#i then have to crawl through the worst of Holiday Internet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

damienthepious · 1 year

Text

continuing to be unhinged on main, i guess the florist/tattoo artist au has another chapter now??? but THIS time i truly think that’s it. that’s it! I’m tapped for this au. unless i think of something else fun. and then all bets are off.

Budding, Blooming (chapter 2)

[ch 1] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, (but there’s still monsters), Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Tension, Poetry, Flowers, Valentine’s Day, (implied but not stated. could be a some weird modern-citadel fest), DOESN"T MATTER

Summary: ... Was he asking for a date, though?

Notes: okay fuck. alright. okay so there's more. it's fine. thank you for uhhhh sticking with me as i took an unexpected month off!! felt weird, gang. felt real weird.

Arum feels... unsettled as he locks up the shop, that evening. He half expected Damien to have returned before he finished, considering- well. Considering. But the street is dark and still shining with the brief rain from a few hours earlier, and it is entirely empty of meddling poets as Arum flicks the keys around his fingers, his shoulders sagging with a sigh.

Long, grueling day. Damien hadn't been the only annoyance, of course. He hadn't even been the worst annoyance, surprisingly, and Arum is... tired. Perhaps he should have told the poet to come another day- tomorrow, or next week, or-

(Enough time to talk himself out of the idea.)

"Did he finally get up the nerve?"

Arum jumps, the keys flinging off his fingertips and hitting the pavement with a heavy chime as he whirls, teeth automatically bared and another hand clenching hard behind his back.

"What?" he snaps sharply, embarrassed without really knowing why, and then-

It's the woman from across the street, from the tattoo shop. Amaryllis- Rilla, Damien's- his-

(Once or thrice she has stopped by, warm and chipper and citing small business owner solidarity with a smile, chatting amiably about her almost-botany-degree while acting as if Arum isn't the most uncomfortable and asocial monster to ever crawl out of the swamp. She's sourced rare or monstrous flowers through him before, too, both for her own personal collection and because pics on the internet aren't good enough, I want this piece to work and I want hands on the real thing for my preliminary sketches. Which Arum... could not help but respect. It makes sense, to Arum, that Damien would fixate on someone like her.)

(She goes by Rilla, he knows, but Damien's insistence every single time he tried to plan an arrangement for her, every time, it needed amaryllis, he must add amaryllis, and amaryllis for Amaryllis caught in his head sturdy enough that he cannot seem to shake that name.)

(And now she's here in front of his shop and almost leering while Arum is distracted thinking about Damien and she's asking about- what? What-)

"Whoa, sorry," she says, grinning in a decidedly unapologetic way as she lifts her hands. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"You- would hardly say that you-" he huffs, flicking his tail to snag the keys and dropping them back into his hands. "I am fine."

"Right," she says, her eyes dancing (reminding Arum forcefully of one of Damien's poetic scraps), and then she tips her head. "I was just curious, y'know. The holiday and all, and he came out of here absolutely bouncing. He usually looks like a wet puppy when he leaves your shop, you know."

"What?" Arum says again, pulling his head back. "Who?" he asks, despite the fact that his stomach is clenching with a certainty that he does, in fact, know who.

"Damien, that cute poet boy," she says, her mouth curling into a warmer smile. "He's friends with my brother, so he stops by the parlor sometimes. Or- they're friends now," she says, rolling her eyes and gesturing to nothing before she shakes her head. "It was a whole thing, before, but- nevermind, not the point. Did he finally...?"

She leaves the question in a suggestive stretch, her eyebrows rising as she trails off, and Arum clenches his hands and stiffens with another wave of incomprehensible embarrassment, his throat ticking in a helpless rattle and his traitor frill rising at his neck.

"I don't know what you could mean," he rushes in a single breath, wrinkling his snout with as much disdain as he can muster.

"Aw, c'mon," she wheedles, leaning closer as Arum stiffens. "I've been dying over there watching him dance circles around you."

"Around-" Arum sputters, flicks his eyes away. "Around me?"

Some of the smirk falls out of Amaryllis' smile, then, her expression softening. "It looked like he asked you out. That's all. I don't mean to be nosy, I just-" she pauses, then laughs. "I just am. Nosy, I mean."

Arum barks a laugh at that, helpless against it, and then he huffs a breath and glances to the side, to the still empty, still rain-wet street gleaming in the light from the shops. "I don't-"

And he pauses.

Did- was that-

He had assumed, from Damien's tone, from the context of the day and-

"He asked if he could come meet me," Arum says slowly. "After my shift was over. I don't... I don't know if he meant..."

He trails off, stomach twisting, suddenly much more uncertain, and then he looks to Amaryllis again. Her smile twitches as she meets his eye, and she nods, her expression going thoughtful and sympathetic.

"That sounds like he was asking you out?" she says, her inflection swooping upward at the end. "I would think?"

She pauses, while Arum's stomach continues to do unhelpful little turns, his hands flexing, and then she tips her head gently to the side.

"Did you... want him to be asking you out?"

Usually, Arum only wishes that he could sink into the mantle of the planet once per day at the very most. This holiday might kill him, he muses.

"N-no," he sputters after a suspicious beat. "He is- he- utterly obnoxious, and-"

"So... that isn't what the flowers are for," she drawls, her eyelids lowering and her smirk reemerging with a sly little twist (another poem screams to the forefront of Arum's mind, distracting as a flitting moth).

Arum stiffens further as the words sink into his mind. He clenches the hand already held behind his back, ineffectually trying to hide- the bouquet.

(Ridiculous. This was ridiculous. Two canceled orders and a few minutes stolen time and the vague idea that Damien would like these colors together, the memories of the flowers Damien gravitated towards when he would plan out his own arrangements-)

He manages a sound that could be half the word no, an awkward nasal humming, and then his voice fails entirely as the compulsive rattling growl in his throat takes precedence.

Amaryllis giggles, and Arum does not know why he does not instantly take offense to the noise. Perhaps because it sounds entirely joyful, and not at all mocking.

He sighs, after a moment, relaxing his arm and holding the bouquet at his side rather than behind his back. "Perhaps," he admits, but then he glances back through the unlit shop window, to where he can see the clock. "Though I'm not certain that it matters."

Her smile subsides a little, her head tilting. "Hm?"

"He's... late."

He told Damien he would be done around seven. He had been optimistic, apparently. It is already nearing eight, and... he and Amaryllis are still alone on the dimly lit street. He had been (without admitting it to himself) keeping an eye on the door since six thirty, for all the good it did him.

"Oh," Amaryllis says, and Arum turns his attention to her again at the quiet note of sympathy in her voice. "Maybe he... lost track of time?"

Arum thinks of the hours that Damien has previously spent agonizing about his potential purchases, and decides that the possibility is entirely likely. He is unsure if that makes him feel any better, however.

He realizes, belatedly, that Amaryllis has stepped a little closer, and he tries not to visibly tense as she lifts a hand.

"Can I see?" she asks, and Arum can't quite think of a reason to say no. He sighs again, lifting the bundle and allowing her to brush, just barely, the petal of one of the flowers. "It's pretty. The colors-"

"It was the best I could do with scraps," he deflects, shrugging one shoulder.

"It's pretty," she repeats with a stubborn lilt, glaring up at him as she gently cups a hand around one of the few roses he'd managed to salvage, a dusty pale purple thing, and the way her fingers curl against the petals is almost protective. There is something about the gesture that Arum feels like he needs to look away from. "And it's very sweet of you."

Arum grumbles, some part of himself distracted with wondering if he has ever in his life before been called sweet.

She seems to realize that she's still got her hand in his flowers, and she shifts backward without taking a step, dropping her hands back to her sides and briefly biting her lip.

"Tell you what," she says, and then she- she hesitates for a half second, ducking her head and then looking up at Arum with her dark, oddly searching eyes. "I'll wait with you. If he doesn't come..." she shrugs, "I'll walk you home."

Arum's instincts flare in at least three directions, after a moment of confused sputtering he hones in on his indignation, stiffening.

"I do not need your pity," he says, only barely managing not to spit, and Amaryllis-

Half-steps back, blinking as her expression opens in surprise.

"Wh... whoa, what? No, no, I just-" she shakes her head, giving a stunted, embarrassed laugh. "Being stood up sucks for anyone," she says, "and I just- I mean, it isn't like I haven't thought about it, y'know? You've got this whole," she pauses to gesture with a hand, up and down Arum's entire body as if that explains anything, "this whole thing, hold yourself all regal and- if we weren't both so busy constantly it might've been nice to try- to ask- I don't know, I don't-"

She pauses more fully, lifting her shoulders as she takes a deep breath and then releases it, giving Arum a wincing smile as he stares at her, still uncomprehending.

"I am... making a complete ass of myself, aren't I?"

She waits for him to answer, which means that Arum needs to come up with one. He can feel his tail twitching behind him, so he tries to curl it around his ankle to keep from hitting anything.

"I don't have the first idea what any of that meant," he admits, and she exhales a sigh that sounds relieved.

"That's fine, that's great, I was just- what I meant was, I don't want to walk you home out of pity. I want to walk you home because- because I just want to. It isn't like I have anyone else to take me out tonight, anyway," she adds, not sounding bothered about it.

Arum turns that over, then slowly gives a nod.

"Solidarity again," he murmurs, and Amaryllis snorts.

"Well- not exactly, but- fine. Yeah, that works."

Arum considers letting it drop there, but-

"If not that, then what?" he asks, his voice sounding tired even to his own ears, and she gives him a searching look.

"I like you," she says after a beat, and then she shrugs as Arum's comprehension staggers to another halt. "I'm literally too busy to date, so it's not like I was planning on doing anything about it, but- you're fun to talk to, you're gorgeous, I like talking to you," she shrugs again, a little too casual, and realization hits Arum like a physical blow that she's nervous about this, at least to some degree. "And I don't want you to have to walk home alone in the dark on some big dumb romance holiday when I could walk with you instead. So."

Arum stares at her for another long moment, but-

Before he can respond, he hears footsteps on wet pavement, and he turns his head at precisely the right moment to see Damien round the corner at an anxious jog, skidding on the turn, a journal overflowing with stuffed in pieces of extra paper clutched against his chest.

"Arum, I-"

Damien twitches with his entire body when he recognizes Amaryllis, the nervousness in her expression replaced now with amusement and delight, and-

The three of them... stare. At each other. Arum considers his third bout of wishing for swift removal from the planet. Damien looks as if he may have forgotten how to breathe air. Amaryllis only looks more amused with each moment.

But then Arum-

(Flowers in his hand. Bouquet here and now between Damien and Amaryllis. A box full of poems. Love poems.)

Arum has a moment of clarity.

He understands what he should do, even as Damien finally takes a breath to collect himself and and steps forward again. It makes Arum feel as if his stomach has vanished, but... well. It doesn't matter.

Arum holds the flowers up, pressing them into Damien's hands as the poet flushes dark and sputters wordlessly, and then Arum turns towards Amaryllis.

"He hasn't been coming by my shop for my sake," he explains, his voice strangely calm. "He was trying to pick out the perfect flowers for you, and the nerve to give them. Because he adores you," he continues, watching Amaryllis' lips part with surprise. "He's written dozens of poems for you and doesn't consider any of them sufficient to present to you, despite their beauty and deftness. He-" Arum inhales, a hint of a shake entering his voice. "He made a mistake, earlier today. I made him feel guilty. He was trying to... make up for inconveniencing me. But it is you, that he wishes to be with."

Arum makes himself turn towards Damien, then, who has returned to open gawping, his hands clutched hard around both his journal and the flowers.

"You should give those to her, honeysuckle," Arum says, because that's what happens next, isn't it? And Arum can- he can go. He's no longer needed in this exchange, and he can finally escape this whirlpool of discomfort and go back to-

Being alone.

"Hey whoa hold up-"

Amaryllis grabs his wrist before he can even finish turning, which is so surprising that Arum fully freezes instead of pulling away like he should.

"I- what? You can't just drop a bomb like that and leave."

Arum glances between the two of them, who- why are they both looking at him? Shouldn't they be- he doesn't know, falling into each other, already? It should be abundantly clear that Arum has no place here, between them.

Damien's pout is firmly aimed in his direction, however. And he glances down at the bouquet for a heartbeat, his face softening, before he shuffles the book into that hand as well, carefully juggling both objects so he can step forward and take one of Arum's other hands, his brow furrowed.

"I did not make a mistake, today," he says, and Arum is mortified to find that his voice sounds hurt. "It is-" he flushes, but perseveres, "it is true that I have been... contemplating a romantic gesture towards- towards Rilla, yes, but- but that does not mean that my words to you today were a mistake." He swallows, glancing to Amaryllis for a moment, and adds, "I apologize, that you needed be told in this way. You deserve far more than that, I should say."

"Don't mention it," Amaryllis says, her nose wrinkling as she flaps a hand in the air. "If it makes you feel better, I kinda figured you had the hots for Arum and I was stuck across the street wishing I had more free time to join the flirting."

Arum feels his frill twitch and Damien gives a startled laugh of his own.

"Flirting with- with who, may I ask?"

Amaryllis shrugs, grinning again, still holding Arum's wrist. "No wrong answers, there, I think," she says slyly, and Arum chokes on a breath, unfortunately drawing both of their attentions again. "So. Wait," Amaryllis says, tilting her head to the side. "So... Damien. You- you like me?"

Damien's flush deepens, and his throat seems to have failed to work, but he does manage to nod, his expression almost brokenly shy. Amaryllis, conversely, grins even wider.

"And you like Arum," she continues, and Damien nods again, his brow furrowing, obviously as uncertain as Arum is, as to where, precisely, she's going with this line of thinking. "So you like me and Arum, and honestly I've been fighting back crushes on the both of you for weeks now, and Arum- the date and the flowers, I think you probably like Damien back, yeah?" she asks, but she doesn't actually seem to expect an answer, this time. "And... do you feel any sort of way about me?"

Arum stiffens, two of his hands still clutched in their absurdly warm grasps, feeling utterly trapped. But-

He swallows. He glances down at each of them, hesitant and unable to hold their gazes for more than a moment each.

"You-" he hesitates, then jumps when he feels Damien squeeze his hand. "You inspire poetry," he says in a rush, and then he looks away entirely, growling low in his throat without meaning to. "Your work is exquisite and your laugh reminds me of sunlight," he adds, still growling, still not looking.

And then Amaryllis drops his hand, and he lets himself look again, startled into another spike of anxiety, but all she's done is pressed a hand over her heart, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her expression very tentatively hopeful. She inhales, deep but shaky, and then she quirks a smile and holds her hand out again, offering rather than taking.

"Pretty much every restaurant is going to be full up tonight," she says, "so if we want to go somewhere to talk and have some coffee, maybe... my apartment is above the shop. We could... we could go sit down, maybe. Talk a little bit more about... who likes who. And if we might want to do something about that."

Arum- blinks, then glances down towards Damien, whose expression has tilted so far past hopefulness so fast that he looks near to tears.

And he still hasn't let go of Arum's hand.

This holiday might kill him, Arum thinks again, and then-

He nods, and he takes Amaryllis' hand too.

#elle's fanfic #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #(it's weds in my zone now but the ao3 chapter went up before midnight!!! it fucken counts)#lord arum #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #budding blooming

12 notes · View notes

gukyi · 3 years

Text

in the frosty air | a jjk drabble

summary: two weeks ago you and your roommate slept together. which would be fine, if you knew you both felt the same about each other. but you don’t. and now it’s christmas, and jungkook is still gorgeous and gentle and wonderful and here, and and you don’t really know what to do about that.

{college!au, roommates!au}

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: this is just an angst train tbh, but it has a happy ending! word count: 1.6k warnings: mentions of past alcohol consumption, this centers around everyone’s favorite capitalist holiday, being sad in the wintertime a/n: OHHHHHHHHHH *internet breaks* anyway yeah i’m back baby!!! here’s a little drabble to celebrate because i can’t help myself when it comes to jungkook. love me or we both go down coming soon!

“This Christmas is pretty fucking lame, isn’t it?”

You whip around at the sound of his voice. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I figured,” Jungkook chuckles, bending his head down as he crawls through the open window to join you on the fire escape. The temperature is freezing and the wind is stinging your skin, but it didn’t really feel right to be spending tonight inside. “Saw the window open. Thought you might be here.”

“Yeah. I was probably gonna head inside soon, though.” In the hopes that you would be curled up in your bedroom before Jungkook even got home. Seeing him lately has been hard. “How did your final go?”

“It was alright.” You don’t have to keep looking at him to feel Jungkook taking a seat next to you, crossing his legs over each other as he stares out into the city below you. It snowed a few days ago, and the sidewalks are still covered in that dirty slush that always lingers, wet and cold and black from car tires. Just being beside you makes your heart race, makes your chest tighten. “I was pretty stressed out about it, but then I just sort of remembered that I did my best and that was all I could do, you know?”

“That’s good.” You wish you had that mindset. You spend days studying for an exam and once it’s over, you spend days dwelling on all the things you might have gotten wrong. It’s a philosophy you apply to most aspects of your life. Why you did the thing you did. Why doing the thing you did was the worst thing you could have done. How you will recover from it. If you even will.

Jungkook sighs. You turn to look at him, just briefly, glance at his side figure, and notice he’s wearing nothing but a giant zip-up hoodie. Isn’t he cold? “It doesn’t really feel like Christmas.”

“Yeah.” You don’t have anything else to say to that. It doesn’t. Which is a damn shame, because you and Jungkook spent the entire beginning of this month turning your tiny, two-bedroom apartment into a winter wonderland. You got a tree to put up next to your TV and decorated with the weirdest ornaments you could find. You hung up those dangly white Christmas lights on the balcony of your fire escape, the ones meant to look like icicles dripping from the metal railing. The radio has been playing nothing but Michael Bublé and Mariah Carey. And yet.

It’s not hard to wonder why this Christmas is such shit. Your spring internship fell through a week ago. Your parents rented a lake house and assumed you wouldn’t be coming with. All of your other friends have gone home already. And Jungkook, perhaps the last person in this whole goddamn city you would have wanted to spend time with, you can’t even bear to look at.

“How did your finals go?” Jungkook asks, trying to keep the conversation going.

“They were fine.” At least that torture is over. But living with Jungkook, seeing him every day and knowing that what you have done you can never undo--it’s endless.

There’s silence. It’s like the two of you simultaneously have no idea and know exactly what to say. Like the words are lingering on the tips of your tongues but your lips are sealed shut. Opening them won’t be like a can of worms. It will be a dam, a waterfall of I’m sorrys and What nows. One week ago, in the heat of the night and in the haze of drink after drink, you and Jungkook made the worst mistake two roommates could ever make.

“Are you going home this break?” You blurt out the words before you can stop yourself.

Jungkook sighs. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay if you want to.” I get it. I’m not sure if I’d want to hang around and see me either.

He shrugs. “I just haven’t decided yet.”

He knows that you’re staying. The two of you were so looking forward to spending Christmas together. Now look at you. Jungkook was the perfect roommate. Then everything changed.

“Okay.” He’s probably just trying to figure out a way to let you down easy.

Next to you, Jungkook rustles a hand through his pocket. “By the way, uh--I just remembered. I got you something.”

You don’t even have time to object before Jungkook is placing a small fabric box into your open palm, resting on your lap. You look down at the item, at the way your hand seems to envelop it.

“You didn’t have to--”

“I wanted to.” Jungkook is firm in his response. “Besides, I got it a while ago. Figured now is as good a time as any to give it to you.”

There’s not really anything else to do except open it. Carefully, with trembling fingers, you pull off the lid. Inside sits a dainty silver locket resting amongst a pile of folded tissue paper. You gasp, your breath coming out in smoke in the cold winter air.

“Oh my God, I--”

“I overheard you talking on the phone saying you wanted one,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. “I wanted to give it to you before I forgot.”

Fingers shaking from the cold, you pull the locket from the box. It dangles from its chain, a delicate little thing, barely the size of a fingerprint. Even on this hazy winter evening, it still catches the light.

For the first time tonight, you look up at him. His eyes are a swirling brown, a deep chocolate. They are unreadable. He offers a small, guarded smile your way, lips pink in the chilly air. “Thank you,” you tell him honestly. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for you.

You can’t accept this without returning the favor. Wordlessly, you get up from the fire escape, rushing indoors for a moment as you grab your gift from your bedroom. It’s been sitting in there for at least two weeks now. You hold your hand behind your back as you make your way back to the fire escape, sitting down next to him once more.

With a small flourish, you reveal your own present. They’re drumsticks.

“For you,” you tell him, that same small grin on your face. “Since you’re always drumming on everything. Thought you could use something to do that with.”

Jungkook looks positively starstruck. He takes the sticks in his hands, feels the wood with his fingers, tracing over the logo at the bottom. You aren’t very well versed in the world of drum equipment, but your friend in the orchestra told you it was a good brand.

“Wow, Y/N,” he says, mouth agape. “This is... this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever gotten me. Thank you.”

“Always.”

And that’s the truth, isn’t it? No matter what you do, no matter what you say, you will always be there to give Jungkook what he deserves. To make his life just the tiniest bit better. Doing thoughtful things for him has never required effort on your part. There is just a part of you that will do them, because he deserves it. Because he is so gentle, and loving, and kind, and wonderful.

You sit there for a little while longer, relishing in the brief respite of your gift exchange. It’s softened the ice, warmed the air, broken the tension. Even if only a little. But it’s enough to keep you out here, sitting next to him. It’s enough to keep you from drifting away.

“I don’t regret that night.”

The words feel like biting wind.

“What?” You turn to him.

“I don’t. I’d do it again. A thousand times over.” Jungkook is resolute. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed in determination.

“Jungkook, what happened that night--”

“Is something I’ll never forget,” he finishes. “Do you know how fucking long I had been waiting to do that? To hold you? Kiss you? To spend the night with you?”

