. “He’ll want to hear your voice.”

Dani had never been in an ICU. It was a small unit with nurses at every turn. Code blue machines were parked in the hall, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Dani noticed one was outside Malcolm's room as they went in. Gil and Jessica had stepped out of the room when she and Ainsley arrived.

Dani covered her mouth with her hand to hold in her cries when she saw Malcolm. He looked so vulnerable, so broken lying in that hospital bed. He was connected to too many machines to count, one for his oxygen, one for his heart, and one for monitoring his brain function. Ainsley nudged her so she’d walk into the room.

“He might hear you if you talk to him,” she muttered, before stepping out herself.

Tentatively, Dani walked towards the bed. If you took away all the machines, Malcolm just looked as though he was sleeping. He had a bandage on his forehead, one on his chin, and Dani knew the rest were under his hospital gown. The only sounds in the room were the machines, and Dani was so grateful to hear the heart machine. It meant he was here, that he was alive.

He was home.

She moved to walk around the bed, but her hand brushed his. She pulled back…he was so cold.

“Your…your hands are cold,” she said, forcing her voice not to break. She stared at him for a moment waiting for him to blink, to smile, to laugh, even though she knew he still had the sedation medication in his system. Gently, Dani put his hand in her own, careful not to pull on his IV. She tucked it under the blanket. The nurses would have to access his IV for medication, but for now, Dani wanted him to be warm. He needed to be warm.

Malcolm woke up three days later.

Even though she wanted it to, life didn’t stop. Dani was needed at the station and was grateful Gil had placed her and JT on desk duty while Malcolm was in the hospital. It wasn’t safe for them to be in the field when their minds were somewhere else.

Dani had gotten into a routine of going to the hospital after work, meaning that during the day she was going stir crazy sorting through case files that needed to be digitalized. On day three, she had enough. She told Gil she was taking a sick day, and he had smiled at her knowingly, gesturing his head in the direction of the hospital.

Dani stopped at home to grab another book and a coffee. It felt like a lifetime ago when she and Malcolm had gotten into the topic of reading and Malcolm had a list of book recommendations at the tip of his tongue. Most were about serial killers, not surprisingly, but Dani had taken note anyways. She didn’t look at the list while he was gone, but now had a small pile of books on Malcolm’s hospital nightstand that she had read. When everyone stepped out to speak with doctors, Dani even read out loud to him.

She wasn’t expecting Ainsley to run at her when she entered the ICU. Dani panicked, what happened? What went wrong?

“He’s awake!”

It took Dani a moment to process what Ainsley said. “What…what?”

“Apparently it happened last night. My mom didn’t call me because she wanted me to sleep, but I found out when I got here this morning. He’s been responding to us most of the day, but sometimes he struggles, especially because his body has been through so much. They’re going to sedate him so he can sleep without night terrors tonight because they don’t want him to hurt himself.” Ainsley let out a huge breath, having said all of that without pausing.

“But…” Dani shook her head. “His brain? It’s fine?”

“It looks like it, physically anyways,” Ainsley’s voice softened. “He isn’t talking about anything he’s been through; he just stops talking if we come close to mentioning it. Even if I tell him about things that have happened while he was…missing…he stops.” She shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s more than I expected to be honest,” she looked back at his hospital room. “He’s been asking for you. I’m going to call my mom,” she patted Dani on the shoulder on her way out of the ICU.

It took Dani longer than she’d like to admit to getting her legs moving towards Malcolm’s room. Once she had processed everything Ainsley had said, she nearly sprinted to his room at the end of the hall.

Malcolm was watching something on the television, the curtains of his room pulled back to let the light in. He was sitting up in bed and once he heard her, his eyes turned to Dani. As soon as their eyes met, Dani knew she was going to cry again. She rushed to his bedside.

“Hey,” she smiled softly, not wanting to overwhelm him. God, she missed those blue eyes. She gently sat herself in the chair next to his bed, fully prepared for

Malcolm to ignore her when he turned back to the TV.

“You said my hands were cold,” he whispered. Dani wasn’t sure if it was the mental or physical trauma that made him speak so quietly.

She wiped her tears with her sleeve. “You heard me,” she murmured.

He nodded. “You read to me…it was nice.” She moved to cover his hand with her own. He wasn’t cold anymore.

His eyes found her own. “Thank you for finding me.” It was the first time he acknowledged the past six weeks.

“That was all Gil…I wasn’t there,” Dani felt the guilt build in her stomach. She bit her lip to stop herself from breaking down in front of him.

“You were,” he murmured, a tear falling down his face. “You were always with me.” He had visibly relaxed since she had entered the room, and his hand that was in hers held on tight, as though he was afraid she’d let go. She didn’t.

He was silent for a while and Dani assumed he had fallen asleep. She muted the TV and with one hand, awkwardly reached in her bag for the book she brought. She looked up to see that Malcolm’s eyes had met her own once more.

“Can you read it out loud?” He asked.

Dani nodded, reaching with her arm to brush the hair out of his face. “Yeah, I can.”

Malcolm smiled softly and drifted off to sleep. Thirty minutes later, that’s how Jessica and Gil found them: Malcolm with his hand in Dani’s, her head in his lap, with the book half opened, both sleeping soundly.

#my fics #lol hi i wrote a thing #prodigal son #malcolm x dani #malcolm bright #dani powell #otp: the one i like talking to #brightwell fic #prodigal son fic #one shot #malcolm bright fic #prodigal son fox

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wherepoetswentodie · 4 years