Each syllable presses deeper into your chest, imprinting themselves on your heart. You stare back at him, too shocked to say anything at all.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” Jungkook adds on, quickly backtracking. “I sort of... got that message when I woke up that morning and you were gone. But I just wanted you to know that that night didn’t change anything about how I feel about you.”

Jungkook’s got it all wrong. You were the one who fucked up. You were the one whose feelings won’t change. “I thought you were the one who didn’t feel the same.”

Jungkook chuckles, this sad, forced cough. “Are you kidding? I’d do anything to relive that night. You’re my favorite person in this whole world, Y/N.”

If the weather were just a little bit warmer, if the wind wasn’t as dry, perhaps tears would fall. But instead, you blink back at him and it feels at once like your heart weighs a million pounds and nothing at all. “Me too,” you choke out. “I never want to be without you.”

Your fire escape is barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but that doesn’t stop Jungkook from reaching over and pulling you in, pressing a chilly kiss to your frozen lips, the heat of his mouth warming you up from the inside out. It’s cold tonight, yes. But Jungkook makes you feel like it’s summer all year long.

You smile against his lips. They feel like home. They taste like peppermint lip balm and coffee and ice.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks. As if he was even thinking about going home anyway.

“Yes,” you whisper back.

It feels a lot more like Christmas now.

“Then I’ll stay.”

↳ don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback! i missed you guys!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #not me writing this because i felt like some jk college angst and also wanted to celebrate my return with more than just a text post #w: in the frosty air #DOES IT REALLY DESERVE A W: TAG??? ITS A DRABBLE

1K notes · View notes

cupcakemolotov · 5 years

Text

It’s Cold Outside

Written for @lalainajanes, this was supposed to have been written before the end of the Holiday Season, since she works retail aka the hardest job on this planet. Its mostly a ton of fluff, sorry folks, no smut here, but hopefully I can finish something else soon!

Caroline eased the tips of her fingers out of the mound of blankets and shivered. The air was bitterly cold, the fire having gone out sometime in the night. Around her the house was quiet, the soft sounds of snow sliding against the windows easily discernible. She hoped the lack of thunder and harsh winds meant the worst of the storm had passed. She supposed she could check the weather report if her phone’s battery had made it through the night, but that would require moving. She was not looking forward to untangling herself from her super cozy pile of blankets.

Or the man pressed along the length of her spine.

She was pretty sure Klaus was still asleep, the warm tangle of him lax, his breathing deep and even. Even with the layers of clothes between them, even the hat she’d crammed over her frizzy waves, she could still feel him through every line pressed against her. The tangle of legs, the way her wool clad feet were shoved against his. The heavy length of his arm draped across her waist.

It left her wondering how he’d feel naked and just as close, and those were both dangerous and familiar thoughts. Dating one of Rebekah’s brothers could make her social life messy, but dating her friend’s favorite was a recipe for disaster. Caroline had watched Rebekah cut people out of her life for much smaller infractions, and she had made it perfectly clear years ago that her brothers were off limits.

If only she’d known.

Caroline had laughed when Rebekah had made her pronouncement, not believing dating a Mikaelson would ever be an issue. She and Rebekah had become friend’s despite themselves, and at the time she couldn’t imagine how Rebekah’s brothers would ever be a temptation.

She just hadn’t anticipated Klaus.

She’d met him for the first time during the summer of her junior year, having landed a coveted internship in New York City. There had been a complication with her sublet, a broken pipe had made the space unliveable, and a series of conventions had made getting a hotel room for a night or two on her budget impossible. A panicked phone call to Rebekah had ended with Klaus being bullied into offering his guest room. Caroline had been too stressed to be embarrassed, and Klaus had been grudgingly polite that first night she’d shown up with her bags.

He’d ignored her babbled thanks, hauled her bags into his extra room, and told her that as long as she didn’t disturb him when painting and didn’t have sex in the public spaces, he didn’t care what she did. She’d spluttered at his words but he’d disappeared before she could manage a reply, leaving her red-faced in his guest room.

Caroline had texted Rebekah that she was at Klaus’ apartment, thrown herself into a quick shower and immediately started scouring the internet for a place to stay that wouldn’t end up with her on an episode of the ID Channel. It hadn’t gone well. New York’s renting market was vastly different from anywhere she’d lived, and she’d been forced to text Rebekah a series options before crashing hard before the first day at her internship.

Said internship had left her pulling late hours, often staggering home after midnight and crawling out of bed again at six the next morning to start over. But Caroline wasn’t a quitter, and she had a very deft hand with concealers. It did, however, make finding a place to stay tricky. Her daylight hours were packed and so she’d find herself running searches when wolfing down a midnight snack, exhausted and blurry eyed.

It was how Klaus had found her.

She’d been camped at his kitchen island, eating her cold pizza leftovers and scrolling through listings with one hand. He’d been paint flecked and rumpled, curls fluffed into disarray. They’d both just sort of stared at each for a long moment. Caroline had known that he was stupidly good looking, all of Rebekah’s family was unfairly attractive, but something about frazzled artist Klaus had done things to her insides.

Thankfully, exhausted-Caroline hadn’t had a chance to embarrass herself. The expression on Klaus’ face had been a familiar, even if she usually saw it with less stubble, and she’d shoved the remains of the pizza box in his direction. Hungry Mikaelson’s were usually mean, and she was too tired to deal with it.

She hadn’t expected him to sit and eat as directed, Rebekah usually took more coaxing and Klaus hadn’t seemed much like the social type. At best, she’d have expected him to grab a slice and disappear. Instead, he’d sat and ate while studying her from an expression only slightly paint speckled. It’d been a little nerve wracking, but she’d lost all possible shyness when he’d started butting into her apartment searches. His comments had been a mix of helpful and annoying. She’d stayed up way to late that night arguing with him, she’d barely gotten in enough sleep to count as a single REM cycle. But even though she’d needed seven cups of coffee to function the next day, she’d admitted, at least to herself, that it’d been worth it.

It’d been… fun.

Caroline had tried really hard to keep her impact on his space to a bare minimum. Particularly once staying a few days had stretched past a week and that had meant avoiding him as much as possible. She’d expected him to react more similarly to Rebekah having he space invaded than he had. Klaus had been engaging and smart, bitingly sarcastic at times, but over all he’d been weirdly nice about her enforced stay as she’d complained about subletting in New York City.

Maybe that should have been a warning flag, but she’d been tired and off her Mikaelson game. Having narrowed her list down to two potential opportunities, she’d been cautiously optimistic that her stay at Klaus’ apartment would be ending.

The cupcakes on the counter had been her only real warning. Klaus in the kitchen when she got home in and of itself hadn’t been particularly alarming, but a Mikaelson offering bribes was never a good sign. It didn’t help that Klaus, freshly showered and alert, was an unfair sensory overload that had little to do with the warning bells going off in the back of her head.

Klaus had been completely unapologetic when he told her that he’d called his realtor about her situation. He’d ignored her loud noise of disbelief, and continued on that after a chance to really dig into the current renting market, it looked like her best bet was to stay where she was in his guest room. Caroline had not taken his suggestion well.

It had felt too much like mooching. Klaus has already refused her offer of rent when she’d tentatively broached it when she’d been stuck for that first week, and to extend that for another six weeks had left her spluttering with anger. She’d tried to be reasonable between gritted teeth, pointing out that she’d only called Rebekah for help in desperation, and his spare bedroom was an emergency location only, not a solution.

He’d made that clear the first night, hadn’t he?

Klaus had listened to her rebuttals with a little smile that made her want to bite him until she had run out of air. Then, picking up a cupcake, he’d unwrapped it while using her mom and Rebekah to cut her legs out from underneath her in two neat sentences. She’d kind of hated him a little for it even if the rest of her grudgingly admired his cutthroat tactics.

She’d still eaten the cupcakes, even if she’d really, really disliked that he’d been right. He’d been smart enough not to gloat in his victory, sliding her the box and disappearing back into his room. Too irritated to sleep, she’d written out a pro and con list for her new situation. Finally and irritably, she’d admitted her wasn’t wrong. His apartment was much closer to her internship that she’d have managed to find on her own, and the extra hour of sleep was a huge benefit. His doorman was friendly, the nightlife was awesome, and as long as she didn’t murder Klaus it’d probably be okay.

At least she didn’t have to share a bathroom.

But for all of her lists of lists, her fanatical attention to detail, there had still been challenges. The weekly cleaning service had taken some getting used too, and she’d still sneak re-cleaned her bathroom every time. The lack of things to clean when she’d been unable to sleep from stress had been annoying. Thankfully, Klaus hadn’t complained too much the time she’d rearranged his spice cabinet in a fit of anxiety and cupcake driven paranoia at three in the morning.

In fact, he’d sat on his counter with sleep heavy eyes and listened to her ramble about memos and models until the pre-dawn hours with only a small bit of complaining. She’d bought him flowers in thanks, and she’d tried not to read too deeply into his niceness. Rebekah had many things to say about her favorite brother, but patient and nice had rarely come up.

Thankfully for her sanity and her inability to shake off her awareness of his cuteness, for all the times they ran into each other, they still missed each other just as often. She could go days without him appearing from his studio. She’d given up on tip toeing around the first week of her stay, and as the summer moved on, she’d forgone any niceties or concerns for his sleep schedule pre-coffee.

Then pizza night became a thing.

Caroline couldn’t remember quite why pizza night had started, she was pretty sure it had something to do with post work drinks, and tipsy-Caroline being hungry after a night out. She was a bit fuzzy on the details, and hoped she hadn’t rambled too much. Tipsy-Caroline was a talker and a lot cuddly. Klaus hadn’t said anything, and she’d tried not to blush for almost a week.

But whatever had happened, every Thursday night for the rest of her internship, she’d walk in to Klaus and pizza. He’d poke and prod at her until she was spluttering; she’d argue with him over the silliest of topics until she was yawning and he’d shoo her off to bed. It became her favorite night of the week.

She found Rebekah’s brother to be a strange mix of snobbery and hard work, that biting sarcasm she enjoyed and a charm that was occasionally sweet. Little things cropped up in the apartment that she knew were for her even if he never explicitly said anything. Small things. A hand soap she liked or a certain snack in the fridge. Little sticky notes with cute sketches. She still had all of them, tucked away safely in new apartment.

And okay, maybe she’d developed the teeny, tiniest of crushes even knowing that liking Klaus had been a bad idea all around. A girl only had so much willpower against accents and dimples and clever wit. But Klaus wasn’t someone she could date casually, and there wasn’t any chance for a hot sexscapade. Not with Rebekah being such an important part of her life.

In the end, she hadn’t known how to say goodbye.

Thankfully, Rebekah had flown out for her last weekend in NYC, which had kept her goodbyes from being awkward. Klaus had been especially busy with a series of paintings and had left them to entertain themselves, but he had cleaned up and taken her and Rebekah to dinner their last night. He’d even emerged from his painting cave to wish her luck the morning she’d moved out. He’d already been smeared with paint and a little more disheveled than she was used to seeing, and keeping her goodbye hug platonic had been both easy and difficult.

She hadn’t really wanted paint on her clothes.

The trip back to the airport had been wistful, and Caroline would never admit it to Rebekah, but leaving had felt like a missed opportunity. She would never have stayed, she had one year to go, and so she had forcibly put Klaus and lingering possibilities out of her mind. But New York had always been her end goal, and twelve months later, she had moved into her shoe box apartment. The weeks she spent moving and adjusting to her new workload had been amazing and stressful, but it wasn’t until she finally settled that she found her thoughts drifting back to Klaus. Caroline had found herself idly wondering once or twice if he’d mind if she showed up with a pizza.

If he’d been in the States, she might have done it.

But a little bit of casual fishing with Rebekah had confirmed that he was currently in Europe promoting his newest gallery and wasn’t expected back in the States until after the New Year. Putting aside her disappointment, she didn’t even know if he was interested though she had hope, she’d thrown herself into her post-graduation life.

Caroline found she adored New York in the fall, pumpkin spice lattes and leaves falling in Central Park. But even as fall turned cold and blistering, stringing up Christmas lights and forming her tiny tree had been a tiny milestone she’d loved. She’d flown home to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her mom, the quiet town of her childhood a stark contrast to the city she lived in now. It had been nice to realize she didn’t miss it, that Liz was happy that Caroline was building her life.

New Year’s Eve was in Vale, Rebekah having been super insistent that their friends circle spend the holiday in the new year at the Mikaelson Family Lodge. Caroline had avoided asking if her wish for an activity outside NYC was as much the opportunity of most of her family being overseas or a reaction to the very messy breakup weeks before.

Fervently wishing that her bestie had chosen someplace warmer to spite party without her ex, Caroline had packed up her ski gear and set her teeth. Since she was flying from Virginia instead of New York, she would end up landings hours before the rest of the group, but she was looking forward to the silence. She’d planned on a long bath. A chance to raid the wine cabinet, and maybe some picturesque selfies on her bedrooms balcony.

She just hadn’t counted on a legit blizzard rolling in the day if her arrival. It would figured her one trip to Vale would be a disaster. The storm was supposed to have been intense but manageable, so she hadn’t worried too much when she’d been getting on her flight. Chicago has its fair share of winter storms, she could manage the weather for a couple of days.

She knew how to drive in inclement weather.

Once she’d landed in Denver the weather had been a different story. The weather predictions had worsened and airlines had been presumptively cancelling flights. A quick phone call to Rebekah had confirmed that they weren’t getting out of JFK that night, any planes heading into the Midwest grounded. It had also become clear that if she didn’t want to spend the night at the airport, her best bet was to ride the storm out at the lodge.

The worst of the storm was supposed to have hit later at night, so Caroline had decided to roll the dice and rent a car. The two hour drive would only get worse the longer she waited, and the roads were expected to remain open for several hours.

Driving in the steadily falling snow had been tiring, her muscles drawn tight with strain. She’d texted Rebekah her plans but hadn’t heard back, her reception spotty, and it been with a great deal of relief that she found the house lights on as she’d pulled into the driveway. The walkway was mostly free from snow, as if someone gave deliberately shoveled, and she hoped the Mikaelson paid the caretaker well.

Yanking on her jacket, Caroline had grabbed her bags and made beeline for the front door, shivering in the wind and snow. The door had opened as she’d reached for the handle and she’d nearly slipped as she caught sight of who was standing there.

Klaus, with his mouth set in disapproval, the sweater he wore soft and comfortable looking, inviting her cold fingers to reach out and touch.

“I thought Rebekah was joking when she said you were making the drive.” His words were terse, edged in exasperation as took her bag and ushered her into the heat of the house.

Caroline rolled her eyes as she headed straight for the fire,yanking at her scarf and gloves. “It’s not my first time driving in snow, and I refuse to sleep on an airport floor.”

Klaus had made a rough noise of disbelief. “What would you have done if you’d gotten stuck?”

“The worst isn’t supposed to hit for a few hours,” she’d protested, looking over her shoulder with raised brows. “It was perfectly fine and…”

Her words cut off as the power flickered and the. died around them, the fire their only source of light. The sudden silence had been punctured by the crackling of the fire, and Klaus exhaled slowly. “I’ll go check the backup generator.”

Caroline set her jaw and started pulling her gloves back on. “I’ll go with you.”

Both of his brows had arched. “You just got out of the storm, love. You sure you want to go back into it?”

To puncture his words, the windows rattled as the wind picked up. “You might need me to hold the flashlight. Plus, I know how generators work, being as this isn’t my first snowpocalypse.”

She could tell he had wanted to argue, but he’d manage to refrain. They’d trudged out into the storm together, and Caroline hadn’t argued when he’d use his taller frame to block the worst of the wind. Their investigation had lead to the discovery that mice had chewed through the wires, leaving the generator unusable. The cursing that had come from Klaus had almost been worth knowing that they were going to have to figure out how to deal with the snow without the convenience of running water. Caroline had taken back all her mental thank yous to the caretaker. She would have killed for a shower or bath to thaw in and was extremely unhappy she wasn’t going to get one.

Once back in the house, Klaus had rolled his neck with a sigh and eyed her. “Come on. I picked up dinner earlier. I’ll share. We’ll open a bottle and figure out our options.”

Caroline frowned and slipping out of her wet shoes, thankful for her thick socks and making a point to avoid the growing puddles as snow melted off their jackets. “Do you think the power will come back on?”

“Doubtful, sweetheart. The winds have been picking up all evening, and it is as likely someone’s asinine Santa decoration took out a power line as it was a tree limb. We’ll have to make due, I’m afraid.”

Dinner turned out to be Italian. The lasagna was room temperature, the cheese a bit congealed, but the wine made up for it. As had her company. It had been ridiculously easy to fall back into old patterns, and so much harder not to let her eyes linger on the curve of his lips, the hint of a dimple in the firelight.

It was with regret that she forced herself to be practical once she finished her food. Sleeping arrangements needed to be decided upon, their water supply examined. A quick perusal had showed that while the generators had been neglected, the pantry was well stock with food and water they could live off of should the storm last longer than expected. The bedrooms all had thick blankets, but also large windows and thin curtains. The master bedroom hadn’t been much better even though it did have a fireplace. In the end, with its fireplace, doors, and easily covered windows the den had ended up being the unanimous winner.

They’d wrestled a double mattress into the den as Klaus had refused to sleep on the floor and had convincingly argued the couch wasn’t wide enough for two. Deciding not to complain when she didn’t want to sleep on the floor either, she’d helped him move things around. By the time they’d piled the bed with blankets and settled in for the night, she’d been exhausted.

Thankfully, so had Klaus. Getting into bed had been quick, both of them covered in layers of clothes. Secretly, she had really been hoping Klaus snored or drooled or something that she could use to keep her hormones in check. Seeing Klaus again, sharing a bed with Klaus, had woken all sorts of ideas she had thought she had kept in check. And instead of being annoying, Klaus had proven to be an excellent bedmate and a quiet sleeper. And really, stupidly comfy.

Taking a bracing breath, Caroline mournfully decided it was best get up and deal with the fire. If the storm had eased up, it was likely that the roads would be cleared soon. Rich people rarely lived with inconveniences, and Caroline figured it wouldn’t take long for the airport to be functioning. Snow plows would start clearing the streets as soon as it was safe. She figured it would be best to get the den straightened up and eliminate all signs of their forced cohab for the night even if the rest of her social circle would be showing up much later that night.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, she pushed up to try to untangle herself. The arm wrapped around her waist tightened and she squeaked as she was pulled backwards, firmly against Klaus’ chest.

“It’s cold,” he murmured, voice sleep rough. “Stay.”

Caroline bit her lip to keep from shivering. “I was going to restart the fire.”

His fingers flexed against her stomach and she felt him move around behind her. The sound of the covers shifting and the familiar click of a phone screen was loud, and she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the little grunt of disbelief he made. “It’s six am, Caroline. I don’t remember you particularly enjoying mornings.”

“Technically, it’s eight am in New York,” she pointed out just to be contrary. For all that he’d complained it was cold, the bed was cozy with the combined heat, but she didn’t feel like reminding him of it. Burrowing back into her pillow, her voice was slightly muffled by the bedding. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“Perhaps not,” Klaus agreed softly, legs brushing hers as he settled behind her. The bed didn’t provide much space for them both and a tangle of limbs was nearly unavoidable. Not that Klaus seemed interested in avoiding her, his arm still draped across her waist. “But I’m in no hurry to leave, either.”

“Not a fan of the cold?” Caroline teased yanking the blankets higher, hoping to cover the heat in her cheeks with the motion. “How does that work? You live in New York.”

He laugh was soft. “And as I’ve been told, so do you, love. But I was referring to my current company, not the slightly unfortunate temperature.”

Caroline’s eyes widened, fingers curling tightly into the sheets at his casual admittance that he’d talked to someone about her. The sudden jump in her pulse left her breath hitching in her throat, and she tried not to fidget. “New York was always in my plans. I’m pretty sure I mentioned it at least once.”

“You did,” he agreed. “Does the city still meet your expectations?”

Taking a bracing breath, she glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her intently. There was a crease from his pillow on his cheekbone above his usual stubble, and his eyes were dark in the low light. “It’s nice to be able to afford more than a single drink at a time, and I still hate the subway. But I think I’m getting used to it.”

She’d found herself fitting easily back into brightly colored flats and comfy sneakers for running to catch a train, and her boots had gotten a much needed upgrade once the weather had chilled. For all of her complaints about public transport, she loved having a coffee shop always around the corner and highlighted takeout menus on her fridge. She was still looking for the perfect yoga class, but her legs were in fantastic shape.

It was messy, but it was hers.

“I’m glad,” Klaus said simply.

Biting her lip, Caroline rolled onto her back to study Klaus’ face more closely. There was a quiet sort of intimacy laying there with him, even with the layers and layers of clothes between them. Toes curling nervously beneath the pile of blankets, she forced herself not to fidget.

“I thought about swinging by with a pizza to say hi, I was pretty sure the doorman would let me in, but I was told you were in Europe.”

His lips curled slowly, a hint of a dimple peeking from his cheek. “London seemed less of a trial than my apartment after you left.”

Not willing to read into that when she wanted it so badly, she looked at the ceiling in mock exasperation. “You probably ruined the spice cabinet in a week.”

He made a rough sound of amusement, but his gaze was serious when her eyes returned to his. “If only your lingering presence was limited to my spice cabinet. You were in the magazines on my coffee table, your trash tv addictions just sitting there on my DVR, the precise way you’d folded your bathroom towels after the maids left last. You were gone and I still couldn’t escape you.”

Caroline her felt her cheeks heat, her mouth going bone dry at the dip in his voice, the smallest hint of gravel. “First of all, those shoes are quality entertainment, and I’d have thought you were happy to get your space back.”

“You cannot imagine I let just anyone rearrange my kitchen at three am, Caroline.” His brows arched, something warm and amused lingering in his eyes. “Much less confiscate my DVR with their poor television choices.”

She’d known that but hadn’t been able to really read into such a thing with her last year of school standing firmly between them. Carefully inching closer, she watched for any sign of discomfort or distaste but instead, Klaus settled a hand against her spine and pulled her closer still. She sputtered out a laugh, something giddy rising in her chest, and forced herself to focus.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Klaus’ chin tipped downward, both brows arching. “A pretty girl living with the older brother of her best friend? It was rife with potential commentary from our mutual acquaintances, as I am sure you can imagine. By the time I realized that it was more than just a bit of lust, I’d also realized how bad of an idea it would be to start something when you still had so many choices to make.”

Caroline could respect that. She hadn’t been ready for something serious. It could only mean good things that he’d realized that and waited. But her school hadn’t been the only elephant in the room.

She bit her lip, words slightly hesitant. “Rebekah won’t be happy.”

Klaus’ lips quirked at her faint warning. “My sister doesn’t share well, true. It’s a family trait, I’m afraid. But as I do t believe either of us are looking for a fling, she will get over it. Eventually. Assuming, of course, you wish to pursue something that would lead to her throwing such a fit.”

His fingers tightened slightly against her spine, a sign that the question had been difficult for him. It was nice knowing that he was as nervous as she even if he was hiding better. Particularly with how much she liked Klaus, the potential for more than just like she could see not that far in the future and she wanted it.

More importantly, she had already decided that Rebekah’s feeling weren’t more important than her own. It wouldn’t be an easy conversation and her friend was likely to throw the tantrum Klaus had alluded to, but Caroline was certain they could work through it. But it was important that Klaus knew that she had decided on him, that she had done so knowing the Rebekah would be unhappy.

“I was going to use that pizza dinner as a chance to find out if you were seeing anyone,” Caroline admitted, fingers lifting to toy with the ties of the hoodie he wore. “And if you weren’t, receptive you’d be to a move or two.”

His eyes flared with interest, thumb brushing slowly across a knot of her spine. “What kind of move?”

“The kind of move where I wore something short and tight that made my boobs look fantastic,” she said with a slow growing smile. “It couldn’t be too racy of course, Rebekah would never believe my outfit a coincidence if I showed too much skin. For that, I’m going to have to bribe her with candy flavored vodka and those English cake things she likes.”

“Not a fan of fairy cakes, love?”

“Oh no, they’re delicious, but for someone who drinks pure sugar disguised as alcohol, I do not understand her hatred of frosting.”

Klaus laughed softly, eyes lowering to the curve of her lips. “A discussion for another time, I think. I’m not particularly interested in the things my sister likes, Caroline.”

It was with more than a twinge of regret that she covered his mouth with her palm. Both of his brows arched in question, confusion clear on his face. Caroline took a deep breath and tried not to think about the feel of his stubble under her fingertips, and wonder how it would feel against much more delicate skin.

“You were going to kiss me.” The low noise of agreement he made set off butterflies low in her stomach and did not help her resolve. At all. “You can’t kiss me.”

His free hand lifted her palm from his lips and he tipped his head. There was no censure in his voice, just a careful caution she appreciated. “No?”

“Well,” she amended. “You can’t kiss me right now. It might be early, but we need to get the fire going and figure out food and I’d really like to brush my teeth. And you know, figure out how long until we can expect the power to turn on and the roads to be plowed. I’d also really, really like to get this room straightened up because if Kol teases us about sharing a bed Rebekah is going to be livid and I’d prefer her to be maybe not drunk, but at least tipsy before the conversation about dating her brother happens.”

His hand shifted so that thumb stroked slowly along the curve of her bottom lip as she drew in a breath. “And after we accomplish this mental list of yours, Caroline?”

“That depends,” she said brightly. “A girl has to have standards, and while I’m totally onboard with the kissing post-toothpaste, your half frozen hands aren’t getting anywhere near my boobs.”

Klaus’ laughter shook his whole body and she forced herself to maintain a straight face when what she wanted to do was laugh with him. Ducking his head, he caught her fingers and pressed the wide curve of her smile against her palm. Her breath caught, and for a moment they laid there, watching each other. Then Klaus pushed up, taking the heat of the blankets with him, and she squealed. He took no pity on her, pulling her up with him, and she pressed against the heat of him once they stood, shivering.

“As delightful as this is,” Klaus drawled, tugging at the ends of her hair. “I cannot start a fire and cuddle with you at the same time, sweetheart.”

Nodding, she reluctantly moved away from him. “Fine. I’ll track down some of those water bottles and then start folding the bedding.”

His eyes glimmered with laughter. “Don’t forget the toothpaste.”

Caroline huffed out a laugh then, reaching back to redo the mess of her bun as Klaus stepped around her. For a moment, she watching him move, the shift of his shoulders beneath the layers before making herself look away. She had no doubt that he would have the fire going in record time. She’d brush her teeth and give Rebekah a call, find out what kind of timeline they had to work with and then she’d very happily submit herself to a few hours getting handsy with Klaus.

It would have to suffice until they made it back to New York. Then she’d suck it up and break the news to Rebekah before she let Klaus take her to dinner. If he was really lucky, she’d show him some of her new, pretty and very adult lingerie. Delighted with her plan, Caroline went hunting for her cellphone, happiness a bubbling in her chest.

It was going to be a great New Years.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #klaroline drabbles

124 notes · View notes

rmjagonshi · 4 years

Text

Whole Again - Chapter 22 A Family in Waiting

Whole Again on AO3

Mason hears Mabel leave the room with the tablet before he opens his eyes. But he doesn’t follow. He wants to talk to Ford, but…there really isn’t much left to say. He doesn’t know how to feel about this. He doesn’t know how to feel about his uncle. He’s mad at him. More so tonight than any other. His behavior the last few weeks has been…unsettling. He’s become aggressive…violent and dismissive of anything or anyone who doesn’t outright agree with his hypotheses.

Mason still believes that Ford is one of the most brilliant minds of their time, but he’s starting to realize just how egotistical and brutal of a person that brilliance can foster.

The worst part, is that Mason can’t be sure that he’s not wrong. If it really is Bill, then all of this ‘zero-tolerance’ response is justified. If Bill really did take over Stan, and Stan isn’t in control anymore, then it would make sense to keep their distance, to do everything they can to keep Bill contained.

But…he isn’t…Mason doesn’t want to believe that it’s Bill. Stan hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary. Well, no, that isn’t true, Stan had done a lot of things lately that are bizarre and impossible for the average person. But, it’s always been…well, as Stan. He’s always been ‘in character’, as it were.

He pulls Fox Stan into his lap and does his best not to lift the red knit cap from over its eyes. He doesn’t know if Mabel glued the yellow eyes over the fox’s brown ones. He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared. He’s scared and left in the dark more often than not. He should follow Mabel, demand answers, but he just can’t.

If everything is left in limbo, if he doesn’t know what is really going on, then he can pretend that everything is fine. He can pretend that everything will work out for the best. He’s afraid to talk to Ford because he knows what Ford is going to say. He knows how this plays out. And he wants to live in this blissful limbo of not knowing for just a little longer.

Just a little more of normal, just a little more of imagining his grunkles sailing all over the world and having adventures and hearing about all the excitement.

Mason clutches Fox Stan tight to his chest buries his face into the grey synthetic fur. He’s angry at Ford for not trying to get along with Stan, even after he promised the twins over and over that they wouldn’t fight anymore. He’s angry that Ford can’t even listen to them. He knows Ford spent the most time with Bill, but they fought him too. And won multiple times. It’s almost as if Ford can’t accept that anyone but himself can understand things.

A creak in the floor boards lets him know that Mabel is on her way back. He doesn’t know if he’s able to talk to her just yet. Too many things swirling in his head, and too many feelings screaming at each other in his heart. He throws the blanket over his head and lays flat just as Mabel opens the door to their shared room. He clutches Fox Stan tighter. He hears cloth moving, papers shuffling and finally the creak of the door again.

Mabel had a theory. A good one. One Mason isn’t sure he can let himself fully grasp. The very thought that the person he’d come to know and love last summer was a lie…

He curled tighter around Fox Stan. His gut wrenched and he felt his eyes sting. Mabel had cried enough for all four of them, but he guessed it was his turn to carry the family grief. Tears dripped from his clenched eyes, soaking Fox Stan’s knitted red cap.

He’d seen it too.

Stan becoming Bill.

Just before he’d fallen back in his own mindscape, (a giant journal with moving pictures, and fold out pages, and invisible ink) he’d seen Stan change.

Mason didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with those thoughts anytime soon. Instead, he crawled out of bed and crossed their book and paper strewn floor to Mabel’s purple sheets and unicorn bedspread. He curled up against the wall and waited.

A brief feeling of shame kicked him in the spine even as he made himself comfortable amongst the filly pillows and stuffed animals. They were thirteen. He was way too old to be running off to his sister’s bed when he felt scared or upset.

But the rational part of his brain told that shame to take a hike. Things were different now. Life just got a lot harder. And he’s man enough to admit that he’s not ok with this. Not that he thinks Mabel is fairing any better, but two people being miserable together is better than being miserable alone.

Their parents weren’t handling it well either, though denial was one heck of a drug. Better than any Smile Dip. His parents had called up to Gravity Falls and had gotten ahold of Soos. After a phone call that he had reluctantly not eavesdropped on, their parents stopped asking them what was wrong. No more doctor’s appointments and no more counselors. And both he and Mabel were happy to not have to take any more pills.

He heard the door click again and sat up to see Mabel tucking away her bag and the tablet. She paused a moment, avoiding his gaze before she patted Waddles’ sleeping form and climbing in beside him. She sat for a long time with her knees to her chest, staring at the door and not speaking. Though anxious, Mason waited. Limbo and ignorance and all of that. But Limbo was never meant to be permanent.

“Stan stabbed out his eye.”

It was like he had been thrust through the ice into Gravity Falls Lake. He couldn’t even form words. A strangled gasp worked its way from his throat to hang in the air between them.

Mabel turned away from him, but her voice was clear.

“Grunkle Ford said Stan got angry and hurt himself. He broke everything in Ford’s lab and cut out his eye. Ford says he’s gonna be ok, well, not okay okay, but he’ll live.”

Mason simply blinked, mouth agape and eyes boring into the back of his sister’s head. But she refused to look at him. His fingers tangled in the purple duvet and he felt a thread snap. A flurry of purple and shades of pink and white arced in the air as Mason flung off the duvet and landed on the floor. He kicked at the scattered books in frustration, waking Waddles who snorted indignantly. Mason ignored the pig.

“None of this makes any sense! I get Bill. I don’t, but he makes more sense than this. I hate being left in the dark! What set him off? Why would Bill do that? It puts him at a disadvantage. Could it be to scare Ford? But Ford said he’s stronger than Bill…unless he’s lying. Is he lying? Mabel do you…think…”

Mabel was staring at the door again, unaffected by her brother’s tirade. He took a few steps closer.

“Mabel?”

“Dipper, I don’t think Ford is okay.” Her voice was so quiet, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her. But before he could ask, she continued. “I told him what I found out. You know, about reincarnation. And how Grunkle Stan fits. He listened to me this time. But I don’t think he can believe it yet.”

Well that was something. Grunkle Ford actually listening to someone else for once. But it was more progress than they had made in days. They were out of resources and out of ideas. There was only so much two thirteen years old could do with internet access and a public library. Mason was even tempted to jump a bus and head back to Gravity Falls to see if any of the forest creatures could help. Next to Grunkle Ford, they were the only ones who understood magic. If this even was magic.

Mason picked up the duvet and placed it back on the bed before kneeling beside Mabel. She still wouldn’t look at him.

“There’s something else you aren’t telling me. What do you mean ‘He can’t believe it yet’?”

“Ford asked me not to tell you.” Mason opened his mouth to retort that this was exactly how they had gotten into the whole mess in the first place when she finished. “He wants to tell you himself. He just doesn’t know if he’s ready yet. He wasn’t ready to tell me, it just sorta came out.” Even though she hid her face in her knees, he caught the blush forming on her cheeks. She was embarrassed. Mabel being embarrassed about something was something to be worried about. What would make Mabel embarrassed and Ford stressed? Surprisingly little existed in that overlap. Almost nothing. Unless…

“Is it about what Mom was scared of?”

“What? Gosh no. I didn’t even tell him about that. But you really should talk to him. This is…is something kinda important. If he doesn’t tell you on his own…I’ll give him a week. Okay?” She looked sad. No, not sad, like she pitied him. Very suddenly, Mason was not looking forwards to speaking with his Great Uncle.

“I don’t like keeping things from you. Especially after what happened. But this is…personal, I guess.” Personal? For Ford? But, Ford had already told him about his history with Bill. Unless there was something else? Was it Stan, then? He was getting lost in his own conjectures.

Mason took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. I’ll wait for Ford to tell me.” His mind was already going in a direction he wasn’t really comfortable with anyway.

“There’s something else.” Mason snapped his head up at Mabel’s words. Something else? What more could be happening?

Mabel had turned away again, picking at the fuzz that always developed on the underside of her blankets. “I asked Ford to tell you his secret, but I gotta tell you mine too.”

Mason pinched the bridge of his nose, trying in vain to relive the pressure he knew was going to be there. He knew what she was going to say. As soon as she had said it, he knew what was wrong. More frustration added to the already overflowing pit in his gut. It just never ended, did it?

“I still have some Smile Dip.”

He’d suspected. Mabel had spent the whole month being cheery and decorating the house in streamers, glitter and fake snow. She’d been pushing everyone to ‘get into the holiday spirit’. He had hoped it was just run of the mill sugar, but there was always the worry that it was the horrid super sugar she’d found in the old convenience store. Ford had even tested it. It was super refined and had three times as much glucose as regular sugar per gram. They even banned it in America because it had trace components of coca extract.

And she had promised him that she would get rid of it. She had given him the purse stuffed with the candy and he had dissolved it in a bucket of water before tossing it down the storm drain. She swore that she had given him all of it. Even going so far as to show her hands so he knew she hadn’t lied.

So much for not keeping secrets.

“Why? Why on Earth? Mabel, you said you were going to get rid of it. You could get hurt! What about cousin Mia? She had a seizure and went to rehab! Is that what you want?”

“No!” She shouted, before covering her mouth. They both glanced at the boor and listened. Only the rattling of the wind outside echoed through the house. Their parents were still asleep.

Mason gave one last lingering glance at the door before turning back to Mabel.

“Then why!?” He wanted to throw something.

She was crying freely now, hiding her face in her arms. Even Waddles, who had woken at the commotion and climbed up on the bed to paw at Mabel’s legs, couldn’t calm her down.

“I just need to be happy, okay! I just am so tired of feeling sad and miserable All. The. Time.” Each word punctuated by fists to her temples.

It was true though. No one had been happy really. Not since Ford had called them about Stan just over a month ago. Both of them, their parents, Grandma and Grandpa and Great Grandma Caryn. The world wasn’t ending, not yet, but everything seemed to be going wrong anyway.

Mason slowly sat on the edge of the bed. He waited a brief moment before wrapping an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Being happy all the time isn’t good either. Especially when it isn’t real.” He combed his fingers through her hair. He wasn’t sure how, because they used the same shampoo, but Mabel’s hair always smelled like gumdrops. He rested his cheek against her head, as she began to rock back and forth. “There are still things to be happy about.” A quiet scoff was her only response.

“Mabel, we’ve been hanging out more, heck, we’ve spent all of holiday break together doing research. You got to audition for the high-school drama club. Mom and Dad are talking about a trip to ComicCon in April. We found a vet who knowns pigs and who can make sure Waddles is healthy. Candy and Grenda are coming to visit over Spring Break. So many things to be happy about.” She still wouldn’t look at him. Waddles had given up his nudging at Mabel’s legs and instead laid down at the foot of the bed.

He sighed. “Mabel, It’s Christmas Eve. We’re having Christmas with Grandma and Grandpa and Great-Grandma Caryn today. I know things are hard, but can’t you put aside being sad for one day.” It was one of the happiest times of the year; Mabel had proclaimed it herself. There was no way he was going to let her be upset. If it meant putting up with all of her Christmas Party shenanigans, then he’d do it happily.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“What…?” The clockwork in his mind screeched to a halt. Gears clinking and springs coming loose. Mabel turned towards him, hair smacking him in the face.

“I don’t, Dipper.” He eye were dark and bruised and bloodshot. Tiny teardrops worked their way from the corners of her eyes. Dried tear streaks carved paths down her cheeks. She wanted to cry, but there was nothing left. “I wanted to hang onto summer so bad that I put everyone in danger. And when I woke up in that bubble, I knew what was happening. Bill told me himself what the bubble was. I just…” Mabel pulled away from him. Her hands found the pastel pillow behind her and she swung it repeatedly against the wall as she spoke.

“I knew he’d won. And I didn’t want to leave. Why leave when everything was wrong. Even if you guys won against Bill, I still thought I was saying ‘goodbye’ to everything that was important to me. So why not just stay?” Her swings were picking up speed now. Pillow colliding with all the drawings and photographs hung up on her wall. She didn’t seem to care when they started tearing through the tacks and tape and fluttering to the bed. “I was happy there. I could hide away from every bad thing I’d ever done. Instead, I could fix everything. And I did. I made it so everyone could live together. I fixed everything! Pacifica was nice. Gideon was nice. MaGucket didn’t erase his memories. I fixed Lazy Susan’s eye. Stan adopted Soos. I made Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford happy together!” She had finally run out of steam when the last photo of the four of them tore off the wall. Mabel knelt on the bed amongst the destruction, clutching the pillow to her.

“That’s what I was going to show you. After Soos and Wendy ran off. I was going to show you how happy Stan and Ford could be.”

“But it wasn’t the real Stan and Ford. Ford was captured. I didn’t even know where Stan was.”

“I know it wasn’t.” She buried her face in the push pillow. “I know. None of it was real. But I was willing to put everyone in danger for it. Is this what Grunkle Ford feels like?”

Mason sighed, scooting more to the center of the bed. “I don’t know about that. But, Mabel, you set it right. You did fix things. Maybe nothing was the way you wanted it, but everyone was happy. You do deserve to be happy. You gotta know that people care about you?” She didn’t respond.

“Okay, fine. How about this? Stan has done I can’t even count how many bad things. He didn’t even want to save Ford in the first place. And we still care about him.” Still no response.

“Okay, better example. Ford made the deal with Bill in the first place, right? So, none of this would have happened if he hadn’t. So, it’s Ford’s fault. And Stan’s. And yours…” He paused, taking a slow breath. “And mine.”

That got her attention. Mabel peeked out from behind the pillow, eyes wide and questioning.

“I made a deal with Bill too. I know he tricked me and we beat him, but I still did it. And I did it even knowing that he sided with Gideon to get the Mystery Shack.” He still hadn’t gotten over doing that. Bill had done a lot of damage to his body. They had spent that evening in the emergency room. While he didn’t have any broken bones, Mason still had a scar on his collar. It wasn’t deep and healed quick, but the mark had never gone away.

But this was about Mabel. “So, we’re all bad. Are the three of us undeserving of being happy, of having people care about us?” Mason knew it was underhanded, but this was important. He needed to make sure Mabel understood that they were in this together.

“No, of course not!”

“Then why not you?”

She still couldn’t answer. But Mason knew he had gotten through. It wasn’t going to be over night, but they would get better. They would get through this together. And the first step, was to start off the day right.

“Okay, the first thing we’re going to do, is go dump all that Smile Dip. ALL OF IT! And then, we are going to go down stairs and have Mabel-cakes. I’ll even let you add the edible glitter. Then we are going to have Christmas with Grandma and Grandpa and we are going to be extra happy. Because even if things are hard now, they can always get better. ‘No where to go but up’, right?”

Mabel gave him a watery smile, eyes far to bruised to cry anymore. Mason held out a hand to her and pulled her up off the bed. They would clean up their room later, after Christmas. Maybe. Waddles was already waiting at the door to be let out.

Mabel picked up a nail file from the nightstand and walked over to the lightswitch. She unscrewed the bottom and swung it sideways to reveal a string taped to the wall and dropping behind it. Four packets of Smile Dip were hooked onto the end hidden in the wall. They looked creased and squashed, like they had been stuffed and forgotten about in the bottom of a bag or jacket pocket for months. Mabel handed the packets to him along with the nail file. Mason made a mental note to check all the outlets for more in the coming days.

They walked across the hall to the bathroom and both he and Mabel tore open the packets and emptied them all into the toilet. Mabel stared as the multiple colors and torn paper swirled together over and over until the water pulled everything down. Mason gave her a quizzical look. She sighed and nodded, giving him a small smile. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders again, steering her back to the hall and down stairs.

“Hey, Mom told Grandpa what’s going on. So, everyone knows. We don’t have to deal with this alone anymore, Mabel.”

*~*

It was Christmas Eve morning, just before dawn, and Diane was sitting at the dining room table with a mostly empty pot of coffee. It wasn’t her first.

She had called up to Gravity Falls just under a month prior and had spoken to Jesus Ramírez, current owner and proprietor of the Mystery Shack. He was at first reluctant to talk, dismissing the ghost stores and tales of monsters and chalking it up to small town folk tales. She had pressed further.

“I don’t think you understand the situation Mr. Ramirez. My children are waking up most nights with nightmares they won’t discuss with me. I have taken them to a child trauma counselor and I was told my thirteen-year-old daughter should be screened for depression and my son has been prescribed anti-psychotics. I’m tempted to call a lawyer and press charges against Stan Pines if I don’t get some answers!”

That had done it.

Jesus had relented, asking her to sit down and telling her a condensed story of the summer her children experienced in Gravity Falls. Everything from lake monster robots, to tiny living golfballs, to gnomes and merpeople, living videogames and zombies, and finally, the demon known as Bill.

“Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s how it is here, miss. Weird things happen, like all the time. People are just used to it. And no one is really ready to deal with what happened. The mayor even went and made it a law that you can’t talk about it. They even came up with code words so people can talk to their therapists without breaking the law. But I got some pictures and some scans from Ford’s old journal tucked away. Guess Stan forgot to take it with them. I can send ‘em to ya. Dipper might want ‘em too.”