Text

Save Our Worry For the Morning

Thanks to this anon for putting this idea in my head, also if anyone knows the post lmk?

~~~~~~~~

Connor stumbled, bleary eyed, out of the bar. Not because he was drunk and at the tail end of a wild night out, but because he had just done a thirteen hour shift and not feeling great about the fact. He collapsed into his car and rested with his head against the steering wheel for a moment, feeling quite sorry for himself; not only was he running off just five hours sleep (and he had learned the hard way that that amount of sleep was not nearly enough to function), but he had spilled three different cocktails down his favourite trousers. (And that was a nother thing he had learned the hard way; don’t wear your favourite trousers to work).

God, he hated drunk people in bars. It was in times like these that he didn’t understand why he had chosen to work in a bar in the first place.

After he had taken enough time to feel sorry for himself, he pulled out of the carpark and began his drive home, comforted only by the Madonna on the radio and the fact that he knew there was a warm bed with a nice boyfriend snuggled up in it waiting for him.

He opened the front door of the apartment as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Kevin’s sleep - because there really was no one quite as grumpy as a half asleep Kevin Price.

Connor froze on the threshold, however, when he spotted two empty Starbucks cups on the coffee table. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he tried to tell himself that Chris and James might have been around and could have easily left them behind, but he could see Kevin's name scrawled across them both. That didn’t mean anything, Connor told himself, because Kevin drank a lot of tea and even more hot chocolate. It wasn’t as though coffee was the only drink that Starbucks offered.

He passed by the coffee table and out into the hall, listening out for Kevin. When he stopped outside of the kitchen door and heard the rarely used coffee machine bubbling away, his heart dropped to his stomach. The machine had been a housewarming gift from some co-worker of Kevin’s. Connor only ever used it when he had a long shift ahead of him, and Kevin only used it when...well, Connor didn’t like to think about why he used it.

Taking a deep breath, Connor pushed the door open and peered inside. Through the darkness, he can just about see Kevin stood leaning against the counter, shoulders slumped and a cup of coffee held in both hands. Connor clenched his jaw and flicked the kitchen light on, alerting Kevin of his presence.

“Oh,” Kevin said, blinking in the light, “Hi. How was work?”

“It was OK,” Connor said, “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Kevin said, “Yeah, it was good,”

“Lets go to bed,” Connor said, trying not to address the elephant in the room, “It’s late,”

Kevin shook his head, “No, it’s OK, I’m not tired. I’ll be there later, though,”

Connor sighed, “What’s wrong, love?”

Kevin stared at him with tired, bloodshot eyes. His lips looked more chapped than Connor remembered them being when he left for work, and he could only assume that it was because he’d been biting them all day and Connor’s heart broke when he thought about how many panic attacks he might have suffered through alone.

“How do you...how do you do that?”

“Do what?” Connor asked.

“Always know what’s going on in my head?”

Connor smiled and hesitantly walked towards him. He took the mug out of his hands and reached round him, pouring it down the sink.

“Because I’m smart,” Connor said, brushing Kevin’s hair out of his eyes, “and because we’ve been together for five years and you can’t hide anything from me anymore. Even if you try,”

“It’s not that I want to hide things from you,” Kevin said hurriedly, “I just - I don’t want you to worry about me,”

Connor sighed, “You can talk to me about anything, my love,”

Kevin sniffled and wiped his eyes, “It’s getting bad again,”

“Drinking coffee isn’t going to help,” Connor said, gently placing a hand on his knee, “You know that,”

“I know, but I - whenever I close my eyes, I’m back in that camp and I can’t - I can’t get away,” he whispered, his voice shaking, “I can - I can never get away from him. Why can I never get away from him, Con?”

“Hey, Kev, look at me. Look at me, baby,” Connor said softly, gently cupping his face, “You’re not anywhere near him. It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s just me and you here. He’s never going to hurt you again, I promise,”

“Sometimes I don’t know why you want to be with me,” Kevin mumbled, “I’m a lot,”

Connor did not miss the egotistical Kevin Price that he had first met all those years ago, but he occasionally wished that Kevin could have retained some of his ego. He hated Kevin’s lack of confidence, and how it dropped even more when he fell into states like this.

“Why would I not want to be with you, Kev?” Connor laughed, picking up his hand and kissing the back of it.

“Sorry,” Kevin whispered, as though he had anything to apologise for, “It’s late. You can go back to bed. You’re in work tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Connor shook his head, “It’s OK, I’ll call in sick,”

“You don’t have to-”

“The bar can survive without me for one night, I think,” Connor said.

“So can I,”

“I know you can,” Connor smiled, “but you don’t have to,”

Kevin looked at him with what might have been the ghost of a smile before he nodded his head and muttered the tiniest, “okay,” under his breath.

“Let’s go to bed,” Connor said, gently tugging his hand until he jumped down from the counter, “Or I’m going to fall asleep standing up,”

“I told you, you can go to bed,” Kevin said, “I’m okay here,”

Connor shook his head, “Come on, Kev. You’ll feel better,”

It took awhile to convince him to come to bed. Connor knew it was because of the nightmares, and he hated that he could never do anything but hold him in the naive hope that this might just make them go away.

One of the things that would always amuse Connor about Kevin was his insistence on being the little spoon. Their height difference often made Connor feel like a backpack when he was holding him, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. Besides, it helped Kevin sleep, and even though Connor knew that he wouldn’t get a healthy amount ofsleep, two hours was always better than none.

“Comfy?” Connor whispered, pressing tentative kisses into Kevin’s hair.

Kevin shifted slightly, pressing back into Connor and gripping onto the hands that were clasped around his waist so tightly that it almost hurt.

“Comfy,” Kevin whispered back. He paused for a moment, “Sorry. I know you hate me when I’m like this,”

“No, I don’t,” Connor said firmly, “I hate it when you’re like this because you’re hurting and I don’t like that, but I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You know that, Kevin.”

“Sorry,”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for,” Connor said, nuzzling his nose into his hair, “Try and sleep now, okay? We can worry tomorrow,”

“Okay,” Kevin whispered in a way that could only be described as child-like, “I - I love you,”

“I love you, too,”

Connor felt him fall asleep; felt his breathing slow down and his body go limp, the grip on his hands loosening slightly, followed by the gentle sound of his snores. Slowly, Connor followed suit, his eyes fluttering shut of their own accord. He knew that it was a pointless task; either the amount of caffeine in his system or dreams about the General would catch up with Kevin and he’d be wrenched out of sleep and, in turn, Connor.

But for now, they could relax and save their worry for the morning.

#tbom #tbom musical #McPricely #elder price #elder mckinley #kevin price #connor mckinley #who asled for this? no one #but youre getting it anyway

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vincent-frankenstein · 5 years

Note

(OTP list)41. "Wait, stay right there- I've got a song for you" with Remile please

me? projecting my insomnia on another helpless fictional character? it’s exactly as likely as you think. no i cannot be stopped.

im sorry this took so longgg but,,, i think it came out pretty good and i had fun writing it so !!! hope u enjoyyy