He sounded…so…rational, about the whole thing. Like this was just a normal thing to happen. Hearing it from her children was one thing. Seeing pictures that may or may not have been photoshopped and hearing about it from a rational adult was another. Diane had half held out hope that this was all just some sort of teenage hyper-fixation on some fantasy thing the kids had played the past summer. But she couldn’t deny it anymore. Not when the proof was staring her in the face.

“And, Miss? I know they’re your kids, and, and I know that Stan’s your family, and I respect that. But…Stan’s been there for me since I was like eight. He taught me how to drive, and he tried to teach me how to box. He means a lot to me. I know he’s not my real dad, but he might as well be. So…I guess, believe me when I say that Stan wouldn’t do anything to hurt those kids. Ford neither.”

She had accepted it. She had to. One could only deny what they were seeing and hearing so long before they were considered mad. So here she was. Sitting at the kitchen table, onto her third pot of coffee after having been up since four in the morning. Dan had stepped out for a smoke. Dan never smoked. Not since college. But some things called for bad habits. And tis was most definitely one of them.

She had the pictures Jesus had sent her spread out on the kitchen table. Not all of them were clear, in fact most of them were fuzzy and filled with static, or had a badly place finger. But one stood out. It seemed to be from inside a building, through a red window. A giant sentient pyramid with one eye and eight arms. It terrified her more than it should. And this monster might be back?

She’d scanned everything she had and e-mailed it all to Sherman, Marianne, and Caryn. Calling her father-in-law and informing them about what was happening half a world away had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. But her son and daughter were right, they deserved to know. And while none of them were completely convinced, (hell, she wasn’t completely convinced, and she had photographs sitting in front of her) they were all waiting on contact from Ford and…and Stan, to confirm.

It was bizarre to think about. That her Uncle Stan, nevermind that it was Stanley and not Stanford, might not even be himself. The pyramid monster stared up at her from the photograph. It felt like it was watching her. But that was stupid. It was just a photograph. But…well, it was best to put everything away before her children woke-up. They were going to spend the day with Sherman, Marianne and Caryn today. No matter what, they were going to celebrate like a normal family. She took a deep breath and scooped all the photos back in the envelope, tucked it under her arm and went to pour out the old coffee. Her children’s voices echoed coming down the stairs.

-End Chapter 22-

Chapter 1

#whole again #fanfiction #stancest #same coin theory

2 notes · View notes

neotrinitythinker · 5 years

Text

Brush Off The Grime Of Yesterday (And Begin Again) Chapter 2

(Also posted on my ao3)

2 .

Christmas was always off for him, even before he lost Cole.

It was a naturally cheery, bright, warm holiday. And he wasn't any of that. By nature. It felt foreign and off to him. He wasn't some scrooge. He enjoyed Christmas just as much as the next person. He just didn't connect with it. Not like those who celebrated the holiday did. And not as much as he probably should. Still, before Connor, Sumo was the one keeping him sane through the holiday season.

It's Christmas Eve and, despite his disillusionment with the season, he's out shopping at the very last minute for a certain android against his better judgement. Christmas Eve was the absolute worst for shopping. A world class shitshow.

But still here he was, in his local mall, on Christmas Eve, like the dumbass he is.

It's mostly (completely) due to Connor's hint early this morning, implying Hank would be ecstatic over "something" tomorrow morning. And the wave of guilt that punches Hank's stomach immediately after. He hadn't even thought to get him something. But to be fair, Connor doesn't often mention what he likes. He guesses he's still figuring out that himself. He only went deviant a month ago.

Finding a parking space, even with all the new technology and developments that have blessed the world in recent years, is still a nightmare however. Some things will never change. Even despite the time of night he drove all the way here at, the world is still very much awake.

After what seems like hours, Hank manages to find a parking space, heaving a sigh as he turns the keys and pockets them. He sits there, watching people come and go with overflowing shopping carts as they hurriedly pour into their cars and out of the lot like rats.

He opens the door, hand slamming it shut as he steps down from the driver's seat and onto the snow, softly crunching it as he walks farther. He squints at the harsh neon lights that decorate the grey building this time of year, going inside.

He hasn't been to the mall in at least a decade or three, coming up short of reasons to have needed to. Cole had always been satisfied with things he managed to get from toy stores and Hank didn't like the crowds that malls always brought. Malls were only decent in small doses.

The faint noise of holiday melodies grows louder as he gets closer, and the sound of bells ringing as charities sit outside, expressions patient and hopeful. He hands one a ten dollar bill as he passes by, barley picking up the distant "Thank you!" as he steps inside the blindingly bright building.

If he thought the outside was full, the inside of the mall was a swarm.

People were packed inside of every shop, swarms of people flocking to them. From just standing outside, peering into the stores and watching the frantic wave of activity that seemed to infect the whole building, it was most definitely the holiday season. The first three stores were all practically stripped. of any and all goods and clothing.

Fuck. He thought. This was going to be harder than he thought.

He could always text him, he thinks. Ask him what he wants and get it over with. It would make it easier and faster in terms of getting out of here before it descends into any more chaos.

He's halfway to typing a text out before a sudden thought crosses his mind.

This is Connor's first Christmas. First Christmas ever. Connor was only made this year, he remembers. He's literally, truly, never had one before.

Well now he really feels like a jackass. Connor's done so much for him since November, far too much. And he waited until the last minute to even remember getting him something.

And for living with him, he has to admit it's been nice. Having someone other than himself to keep him company. And someone who looked out for him. Even if he thought he was the one doing the looking out for with Connor. After all, Connor was the one who actually managed to get himself killed before.

The sudden memory of Stratford Tower makes his skin crawl for a brief moment as he shakes his head. He didn't really feel like reliving Connor dying in his arms again. Felt too much like Cole again. The fear, the crippling sense of loss.

But Cole didn't come back, he thinks. Neither will the Connor that died in the tower. But at least he had this Connor. He still had some luck. In him.

He wishes he knew where to start looking. In the one and a half month he's known Connor, he's only expressed interest in a select few number of things. Dogs, fish, cooking, inexplicably pop music. At least for now. He hopes with time Connor will find out what he likes. After everything he's gone through the kid deserves that much at the very least. He's possibly come in and changed his life after all. He did change his views on androids.

Or maybe that was due to Markus. He thinks it might of been all of them. Connor, Markus, the androids who chose to finally make themselves heard.

Fuck that was still a lot to think about.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering, he comes upon a store he just knows Connor will love.

The sign's lights fizzle and twinkle in out and in of existence, but still shine nonetheless.

Shawn's Fish Store

By pure luck, it's open, and, a number of fish are still inside tanks, anxiously waiting to be sold to and carried by a caring pair of hands. Hank quickly enters.

Fishes of all skins, colors and sizes reside in them, populating the shop, from a dull, plump, grey to a gaudy deep orange that practically glows.

A person sits behind the counter, adorning a tacky multicolored beach shirt, and whose face is obscured by a book on bears of all things.

"Hello!" The clerk greets. "Any of these fellas catch your eyes?"

The person behind the store counter is a freckled ivory skinned chestnut haired man in possibly his early twenties. He's young looking enough that Hank almost can't believe he works here.

"Any...simple, fish?" He asks, unsure of what questions he should be asking.

The clerk laughs. "Yes we do."

He looks around around, glancing at tanks before one catches his eyes. A clownfish.

"How much is that one?" He points.

"Oh him? Alone he costs only $70!"

Hank holds in a sigh. "Alone?"

The clerk, Will, judging from his name tag, nods. "Unless you have all the necessary parts for your aquarium, the total cost for your standard equipment is....oh! at least $500!"

"Ah fuck!" He lets it slip. The things he was doing for this kid.

Will laughs. "Unless all you want is a simple fish, then it's just 70!"

"Oh thank fuck!"

After he manages to scrounge up the necessary funds, and manages to put the fish bowl in the backseat, suppressing a yawn, he heads home.

The next day he wakes up before Connor gets out of stasis, not on purpose, but takes advantage of the opportunity, and grabs the fish bowl he (surprisingly) managed to hid from Sumo.

Stasis was somewhat similar to human sleep, from what Connor has told him. He was technically asleep. But his major programs still ran at full capacity. Except for simulated breathing, and his eyes were open. Which combined managed to make Hank nearly shit himself the first time he saw it and made Connor promise to force them shut them next time if he was going to quit breathing. It made it somewhat less unnerving.

Connor lays on the couch, Sumo draped over him like a blanket. He's curled in a way that does make it seem like he's a regular human sleeping. Hank clears his throat.

"Connor."

Almost immediately, Connor's eyes flutter open, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before they dart to Hank as he runs his hands through Sumo's thick fur.

"It's Christmas!" Connor informs.

"Yeah it is, I got you something."

"Wait!" Connor exclaims. "I want to give you mine first."

At Hank's quizzical expression, the android bolts from his spot on the couch, coming back with a box decorated with green-red wrapping paper. He extends his hand, offering him it.

"Open it." He says. sitting on the edge of the couch.

Hank obeys, hurriedly unwrapping it as Connor practically bounces from his spot.

By the time he gets to what's inside, he's smiling.

A Knight's Of The Black Death autograph.

He laughs. "How did you get this Connor? Most of the original band members are gone."

Connors smiles sheepishly. "The internet. Mostly sites of people selling things. But it is, completely, authentic. I made sure."

Hank doesn't know what to say.

"Thank you, Connor. Now I feel like a chump, I only got you a fish."

Connor, for lack of a better word, bolts straight up at this, as if attacked.

"You WHAT?! Where?! Where is it?" He asks, positively radiating. His grin feels infectious. It reminds Hank of Cole when he got his the newest edition of his comic book their last christmas together.

"Alright, alright. One second, kid."

When Hank returns, Connor's smile, if possible, only grows larger.

"Oh! an amphiprioninae!" He exclaims.

"You can- you can call it a clownfish Connor."

Connor grabs the bowl, as Sumo whines. "Oh...Can I name him?" He asks.

Hank shrugs. "It's your fish."

Connor studies the fish for a moment, before deciding.

"Dog."

"What?"

"Can I name him Dog?"

Hank blinks. "I mean...sure?"

"Excellent." Connor smiles. "Thank you so much Hank, i'll cherish Dog The Fish forever.

Hank isn't sure if he's fucking with him, but judging by Connor's gleeful expression, he's thinking it's genuine.

"Yeah, you're welcome, Connor. Merry Christmas."

Connor looks up, softly smiling. "Merry Christmas, Lieutenant."

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

A couple days later, they sit together on Hank's couch, Sumo is sprawled on Connor like some rug and Dog's fish bowl sits nearby as they watch an old Christmas movie Hank swears Connor roped him into watching. It's late, and Hank feels the soft touch of sleep still tugging his eyelids. He stays awake however. Connor had never even seen this before. And despite its cheesiness it was always better when you had someone to watch it with.

A few minutes later, Connor grabs the remote, pausing whatever movie this was near its conclusion as the dazzling sound of fireworks banging and poping through the air is heard. Sumo perks up, letting out a soft whine before trotting off to Hank's room. Connor looks at the clock, and then at Hank. a smile crossing his features.

"Happy New Year, Lieutenant." He says.

Hank smiles back. Not a polite, forced one, but a real one. "Happy New Year, kid."

#roree writes #detroit become human

2 notes · View notes

lakesandquarries · 5 years

Text

Brimstone In My Garden (Chapter 3)

Chapter Three: our hometown’s in the dark

Summary: When he was five years old, Midoriya Izuku went missing. Now, ten years later, he’s one of the top villains, whether he likes it or not. When an attack on UA leads to him encountering his childhood best friend, new possibilities open up for him.

Pairings: todobakudekukiri

Notes: Villain Deku au, will have quite a bit of violence and gore later on, along with implied/referenced child abuse. None of this is appearing just yet, but I’ll warn when it does happen.

I’m sorry this chapter is so late!! Work has been kicking my ass. However this chapter is twice as long to make up for it!

< Chapter One < Chapter Two Chapter Four >

Read it on AO3, or under the cut!

Planning a rescue mission is so much harder than Bakugo thought it would be.

Rushing in is not an option, as much as he'd like it to be. Bakugo has never been one for strategy and planning ahead. He meets his problems head on, with force. His quirk allows him to act like that - he's never faced a problem he couldn't punch his way out of.

Until now, at least.

Despite what many people may think, Bakugo isn’t stupid. Reckless, yes, destructive, sure, impulsive, absolutely, but even he knows his limits.

His former best friend’s life hangs in the balance, here. If Bakugo fucks this up -

He won’t. He's going to rescue Deku, and nothing is going to stop him. Not some weird bird beaked monster, not some teleporting bartender, not some asshole with too many hands. And he's going to do it all on his own. The teachers wouldn't understand, they'd treat Deku like he's just another villain, and his classmates are too likely to let something slip.

So, for the first time in his life - he takes notes. He writes down what he remembers, though it’s not much. Deku was only five when he vanished. His only memories of Deku are fuzzy childhood memories, insubstantial and blurry, flashes of playgrounds and sleepovers, and that one last day. When he’s out of memories, he scours the internet for more information, about Deku, about Regrowth, about the villains that had been with him.

Regrowth has quite the body count. At least nine deaths can be attributed to him, according to the articles Bakugo finds. His victims vary, from criminals to heroes to civilians, but they all have a few things in common. Most are found with flowers growing from their mouths, the roots stretching into the throat, into the lungs in some cases. The cause of death is fairly consistent, as well - infections, for almost every single one. Something in the blood. Severe infections, that should have been the result of some kind of injury or illness, that lead to even worse sepsis, followed by organ failure, and finally, death.

It's theorized he has a growth quirk, which would make sense, based on his name. Very little is known about him, beyond that. He's only been seen briefly, in glimpses, but it's said he wears hoodies and a white mask that covers his face. Bakugo has seen pictures of him, grainy photos from security footage, plastered on TV, warning people. Even in the worst photos, his eyes are clear. They’re a bright, piercing green.

Bakugo has to take a break from reading. When he closes his eyes, he sees the faces of those killed by Regrowth, the glazed looks, the flowers splitting them open, the rotting limbs.

Is there enough of Deku left to even be rescued?

---

Deku gets by.

It's hard, pretending to be fine when he feels like he's being ripped apart, but he's had practice. He's been pretending for two years, after all. What's one more lie?

He digs out the old magazine article, again. Loses himself in daydreams. Maybe he could have gone to UA and been a hero. Maybe he and Kacchan could have become friends there, along with that other boy, Kirishima. His quirk has a lot possibilities, used properly. He's healed himself with it enough - maybe, if he'd been given proper training, he could have learned to heal other people.

He can almost picture it - instead of cutting people open, putting them back together. Repairing broken bones and skinned knees and then giving patients a flower, just for the fun of it.

Eventually, though, reality reasserts itself. Deku's as likely to heal a wound as he is to create a horrible infection that kills whoever he's healing - in fact, the second option is more likely. That's what he's been trained for.

He's never going to be a hero. At this point, he doesn't even deserve to be. He's not the carefree, cheerful child he once was.

Villains don't become heroes, especially villains like him.

He wonders what his next mission might be. Another murder, or maybe for once something that doesn't make him hate himself as much. Then again, the League is lying a bit low for once, letting the press run wild with theories about the USJ attack. They'll strike again soon enough, but Shigaraki is enjoying the chaos.

For now, he’ll enjoy the break, such as it is. He’ll lay low, and hope he doesn’t get dragged into something else.

Mostly, he’ll hope Kacchan stays safe.

----

Breaking into the League Of Villains headquarters is unsettling easy.

Bakugo’s spent about a month doing research, at this point, digging through crack theories and troll rants, trying to find any nuggets of truth buried deep in.

A lot of theories mention an abandoned bar, where a variety of different villains have been spotted, including a bunch that appeared during the USJ attack. Most notably, Regrowth has been seen there often. Bakugo finds a series of pictures taken by the security camera nearby. There's massive gaps between photos, months between them at times, but still. Regrowth is a consistent presence here. It's the closest thing Bakugo has to a lead.

He waits for a holiday weekend, a rare opportunity where students are encouraged to go visit their parents. Bakugo's never bothered before, but this weekend he tells his teachers he's going home.

He doesn't.

The bar isn't too far, but it's not close enough to walk, so Bakugo takes the train. His suitcase is only for show, completing his disguise of student visiting his parents. All his supplies are in his backpack, and even then, there's not much. Some rope, first aid supplies…..Bakugo couldn't think of anything that would actually help, with this. His whole plan really hinges on Deku being willing.

Well, there is one person he did ask for help, despite his better judgement - Hatsume Mei. He’d offered to test out some of her weird inventions in exchange for her helping him sneak back into the dorms that night. She’d agreed easily, and he’d left out the part about bringing a second person into the dorms.

The bar is exactly where his notes said it would be, tucked away behind other buildings, the neon sign having gone out a long time ago. The front is crumbling, the windows cracked and dirty. It's not an inviting structure.

Bakugo goes in anyway. The door is locked, but when has a lock ever stopped him? One small explosion and he's in.

It's suspicious, but not enough to make Bakugo go back. Inside is surprisingly nice, plush seats and recently swept floors and clean counters. Sure, everything’s kinda worn out, but it’s obviously been used as an actual bar pretty recently.

The door to the kitchen is locked like the door outside, and Bakugo disposes of it in the same way.

The kitchen is not a kitchen. Bakugo grins upon seeing the hallway ahead of him. Now he's getting somewhere. There's windows in each door, revealing a variety of things - closets, mostly, little storage areas, with some blank bedrooms spread out.

The halls are long and twisting. Bakugo starts getting discouraged when he turns down a hall and, for the fourth time, is greeted by the exact same view he was greeted with the last three turns.

He turns a fifth time and sees a shadow at the end of the hall.

Picking up speed, still aiming for silence, he darts down the hall. This one goes in two directions, and he thinks he sees a flash of black hair turning towards the right. He practically sprints after it, following it down a few halls, until it suddenly vanishes.

It's then that he realizes he has no idea where he is. There’s two ways for him to go forward, one way to go back, and he has no idea how to backtrack.

One direction is a dead end, with just a door at the end, so he decides to check that first. The door is locked - of course - so he gives a quick knock, to see if anyone’s inside.

No response. That’s fine by him. The door breaks easily, crumbling under the explosions.

---

When Deku hears the doorknob rattle, he hides.

It’s not a conscious plan, really, more something he does on instinct. The door is locked, but that rarely stops people from bursting in. Within seconds he’s hidden under the bed, watching the legs of whoever’s decided to come in. He can tell every league member apart by their shoes alone.

….Except he doesn’t recognize the pair he’s currently looking at. They’re a pair of plain black sneakers, well worn but still in good shape. The only person who ever wears sneakers is Dabi and his have some distinct burn marks on them.

“Fuck,” the person says.

Deku pokes his head out from under the bed, just far enough to look, not enough to be seen, only to be greeted with -

“Kacchan?”

Kacchan whirls around, looking for the source of the voice. Sheepishly, Deku crawls out from under the bed.

“What are you doing down th-”

“You can't be here!” Deku nearly shouts, interrupting him, before realizing how loud he's being. “What am I doing? No, what are you doing?”

Kacchan glares at him.

“You can't be here,” Deku repeats, standing up.

“And why not?”

“Because - why are you even here in the first place?”

“I’m here to rescue you, you idiot!”

Deku stares at him, unsure of how to even react. “You - I - You can’t. I’m a villain, Kacchan.”

Kacchan’s determined glare starts to slide off. “What, do you like being here?” he scoffs, gesturing at the room around him, the gray walls and lack of any personal touches.

“I’m -”

“You always said you wanted to be a hero,” Kacchan continues, balling his hands into fists. “So what, you changed your mind? You wanna hurt people now or something?”

Deku flinches. He wants nothing more than to sink into the floor, but Kacchan keeps going. “If you do, then fine, I’ll leave. But if you don’t - why the hell are you arguing with me? I’m trying to help you!”

“You could die trying to help me!” Deku says, digging his hands into his hair. “Did you even think this through? What if I did wanna hurt people?”

“So you admit -”

“Listen to me! If I was a proper villain - you’d be dead!”

“But I’m not, and you’re not,” Kacchan says, like that solves anything. “You’re not, and now you can leave.”

“I can’t,” Deku says, some of the tension leaving him, replaced with exhaustion. “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” Kacchan says. “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t deserve it! I’ve done some awful stuff -” and here he can see Kacchan looking away awkwardly, like he knows what Deku’s done and is rethinking things a little, good - “I’ve killed people and hurt people and ruined lives and - I’m not the Deku you remember.” He grabs onto his arm, a half hearted hug. “I’m not Deku at all. I’m Regrowth.”

Kacchan is silent. Deku doesn’t dare look at him. He can’t pretend he’s not tempted by Kacchan’s offer, but he knows he can’t accept it.

“If you’re really such a horrible person, then why’d you let me and Kirishima live?”

“I -” he doesn’t have a reply to that. Kacchan, for once, does have a point there.

But that doesn’t erase everything else. It doesn’t erase the dead bodies Deku sees when he closes his eyes. “I’m still a villain. Villains don’t get happy endings.”

“You’re being a dumbass,” Kacchan says, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared. Which I should’ve expected, but also, stop being a self sacrificing little shit and let me fucking help you.”

“I’m being a dumbass? You’re the one -”

“Shh!” Kacchan says suddenly, moving to put a hand over Deku’s mouth, though Deku quickly knocks it away. “I think I hear something.” He moves away from Deku and pokes his head out the door.

“But -”

“Do you wanna leave or not?” he asks, turning suddenly. “Yes or no.”

“I -”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes,” Deku admits.

“Good,” Kacchan says.

Something hits Deku in the head, something heavy, and before he has the chance to try and figure out what it is, the world goes black.

#adventures of cora #text #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #villain deku #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #cora writes #bmg tag #bmg fic #bakudeku

7 notes · View notes

words-writ-in-starlight · 6 years

Note

Kitty from X-men for the headcanon meme?

Me, throwing canons into a blender: I Don’t Give A Shit

Also, hi, remember how I’m the only person on the whole internet who ships Kitty/Colossus and therefore have to create all my own content? Yeah, sorry about this.

Send me a character and I’ll give you 10 headcanons!

Kitty joins the Institute at 13 and straight up stows away on a mission at 13 and six months because she hates seeing her friends risk their lives when she could help them, you will literally pry this from my cold dead hands, this is old-school X-Men canon and I’ll die on this hill. The Blackbird is pretty large for a tactical plane, she just kind of crawls into a baggage compartment and waits to come out until they’re most of the way to their objective. If Logan could get ulcers he would pop one on the spot, and Ororo probably actually does.

Kitty becomes one of the X-Men of choice to deal with alien spaceships very quickly, because she’s hard to contain, creative, well-spoken, and a genius with computers. And besides, if you need to incapacitate a ship on the spot, there aren’t many better options than someone who can fry the entire onboard system by walking through it.

Kitty gets to a point where she’s about twenty and her relationship with the idea of death is...weird. She’s not really blase about it, because while the X-Men come back reasonably regularly your average civilian does not, but also she’s used to being mostly invulnerable as long as she’s got some advance warning of an attack. So she reads as intensely hypervigilant, but also utterly reckless and disinterested in her own safety. She can tell you blind how many people are in a room and where they are relative to her, but also if you pushed her off a building she’d probably roll with it. It’s weird even by X-Men standards.

It takes Kitty several years and more near death experiences than she cares to tally up to get Colossus to go on a date with her. She appreciates his moral principles but would also appreciate it if he got on her level. Just a little. If she’s getting shot at and kidnapped by space aliens and otherwise put in mortal danger every other weekend, she should get promoted from ‘kid’ status, in her opinion.

Kitty and Illyana have kind of a weird relationship, because on the one hand Kitty was Illyana’s first crush (Illyana wouldn’t move in on her brother’s girlfriend/object of pining, but Kitty was smart and pretty and funny and Illyana is very gay don’t question me). But on the other hand before Illyana was Magyk, Illyana was a six-year-old girl who loved her brother and worshiped Kitty, who seemed very grown-up indeed and told the best stories. Kitty is mostly unaware of the fact that sometimes Illyana has a very uncomfortable lurch of dissonance between god you’re hot and you...kind of helped raise me for a while?

Kitty, contrary to a great many people’s thinking, is...not super emotionally intelligent. For other people, sure, hell yeah, she can sit there and do group therapy for the tiny baby New Mutants or talk Logan down from the ceiling all day, she’s fucking crushing it and she has been since she was a kid. But about herself? About the way people feel about her? Not so much. Kitty trusts fairly implicitly that the X-Men love her, but tbh the only reason she was able to pursue Piotr is because he admitted out loud that he was interested in her.

Kitty is a terrible artist. She doodles flowers and stick figure comics and shit, and she knows she lacks inherent talent and won’t ever spend the time on it to really develop the skill, but she enjoys her terrible doodles anyway. Piotr, who is an actual artist who paints on canvases and shit, thinks it’s adorable.

Kitty and Kurt are demons together. Between the two of them they are the ultimate prank team in any universe, because their powers make it super easy and also because they love to fuck with people. Depending on which person on the team they ambush, this has...variable results. Rig the Danger Room to splatter Logan with bright pink paintballs? Probably the worst thing that’ll happen is some very manageable carpet damage. But one time they set up a jumpscare and Cannonball took out a wall when he spooked at it. It wasn’t an important wall, as such things go, but like. Still a wall.

Since the Institute holds a pretty varied collection of people, they have celebrations all the way through the month of December some years depending on when holidays fall (they’ve pretty much settled on the Solstice as a nondenominational ‘we all made another trip around the sun, get drunk if you’re legal and physically capable of doing it’ party) and Kitty is the honorary Jewish matriarch of the household, so she leads the Hanukkah celebrations with aplomb. It’s hard to get all of the High Holidays off because supervillains (although Magneto has a handful of days where he’s reliably Not In Business and Yom Kippur/Yom Hashoah are among them), and she has literally never succeeded in getting all of Pesach off, but she does her best to observe them all anyway. One year she showed up to a Purim celebration with lightning burns up half her body and a pair of crutches but like, she was fine, Mom, stop worrying about it. And it’s very few years that Kitty doesn’t hold or attend at least one Seder because honestly fuck supervillains, they’re not the boss of her and she’s going to do the thing properly.

Kitty is much beloved by the X-Men. This is a fact. She’s one of the longest standing X-Men, one of the most loyal, one of the longest lived. Even as a scared teenager who was far too young to be on the battlefield, Kitty never flinched, never tried to leave, and even when she’s been left behind, she was still ready to answer the call. Every last goddamn one of the X-Men, even the ones who don’t know her as well personally or who might have a glitch, would pick up the phone if she called them at two in the morning needing a favor.

Fight me for Kitty Pryde’s honor.

35 notes · View notes

zhannabelle-eng · 4 years

Text

Why is wearing amulets important, and how do they help in different life situations?

Zhannabelle reveals the knowledge about the influence of objects of power on our life

Everyone wants to be successful, healthy, and happy. But few people know that amulets and talismans can help on the way to the cherished goal. Of course, they are made individually and often "choose" their owner. It is better if a special spiritual person such as Zhannabelle helps you make this choice. It will save you from making serious mistakes.

Unique objects with a special meaning

Every family had amulets and talismans many centuries ago. They were regarded and kept in a special way, passed from generation to generation. They did not make any important affair without any amulet. They did not go on a trip or marry without a periapt. They helped warriors avoid the bullets and return alive from war. Unfortunately, this tradition is almost completely forgotten these days.

Zhannabelle says it's one of the reasons of the misunderstanding between generations, the breakdown of the family's ties. Thus u why marriage fail, people dither and can not fine their place in life. Children no longer appreciate or respect their parents' experience. But they cannot find a worthy replacement for the support of the lineage. They are sensible to bad habits; they suffer from loneliness and depression. It is not surprising because the subtle energy connection of generations, transmitted through talismans, real family relics, is also lost.

People no longer ask for help from the Higher Powers, seated in amulets and amulets. But are ready to barber way their souls for fashionable trinkets. Zhannabelle anxiously speaks of this feature: such soulless objects and jewelry carry destructive energy.

They are produced in high volume. They do not contain any soul, knowledge or sacred experience.

They are ordinary jewelry! They also offer us protection from bewitchment, amulets to attract wealth, which can be purchased on the Internet or in a shop. Needless to say that, at least, they do not help.

Such fashionable objects of power can harm their owner and even their entire lineage, because you do not know who made them. Perhaps it was a charlatan who did not know how to handle the amulets, or even a black magician.

Not all souvenirs are equally safe!

You bought an overhyped amulet. Don't count on the help that the ad promised. There's no value, no powerful energy in this object. If you buy an amulet or periapt from a stranger, you can hurt your health and even put your life in danger. It especially concerns antiques and cult objects of other religions: evil objects, dream catchers, figurines, various symbols.

During her classes Zhannabelle warns everyone to be especially careful when travelling abroad.

Do not buy souvenirs at flea markets, from local witches and healers.

You should think very well before buying a talisman "for luck" even at the souvenir shop. Such things can change your fate and lifestyle of the whole family dramatically. No one can guarantee that they will bring positive changes.

Michaelia, Frankfurt:

"Who doesn't bring souvenirs from holiday? I always give something to my family, friends and even small souvenirs to my colleagues. This time, I could not resist and went to the souvenir shop on my last day of holiday in India. A small room was filled with shining trinkets. I didn’t know where to look first. Then a seller speaking bad English offered me an extremely beautiful figurine, gilded and inlaid with gems. I could not resist!

I put the souvenir to the most honorable place on the mantelpiece next to the family photos at home. And then something strange started to happen. Our house was attacked by insects. Even the special services that came three times were unable to oust them. Our dog, Chuck, everybody’ favorite golden retriever, disappeared the same week.

A small summer additional building, where we had tea in the summer, collapsed a little later. Everyone miraculously survived, but my husband ended up in the hospital with a serious injury.

I could not understand how much misfortune one can have! But the worst was ahead. My eldest son, who played football, started having his legs failing him! I was terribly angry at first. I thought my son was pretending not to go to school. But when he almost crawled to the toilet, we had to have an urgent medical examination.

Doctors had nothing to say: his tests were fine, his bones and joints were intact. I didn't know what to do. The house, the family collapsed just before my eyes. I invited Zhannabelle to our house on my sister's advice. It's a real miracle that she agreed to help personally! Zhannabelle realized right away that we were all under the influence of very strong black magic.

She immediately approached the mantelpiece without any delay and strictly told me to remove the Indian souvenir not only from the house, but also far away from the city and even the country.

The lovely figurine was full of the dark energy of the world of the dead. It was drawing energy out of the house and family members, taking them away. Zhannabelle had to perform some complex cleansing rituals for us and our house. She also made a special amulet for our family to protect us from all possible misfortunes.

You can not imagine how happy I was when my son got back on his feet just the next day. My husband was also actively recovering. Strange insects disappeared from home as if they had never appeared. And the missing Chuck returned home.

Now I always warn all travel enthusiasts and those who love objects with history: it is very dangerous to buy such things and bring them into your house!"

Your home is your castle

The right talismans can protect against the negative, bad people and tragic situations not only their owners, but also the whole family. Everything depends on the power of a talisman.

Zhannabelle says it is certainly worth buying an amulet if there is negative energy in the house. Here are some signs of its impact on the family:

Children are often get sick and are naughty.

Usually calm and friendly family members suddenly start to quarrel.

All sorts of things often disappear in the house, equipment breaks, things are damaged all the time.

You and other family members have a strong reluctance to come home.

Pets start behaving unusually or run away.

You don't sleep well at night for no apparent reason.

Observe your feelings and appreciate how often the abovementioned things happen. If there are several coincidences, you need Zhannabelle's professional help. This may include energy purification of the house, special rituals, buying of talismans and amulets.

Zhannabelle provides the rules for selecting talismans and amulets

It is not easy to find your talisman because it's a special and unique thing. Properly chosen it can change your life dramatically: help in recovery, accelerate the achievement of goals, and attract the right situations and people to your destiny. It is also important to know who owned the object of power before you. What if it was a person with bad energy or destiny?

That's why Zhannabelle always strongly recommends purchasing amulets from the professionals of their craft - hereditary shamans. The real talisman is unique, created especially for you. The shaman charges it with the help of special rituals, instills an assistant spirit into the object of power. It will protect and defend your loved ones, promote success in various affairs and life tasks.

It is quite difficult to make such a periapt: you need special knowledge, energy, and strength.

Its owner should always wear this amulet with him. It is better to wear it under the clothes and not to show anyone. You can also put it in your purse or your car.

Zhannabelle always gives the best opportunity to her students at her seminars: it is right when the amulet and its owner choose each other. If the object of power is yours, you will literally feel it. It can attract you, magnify you, start to vibrate, emit light or warmth that only you will notice. It's good to find your amulet at one of the Places of Power.

Of course, it's not always possible to go for a retreat to the Place of Power. But you can choose the object of power online! Yes, Zhannabelle gives such a unique chance to all her students! Write to her!

Such protection will be the most powerful, helping not only the owner, but also their family members.

Jeanne, Provence:

"I rarely travel. But I decided to go for a retreat with a friend to a Place of Power before my wedding. That's where I found my talisman. It attracted me. Small and sparkling, it shone in the sun and emitted some special warmth. When I took it in my hand, I never parted with it again.

A couple of days later, as usual, I was in my office at work.

Suddenly, the pendant, the talisman hanging around my neck, started trembling and became hot.

There was an image of my fiancé and a car rushing towards him before my eyes. It was very scary! It took my breath away. I held the amulet in my fist tight and pressed it against my chest. Everything was gone a few minutes later.

I was rushing home without looking at the road. My loved one was fine. He didn't want to bother me with it. He wanted to hide everything, because he stayed completely unharmed. Even the car wasn't damaged. There was a huge red van (like in my vision) rushing directly onto him on the narrow road. By a miracle he managed to avoid the collision at a distance less than a centimeter from the van. My fiancé said that he did not understand how it all happened. It was just a miracle!

My amulet is our family heirloom now."

What properties has a real amulet

You'd be surprised to learn that talismans can disappear. And that's not a bad sign, you shouldn't be scared. If the object of power disappeared, it means that its mission is completed at this stage, that the periapt has fulfilled its mission.

But if you suddenly need the help of the Higher Powers, the amulet will appear in your life again (and often in the most unexpected way!).

Zhannabelle often tells similar stories that her students share with her with pleasure. Finding a real unique amulet at the Place of Power, saturated with the most powerful energy, is a real luck and a gift. The shaman will bless you and tell you how to properly wear and care of the amulet. Such an object will become a real amulet. It will help to fulfill your most cherished desires and protect from obstacles on the way to the goal, from troubles and evil people.

Zhannabelle always says that a real amulet is able to spiritualize its owner. With its help, a person becomes wiser, more tolerant, and stronger, learns to be persistent and find solutions in the most difficult issues. The person manages to find their calling, earn respect and authority in their sphere, build harmonious relations with others and find personal happiness.

Do you want to find a reliable assistant and protector in the form of an individual periapt? Contact Zhannabelle right now!

#amulet #talisman #power #object of power #zhannabelle

0 notes

welllpthisishappening · 7 years

Text

Out of the Frying Pan (39/40)

“You think that’d be ok?” Emma asked, voice low and nervous. She couldn’t imagine how he’d actually heard her. Of course he had.

He beamed at her, eyes bright and this wasn’t fair. He wasn’t playing fair – between the tux and the baby holding and that stupid, supportive smile that might have been three quarters of the reason she’d fallen in love with him in the first place, Emma was a lost cause.

“I do,” Killian said, thumb trailing across her collarbone. Emma’s hands landed on the front of his jacket, tugging him towards her and they should get better at this whole responding thing because it seemed, more often than not, they ended up kissing instead.

AN: Guys. Guys. Guuuuuys. This is the last week of updates and I am a mess of emotions and feelings and general thankful’ness for how consistently fantastic you are. @laurnorder & @distant-rose continue to be the greatest humans - EVEN IN HURRICANES. Tell them they are fantastic, internet.

Also on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“Mom!” Emma groaned and Mary Margaret laughed, fingers twisting her hair into something that, hopefully, wouldn’t be a knotted mess by the end of the night. “You’re almost done,” she promised, glancing at her reflection in the mirror and tugging on Emma’s hair again.

“And I also have a very impatient kid.” “Yeah, well,” Mary Margaret countered. “At least he’s voicing his impatience and not just wailing about it. I swear, it’s becoming like clockwork now. Every night at some point between 2:45 and 3:07, Leo starts wailing. Every night, I swear.” “3:07?” Emma repeated, eyebrows lifted in something that might have been skepticism, but was mostly just being impressed by the newborn’s timeliness.

“3:07. Every night.” “You should send that to someone. Or tell someone. Go viral. The great clock-watching baby.”

“I’d settle for him sleep consistently for a few hours at a time.” “You’re supposed to let him cry it. That’s what all the books say.” “Did you ever let Henry cry it out?” Mary Margaret asked, eyeing Emma appraisingly in the mirror as she circled the braid on the back of her head.

“Nah,” Emma admitted, laughing softly. “It’s easier said than done.” “Exactly.” Emma grinned at Mary Margaret – a bit stunned at what she’d been able to do with her hair and her makeup, living up to her promise to Ruby that Emma didn’t need to pay a professional when she has me – her hand brushing over the back of her neck.

It was the first time Leo Henry Nolan had been allowed out of the relative comfort of his apartment since arriving in the world about a month before – barring two trips to the doctor and one vaguely terror-filled, middle-of-the-night trip to the emergency room a week and half ago when the newborn had been diagnosed with colic and Mary Margaret cried when Emma walked into the waiting room.

She’d blamed it on post-pregnancy hormones then and it was so goddamn endearing Emma wasn’t even that upset about being called out of her bed at 1:34 in the morning.

She crawled back under the blankets nearly two hours later – never actually admitting that she’d been just as worried about Leo Henry as his slightly frantic parents had been – an arm wrapping around her waist with a soft noise and a brush of his lips on the back of her neck.

He’d stayed.

And they hadn’t really talked about it – not after that night and the revelation that his entire restaurant was willing to help make sure he got the warehouse back or Emma had, somehow, made certain Regina got to adopt her son. He’d simply followed her to her room and never really left.

He’d slowly, but surely taken over a corner of her closet and, perhaps more importantly, a corner of her kitchen, baking supplies earning a cabinet all to their own and no one appreciated that more than Henry – a brand-new soccer team to feed and an Iron Chef to impress them with.

Killian was mostly surprised that almost thirteen-year-old kids were, apparently, very impressed by an Iron Chef with a particular knack for baking things en mass, but Emma wasn’t – certain it had a lot more to do with his knowledge of soccer and the way Henry lit up every single time he appeared on the sideline.

“How’s he doing?” Killian muttered and Emma pressed back against his chest, sighing softly when his fingers ghosted across her stomach.

“Colic,” she said softly. He was incredibly warm and his arm tightened around her waist, tugging her closer against him and it shouldn’t have made her heartbeat pick up the way it did. Killian hummed softly and Emma was glad it was dark and the middle of the night and that her back was to him because the smile on her face – and the want in the pit of her stomach – probably would have been embarrassing if he saw it.

He was in the living room now, shouting something at the TV and Emma heard Henry’s laughter echo through the entire apartment as a zombie died particularly loudly. She was grinning like an idiot, almost oblivious to slightly stunned expression on Mary Margaret’s face until she pinched the skin on her shoulder.

“Jeez, M’s,” Emma hissed, glaring at her sister-in-law’s reflection. “That hurt.” “What’s happening with your face?” “Excuse me?” “You’re all glossy.” “Can’t you fix that with makeup?” “Yeah, that’s not what I’m talking about.” Henry shouted for her again and Emma wasn’t certain if he wanted her to hurry up or just see the replay of what sounded like a particularly impressive zombie kill. Emma opened her mouth to question what exactly Mary Margaret was talking about, but there was a knock on her bedroom door, half closed so she could get dressed earlier without threat of someone bursting in, and David leaned around the corner, eyes practically squeezed shut.

“You’re fifteen,” Emma accused, shaking her head. “Come on in, everyone’s dressed. You’re not actually interrupting anything.”

“Yeah, well I’ve never sent you off to some sort of major network event, let me have this.” “I literally went to a network holiday party a couple of months ago.” “And I had to watch your kid.” Emma rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to point out that he’d done the same exact thing when she’d gone to prom in Storybrooke, but didn’t want to hear stories about the dress or how her date had snuck alcohol into the punch in the back corner of the gym. David and Mary Margaret had to pick her up.

She’d gotten drunk.

Really drunk.

And spent the night hiding out in Mary Margaret’s bedroom – trying to avoid Ruth until she was one hundred percent sober the next day.

“Speaking of which,” Emma said, turning in the chair Mary Margaret had put in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of her closet door to stare at her brother. “Where exactly is your kid?”

Mary Margaret gasped softly – like she’d only just realized Henry Leo wasn’t draped over David’s shoulder – and he glared at Emma, eyes narrowing again until they were no more than slits on his face. “Thanks a lot,” he muttered. Emma just shrugged. “Killian’s got him.” “Killian?” Emma asked, several body parts flipping at the idea of her boyfriend, presumably also dressed for a major network event, holding her nephew in her living room. David nodded and Emma was halfway down the hallway before Mary Margaret yelled something about not ruining your hair.

He was dressed and he must have gotten ready in Henry’s room because she and Mary Margaret had been camped out in her bedroom for the past forty-five minutes. She’d been, at least partially, right – Henry was playing video games and killing zombies, but Killian wasn’t sitting on the couch, standing, instead, a few feet in front of it with a sleeping newborn propped up against his shoulder, a towel guarding his shirt underneath.

He was bobbing up and down, almost like he was rocking back and forth on his heels, arm underneath Leo Henry’s legs, prosthetic resting lightly on his back.

And Emma wasn’t sure she’d actually ever be able to move again – certain she’d only ever be able to see this picture in front of her eyes for the rest of her life.

All things considered, it wasn’t really a bad way to go.

It didn’t last as long as she would have liked – that almost perfect moment in the middle of her living room – before Henry got eaten by a zombie, throwing his controller into one of the pillows in the corner of the couch and slumping further down into the cushions. He noticed her then, eyes going wide at the side of her network event-ready look.

“Sounded like you died a pretty horrible death there,” Emma laughed, noticing Killian’s back straighten when he heard her voice.

Henry shrugged, shaking his hair out of his eyes and maybe she could get Mary Margaret to cut it again tonight. “I got to a new level though, so I guess it’ll be worth it. Uncle David said he’d help once you guys were gone.” “Yeah, we should probably leave soon. Or will leave soon. I don’t know, Ruby set up the car so it’ll probably be here five minutes before it’s supposed to.”

Leo Henry made a noise and Killian murmured something in his ear, turning around as he spoke and that wasn’t fair – the look on his face and the fit of the tux and there was a goddamn baby in his arms. And Emma might have been the worst person in the world because she’d just thought of her nephew as a goddamn baby.

“Swan,” he said softly and Henry didn’t even groan, just glanced at them wide-eyed and expectantly. The floor in the hallway creaked and Emma knew David and Mary Margaret were a few feet away and it all actually felt a little bit like prom. “You look incredible, love.” She couldn’t find it in herself to argue with him – no sign of a sarcastic response or even a quiet scoff, not when he was looking at her like that. And certainly not when Mary Margaret had twisted her hair into some kind of braided crown at the nape of her neck and her makeup was better than it had probably ever been on TV and her dress might have actually been the most expensive thing she’d ever bought.