it was an absolute joy to write this prompt ;3c

It was nearly four A.M., and Emile hadn't slept a wink.

He'd tried, sure. But no amount of chamomile tea and handy breathing techniques could seem to break through the fog of buzzing restlessness that had seeped into his bones. It grated against the exhaustion woven through his mind and kept him up pacing for hours on end. If Remy were there, he'd joke about how he'd rubbed off on him.

He wished Remy was there. He knew insomnia better than the back of his own hand, and he always knew how to help Emile through it. Besides, nothing ever felt quite as bad when he was by Emile's side. He'd make some stupid joke or smile at Emile with those perfect, sparking eyes and everything keeping him awake would vanish. Maybe he should text him —

Something clattered out on the fire escape, and Emile paused, eyes widening. The fire escape creaked and groaned beneath something's weight and Emile whirled around, his sleep-deprived mind instantly conjuring dozens of ideas of what it could be, and as the curtains fluttered in the open breeze he couldn't help but wonder if, by leaving the window opened, he'd sealed his own fate.

Then a figure yanked the curtains back and peered inside, and all his worries disappeared. "Remy?" he whispered, wrapping his blanket tighter around his shoulders as he made his way to the window. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to check on ya, girl!" Remy declared, leaning over the windowsill with a cheerful wink. At Emile's questioning gaze, he rolled his eyes. "What, a guy can't check up on his bestie at four am? What kind of world are we living in?"

"How did you know I was awake?" Emile asked, drawing his knees to his chest and leaning back against the wall. Remy rolled his eyes, swinging his legs over the windowsill to sit beside him.

"I could hear you pacing, hun," he said. Emile winced, biting his lip. He'd hoped his pacing wouldn't wake the Somnuses downstairs.

"Sorry," Emile said.

"Nah, no biggie, girl. I was awake anyway, I have a sleepless reputation to uphold." He shifted on the windowsill to face Emile, concern sparking behind his sunglasses. "But you don't, hun. What's with the late hours?"

"I dunno," Emile said, thankful that the darkness of night hid the way his cheeks darkened under Remy's stare. "Can't stop thinkin', I guess."

"'Bout what?"

"Who knows?" Emile flopped onto his back on the couch, stretching his legs out. Remy snorted, shoving away one of his feet. "The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma, you know."

Remy laughed out loud; the sound nearly made Emile's heart burst with sunshine. "Mood, sponge-babe," Remy joked.

"Actually, that was Patrick."

"Uh, can I make a sassy joke out of 'Patrick?' No. Shut up." Remy stuck his tongue out and Emile kicked at him, already feeling the heavy feeling in his chest begin to lift. Remy yelped as he dodged Emile's kick, bracing himself against the sides of the window. "C'mon, girl, I'm trying to help you here!"

Emile giggled. "Sorry, Rem," he said with a playful shrug. "Insult my cartoon references and you will get kicked."

"Wow, harsh, babe," Remy said in mock offense. "Suffer with your insomnia, then, biatch."

"Nooooo," Emile groaned, reaching towards Remy overdramatically. He opened and closed his fingers a few times to emphasize his drama. "I'm sorry, don't go~! I love you!"

And that's when time stuttered to a stop, if only for a moment. It had slipped out in his exhaustion and it hung in the air between them for either a split second or an eternity. Remy blinked at him owlishly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

But then he snapped back into normalcy. "Wasn't gonna leave anyway, but thanks for the delicious ego-boost, girl." He grinned and Emile rolled his eyes, letting out a silent breath of relief. It was platonic. They were platonic. It was fine.

"No prob, bob," Emile said with a fond smile. Remy laughed, shaking his head.

"Anygay," he drawled, lounging across the edge of the windowsill, "grab your pillows and jump out the window, babe, I'm boutta yeet your stress the fuck away."

"Wh — what?" Emile sat up, laughter bubbling to the surface.

"What, 'what?' That's pretty self-explanatory, hun. Grab some blankets, too. We're gettin' cozy in the club tonight!"

"Uh," Emile said eloquently. Remy laughed, and fireworks went off in Emile's lungs.

"Come on, Em, we don't have all night!" And with that, he slid off the windowsill and back onto the fire escape, and the curtains fell back into place. Emile sat there for a long, silent moment, before getting up to go grab some pillows.

Remy waited on the fire escape, leaning against the railing with a tiny picnic spread at his feet. He sipped from a cup of Starbucks — and Emile didn't even pause to wonder how he'd gotten Starbucks at four AM, because, come on, this was Remy — and offered Emile a shrug and a quirked brow, a smirk slipping into place. "Ta-da~" he drawled.

"Aw, Rem," Emile said softly. "This is... super —"

"I know, I know —"

"— califragilisticexpialidocious," he finished with a grin.

"That's it, no more time around Roman for you." Remy slid down until he was sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Hand me a blanket stat, girl, we're building a nest."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Emile saluted, and promptly threw a blanket in Remy's face.

"What is up with you 'n Spongebob tonight?" Remy caught the blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders with a dramatic flourish.

Emile laughed, spreading pillows around their tiny picnic to start the nest. "I guess nautical nonsense is just something I wish!" he said with a shrug.

"Wig, okay." Remy set down his Starbucks, and together the two got to work, wrapping piles of blankets around the tiny fire escape into a comfortably warm nest.

Emile settled into place in the center and picked up one of the pastries Remy had brought, wrapping a Winnie-the-pooh blanket around his shoulders. Remy hesitated just before getting comfortable, eyes widening. "Wait, wait, stay right there," he said, getting to his feet in a rush, as if something had occurred to him and he needed to act on it before his confidence failed. "I've got a song for you."

"A song?" Emile's face brightened and he smiled around a mouthful of donut. Remy blushed — actually blushed, Emile noted with a swooping feeling in his chest — and shrugged, only offering a wink before he disappeared back down the stairs.

Emile busied himself readjusting the blankets again and again, trying to keep the fluttering feeling in his chest from bursting out. A song? For him? It was exactly the kind of sweet, romantic gesture he'd daydreamed about, though he'd never admit it. He let out a breath, holding a blanket to his chest.

Remy only took a few moments to return, this time with a guitar in his arms, painted with swirls of color. He'd shoved his sunglasses up onto his head, a rare occurrence — and under his gaze, Emile felt himself melt.

"'Kay," Remy said, dropping down beside Emile. "Prepare yaself, girl, your insomnia's about to be yeeted directly outta here. Get comfy."

He gestured to his side, tilting his head invitingly, and Emile's face grew warm as he leaned into him. The rest of the weight on his chest evaporated instantly when Remy shifted to accommodate his weight, offering him a fond smile.

"Focus on my voice, girl," Remy said. He took a breath and strummed a couple of notes, letting them hang warmly in the chilly morning air. "If I could, begin to be, half of what you think of me..."

Emile recognized the song immediately — of course he did, it was his favorite, his absolute favorite, and Remy had learned it for him. Warmth bloomed in his chest and love blossomed in his smile. Remy's voice was as smooth and warm as the richest coffee and three times as delicious; Emile wanted to drink it all in, as much as he could, forever.

Darkness swirled at the edge of his vision. He yawned, shifting almost subconsciously until he was laying in Remy's lap. As Remy's song came to a close, his final notes hanging in the air, Emile finally drifted off to sleep.