It wasn’t red, but it didn’t seem to matter – not when Killian’s eyes traveled up the slit on the side and she should probably put her heels on because the hem was dragging on the floor.

They’d probably look good on camera together.

And in print.

There were going to be print photographers there, a fact Ruby had done her best to impress upon Emma in the leadup to the event and a major reason why she hadn’t had some sort of coronary when she realized how much the dress cost.

It cost a lot and it was the wrap event for the all-star thing and there were going to be photographers and reporters and cameras and Emma Swan and Killian Jones were making their first, public appearance as some sort of celebrity chef couple.

She’d worked out her nerves on that particular situation by spending an absolutely obscene amount of money on the dress she was going to wear.

It was worth it for the reaction.

“Pictures,” Mary Margaret yelled, giving up her not-so-secret position around the corner of the hallway. David groaned and Henry laughed and tiny-Nolan gurgled, earning another string of muttered words from Killian as he walked towards Emma, eyes not entirely appropriate considering he was still carrying a newborn.

He adjusted Leo Henry, resting more of his weight on his right arm and trailing his left hand over her arms. “You look incredible,” he said, repeating himself and Emma bit the side of her tongue as Mary Margaret rummaged in her bag to find her phone.

“You said that already,” Emma pointed out.

Killian smirked at her, one eyebrow lifted up and the living room suddenly seemed much warmer than it had a few minutes before. “Give me a bit more privacy and, I promise, I’ll come up with a few more adjectives, love.” Emma laughed, not quite sure she could come up with a coherent thought, let alone some kind of actual response.

She didn’t have to.

Mary Margaret had, apparently, found her phone – a fact she announced to the entire living room, loudly.

Leo Henry didn’t appreciate that at all, voicing his displeasure against Killian’s shoulder and he seemed more entertained than anything, smiling as he handed the month-old kid to David. The buzzer downstairs sounded and the car was here – seven minutes before its schedule arrival time – and Emma laughed again.

“Ah, will you look at that,” she said, tugging on the cuff of Killian’s shirt as she tried to make her way towards her door. “Looks like we’ve got to go.” David sighed, some sort of disappointed older brother look painted on his face and Emma’s shoulders sagged. There was no getting out of this. “Come on, Swan,” Killian said, pulling his hand away only to lace his fingers through her and bring her back into the middle of the living room, half blocking Henry’s view of the TV.

“Mom,” Henry groaned, twisting his head to try and look around her.

“Two seconds to make M’s happy will not kill you, kid.” Mary Margaret beamed at them, ushering them back in front of the TV and holding her phone up like she was actually some kind of professional photographer. “Smile,” she commanded and Killian’s arm tugged Emma closer to his side and it was absolutely just like prom.

“M&M’s are you almost done?” Henry asked and Emma clicked her tongue, not entirely appreciating the tone of his voice. He sighed dramatically, zombies taking over some town or city or something on the screen without him.

Mary Margaret clicked her phone a few more times and Emma’s patience was starting to wear thin as well. “Ok, M’s,” she said, tilting her head meaningfully. “There’ll be plenty of cameras there so you can get pictures from them too. The car’s going to leave without us.” “The network paid a lot of money for that car,” Mary Margaret argued, David laughing softly at her determination as he tried to rock Leo Henry back into a state of calm and not crying in Emma’s living room. “It’ll wait.”

“Even so, seems rude to make the guy wait an hour for us to come downstairs.”

“It wasn’t an hour,” she grumbled, sinking back onto the couch and grabbing the other controller next to her. “Come on kid,” she said, nudging Henry’s shoulder. “Let’s kill things.” “M’s! Oh my God.” “You guys look really good,” she said, voice softening just a bit, which seemed almost ironic because she was unnaturally good at this. Henry gaped at her, mouth hanging open as her fingers practically danced over the controller, chopping off heads as she went. “Don’t come back here tonight, ok? Go back to Killian’s apartment.” Henry did groan at that and David might have choked on the air he was trying to breathe. The tips of Killian’s ears had gone red and his arm slacked around her waist just a bit. Emma glared at her and Mary Margaret grinned back – zombies crying out for help in the background, or whatever it was zombies did when they died. Again.

“Go,” she said, smiling pointedly at Emma, the same way she’d looked at her in the mirror a few hours before. “And have fun and look good on camera. You know, again. For the professionals.” Emma shook her head, Killian’s arm tight around her again as she leaned forward to kiss Henry’s cheek, earning another groan for the maternal move. She brushed her knuckle over the back of tiny-Nolan’s leg and the buzzer sounded again.

“Impatient car guy,” David muttered. “Better hurry up. And don’t worry about us here, we’ll be fine.”

The buzzer sounded again and Killian was bordering on hysterical at this point, threatening to wake up Henry Leo in the process. “Come on, Swan,” he muttered and both David and Mary Margaret nodded at her encouragingly. Henry killed more zombies.

They were definitely late and Ruby was going to yell and Regina was going to glare and Emma didn’t care because as soon as they were in the car, Killian made good on his promise to come up with a few more adjectives about her dress.

She hadn’t expected this many cameras. There were a lot of cameras and it seemed a bit crazy to imagine that these cameras were there for them.

They cooked things.

They cooked things on TV and occasionally did it for charity and to get their TV shows back or expand their restaurants and those last two things still seemed a bit problematic.

Or at least one of them did.

Because The Jolly was going to expand – the ragtag family that lived in that dining room had made sure of it, pooling their money and their determination and a slew of laminated charts Regina had shown Emma a few weeks before.

And David had promised they’d get Gold.

Emma wasn’t worried about that.

David kept his promises and she could hardly argue laminated charts.

She was worried about her own show – and it was vaguely selfish, but Aurora’s story was supposed to come out that week and Emma was slightly terrified to see all of that in actual print with photos of her on set and promotional outtakes she’d shot with Killian months before. The story was supposed to fix everything.

And no one had said anything one way or another. Not even the week before when they’d filmed the five-course extravaganza and Emma’s hands were cramping from so much spatula flipping and pan-holding and they had to pose for even more promotional photos for the cookbook they were going to sell over the summer.

It was exhausting – worry eating away at the back of her brain when she just wanted to be focused on how happy she was with everything else in her life.

“Deep breaths, Swan,” Killian whispered, muttering the words in her ear as he nudged her towards the doors.

She nodded once, a ridiculous, jerky movement that was going to look ridiculous and jerky on camera and tried to smile. There were cameras and it was all incredibly bright and they cooked for a living for God’s sake and she didn’t even have a show anymore.

This was ridiculous.

They weaved their way down the carpet – jeez, there was a carpet and this was Lincoln Center, there wasn’t supposed to be a carpet in Lincoln Center – Killian’s hand on her back and he was muttering in her ear still, the same vaguely encouraging sentiment for what felt like a mile of camera-studded walking.

It was Lincoln Center so the space was gorgeous and there were chandeliers and Emma wondered where the network had even gotten enough money for something like this. “See, Swan,” Killian said, grinning at her before nodding towards Belle and Will on the other side of the hall. And this was almost vaguely worth it to see Will Scarlett wearing a tuxedo at a network-sponsored event.

“Yuh huh,” Emma muttered and he laughed again, pulling her further into the room, grabbing two glasses of champagne off a tray as they moved. “Efficient,” she said, nearly downing the entire thing in one gulp.

“Just think how good we’ll look in all those pictures.” Emma smiled, almost not entirely worried about her show or getting her picture taken or how she’d won this whole stupid all-star event and no one had said a single word about it. “Hey,” he said sharply, hand wrapping around elbow. “You ok, love?” And she was – because he asked.

Because he cared.

And he stayed.

“Emma! Emma! Emma!” She jerked her head up, Killian’s hand tightening around her elbow to help keep her balance in this very long dress and very high heels and Ruby was practically sprinting across the hall, people all but jumping out of her path.

Dorothy was just a few steps behind, something like amusement flashing across her face. “Emma,” Ruby yelled again, throwing her hand up in the air as if she couldn’t see her already or hear her perfectly.

“You’re going to sprain your ankle,” Dorothy muttered when they both skidded to a stop a few feet in front of Emma and Killian.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ruby muttered, thrusting something into Emma’s hand.

“What is this?”

“Swan,” Killian said, staring at it meaningfully. It was the magazine. It was her story – or it would be her story, once she actually opened the thing. She couldn’t really feel any of her extremities though, so that made it a bit more difficult to accomplish.

Ruby sighed dramatically when Emma didn’t move fast enough, grabbing the magazine back out of her hand and flipping open to the page that was absolutely bookmarked three quarters away through. “It’s good, Em,” she said, holding it open like it was show and tell at Lincoln Center.

“Really good,” Dorothy added.

“You did everything right, Emma. Everything. You were you and people are going to love it. Seriously. Have you seen Zelena yet?” Emma shook her head slowly, eyes roving across the crowd. “We literally just got here,” she said, ignoring Ruby’s disappointed glare at her arrival time.

“The car was got to your apartment like an hour ago!” “How do you even know that?” Ruby shrugged, snapping the magazine closed again and sticking it underneath her arm. “Why do I need to see Zelena?” “To talk about your show,” Ruby said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Or the future of your show.” “What?” Emma said, voice cracking and Killian was still there, arm moving up to her shoulders and lips brushing against the top of her head. Ruby groaned, personally offended at this public display of affection.

“If you guys could control yourselves for like two seconds,” she mumbled, ignoring Dorothy’s soft relax behind her. Emma rolled her eyes. “I’d tell you that Zelena wants to talk to you, Em. About your show. And getting it back on the air. And maybe changing a few things, but, you know, getting back on the air. Soon. Or soon’ish at least.” “Wait, wait, I don’t understand,” Emma said, wishing she hadn’t drank her champagne that quickly. She needed something to do with her hands.

“What exactly does soon’ish mean?” Killian asked.

Ruby leveled him with a glare and he didn’t back down and there was something about this weird protective gene that seemed to active between both of them. “Soon’ish means exactly what it sounds like,” Ruby said. “Emma will get back on the air soon’ish, but I think we’re going to change the approach a bit.” “How?” Emma said sharply, cutting into the conversation, not interested in protective genes or pointed stares anymore.

“How what?” “How will we change the approach?” “To you.”

Emma blinked and Ruby grinned at her like she’d just told her she’d won the lottery. “I don’t get it.” “You were you in that story, Em. Up front and honest and open and I’m not saying you have to be that every minute of every day, but if you could bring some of that to your show and your set and people’s TV screens on Sunday morning, I think we could see the numbers shoot through some sort of metaphorical roof.” “You’re still not making any sense, Rubes,” Emma sighed, frustration eating into the corners of the sentence.

“Think about it.” Emma sighed, exasperation rolling off her in waves and she opened her mouth to, maybe, shout something at Ruby about talking in riddles, but Killian stepped in front of her, hands on her shoulders and a look of pure determination in his eyes. “Swan,” he said evenly. Fuck. His eyes were blue.

“Yeah?” “Think about it, love,” Killian continued, repeating Ruby’s words and she audibly scoffed behind him. He didn’t even blink. “You could make whatever you want. You could get new appliances. A theme you don’t secretly hate.” “You hate your theme?” Ruby cried and Emma let out a shaky laugh.

Killian didn’t move, kept looking at her intently, one side of his mouth pulled up. “You can just be you, Swan.” “You think that’d be ok?” Emma asked, voice low and nervous. She couldn’t imagine how he’d actually heard her. Of course he had.

Ruby groaned again and when Emma looked up at her, her producer’s entire head was thrown back, eyes glued on the ceiling.

“Ah,” Regina said, appearing out of nowhere with a glass of champagne in her hand, Robin just a step behind. “Are they doing that thing where they kiss each other instead of actually using words when one of them says something particularly emotional?” “Yes,” Ruby cried. “Exactly that. It’s gross.” “We’re standing right here,” Killian muttered.

Regina shrugged and Ruby made a noise in the back of her throat. “What do you think, Em?” she asked, getting back to business with the kind of professional whiplash that made her head hurt.

“What did Zelena say?” “The fact that she wanted to talk to you seems like a pretty good sign.” “She read the story?” Ruby nodded. “And talked to you about the show? And possibly skyrocketing ratings?” Two more nods.

“I’m not lying to you.” “I wouldn’t think you would be.” “The questions suggest otherwise.” Emma sighed and Ruby grinned at her like she knew she’d already won this particular argument. She probably had.

“Yes,” Emma said and Killian kissed the top of her head again.

“Yes, what? Exactly?” “Yes to redoing the show and being me on air or whatever. If I can get new appliances out of it, I’m willing to do just about anything.”

“If I’d known you hated your theme so much I definitely would have used that to my advantage in previous arguments,” Ruby said, crossing her arms forcefully.

“You’re going to mess up the beading on you dress if you do that.” “Emma!” She grinned, stepping out from Killian’s arms around her shoulders and pulling Ruby into a hug before she even had a chance to object. And she didn’t really – just grunted a bit when she nearly lost balance on her heels and wrapped her arms tightly around Emma.

“Congratulations, babe,” Ruby muttered and Emma couldn’t actually cry in the middle of this network event. “No one deserves it more than you.”

And Emma couldn’t quite breathe and it wasn’t because of the dress or Ruby’s soft words or Killian’s fingers trailing across the back of her neck.

Well, it might have been, at least, partially because of that.

It might have also been because, for the first time in just about as long as she could possibly remember, Emma was in control. Actually in control and not just the compartmentalized version she’d been certain was the way it had to be.

The walls were down and the boxes were folded and put away in some sort of metaphorical closet she hoped she never had to actually open again – a completely different one from the closet in her apartment, chock-full of Killian Jones’ clothes.

And maybe Emma Swan – just Emma Swan – was enough.

“Did you tell her?” Belle asked, glancing questioningly in Ruby’s direction. The producer just hummed in the back of her throat, an agreement muffled slightly by her face pressed into Emma’s hair. “Good.” “How many people knew about this, Rubes?” Emma muttered, taking a step back and nearly colliding with Killian’s forearm.

“Just Belle. And I guess Will. And Robin and Regina. And Zelena. And Dor. Obviously. But she doesn’t really count.” “Thanks,” Dorothy mumbled and Ruby flashed her a smile that deserved its own magazine spread and several moments on that mile-long carpet in front of a small army of photographers and reporters.

“You guys were incredibly late,” Will said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Killian asked. “Who’s running my bar?”

“Yeah, you’re not a very good boss. Or a very observant boss, at least. I told you I was coming to this thing like a week ago. After we talked about what kind of alcohol to stock the warehouse with. Then Emma showed up and you went home with her and, very clearly, forgot everything I told you.” “I remember the alcohol.” “Of course you do.” “We ordered a lot of rum and scotch as I remember.” “Yeah, well people drink a lot of rum and scotch.” “We drink a lot of rum and scotch,” Killian corrected. Will shrugged.

There was a noise that sounded like a gong in the background of the room and Emma suddenly realized there was a stage as well and a microphone stand with Zelena behind it. “Jeez,” Robin muttered, shaking his head in disbelief at everything that was going on in the middle of Lincoln Center. “Are we under attack?”

“I think that’s probably Zelena,” Emma muttered, glancing up at the network head as she took the stage, eyes sweeping across the crowd that had snapped to attention at the sound. Robin nodded in understanding.

Zelena tapped the mic and the music cut out and the murmurs of the crowd lasted just a few seconds under her vaguely heavy stare. Killian’s arm looped back around her shoulders and Emam wasn’t particularly interested in anything Zelena had to say when she could feel him next to her like that.

She turned on him, appreciating the way his eyes widened when her hand landed on his hip. “Can I talk to you?” Emma asked.

“Now? You’ll miss Zelena congratulating you on your incredible cooking effort.” “Yeah, I don’t care about that.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at her – like he was trying to figure out if she was telling the truth – hand falling back down to hers as she tugged him back towards the front doors. “Swan?” he muttered, catching her short.

“Yeah?” He scoffed out a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth ticking up as he shook his head slightly. “You’re the one who wanted to talk, love. What about?” “Thank you,” she said, words falling out of her mouth without preamble or much thought. She didn’t know what else to say.

“For?” “For this. For...everything.” “I didn’t do anything, Swan. You did. You needed to get your show back and now you can, on your own terms.” “You ordered alcohol for Jolly 2.0?”

Killian nodded, thumb rubbing out a small circle on the back of her wrist. “A slightly obscene amount,” he laughed. “But, uh, yeah, we did. Marco’s almost done with a lot of it too. There’s apparently even several doors.” “Heat?” Emma asked, stepping closer to him.

“Not yet.” “Ah, maybe someday.” “Although, we’re getting fairly close to needing air conditioning. So I’m not overly focused on the heat aspect of it.” She hummed in acknowledgement and Killian narrowed his eyes again. “Emma?” he asked. “What’s going on? Really.” She took a deep breath, twisting her lips and trying to figure out how to actually put words to whatever she was feeling. “I’m just...happy.”

His eyes flashed, darting across her face and landing on her lips and she wasn’t entirely ready for him when he crashed against her, fingers wrapped around her wrist and yanking her forward. They were doing it again – kissing in response and if he wasn’t so incredibly good at this, Emma probably would have suggested they actually talk about something.

But he was incredibly good at this, hand around her neck and brace pushing into her back and Emma could feel every single inch of him in this dark corner they’d managed to find themselves in.

“That’s all I wanted, Swan,” Killian said, murmuring the words against her lips.

“Well, mission accomplished.”

He laughed, eyes bright and blue and staring straight at Emma. “What do you think the chances are of getting out of here without getting yelled at?” “Probably pretty slim.” “Yeah, that’s true,” he sighed. “Although as much as I’d like to get you home and, possibly, out of that dress, I do have to admit that it looks fairly good on.” Emma raised her eyebrows and they were ridiculously good at this too – the banter and the flirting and the making her stomach flip like she was fifteen. “Possibly?” she asked, skeptically and he smirked at her.

“Seemed rude to just jump to conclusions.” “Feel free to jump to that one.”

Zelena was still talking and it sounded like the crowd was actually applauding at this point and Emma still didn’t care, just pushed her hand back into Killian’s hair and felt her heart pick up when her lips caught his.

And, quite suddenly, the girl who’d never really thought she’d get anything, felt as if she had everything.

“Still with me, Swan?”

She mumbled a response, pressing her head into the crook of his neck and Killian brushed his lips across her hairline, tugging her against his side.

They stayed for four hours and they were, without question, the longest four hours of Emma’s life. She answered questions about her show and the return and when she’d be back in front of a camera again and then answered more questions about the all-star competition and the interview and, God help her, at least three questions about her relationship with Killian. And by the time they’d gotten in a car and back downtown, Emma was bordering dangerously close to exhausted.

Which didn’t really seem fair since she had vaguely big, life-changing plans for the rest of the night.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” she said.

“Good.” She didn’t say anything else, but she could feel him take a deep breath under her, chest moving with the effort of it. He hadn’t actually put his shirt back on and Emma’s very expensive, very well-fitting dress was mostly an afterthought at this point. “Emma,” he said again, and that was the second time he’d called her that.

It wasn’t making this any easier.

“Swan,” Killian muttered, softer this time, fingers trailing up and down her spine. “I can hear you thinking, love.” She huffed out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Maybe focus some of that energy on what it is I’m thinking then.” “Or you could just tell me.”

Emma propped herself up, resting her head up on her hand and Killian turned, following her gaze. “I have a proposition for you,” she said. “A deal, as it were.”

Killian’s eyebrow ticked up. “That word, though, Swan.” “I thought it might spark some interest.”

“To be fair, you’re fairly good at that on your own.” She felt something shoot through her chest at that and it might have actually been confidence. This was going to work.

“See, that’s a good place to start,” Emma said, goosebumps forming on her arm when he brushed his hand down it.

“What are you getting at?” Emma clicked her tongue. “No, no, we’re not rushing over this. I’m going to enjoy this.” “Go ahead, Swan.” “Well, I’ve noticed a couple of things over the last month or so.” “Like?” “Like how you’ve kind of settled into our lives. I mean me and Henry and, jeez, even M’s and David. And I’ve kind of settled in here. And it’s been good. Really good. I mean, you’ve got half your clothes in my apartment and more baking stuff than I ever actually knew existed.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, lips set in a straight line and it almost looked like he was nervous. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be nervous.

He was supposed to play along.

“I can move some of the stuff, Swan,” Killian muttered. “If it’s…” “No,” Emma cut him off. “It’s not.” “It’s not?” “Did you miss the part where I said it was good?” Killian smiled slowly, the movement inching across his face. “Apparently,” he muttered.

“It’s good,” Emma repeated. “Really good. And I’m happy.” “That’s kind of the goal here, Swan.” “No, I know that. Jeez, will you let me finish?” Killian laughed, grin spreading wider, and he raised his eyebrows quickly. “I’m trying to tell you to stay.” “What?” he asked, voice shaking just a bit over the four letters.

“Stay. You know, like, indefinitely. I mean, you’ve got enough clothes and baking supplies to last a lifetime. And it’s not ideal or anything. Henry will be there and David and Mary Margaret have keys and…” Killian shook his head, pulling Emma up until they were both sitting in the middle of his mattress, sheets and blankets twisted in between their legs. “Yes,” he said quickly, hand cupping her jaw when he looked at her.

“What?”

This wasn’t going the way she’d planned.

She’d planned to keep it light and easy and slightly veiled in sarcasm. She’d planned to stun him with that dress and bring him back to his apartment and spend time with him alone – for the first time in, quite possibly, a month – and she’d tell him how she loved him and how she wanted him around and he’d kiss her again and then they’d fall asleep together.

Or they’d kiss some more.

That part of the plan was a bit murkier.

And he absolutely wasn’t following the plan.

She hadn’t expected him to agree that quickly. She probably should have.

“What do you mean, what?” Killian asked.

“I mean, just like that? Yes and that’s that?” “Well, you haven’t actually asked me a specific question yet, Swan,” he laughed, eyes falling back to her mouth. “But, yeah, just like that.” Emma bit her lip and tried to take a deep breathe. It didn’t really work. “Move in with me,” she said, rushing over the words before she lost her nerve.

He kissed her then and at least that part of the plan seemed to have worked.

“You’re sure?” he asked softly, nerves practically rolling off him.

“Yeah,” Emma said with a conviction that didn’t surprise her. Not any more. Not when he looked at her like that.

“It’s not much of a deal, though, Swan. Generally that requires some sort of exchange of goods.” “Were there not baked goods involved?” He laughed – loud and the sound seemed to settle into Emma’s heart or some other vaguely ridiculous cliché and she was so goddamn happy she was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep. “There could be,” he said, thumb tracing the edge of her jaw until he pushed his fingers into her hair.

“See, seems like a pretty good deal then.”

“And,” Killian added, head ducking down as he kissed along the side of her neck. The goosebumps were back. “I don’t think it’s going to be nearly as messy as you think.” “No?” “Uh huh. In fact, I think it sounds fairly nice.” “Nice?” “A generic word, I’ll you give you that, Swan. But it’s still true. And it might be exactly what I want.” “Might be?” “I didn’t want to push.” “I think we’re past the point of no return on the whole pushing thing.” He hummed against her skin and Emma could feel Killian’s smile on the side of her neck. “That might be true,” he agreed. “I’m glad.” “Me too.”

She didn’t ever really get to sleep – but neither did he.

And David only laughed a little bit when they wandered into Granny’s the next morning, Leo Henry asleep in the carrier next to him. And Mary Margaret smiled at them and Henry asked if they could go the Piers later that afternoon.

She gave him a key that night.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan #ootfp #true love conquers all #or something

62 notes · View notes

sad-trash-writing · 7 years

Note

idk if you've seen that extra gum commercial where this guy draws little comics on gum wrappers, and he has this crush on this girl. they date and he draws things from their relationship on the wrappers and he draws one to propose to his gf and she says yes. and the song playing is "i can't help falling in love with you". i really would love to see a skimmons version of that. it could be a high school-college au

I know this took ages, but I hope it’s worth it. Thanks for the prompt! It was a ton of fun!

AO3 Link

Whoever invented high school clearly hated teenagers. Daisy huffed out a dramatic sigh and leaned back in her rickety wooden desk. The teacher kept droning on about some boring battle in the Civil War (which Daisy swore they learned about last year, too). Worst of all, she had forgotten her backpack at home today so she didn’t even have anything to doodle on to kill the time.

A slight rustle in front of her drew her attention from counting the ceiling tiles to Jemma Simmons, the only redeeming factor of this class. US History was the only class Jemma wasn’t in the advanced section of (since she was British and only moved to America last year) so Daisy got to stare at the back of her head and listen to Jemma’s voice every time she asked a question.

The sound that drew Daisy’s attention was just Jemma digging a pack of gum out of her bag. A lightbulb went off in Daisy’s head when she realized that it was the type that had the little foil wrappers, or in Daisy’s universe, something to draw on.

She leaned forward across her desk and lightly tapped Jemma on the shoulder. “Can I have a piece?” Daisy whispered.

Jemma lurched slightly in her seat, but pulled a second piece of gum out of the pack and handed it over her shoulder. “Of course.”

She shot Daisy a bright smile and turned back to her notes.

Daisy’s heart really should not be beating this hard from that seven-word conversation. So maybe she had a little crush on the super genius Brit she never saw outside of history class. Sue her.

Once her pulse returned to normal, Daisy slipped out the pencil she always kept stuck her ponytail and started sketching.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Um, excuse me? Do you mind if I sit here?”

Daisy’s head whipped towards the accented voice and instantly regretted taking Miles’ bet that she couldn’t fit a whole order of spaghetti in her mouth.

“Jemma!” she exclaimed through a mouth of pasta. “Yeah, sure you can—”

Daisy quickly realized that Jemma couldn’t understand her and she would probably choke if she tried to swallow right now. Instead, Daisy planted a foot on Miles’ chair and shoved him far enough down the table that there was space for a chair next to Daisy, ignoring his indignant noises.

Luckily, Jemma didn’t seem disgusted by Daisy’s antics and just smiled and pulled up a chair next to her. Daisy quickly choked down the remainder of her spaghetti and tried to remember what a normal sitting posture was.

To distract herself from the sudden presence of the girl she had a major crush on Daisy held her open hand out to Miles.

“Pay up, I did it,” she demanded. She half expected Miles to argue with her, but he slyly glanced at Jemma, who was suddenly engrossed in her sandwich, and slapped a $5 bill into Daisy’s hand.

“So, Jemma—” Daisy started, but was cut off by Jemma mumbling under her breath. “Uh, what was that?”

Jemma peered at Daisy and blushed. “I bet you can’t fit that whole piece of garlic bread in your mouth,” she muttered with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Daisy balked for a moment. Whatever she expected from the quiet British girl, it wasn’t that. “You’re on.”

Once she won Jemma’s bet, after nearly inhaling garlic bread crumbs while laughing at Jemma’s shocked expression, Daisy slipped a spare scrap of paper out of her bag and doodled a tiny scene on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, Jem. Wanna watch Sharknado or Paranormal Activity?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe those are the options you’re giving me.”

“Well, do you want to take apart the science of demons or sharks forming a tornado and eating people?” Daisy countered.

Jemma rolled her eye. “I suppose Sharknado. I know there’s at least two more Paranormal Activity movies that you’ll try to force me to watch next, so let’s avoid that.”

“Oh, don’t worry. There’s four Sharknados, too!”

Jemma groaned loudly as she and Daisy strolled towards the bus stop. Jemma had started sitting at Daisy’s table everyday for lunch and even choosing Daisy every time they had a partner project in class. Daisy wasn’t complaining. She even managed to shove aside her stupid feelings for awhile to just spend time with Jemma as a friend.

And friends watched terrible movies at each other’s houses every weekend while over-caffeinating themselves and staying up way too late.

“I can’t stay too late tonight, though. I’ve got an interview tomorrow for a college scholarship,” Jemma said.

“College? We’re sophomores. How have you started looking at that already?” Daisy replied.

Jemma shrugged. “I’ve just had a few contact me because of my test scores and thought it would be a good idea to check my options now.”

Daisy chuckled. “Well, you always do know how to over-prepare. But I guess we’ll only watch Sharknado one and two tonight then. The others can wait until next weekend.”

“Unless every copy of the DVDs mysteriously goes missing by then.”

“That’s what the internet is for, Jem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This has got to be my favorite song,” Jemma announced.

Daisy looked up from her ice cream with a frown. She hadn’t even realized there was music playing, honestly. She was just tired from the school day and not looking forward to the amount of homework she had to do later. Luckily, Jemma agreed to help her out, on the condition that Daisy took her out for ice cream first. Only when Jemma mentioned it did she notice that Can’t Help Falling In Love With You was quietly playing over the speakers above them.

“Didn’t take you for an Elvis fan, Jemma,” Daisy teased.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Well, not Elvis per se. Just this song is beautiful.”

Daisy snorted. “Seems a little sappy to me.”

Jemma tossed a wadded up napkin at her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daisy blinked away the tears before Jemma could notice them. Jemma was occupied, cramming more bags into her dad’s car while Daisy stood off to the side, wringing her hands just to keep busy. Despite her somber mood, Daisy couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out of her throat when Jemma had to crawl into the backseat and pull one of her bags from the inside, while her dad pushed it from the outside.

Once the bag was stuffed into the car, Jemma tumbled out of the car, dusted off her hands, and admired their handiwork.

“Why’d you have to be such a smarty-pants and graduate early anyway?” Daisy teased.

Jemma flashed her a sad smile. “I’ll be back for holidays and summers still, I promise.”

“I know, but now I have to sit through history alone,” Daisy whined.

“For that, I am truly sorry,” Jemma said with a smirk. Despite the attempts at humor, Daisy could see tears welling up in Jemma’s eyes as well. Daisy grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in for a tight hug, burying her face in Jemma’s neck.

Daisy didn’t know how long they held each other, but she vaguely heard Jemma’s mom clear her throat at some point. Jemma just waved her off and kept squeezing Daisy like her life depended on it.

Eventually, they broke apart, both giving up on containing their tears.

“You’ll keep in touch, right?” Jemma asked in a tone that sounded more like a demand.

“I-I—” The ‘I love you’ that Daisy desperately wanted to say caught in her throat. “I will.”

Jemma smiled and gave her another quick hug, before jogging over to the car where her parents were impatiently waiting and hopped in. As they drove away, Daisy stuck her hands in her pockets and found a crumpled gum wrapper. She smoothed it out and started drawing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daisy tried to keep her promise. She really did, but life happened. The first six months Jemma was away at college, she and Daisy Skype’d almost daily and texted after every class. But then Jemma had research deadlines come up and Daisy had to study for midterms and they lost touch.

Years passed. Daisy was accepted into her first choice school for graphic design and packed up to move across the country. She quickly acclimated to the dorm life with her new roommate, Bobbi.

How she got paired up with Bobbi as a roommate, Daisy would never know (Daisy being an art kid and Bobbi majoring in biology). They got along well enough, despite their differences, and it turned out that Bobbi’s sometimes-boyfriend, Hunter, was an art student as well.

They had a standing lunch date at one of the cafés on campus between the art building and their dorm. Daisy jogged in, late as usual, with paint and charcoal smeared on her shirt and a handful of paintbrushes jammed into her pockets.

“Hey! Only ten minutes late this time! Maybe next time you’ll actually be here on time,” Bobbi teased, sipping her coffee.

Daisy rolled her eyes and flopped into the chair across from her. “My lateness is a performance art piece on the societal construct of time. And Professor Rogers made me stay after to clean the paintbrushes again.”

“I’m surprised you can resist calling him Mr. Rogers and asking how things are in the neighborhood.”

“Why do you think I had to clean the paintbrushes?”

Bobbi chuckled and glanced towards the door. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited someone else to join us today.”

“Oh? Who?”

“A girl from the bio lab. She’s our age, but a couple years ahead in her program already,” Bobbi said.

Daisy groaned. “Great, so I’m going to have to sit here and listen to two of you biobabble at me?”

“Don’t even act like you don’t rant about your dorky art stuff at me. Sorry I don’t know the difference between Dega and Dada.”

“Okay, those two aren’t even in the same category. Dadaism is a movement—”

“Daisy?” A new voice cut in.

Daisy’s attention shot to the new voice and her jaw dropped. “Jemma?!”

They stared each other down, wearing matching expressions of shock. Once Daisy’s brain caught up to her eyes, she shot out of her seat like a rocket and swept Jemma up in a bone-crunching hug. All these years later and she even smelled the same. Not that Daisy remembered what Jemma smelled like.

After a few long moments, they loosened their grip and started babbling over each other.

“I thought you were going to some fancy private school—”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming here—”

“—I didn’t know you were going here or I would have said something—”

“—It’s been so long I wasn’t sure I had your phone number anymore—”

Bobbi clearing her throat behind them stopped the tirade of overlapping statements. “Uh…So you two know each other?”

“Daisy and I went to high school together,” Jemma supplied.

“And we were really close, until someone had to graduate two years early,”

Daisy accused, with a teasing smirk.

Jemma just rolled her eyes.

Bobbi smirked. “Then, I guess you two have a lot to catch up on.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the years apart, Daisy and Jemma fell right back into their old patterns of movie nights and teasing each other. Nearly every Friday, they would squeeze onto Daisy’s dorm bed with Bobbi and Hunter and project a movie onto the opposite wall. Daisy finally gave in to Jemma’s begging and agreed to watch something that wasn’t a SyFy original and threw in some pretentious movies her fellow art students loved to brag about, exclusively to pick them apart.

Unfortunately, those stupid feelings Daisy repressed for years reappeared the moment Jemma did.

One day, a new face appeared in Daisy’s dorm room.

“Everybody, this is Will,” Jemma introduced, “He’s an aerospace engineering major.”

Daisy waved a hello with the others, but for some reason decided she didn’t like this guy. Sure, he may be a perfectly nice guy, but he stood just a little too close to Jemma and stared at her with just a little too much fondness.

That night, Jemma chose to sit on the futon below Daisy’s lofted bed with Will. Daisy spent the duration of the movie grumpily glaring in the direction of the movie, but not really watching it.

A few hours later, Bobbi flicked on the lights and everyone shuffled out of the room, leaving just Daisy and her roommate.

“What was that all about?” Bobbi demanded once the door clicked behind Hunter (always the last to leave).

“Hey, I didn’t pick the movie this week,” Daisy defended while she stacked up popcorn bowls.

“That’s not what I was talking about. You’ve never been that quiet during a movie night ever and, every time I looked over at you, you were glaring at the floor.”

Daisy flushed. “It’s just been a long week and I’m tired. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Bobbi muttered, unconvinced, but she let the subject drop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fall weather had officially settled in, making it suddenly bearable to be outside. Daisy had to dodge at least three runaway Ultimate Frisbee games on the way to lunch and couldn’t help herself from stopping to pick some of the small fall flowers out of the dining hall’s landscaping. She had a mixed media project coming up that she could probably use them for.

As usual, Daisy was one of the last to arrive for lunch. Bobbi and Hunter were already settled in, bickering about something, but still eating off the same tray. Fitz was tinkering with some new gadget, while Trip leaned over and kept trying to poke at it. The only person missing was Jemma.

“Hey, you’re not the last one here for once,” Bobbi teased as Daisy sat down. Daisy waved her off and tossed her bag on the table, despite Fitz’s indignant protests. She had barely opened her mouth to ask where Jemma was, when a flurry of brown hair and lab reports ran into the table.

“THE ORIONID METEOR SHOWER IS TOMORROW NIGHT,” Jemma shouted, slamming her hands on the table.

Her statement was met with blank stares. “Um…Kay?”

“We need to try to see it! It’s supposed to be spectacular,” Jemma continued.

Daisy shrugged. “I’m game. I might finally see my first shooting star.”

The rest of the table mumbled their agreements and Jemma launched into planning mode.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daisy hadn’t realized how much stuff they would be bringing to go watch the stars. Why they needed an inflatable pool was beyond her, when some ratty blankets would do just fine. She hauled the giant box out of the back of her van and dropped in in the middle of the field Jemma had staked out for the group. Even though it seemed unnecessary to Daisy, Jemma found the idea on Pinterest and thought it sounded fun, so Daisy would go along with it.

Once she wrenched the wad of plastic from the box, Daisy hooked up the automatic air pump to the pool, flipped the switch, and then sat back and waited.

The sun was just beginning to set on the grassy field. The tranquil silence was broken by the jarring whir of the pump, but the scenery was still beautiful. Jemma had really outdone herself when picking this spot to watch the meteor shower (she was very insistent that it had to be far enough away from the town to avoid light pollution). Daisy could only imagine how beautiful it would be out here when the stars came out. She rooted through her pocket and found a folded up scrap of sketch paper. She pulled out a pencil and started sketching the trees that lined the field and dotted the horizon.

The pool was just starting to take shape when Jemma’s tiny hatchback pulled up beside Daisy’s van. Jemma hopped out of the driver’s seat and popped the trunk open, while grumbling under her breath.

“Hey, Jem,” Daisy greeted. “Where’s the rest of the group? It’s going to be hard for them to find us when it gets dark.”

“They’re not coming,” Jemma huffed. “Bobbi and Hunter said something about a last minute date night and Fitz called and rambled some nonsense excuse regarding a project he was working on with Trip.”

Daisy frowned. “Huh. That’s strange. Oh well, I guess they’ll miss all the free wishes.”

“So, you want to stay?” Jemma asked, hopefully.

“Yeah, of course.”

Jemma breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god. I was hoping you wouldn’t want to leave because everyone else cancelled.”

“I didn’t come out here for them,” Daisy blurted. She ducked down to fidget with the pool in an attempt to hide her blush. With a sly peek out of the corner of her eye she caught Jemma’s shy smile.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Want to help me unload the car?”

The trunk and back seat of Jemma’s car were both stuffed full of pillows and thick blankets, which Daisy and Jemma dragged out by the armful and tossed in the misshapen pool.

Once everything was arranged and the pool had taken shape, they shut off the noisy air pump and flopped into the giant nest of blankets. Jemma tucked a bag of popcorn and a thermos of hot chocolate in the folds of the blankets and they snuggled in to wait for the meteor shower to start.

Silence settled over the pair for a moment, before giving rise to the sounds of nature. Crickets chirped their last odes to the summer weather before the frost would inevitably sweep through. A light breeze shuddered through the branches of the distant trees, rattling the drying leaves together. A lone owl hooted in the shelter of the trees.

Jemma sighed contentedly and nestled further into the blankets. “The highest concentration of meteors ought to be around the Orion constellation, over there.”

Jemma gestured towards a cluster of stars, but Daisy had no clue where she was pointing. Daisy was too busy staring at Jemma, illuminated only by the dim starlight and talking excitedly about the origin of the Orionid meteor shower.

Daisy smile and nodded in agreement, meanwhile berating herself internally. Why, why did she have to fall for one of her best friends? Her straight best friend. Nothing good could come of this. Only awkwardness and heartache. Daisy pushed the thoughts of her killer crush away when Jemma offered her the bag of popcorn.

A few hours after it was completely dark, they saw their first meteor. Daisy almost wasn’t sure she had seen it. It happened so quickly so thought she may have imagined it, but Jemma’s slight gasp told Daisy that it was real. After the first one, they came more frequently, until they lit up the sky almost before the previous one had faded.

Jemma and Daisy both stayed mostly quiet, preferring to enjoy the natural phenomenon with minimal conversation. Daisy was so entranced by the streaks of light cutting across the sky that she hadn’t even noticed Jemma fidgeting with her hands until she spoke up.

“Daisy, can I talk to you about something?” Jemma asked in nearly a whisper.

The tone betrayed the serious nature of whatever Jemma wanted to say and Daisy’s eyes snapped to Jemma. “Of course. What��s up?” Daisy replied with forced casualness.

Jemma fidgeted for a moment more with her eyes fixed on her hands before she spoke up. “I— Well, it’s—There’s been something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for awhile, but it’s—it’s just never seemed like the right time and there’s always someone else around, or we’re busy or—or—”

Daisy waited with bated breath while Jemma paused to collect her thoughts.

“I—um. I like girls, I guess,” Jemma finished.

Daisy’s heart leaped and a tiny hopeful part of her brain started cheering, but Daisy quickly shoved it away. This isn’t about you, asshole, she thought.

“Oh. Cool, um, thanks for trusting me with that,” Daisy replied, “Actually, while we’re on that subject—”

“I know, this probably isn’t the best time, but I don’t want to keep any secrets from you,” Jemma rambled. She briefly reached for Daisy’s hands, but seemed to think better of it and folded them in her lap. “You’re my best friend and I don’t want anything to change between us because of this.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just completely bowled over you. We’re you going to say something?”

Daisy blanched. “No, never mind. It’s not important.”

“Please, I don’t want anything left unsaid between us now,” Jemma prompted.

“Let’s get it all out ther—”

“I love you.”

It seemed even the crickets were silent following Daisy’s confession. If she wasn’t in the middle of nowhere, Daisy probably would have bolted for the nearest closet to hide herself in for the rest of her life.

Jemma’s silence was almost worse than if she had run away in disgust. Daisy mentally begged her to say something. Anything.

“…Really?” Jemma finally whispered.

Daisy nodded, though she wasn’t sure Jemma could see her in the dark. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Let’s just pretend I never said—”

Now it was Jemma’s turn to interrupt. She leaned across the narrow space between them, capturing Daisy’s lips mid-word, and slid a hand around the back of Daisy’s neck to pull her in closer.

Daisy’s body processed this new development before her mind caught up, kissing Jemma back fervently before she was even fully aware what was happening.

By the time they broke for air, Daisy’s brain had finally caught up. “I thought you said you didn’t want anything to change between us,” she said, stupidly.

“That was a complete lie,” Jemma chuckled. “I’ve been mad about you since high school.”

“Really? Why did neither of us say anything before now?” Daisy asked.

Jemma just giggled and leaned in for another, more gentle kiss. Meteors continued to streak across the sky the rest of the night, but they passed completely unnoticed by the pair curled up in the inflatable pool together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What? Even I can tell you that’s a terrible— No, he’s great, but I know your— Hey, don’t yell at me, you’re the one who’s dumped him four times!” Daisy screamed into her phone. “Hello?…She hung up on me.”

“Um…Is everything alright?” Jemma cautiously asked.

Daisy groaned. “Bobbi just decided she’s going to move in with Hunter at the end of the semester.”

“Oh. That’s…good?” Jemma guessed.

“The school can’t find anyone willing to move into the dorm halfway through the year, so they’re going to make me pay the 'single-room’ price. I can’t afford that!” Daisy complained.

“I can see why you’re upset now.”

“Yeah. I supposed my van is big enough to throw a mattress in the back. As long as campus security doesn’t get weird about me parking it somewhere.”

“You can come live with me next semester,” Jemma shyly suggested.

Daisy’s heart sped up. “What?”

“I have a full scholarship that covers my rent as well as tuition, so you wouldn’t have to pay anything,” Jemma explained, “I wouldn’t mind having someone to live with. It can get a tad quiet.”

“Are you sure it’s not too soon? I mean, we are dating now. Would it be weird for us to live together so soon?” Daisy asked.

Jemma shrugged. “I was going to ask you to move in with me any way. Do you really think I’d let my girlfriend live in her van?”

Daisy pulled Jemma into a tight hug in answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jemma’s apartment was nice. Very nice, in fact. The extra scholarship money allowed Jemma to afford a place right off campus, away from the noise and annoyance of the fraternity houses. It was small, but not cramped. Just enough space for Jemma’s sparse belongings.

And now Daisy’s. Jemma failed to mention that her apartment was only a one-bedroom before Daisy had hauled the first box of her possessions up the stairs.