But not before he heard Remy's quiet voice, softly honeyed and as beautiful as the sunrise-colors swirling through the sky.

"I love you, too."

#yeets this outta my hw pile before diving back in #ill post the other prompts as soon as i get them done !!!! hopefully tonight #thank u for the prompt this was so sweet to write #remile #remy sanders #emile picani #celeste's portfolio #joygaytrash

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literarygoon · 3 years

Photo

“Ten things that make me happy”

Fiction by Will Johnson

Got the kid this week. Couldn’t find a baby-sitter. Called Mom and she said it was my problem, not hers. Manager said I could keep the kid behind the counter while I work, but only this once. All the customers wanted to say hi. Wanted to touch the kid. They said he’s cute, what’s his name? Embarrassed when I tell them Kane—a mix of Kate and Shane.

Kate = gone.

Said she needed some time. Moved back to Ontario with her parents. Left the kid behind. Now I’ve got this crappy basement suite in downtown Nanaimo and a baby I can’t afford. Think about Nicaragua a lot. Lived there for six months after I graduated from university. Ate fruit, spoke Spanish, did a lot of surfing. Bagged a few Latina chicks. Now I’m working at Starbucks. Job’s okay, but I spend most of my shift daydreaming about being a musician. Think about girls lifting their dresses over their heads. Dank venues, cocaine head rushes, blind groping in the dark. A used condom floating in my toilet.

Called Neil last week. Former band mate of mine, a drummer. Lives in Vancouver and I haven’t heard from him in years. Hoping he can find us some gigs. Took the ferry across the water to meet him on a Tuesday morning. Kane puked on my jacket, so I wrestled him into the bathroom and cleaned us off with a fresh diaper. Fed him this baby food out of a jar. Afterwards I stood outside on the deck looking at the Gulf Islands. The bus ride to Vancouver was more than an hour long and Kane cried the entire way.

At the restaurant, Kane ripped apart a coloring sheet. Waitress wasn’t mad. Asked me how old? Told her 18 months, but it seems longer. Sat there thinking about my band. Thought about finding a record label, maybe playing festivals. Told myself I’m not too old to be a successful musician. (Unrealistic?) The newspaper was boring, so did the crossword and flirted pointlessly with the waitress. Neil was fifteen minutes late. He yanked at the door for a few moments before he realized it opened inward. Stumbled through and almost head butted a plant.

Shane, man, he said. Look at you. Look at this. This is crazy, right? Isn’t this like crazy? This is crazy, man.

Stood up to hug him. His whole body was vibrating. Slipped into the booth and didn’t take off his coat. Legs bounced and his eyes darted all around the restaurant like he couldn’t decide what to look at.

What’s the kid’s name?

This is Kane.

Kane like in the Bible? Like old school Kane and Abel Kane?

No, just a name we liked. You know.

What’s up Kane? How you doing buddy?

Clear Neil hasn’t seen a baby in years. Kane in his booster seat looked at Neil a little confused. Maybe scared? Blew air out in little bursts.

Hilarious. What’s he doing?

Kid’s still learning how to talk. Figure that’s his first word.

Burp?

Yeah, he likes doing that. Does it all the time.

Just like burp, burp, burp? Hey Kane. Burp? Can you say Burp?

Kane started to cry. Picked him up for a minute, gave him his soother, settled him down. Have to do this every twenty minutes, seems like. Neil couldn’t figure out what to do. Played with the sugar packets. Picked one up and held it to the light.

Do you ever wonder who makes these, Neil asked. Like is there a factory somewhere with little Asian ladies filling these up with sugar? And how do they get it inside the paper? You ever think about stuff like that?

Not really.

How about this. You ever think about how incredible it is that in our society we can walk into rooms like this and convince people to bring us food? We don’t cook it, we don’t serve it, all we do is sit here and eat it. Then we pull out a little plastic thingie and punch some buttons. Crazy, right?

Interesting way to look at it.

We’re top of the food chain, man. There’s no other way to look at it.

Waitress was attentive. Looked about twenty-five years old, maybe younger. Had eczema all down one arm, probably from doing too many dishes. Said what a beautiful baby, you are so lucky. Kane was gurgling and she played with his little hands. Leaned over so Neil and I both looked down her dress, her white bra quivering. (Sometimes I get so fucking horny it hurts.) She said he is precious and wiped drool off his face. I never know how to act when people play with the kid. Am I supposed to smile? Do they want me to participate somehow? This is what I’ve figured out: having a baby = more flirting. Having a baby = less sex. Having a baby = no sleep/exercise/solitude. The waitress took our order.

For me: Toast. Scrambled eggs. Sausages + HP sauce. Black coffee.

For Kane: Apple juice and yogurt.

For Neil: Nothing.

Asked the waitress if she could watch the kid while I went outside for a smoke with Neil. Dislodged a crayon from Kane’s mouth. When we got outside Neil told me he got kicked out of his house. Said he’s been having trouble holding things together. (Drugs?) Didn’t ask about Kate. Suspect they had a thing while I was in Nicaragua. Never confirmed it, but pretty sure it happened. Not jealous, really. Just curious.

Nothing was ever enough for Kate. Three months pregnant she shimmied past this barbed wire gate and climbed up an emergency ladder to the top of the Blue Bridge in Victoria. Must have been three hundred feet in the air. Followed her and sat on the steel girders with my feet hanging above the traffic. The lights of the city were reflected in the ocean blackness. Took turns taking sips of whiskey. She told me sometimes she fantasizes about taking a running jump, about plunging down to the concrete and splattering on impact.

I could get it over with, she said.

Her first pregnancy ended with a miscarriage. Found her curled up in the bathtub with purple clots of blood streaking the porcelain. Figured that was the end of it, but six months later she told me she was late again. (Shitty birth control?) She acted like her body was betraying her somehow. Wandered around our basement suite in her bare feet. Ate lots of peanut butter. Rude to my Mom, complained about everything and wouldn’t quit smoking. I never asked for this, she said.

Me neither.

Started therapy once a week. Nice woman. Lots of pillows and inspirational posters on the wall. Kate brought me to a session and we brainstormed positivity exercises. Ways to escape depressive thought patterns. Therapist gave us this assignment to keep journals. Every day we were supposed to make a list of ten things that made us happy. Nothing makes me happy, Kate said. Therapist said sometimes we overlook the small things in life. The taste of toothpaste in the morning. A hug from a friend. Maybe an upcoming vacation to look forward to. These things all add up eventually. Kate picked lint off her jeans and stared at the floor.

Therapy didn’t make any difference. Found Kate crying one afternoon in the backyard. Told me she was going to spend a few weeks with her parents in Hamilton. Supported her, said I wanted her to figure this stuff out. Wandered our house alone, taking care of Kane and waiting for her to call. Stood at the airport with flowers, but she never arrived. Pretty soon she stopped answering my phone calls. Parents said she left to road trip across the country with some dude who owns a Westfalia. Promised to send money, to come visit their grandkid, but that was six months ago.

Neil said I can’t believe you’re a father.

Still getting used to the idea.

Seems like a good kid.

Babies don’t really have personalities. They mostly just need things.

Asked Neil if he ever drums anymore. Told me he had to pawn his drum set. Said he had some outstanding loans he had to pay back, plus it was cumbersome moving the drums from one house to the next.

I don’t know about music, man.

What do you mean?