Daisy hadn’t wanted to presume anything, so she tossed her pillow on the couch and looked for a corner to cram her stuff into. Jemma had just chuckled, grabbed her hand, and dragged her towards the bedroom.

Daisy was surprised by how easily she settled into domesticity with Jemma. Given that she was completely prepared to live out of her van, Daisy didn’t expect to find herself so comfortable now. They settled into an easy routine. Jemma left at the crack of dawn for her classes, Daisy following around noon, Jemma went to the lab for a few hours after class, and Daisy went to work at the campus bookstore. They both returned to the apartment late and collapsed into bed or watched TV for a few hours. Friday night, they would make sure to be home in time for dinner and one of them would cook something nice.

The cooking was the one thing Daisy never got the hang of. Her artistic talents definitely did not translate into the culinary arts. The most complicated thing she had ever managed to make herself was a can of chicken noodle soup that she put in the microwave, so she struggled whenever it was her turn to make Friday night dinner.

But she was going to try her hardest anyway because she loved Jemma and wanted to make her something nice.

So here she was, fighting her way through making spaghetti. Jemma was perched on the corner of their bed with her headphones on full volume, typing away frantically at a report that was due early, and made it clear that she should not be interrupted until either she or dinner was done.

Daisy grumbled to herself about the inconsistency of using a 'clove’ of garlic as a form of measurement. Daisy made the mistake of buying the already diced garlic that came in a jar (much to Jemma’s dismay), so she just guessed and threw in a full teaspoon with the meat. Hopefully that was enough.

Next, she grabbed the jar of sauce. Daisy twisted the lid, but it didn’t budge. Daisy squeezed and twisted harder. Nothing. She tried clamping the jar between her knees and using both hands to twist. It was like the lid was cemented on the stupid jar.

Daisy huffed. What was the trick Jemma always used? Tapping it on the counter!

Daisy gingerly tapped the rim of the jar against the edge of the counter a few times and tried again. Still no movement. She tapped it harder. Nothing. Daisy glared at the offending jar. Now it was starting to feel personal.

Daisy gave it one last try and whacked the jar on the counter, but heard a cracking sound rather than the pop of the lid she was hoping for.

“Damnit,” she grumbled. She grabbed the lid and it twisted right off.

Which took the top half of the jar with it. The jagged edge of the jar cut into Daisy’s palm as she twisted.

“Shit!”

The stripe of blood that welled up on her palm started small, but quickly began trickling down her hand. Daisy set the ruined jar on the counter and grabbed for a paper towel to put some pressure on the cut. She barely got the paper towel ripped off the roll when the timer for the noodles went off, startling her.

She jerked back, hitting the sauce jar with her elbow, which sent it tumbling towards the ground where it shattered on impact.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Is everything alright out there?” Jemma’s voice called from the bedroom.

Daisy sighed and glanced at her still stinging wound. “Hey, Jem. You know how you said to only bother you if something was on fire or I was bleeding?”

Daisy heard the bedsprings creak as Jemma rolled of the mattress and shuffled toward the kitchen. “I sincerely hope you’re being dramatic again or you’re paying the security dep— OH MY GOD!”

Daisy looked up from her cut and saw the carnage of the red-splattered kitchen where she was the focal point. Right after she said she was bleeding (because clearly nothing was on fire). No wonder Jemma was freaking out.

“Oh, no no it’s just this!” Daisy announced holding up her (relatively speaking) tiny cut for Jemma to see, “I can’t really get to the mop without stepping on glass so…”

Jemma stared, wide-eyed, for another moment. Then she burst into a fit of giggles. Soon, the giggles turned into raucous laughter and eventually Jemma was bent over, gasping for air between fits of cackling.

Even though Daisy felt terrible about ruining dinner, she couldn’t help laughing along with Jemma at the entire situation. Her laugh was infectious.

Jemma grabbed the mop and helped Daisy clean up the mess and Daisy went to pick up some Chinese take out. Later that night, when Jemma went back to pouring over her computer Daisy found a red pen and sketched the scene on the back of a receipt and tucked it away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jemma shoved the apartment door open with a bit more force than was truly necessary. It had been a very long, arduous day and all she wanted was to eat a pint of ice cream and go to sleep early.

She shuffled through the door, knocking into the wall with her stack of reports and struggling to keep them from falling. She grumbled to herself as she kicked some of Daisy’s art supplies out of the way, so she wouldn’t end up tracking paint through the apartment (again) and trudged towards the bedroom.

A little flashing light from the kitchen made her pause. The 'new message’ light on the answering machine to the landline the apartment required them to have flashed insistently. Jemma frowned. Typically, no one called that number. If they needed to get ahold of one of them, Jemma and Daisy both had cell phones that they checked more regularly.

Jemma threw her stuff down on the table and jammed the little button.

A chipper voice cut through the silence of the apartment. “Hello! This message is for Daisy Johnson, regarding the job you applied for at Creative Concepts. It turns out we will be able to cover your relocation to New York City, as well as offering you a percentage more than the listing stated. We would like to get you settled and starting work by late next month so if you could give us a call back at—”

The number the woman rattled off was drowned out by the slamming of the front door.

“Jemma, you home? I got out early and was thinking we could go do something—,” Daisy rounded the corner and saw Jemma’s face, “—fun? What’s wrong?”

“You got a job in New York?” Jemma asked, tersely.

“I what?” Daisy replied.

“A place in New York just called and said you’ve got a job. They want you to start in a month,” Jemma gritted out through her teeth, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Daisy blinked at her for a moment. “I thought you’d be…happier.”

“Happier?!” Jemma snapped, “You never even told me you were looking for jobs, much less ones in New York City!”

“Well, duh. What did you think I was going to do, mooch off you the rest of my life?” Daisy spit back.

Jemma recoiled. “I thought you would at least tell me that you were thinking of moving across the country. What am I supposed to do? Quit my job and follow you at a moment’s notice? Or were you just going to leave and not even talk to me about it?”

“I thought you’d be excited! This is a great job and I’d finally be pulling my own weight,” Daisy shouted, more confused than angry.

“Without me!” Jemma yelled, “We’re in a relationship. We’re supposed to talk about things like this together. Why did you hide this from me?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t actually think I would get it, I just wanted to see what would happen,” Daisy said. “What do you want me to do? Not take the job?”

“Yes! No. I—” Jemma huffed. “I don’t know, I just…I need a minute.”

She stalked off to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Daisy groaned and thumped her head against the wall. Eventually, she shuffled over to the answering machine and replayed the message to write down the call-back number.

Daisy hung around the kitchen and nibbled on a fingernail nervously. She and Jemma had never had a fight like that before. Sure, they occasionally fought about little things, like Daisy leaving paint lying around or Jemma stealing Daisy’s leftovers late at night. Those were insignificant and usually ended in sex, so they weren’t too bad.

But nothing like this. Daisy wasn’t used to people sticking around after a fallout and kept waiting for Jemma to charge out of the bedroom with a packed bag and leave forever.

But that wasn’t Jemma. And Daisy wasn’t about to let what they had fall apart over this. Not after everything they’d been through.

She gave Jemma a few more minutes of alone time and tiptoed over to the bedroom door. She tapped gently on it, but got no response.

“Jem? Can I come in?” Daisy asked tentatively. After a few seconds with no response, Daisy was preparing herself to sleep on the couch, when a whispered 'yes’ filtered through the door.

Jemma was curled up on her side on the bed, facing away from Daisy. The occasional muffled sniffles told Daisy that Jemma had been crying and it broke her heart.

She slipped into the bed behind Jemma and slowly scooted herself next to her. When she wasn’t forcibly shoved away like she was expecting, she curled up around Jemma and rested her hand on Jemma’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy whispered, “I really wasn’t trying to hide it. I just…wasn’t thinking. I’m still not used to this 'serious relationship’ thing, I guess.” Daisy nudged closer to Jemma’s back and rested her head in the crook of her neck. “I’ll call them back first thing and let them know I can’t take the job,” she mumbled.

Jemma sighed and rolled over to face Daisy. “I don’t want that. I’m sure it’s a great job and I know you’ve been wanting to get out of this city. I only wish this wasn’t the first time I had heard about it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Jemma whispered, “But, now we can deal with this. Together.”

Daisy nodded. “Agreed.”

She leaned forward and kissed Jemma gently, and then smiled to herself.

“Hey, Jemma,” she muttered.

“Hm?”

“We just survive our first big fight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They kept their promise to each other to deal with the new job situation together. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as seamless at Daisy would have hoped. Jemma couldn’t get away from the work she was doing for the university until at least the end of the semester, and then still had to find a job in New York City. So far, her hunt had hit a dead-end.

Daisy, however, couldn’t put off the start of her job and would have to move without her. As much as it would kill them to be apart for so long, they would have to make it work for now. They both promised each other that it wouldn’t end like the last time they were separated.

Daisy found a small apartment that she could afford on her single salary for now, and threw herself straight into work for a graphic design company that contracted out artists to client companies. The work was mind-numbing at times and she called Jemma nearly every night to complain about her thickheaded clients, but she was at least doing work she enjoyed and had many opportunities in New York to find an audience for her art.

Jemma continued to work at the university laboratory, apply for research-based positions in New York, and coordinate with Daisy when they would have a free weekend to visit one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jemma’s phone rang early one morning while she was eating breakfast. Well, it was a reasonable hour for herself, but for most of the population, it was early. It was especially early for Daisy, who’s name was the one that popped up on caller ID.

“Hello?” Jemma greeted.

“Hey.” Daisy sounded breathless on the other line. “Remember how we talked about you having a free weekend coming up? I really think you should come up here.”

“Alright, why the urgency, though?” Jemma replied.

Daisy was quiet for a moment and seemed to be catching her breath. “I got a gig at a gallery! I get to use the entire gallery to display some of my projects!”

“Daisy, that’s wonderful!”

“I know! This is gonna be such a great opportunity. All the best people are gonna be at the opening,” Daisy rambled. “So can you make it?”

“I’ll book my plane ticket immediately.”

The silence on the other line didn’t concern Jemma, because Daisy was probably just fist-pumping the air.

“I’m so excited. I can’t wait to see you,” Daisy finally responded. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few phone more phone calls later and they pinned down the details for the trip. Jemma’s flight was getting in the morning of the gallery opening, so she and Daisy would have some time to explore the city together.

The minute she landed and turned her phone back on, their plans were upended by a text from Daisy.

Super super sorry, but I can’t get out of work til later :( I left a key under the mat at my apartment so you can drop your stuff and nap. Sry ily

Jemma huffed, but understood and went to gather her things at baggage claim. When she went to hail a cab, she notice a nicely dressed man standing near the exit holding a sign that read Jemma Simmons.

Jemma frowned and approached him. At least Daisy spared her from having to trek through New York City with all of her bags.

“Mrs. Simmons, I presume?” the man asked.

“Miss, but yes,” she replied, adjusting her bags.

The man smiled. “My mistake. Can I grab your bags for you?”

The driver loaded her things into a sleek black car and opened the rear door for her to enter.

Once on the road, Jemma couldn’t help but ogle everything she drove past. The massive buildings sparkled in the morning sun and every variety of cafe seemed tucked into the lower floors of them. Cars choked the streets, allowing Jemma plenty of time to stare and memorize the source of every mouth-watering smell that she wanted Daisy to take her to.

Even more than the cars, was the sheer amount of people, bustling this way and that. How they could even move with some many people cramming the sidewalks was a miracle.

They passed through Times’ Square and the blinding lights from every corner dazed her momentarily.

They finally pulled up to Daisy’s apartment building, which Jemma recognized from the pictures she had sent when she first moved in. It was nothing compared to the glitz and glamor of the center of the city, but it seemed cozy enough.

The driver unloaded Jemma’s things for her onto the sidewalk and bid her a good day. Jemma rifled through her purse for some cash to give him a tip, but he had returned to the car and sped off before she could find it.

Strange, Jemma thought, but, then again, Daisy is always saying how weird New Yorkers are.

Jemma shrugged and headed towards the elevator.

Sure enough, a small key was tucked under the welcome mat in front of Daisy’s apartment. It still had enough of Daisy’s form of personalization scattering the floor and stuck to the walls to remind Jemma with a pang of their shared apartment. Jemma called Daisy’s name, hoping she would have made it home by now, but found the apartment empty.

She grumbled to herself, a bit annoyed that Big City Girl Daisy couldn’t seem to spare any time for her girlfriend who she dragged up to see her. She tossed her things in a corner in Daisy’s bedroom and headed to the kitchen to find a snack. A small piece of folded paper was propped up on the counter when she got there. Jemma snatched it and found another apology, but this one included cash.

Dear Jemma, sorry again I’m flaking out. I have a few more things to wrap with the gallery before the opening tonight. Here’s some cash so you can get yourself a nice lunch. There’s a diner two blocks down that you might like. The Wi-Fi password is Alhambra.

Also, I included a bit extra so you can go down to the boutique on 7th and get something nice to wear tonight. You get to be my arm candy after all ;) See you tonight. Sry and ily.

Daisy

Jemma rolled her eyes. She wasn’t really interested in seeing the sights in New York alone, but she probably should get a nicer dress for the evening. She had a feeling that 'nice’ was a different standard at a New York gallery opening than anything in Jemma’s college town. She snatched the cash and the spare key and headed back out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite what Jemma told herself, she did go see some of the attractions near Daisy’s apartment. She found a nice souvenir stand where she bought herself a mini Statue of Liberty magnet and a foam hat that she was going to make Daisy wear everywhere tomorrow. Then she headed down to the boutique that Daisy had mentioned to find a nice outfit.

She picked out a flattering sparkly dress that, normally, she would never buy for herself, but she wanted to impress the people coming to see Daisy. If it made Daisy drool over her and regret leaving her alone all day, that was just a bonus.

When it got close to the start of the event, Jemma was fully dressed and made up and Daisy was still nowhere to be found. Jemma was starting to worry that something might have happened to her, when her phone buzzed with another message from Daisy.

Hey things got crazy so I’ve got to stay at the gallery until it opens. There will still be a car by the apartment to come pick you up at 6:30.

Jemma frowned and typed back, Did you just have plans with your new girlfriend all day?

Jemma was mostly joking, but the lack of response way worrying. Sure, she figured Daisy was busy with the gallery and all, but it wasn’t like Daisy to be so cagey.

The car pulled up in front of the building at 6:30 on the dot, with the same driver who picked her up from the airport. He held the car door open for her, told her she looked 'ravishing,’ and then hopped in the driver’s seat.

The drive was mostly silent, with Jemma being too grumpy to initiate conversation and the driver too occupied with not crashing into every person who cut them off.

The gallery they pulled to a stop in front of was small, which Jemma expected. What she hadn’t expected was the dimness of the light filtering through the windows facing the street. Inside, Jemma could see a few small spotlights pointed at framed works on the wall that were much smaller than what Daisy usually created.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Jemma asked the driver.

He just nodded with a smile. “Daisy’s waiting for you inside.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Jemma was expecting a bit more fanfare about a gallery opening, even one this small, but there didn’t appear to be anyone here yet.

She pushed through the door and strode into the gallery, her slightly uncomfortable heels clicking loudly on the wood floors. She peered around corners looking for Daisy, or really any other person, but didn’t see anyone, so she paced around and looked at Daisy’s art.

Then, Jemma was more confused. Everything framed and stuck to the walls was just doodles on the back of a receipt of a gum wrapper. It wasn’t the kind of work that would normally be put up in a gallery.

“Do you like them?” a familiar voice called out behind her.

Jemma spun around and saw Daisy, dressed to the nines, slowly walking towards her.

“I…I guess. I’m just a little confused,” Jemma admitted. “And where is everyone? I thought you said everyone important would be here.”

“They are,” Daisy replied, her eyes fixed solely on Jemma. “Let me show you around.” This wouldn’t be the first time Daisy had to explain the intricacies of her art to Jemma. Just like Daisy took awhile to grasp microscopic biochemical processes, Jemma was not adept at interpreting art.

Daisy just smiled. “Don’t you recognize them?”

Jemma furrowed her brow. Why would she recognize doodles on gum wrappers? Daisy guided her back to the one by the door. It was a crumpled gum wrapped that had been laid flat with two poorly-drawn stick figure girls sitting in desks speaking. There was a tiny plaque under it with the title First Words.

It still wasn’t any clearer to Jemma, so Daisy took her hand and walked to the next one. This one was a lined piece of paper, clearly ripped out of a notebook, that had the same two girls at a long table, but one had some red scribble in her mouth and was titled Spaghetti Challenge. Jemma chuckled, since that one reminded her of the time in high school where Daisy had been dared to cram an entire spaghetti order into her mouth.

Daisy moved onto the next one and the pattern started to dawn on Jemma. The picture was on another gum wrapper and featured a small blue car and one of the girls leaving in it. The background was a wide road that faded into the distance where there was a big castle labelled College. The other girl had a small broken heart above her head. Daisy scratched her ear nervously and moved onto the next wall.

There was apparently quite a time skip here and the art style drastically improved. This one was drawn on a scrap of the same sturdy paper Daisy left lying around their apartment all the time for her class projects. It was a doodle of the two girls, which now that they had more fleshed out features, Jemma could tell were herself and Daisy, hugging in a café while another figure (presumably Bobbi) stole their food.

The next was a situation that Jemma recognized as one of their Friday movie nights in Daisy’s and Bobbi’s dorm, but she didn’t recognize the exact context. There seemed to be an astronaut sitting next to Jemma and Daisy was throwing tiny daggers at him. It was labelled Jealousy.

Jemma shot Daisy a curious look, but she just grinned and walked on.

The one that followed was obviously a focal point, with its multiple spotlights and larger frame. This one was also ripped out of a sketchbook, but it was a larger page and contained more detail. The simple, stick-figure style was the same but it had a light colored pencil gradient sketched into the sky above the two girls in a pool in an open field. Some flecks of white paint made up the stars accompanied by a single streak of white for a meteor. The plague underneath read Best Meteor Shower Ever. Jemma smirked at the memory.

The pattern continued. Sketches of Daisy and Jemma’s first date, second date, third date, that time Daisy made Jemma think she had gruesomely injured herself while making spaghetti, rendered in gory detail with vicious strokes of a red pen, the time Jemma made Daisy snort soda out of her nose with a particularly bad pun. Every landmark of their relationship scratched out in minimalist form on the backs of gum wrappers, receipts, take-out menus, etc. Basically, anything Daisy could get her hands on at the time.

Jemma circled the gallery in awe. Daisy had kept these scraps of memories for years, almost a decade in some cases, and documented everything.

Jemma circled back to the beginning of the display and noticed a solitary frame in the middle of the back wall. There were multiple spotlights aimed at this one lonely picture, as well as one pointed at the floor a few feet away. Jemma moved closer to the tiny scrap framed on the wall so she could see the detail.

It was on a gum wrapped that was pressed so flat, all the creases had been carefully ironed out. The two girls were again the main feature.

One was standing in the middle of an art gallery looking shocked.

The other was in front of her, down on one knee.

Jemma gasped and whirled around. She hadn’t noticed Daisy drop her hand or leave her side, but she slipped away while Jemma was entranced with reliving their memories.

Now, Daisy knelt in the middle of the strategically placed spotlight, with a small velvet box in her shaking hands. Daisy pulled a smirk, but Jemma could tell it was wavering and she was cripplingly nervous.

Daisy opened and closed her mouth a few times before frowning amusedly at herself. “You know, I had this whole romantic spiel planned out once I got to this point, but…I kinda just forgot the whole thing.” Her eyes sparkled with happy tears. “And you crying definitely isn’t helping.”

Jemma hadn’t even realized that she had tears rolling down her cheeks. She gave a watery laugh and stepped towards Daisy.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, you know,” Jemma teased.

Daisy chuckled. “I know. But with all the crap we’ve been through, the one thing I’ve known the whole time, without a doubt…is that you and I belong together.”

That was it for Jemma. The tears flowed even more freely down her face as she threw her arms around Daisy’s neck. Daisy huffed a short laugh, but Jemma could tell from the dampness on her shoulder that Daisy was crying too.

“So, is that a yes?” Daisy muttered into Jemma’s neck.

Jemma laughed breathlessly. “Of course it’s a yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wise men say, only fools rush in.

But I can’t help falling in love with you.

The minute the first chords of the song played, Daisy hoisted up the front of her dress and squeezed through the crowd toward Jemma. Jemma was sprawled out across two chairs at the 'in-laws’ table, her bare feet propped up on one and her discarded high heels tucked underneath it. Any other time, Daisy would have stopped just to watch her giggling into her glass of champagne with her family around her—now Daisy’s family as well, she realized with a jolt—but right now, she was on a mission.

“Can I steal you for a dance?” Daisy asked, extended a hand to Jemma. Jemma turned her flushed face towards Daisy and beamed. She set her glass down on the table and rose to meet Daisy with more grace than Daisy was expecting, given the amount of champagne Jemma had already consumed. Still, she took Daisy’s hand and strolled out to the center of the dance floor beside her.

Like a river flows surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Somethings are meant to be

Take my hand, and take my whole life, too

The standard hold for a partner dance was too distant for both Daisy and Jemma’s tastes, so they smushed the combined bulk of both of their white dresses together and held each other in a hug-like embrace while they swayed on the floor. All the practice they had done in Daisy’s cramped apartment the preceding weeks was unnecessary. It didn’t matter how they looked or how well they could waltz.

All that mattered was that Daisy now could hold Jemma, her wife, as tight as she wanted and nothing was going to take her away. As Daisy glanced out the windows of the banquet hall, over the bright city lights that glistened off every surface, Daisy started to understand why Jemma loved this sappy song.

So won’t you please

Take my hand, and take my whole life, too.

'Cause I can’t help falling in love

In love with you

'Cause I can’t help

Falling in love

With

You.

The End.

#strangegameprofessor #skimmons #bioquake #jemma simmons/daisy johnson #can't help falling in love #Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.#fluff #like super fluff

62 notes · View notes