You hear the stuff coming over the radio inside? It plays all day, all night. Shopping malls, gas stations. There’s so much fucking music in the world and everybody wants to make it. There’s so much music everywhere you couldn’t even hope to hear a fraction of it. How the fuck can you expect to make a difference in a world like that?

That’s a depressing way to think about it.

It’s all money, man. You think these singers are famous because they can sing? No, they’re famous because some dudes with money paid some other dudes with money to make them famous. And who wants to be famous, right?

I don’t want to be famous.

Me neither.

But I want to play music.

Neil shrugged. You know what I’ve been thinking, he said. I gotta find a way to break into the television business.

What do you mean?

Think about it, man. Every show, every commercial, they all need music. Somebody’s got to write that shit. Can you imagine? If your job was to sit there and make beats all day long. It’s all computer programs now. The bosses go okay, we need some scary music for this scene. Some happy music for this scene. Maybe some violin shit for a sex scene. Right?

I don’t know. Don’t you think that’s a little artificial?

Money is money, man.

I guess.

Here’s the thing: I broke my back in a snowboarding accident when I was a teenager. Fell into an off-run crevice. Body draped on this cleft twenty feet down. Felt like a mystical cavern, surrounded by glistening ice and weird noises far below me. Could’ve fallen a lot further, but I didn’t. I remember the helicopter lifting me out of there. Strapped to a spinal board, wrapped in blankets with nothing but my face exposed. Felt the rushing wind from the rotors in my eyes and made a deal with the universe. Promised that if I made it through okay, I wouldn’t waste my life. I was going to make music. Sounds stupid, but it still means something to me. Took me nearly six months of intensive physical rehab before I could lift myself out of bed again. When I left the hospital the nurse told me Shane, you’ll probably never really understand how fortunate you are to walk out of here.

My first band was called The Sultwater Sultans. Got interviewed for the Victoria newspaper once. The photographer arranged us in front of an autumn backdrop. Put us on the front cover of the Arts section. It said SALTWATER SULTANS in this swirly orange font. Mom still has that photo taped to the side of the fridge. Reminds me of finger paintings little kids bring back from elementary school. Kate was dating our bass player Cliff when I met her. She was our Yoko Ono. Once we got together the band broke up. (Worth it?) Cliff came to Starbucks a few months ago. Talked on his cell phone and pretended not to recognize me. Maybe he wasn’t pretending.

Played solo gigs for a while after that. Kate sang back-up and we called ourselves The Islanders. Mostly restaurant venues where nobody listened. Opening act for bigger bands. She introduced me to Neil, and he became our drummer. Bit of a loner but he could keep a beat. Toured around Vancouver Island and played some festivals. Remember a time we got drunk on the beach. Firelight cast shadows on the sand. Twisted beach logs slick with moisture. Neil hammered drums pinched between his legs while Kate danced in her bare feet. Fucked it up and left for Nicaragua a month later. Wonder what would’ve happened if I stayed.

You ever think about that time we toured up island, I asked Neil, standing outside the restaurant. Glanced in to check on the kid.

Good summer, man.

I was thinking we could pick up where we left off. Revive The Islanders.

Minus a member.

But we could pick up a few more guys. Take a run at this.

Sounds good to me.

Neil looked skinnier than I remembered. Like he was sucking on the inside of his cheeks. Bet I could fit my thumb and forefinger around his bicep. He touched himself while he talked. Pulled on his earlobe, scratched his neck and drummed fingers on his sternum.

You think the kid’s okay in there?

The waitress’ll keep an eye on him.

Couldn’t he fall out of his booster seat or something?

Babies are resilient.

You know what’s crazy to think about, is that I was a baby. And you.

Well, yeah.

I heard once that every seven years our bodies completely regenerate themselves. Like every cell in your body, all your skin and hair and toe nails, I mean your bones, it’s all been replaced. So when you think about it, you’re not even the same person you were seven years ago.

Huh.

You’re what? Like 30? We haven’t seen each other for nearly a decade, man. And think about that guy. The guy you knew, like I probably don’t have any of the same clothes. I look different, I act different. This is completely new skin here. I may as well be a different guy. Isn’t that trippy?

Guess so.

University feels like ancient history, I said.

I’d do it again.

Me too.

Once she was nearly due to give birth, Kate was impossible to live with. She punched her knuckles against her temples and tore out her hair in tangled hanks. Slept through the afternoons and into the middle of the night, then lay like a bloated carcass on the couch. Didn’t know what to do. Therapist said pregnancy can be tough. Recommended we check into the hospital early for observation. Kate spent the last two weeks in a private room. Screamed at nurses and threw food down the hallway. Wouldn’t talk to me when I visited. Once the kid was born, Kate barely touched him. Said he’s got your eyes and she glared. Doctors kept her for an additional week because she was refusing food.

Sometimes I have nightmares about Kate. See her fucking random dudes in highway restrooms. That girl. Used to flirt with guys right in front of me. Liked to have sex in busy parking lots or shopping mall restrooms. One time she gave me head in an elevator. For a while it seemed like she was going to calm down. (Be happy?) We moved in together after Neil moved away. Played sporadic gigs around Victoria. She danced in her cowboy boots, her dress swishing around her little legs. Adorable. Her voice was literally heart-breaking when she sang. Thought that was how my life was going to be. I was mistaken.

When I was younger, I assumed happiness was a mathematical equation, easily solvable. My headspace was like a question mark waiting for an answer. Thought maybe music + girlfriend + job = contentment. But even when I was in Nicaragua, or when things were going well with Kate, there was always this nagging suspicion that something was wrong. That somehow I was missing out on the life I was destined for. Makes me wonder why I’m still here. After my snowboarding accident, the doctors told me there was a chance I could have spent the rest of my life in a wheelchair. People kept emphasizing how incredible it was that I had survived. Said I couldn’t take it for granted. But life-changing revelations have an expiry date. Sooner or later you have to go back to living your life, whatever that means. While I’m fixing a broken coffee machine or standing outside in the rain, life doesn’t seem very worthwhile. Some days I wonder if I wasted a miracle.

This = not my plan.

A siren screamed in the distance. The air smelled like piss. Neil and I smoked our cigarettes and watched a police car swerve around the curb. The people on the sidewalk didn’t even turn their heads. Inside our food was waiting. Offered Neil a piece of toast, but he said he wasn’t hungry. Spooned yogurt into Kane’s mouth.

What kind of food’s he eat?

I dunno. Mushy stuff mostly.

Doesn’t he need breast milk?

Think he’s too old for that. Not like I can pick it up at the grocery store.

Ha.

It’s kind of like having a human dog.

Wild that one day he’s gonna be us, you know? And we’ll be hanging out in nursing homes.

Or dead.

Or dead, yeah.

Tried for a while to make lists of the things that make me happy, but never got to ten. The things I came up with—a good song on the radio, a drunken night while Kane is staying at my Mom’s house, an easy day at work—all seemed superficial. Like a Band-Aid for a missing limb. Wonder if maybe I’m beyond help. Lately I feel old. Like I don’t recognize this ugly version of myself. Cigarettes yellowed my teeth. Belly fat jiggles over my belt from too much shopping mall food and late night pizza. Look in the mirror and hate the patches of hair on my upper arms. Dark eyes. Flirt with patrons and they act embarrassed. (Am I creepy?) When I was younger girls lined up for their turn. Took a new one each weekend. A blur of sweaty bodies and frantic late night fucking. Now I would kill to get some action. Haven’t been laid since Kate left.

Kane kept pushing my spoon away. Yogurt dribbled down his jumper. Burbled and stuck his fingers in the goop. Neil said maybe he wants some real food, man. Give him some sausage.

He can’t chew that stuff.

Cut it up into little pieces. He can swallow.

I dunno.

Watch this, he said. He pulled the plate across the table and sawed at the blackened sausages pushed to the side of my plate. Speared one with his fork. It was one of those moments where I felt like I was watching myself. Like there was a more responsible version of myself somewhere, watching me fuck things up. Should’ve taken the fork away. Before I could say anything, Kane had swallowed two small chunks.

He loves it.

That’s probably enough.

My step-dad used to say that’ll put hair on your chest.

He fed you sausages when you were a kid?

No, man.

Seriously, that’s enough.

Look at him. Happy as a clam, this kid.

Kane was enjoying the food. Saliva streaked brown on his chin. He bounced in his booster seat and murmured like a little animal. Neil held another piece of sausage to his mouth and forced it through his lips. The kid’s tiny pink gums smacked. Then he started to cough.

Shit.

He’s choking.

Nah, man. He’ll get it.

He can’t breathe.

Shit.

He’s fucking choking on that fucking sausage. What the fuck, man?

Can’t remember the last time I felt this panicked. The kid was looking right at me. His eyes bulged. I could hear things happening around me. Waitress was running towards us. Neil knocked my plate to the ground as he clambered out of the booth. He said don’t worry, I used to be a lifeguard. I know what to do. Sat there looking at my son and realized how easily I could let him die. These things happen. Babies go to sleep and don’t wake up. People get hit by cars. All this breathing can end in a single moment. Wondered if I should be having some sort of deep realization, whether this moment was designed to test me. Maybe this would ruin my life, or maybe it would take me a few years before I got over it. Kane’s little face was turning red as Neil grabbed him under the armpits. One last glimpse of my son’s terror. Waitress had her fingers over her mouth as Neil held my son braced facedown against his forearm and lifted his other arm up in the air.

The Literary Goon

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 years

Text

Hey, I wrote myself a little comfort fic and thought you guys might want to red it. It’s short and kinda shitty but eh

Alex woke with a start to The Unholy Trinity; a thumping headache, blurry vision and a sensation like his stomach was falling through to his shoes.

He groped forward, of course looking for a familiar, warm hand, for a lock of dark, silken hair, soft cotton of a shirt that technically belonged to him but had been stolen by his wife a long time ago to add to her collection. All he succeeded in doing was sending a decent forest’s worth of paper sliding from the small desk to the floor with a depressing inevitability, creating a hideous mess and a loud thunk that earned him glares from the other eye bag sporting law students in the library. He mouthed apologies to the ones close enough for it to make a difference, pushing back his chair and trying to make his aching, shattered, beat up hands stop shaking and obey the orders from his brain so he could get his papers back in order. Well, maybe order was aiming a little high, just enough so they’d fit in his satchel and he could make a swift exit.

He’d meant to get his essay finished tonight, staying back at the library after his day of classes and shift at the campus Starbucks, looming deadlines putting enough fear in him that he could forget his tiredness and ignore the siren call of Eliza back at home, waiting for him with her gentle kisses and that look in her eyes like he actually could do this, even though he felt like he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure how much he’d managed to do before he’d passed out, not enough was probably the depressing answer. But his battered old watch was informing him that any words he did manage to get down at this hour wouldn’t be worth spit. He’d be more use at home; there, no matter how tired he was, he could still hold Eliza and rub her growing stomach or her shoulders or feet or whatever the hell else was aching her today, he could survive the short trip to the bodega to get whatever weird and wonderful thing she was crying out for, he could sleep with his arms around her middle and let her rest back on his shoulder.

Eliza and the baby never asked much of him, or at least, nothing he wasn’t immensely happy to do.

Thinking that his future self would curse him up one side and down the other when he saw the mess of papers and files inside his satchel waiting for him to sort out but finding that Present Alex didn’t care, he left the library with not much achieved. He winced and curled up closer into his coat as the weather outside the warm building forcibly reminded him that it was in fact December and no, he wasn’t in Puerto Rico any more. Herc, Eliza and the Parisians, Laf and Adri, the only people who’d grown up in places where snow was an annual occurrence, would always laugh and tease him and confirmed proud Southerners John and Martha, with their low tolerance for the cold. It neatly divided their friendship group in two, with people who would coo and smile and take pictures in the snow pitted against those who wore three layers of clothing and thought wistfully of the Equator.

But this year, the back end of the calendar didn’t fill Alex with as much loathing and vitriol as it used to. Because the closer they drew to January, the closer Eliza’s due date came, a little spark of light and excitement in the darkness. He’d been deliberately searching out baby clothes that were especially thick and woolly, not wanting his little one to be cold when he arrived.

The A train was nearly empty at this hour and the journey passed in something of a hazy blur, Alex being too tired and worn down to really note any of it, by some mercy, it was like he closed his eyes as he took his seat by the window and opened them again just as the train was squeaking and groaning its way into his stop. Alex was a little proud of what that signified, that he’d become a fully assimilated, half brainwashed New Yorker, having conquered the terrifyingly huge, sprawling concrete maze and made it something he knew as intimately as the back of his hand. It meant this had become his home.

He hopped off and weaved his way through the Heights, like he was following a homing beacon, just putting one foot in front of the other and having perfect confidence that it would take him to what he wanted most. Warmth. Comfort. Home. Eliza.

He wasn’t surprised at all to find the apartment nearly dark as he pushed back the door, he’d have been devastated if Eliza had actually stayed up to greet him, he’d made her pinkie swear twice before he’d left that morning that she’d put all thoughts of it out of her mind. One little lamp threw a golden glow across the lump under three different blankets, curled up small on the mattress that served as their bed, that was his beloved. He smiled gently as he discarded his bag, coat and scarf, feeling all the burdens on him lightening and creeping back into recesses of his mind where they could be ignored. The more steps he took into the shadowy apartment, the louder Eliza’s soft little snores got, the more the warmth of the place crept underneath his shirt and pants and caressed his nearly blue skin, the more human he felt. Maybe there were two completely separate Alex’s, he thought as he kicked off his shoes. Maybe there was Law School Alex, tired and needlessly defiant and ambitious, and then maybe there was Home Alex who broke down into expectant, excited father Alex, baker of sugar cookies Alex, cunnilingus enthusiast Alex, crossword aficionado Alex.

That was an awful lot of personalities to keep track of, Alex thought as he decided that he couldn’t be bothered with pyjamas, the blankets would have to do, leaving his clothes puddled on the floor and squirming in next to Eliza as he was. Maybe the whole thing was bullshit, the rambling thoughts that only ever came up when your brain was far too tired to keep functioning.

He gave a low, soft sigh as he burrowed down under the blankets, feeling Eliza stir and shift and melt around him, making herself fit the shape of his front, enveloping him in warmth, unafraid of the chill of his skin. In fact, her sleepy hands sought it out, wanting to help, rubbing him down until none remained at all. Smiling crookedly, he freed one arm to kill the light. The falling snow that had irked Alex so much on his way home actually looked pretty beautiful, he could admit, now that he was watching it’s feather light shadows fall across the curves and valleys of his and his wife’s bodies, from the warmth and safety of her arms.

There was only one Alex he really wanted to be. The one that was here right now, with a smile on his face and Eliza pressed against him.

He was halfway into sleep, eyelids heavy and jaw slack when he heard his wife’s voice, soft and dreamy.

“Baby? We’re out of ice cream…”

“Say no more, mi cielo,” Alex murmured, sitting up, staggering up to his feet, “I’ll be back soon. Strawberry, yeah?”

“You’re my most favourite person in the whole, entire universe ever,” she whispered.

“And you’re mine,” Alex chuckled, kissing her forehead before he went to pull his clothes back on and wander back out into the cold.

No. This was the Alex he was happiest being. Definitely.

#hamliza #alexander x eliza #comfort fic #I don't know what I like about this part of their lives so much #or what the fact that I find this comforting says about me psychologically #but hey

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bonepoem · 7 years

Text

What’s In A Name

AO3 Link - kams_log / @lovefromdean

Fandom/Ship: Supernatural, Destiel (Dean/Cas)

Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop AU

Word count: 2,422

Note: This is my first published work since October of 2016. Long story short, I’ve gone through a lot of shit in the last year but I’m finally at a place in life that I can start writing again. Consider this my first offering. There will be more to come. Please enjoy!

Summary: It was just a misunderstanding. They wrote his name wrong. No big deal. Except now the hot guy serving his coffee thinks his name is fucking "Dave" and Dean can't bring himself to correct him. Except he'll have to. Eventually. Right? Especially if he wants to ask him out on a date... right?

Dean was not the type to be a ‘regular.’ Anywhere. He didn’t frequent the same shops and stores, and he certainly never stayed in the same place for long. Granted, that was due to a lifetime of moving across state lines as often as the average girl revamped her wardrobe. At least, Dean could only assume as much. All he knew for certain is that he was not a regular. Anywhere.

Times were changing, however, and after moving to California to be closer to his brother after John died… well, maybe this would change too. That didn’t mean Dean had to like it.

The coffee shop was small and cozy. Dean never liked the popular places like Starbucks. They were too… busy. Too loud. Also, too friendly. He wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to get his morning dose of caffeine and move on. ASAP. Besides, he only had to do this a few more times till he could afford a damn coffee machine of his own. Then all these shops could go straight to hell.

Dean scoffed as he waited in line, staring up at the freakishly large menu above the counter as he tried to imagine how many ways a person could fuck up a simple cup of coffee. Apparently, that answer was a lot.

It didn’t matter in the end. When he reached the counter and a beaming blond with a lollipop in his mouth asked him for his order, Dean growled, “Get me whatever has the most caffeine in the largest cup you got.”

“You got it big boy,” the man behind the counter winked. “Got a name to go with that?”

Dean grunted his response and took his number and waited. The wait wasn’t long enough to inspire murder, so Dean accepted his order quietly and quickly rushed out of the store, bouncing the burning hot cup between his hands as the chilly autumn breeze swept around him. Well, as chilly as it could get for California.

Dean grumbled as he tentatively sipped at his drink, then paused. It wasn’t… bad. Something close to the opposite, in fact. He smirked and took a longer swallow before finally glancing down at his cup. His smirk faded and a scowl took it’s place.

In a messy scrawl on the side read the name, “DAVE” with a heart beside it.

God damn it.

…

He didn’t go back on purpose. It was for the sake of time, and the shop was fast, and Dean was in a hurry. He’d gotten a job for an old friend of his father’s. Ellen Harvelle. She’s heard about his passing, and through a few more sources, learned that Dean was sneaking into town to be closer to his brother. Sam already had his own life set up, but Dean was still building. She offered him a spot in her bar to get started. He’d taken it.

Now, he was running late and was several notches too low on caffeine to make it through his shift, so naturally it was an emergency. It was only chance that it was on his route to work.

When he stepped inside it was quieter than it was before. He took in the low rumble of activity and thanked God there was barely a line. He sighed in relief when he also noticed the blond from last time was nowhere to be seen.

Instead of the blond, a dark haired man around Dean’s age stood at the front counter. His stance was very different from the blond’s, where the other had been buoyant and carefree, this man seemed much more reserved. Dean appreciated it. He wasn’t in the mood for teasing winks or hearts on his cup that Jo would laugh at.

He made it to the front of the line, but before he could speak, the employee’s eyes widened and he held up a hand of silence.

“Same order?” The man asked. His voice sounded like a goddamn wreck. Did the dude eat rocks for breakfast? Daily?

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replied, unsure if he was more surprised to be remembered or the fact that the dude’s voice was the equivalent of a rocky landslide.

The other man didn’t speak again, only taking Dean’s card to pay, and then rushing away to fill the order. The wait was shorter this time. Dean smiled and nodded his thanks, then rushed out the door. He still had his shift to get to.

It was only after he walked through the doors of the Roadhouse that Jo pointed and snickered, “Who’s Dave?”

Dean cursed.

…

It started to become a routine. It was far from intentional. But it was on his route to work, and they were faster than most joints Dean had ever been too, so he just kept… going. He wondered if this was how it happened to everyone else. Becoming a regular. Because of god forsaken convenience. He hated it. Sort of.

Dean saw the blond a couple more times, but never at the front counter. If he was ever seen, he was usually hidden away in the back or helping serve up orders on the busy days. The dark haired one was nearly always in front, and he always remembered Dean. Or in his eyes, Dave. Dean still hadn’t corrected them yet.

How exactly was he supposed to fix that? Was he just supposed to say, “Oh by the way, my name’s Dean and you’ve been writing my name wrong for weeks.” He couldn’t just say that, could he? Should he? Damn it.

It was only made worse by the fact that Dean was coming in almost every day before shift, and he was starting to actually… notice things. Like how the shop always smelled more like baked treats and candy than coffee. Or how there were so many windows Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the indoor lights on.

He also couldn’t help but notice other things, too. Like the way the blond one was always glancing between him and the dark haired employee. Or how whenever the dark haired one turned to make Dean’s order, the blond one would wink and nudge the other playfully. The dark haired one always came back with the order, his cheeks a little more flushed than when he’d first turned away.

The dark haired one had startling blue eyes, too. He’d never really paid attention before. There was never any reason to. He wasn’t sure when he noticed either, only that once he did, it was all he really thought about. He’d catch himself looking at the sky and thinking it wasn’t nearly as blue as the ones looking back at him in that stupid shop.

It was starting to get ridiculous. He didn’t even know the guy’s name. The guy didn’t even know his name. How the fuck did that even happen?

“Dean, you’re zoning again,” Sam called, snatching Dean out of his thoughts.

Dean grumbled and looked at his brother. They were in Sam’s apartment, playing some new game Sam had been raving about for weeks. Meanwhile, Jess was out with friends and wasn’t due back for a few more hours. It was quality brotherly bonding time. Something Dean had sorely missed, and he couldn’t even stay focused on that.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered, shooting at an enemy soldier in the nick of time.

Sam was silent for several moments until the battle ended. Instead of starting up the next one, he nudged Dean with his elbow.

“Something goin’ on?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head and stretched out his legs, groaning as blood started rushing back to the feet he’d been sitting on for the past hour.

“Nah,” Dean replied. “Just tired. Pulled a double shift last night cause of some event at the Roadhouse. It paid good though.”

“Sure,” Sam nodded, humming. “Is that why you’ve been zoning out for the past two weeks?”

“What?” Dean snapped his gaze to meet his brother’s. “I haven’t been--”

“Uh, you have, Dean. Something’s bugging you. What gives?”

Dean sighed and glanced at the TV, their record kills glowing back at them.

“I don’t know,” he dodged. “Stupid stuff. Little stuff. It’s not a big deal.”

“Big enough for you to let me win? Like, all night?”

“I didn’t let you win.”

“So you admit I’m better than you?” Sam grinned. Dean scowled.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, picking up his controller again. “There’s this dude at this dumb coffee shop--”

“The one that keeps getting your name wrong?”

“How’d you know?”

“Dean, every time I see you with a to-go cup it says DAVE on the side of it. All caps. Pretty sure that’s not your name, and you keep getting the same cup with the same name on it, so it’s definitely your order and you haven’t corrected them yet. How come?”

“God damn it,” Dean muttered. “Cause the guy remembers me every time I walk through the door and always has my order ready within a minute. And he’s super hot so it doesn’t make it easy to just--”

“Dude, he’s cute?”

“Uh, not just cute. Hot. Like burn-me-at-the-stake-and-I’d-be-okay-with-it kind of hot.”

“Nice,” Sam nodded, then furrowed his brow. “So you want to ask him out but he thinks your name is…” He snickered, “Dave?”

“Fuck me.”

“If you ask him nicely, maybe,” Sam replied. “But give him your actual name first.”

“Fuck off, Sammy,” Dean growled. “Now start the next round. I need to kill something.”

“Sure thing. As long as you promise to actually talk to this guy?”

“Fine. Fine. Start the game, damn it.”

…

This was stupid. God. Damn. Stupid.

Dean clenched his fist at his side and stared up at the coffee shop sign. Angel’s Touch. What the fuck kind of name was that? That should be the name of a strip club, not a goddamn coffee shop.

He took a deep breath and shoved his fists in his pockets. It was time to do this. He could do this. God damn it.

Another steeled breath, and he pushed through the doors. It was low in activity, as it often was at that hour. The blond was nowhere in sight, and only a few other patrons sat at tables around the shop.

Dean wandered up to the counter, thankful that the dark haired on was distracted with something near the back and hadn’t noticed him yet. Once he turned, however, Dean felt his resolve weaken at the other man’s intense blue gaze.

“Oh, hello,” the man smiled. It was small, but genuine. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a full-fledged smile from the guy. He kind of wanted to change that.

One thing at a time, Dean cursed to himself. He offered a thin smile back and braced his hands on the counter. Just be calm, man. Be calm.

“The usual?” The man offered.

“Uh, something different today, actually,” Dean replied. His palms were sweating. Fuck.

The other man’s smile grew slightly and a quizzical look crossed his features.

“Oh?” He asked. “What can I get for you?”

Dean licked his lips. He could feel his heart beating in his ears.

“I…” He started, paused. Fuck!

Finally, “Dean,” he wheezed.

“I’m sorry?” The man’s nose scrunched up in confusion. God fucking fuck. No. It’s not cute. Shut up, brain. Fuck.

“Dean,” he said again, louder this time. “Dean, not Dave. My name is Dean.”

The other man’s head tilted briefly, absorbing, then he froze. His eyes widened ever so slightly and his posture straightened.

“Oh.” He murmured. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Dean stated, dumbly. “Uh, yeah.”

“I apologize,” the other man continued, placing his hands against the counter as well. “I just… I saw Gabriel write your name down that day… I just thought… Oh fuck,” the man cursed and placed a hand over his eyes. “Of course. Of course Gabriel would write the wrong name. He does it for fun. Constantly. It’s why he’s not supposed to be up front, fuck--”

Dean’s face split into a grin. God damn it he could get used to hearing that voice say fuck. But then, reality sank back in and he quickly stammered, “Uh, no, no. It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to let you know, cause… you know.”

“What?” The other man lowered his palm, staring at him with that old head tilt.

“I,” Dean swallowed. Moment of truth. “I thought you should know. In case you said yes.”

“To what?”

“A date.” Dean’s jaw snapped shut. “With me,” he barely added.

The man’s eyes widened once more. Pink dusted his cheeks and he glanced around the room before looking back at Dean.

“A date.”

Dean nodded.

“You want me to go on a date.”

Another nod.

“With you.”

“You can say no,” Dean stammered out. The other man stared at him for several long moments. Dean shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let it get to him.

The man was damn near unreadable. Until, a tick of movement crossed his face, then a smile. It grew slowly, then burst wide all at once and Dean was blinded.

“Castiel.”

“What?” Dean managed.

“Or Cas. But my name is Castiel. I thought you should know. You did ask me on a date.”

“Castiel,” Dean said, grinning madly. “Nice. When do you get off work?”

Cas grinned back at him. “At eight.”

“Can I swing by and pick you up?”

Cas smirked and grabbed a cup and a sharpie. Dean watched with rapt attention until Cas handed it over.

In bold, black letters, in all caps, read the word, “DEAN.” Below it was a string of numbers. With a heart at the end.

Before Dean could speak, Cas stated, “Text me. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m off for the night.”

Dean beamed. “I will. Count on it.”

Cas grinned back, the pink settling to a rosy hue. Dean doubted he looked any different.

“See you tonight,” Cas replied.

Dean didn’t even make it to his car before he sent off the text. He didn’t have to wait a minute before the reply text came.

“I owe Gabriel ten bucks. He said you’d make the first move.”

“What did you bet?” Dean texted back.

“That you wouldn’t at all.”

“I’ll pitch in five bucks.”

“Don’t encourage him.”

Dean laughed and climbed into his car.

“You know, I never thought I’d be a regular at a coffee shop.”

“I’m glad you are.”

“Me too.”

He never did buy that damn coffee machine. But he did keep the cup.

#my fics #destiel fics #my posts #personal #my writing #supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #spn fics #dean fics #castiel fics #cas fics #god i forgot how to tag my writing fuck #just hit like and reblog if you like it okay??#please??#k thanks bye

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