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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years

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face to face, at last : d.d

brief summary: ever since you turned sixteen, you’ve had the ability to know when someone will meet their soulmate. it’s a blessing and a curse, as you’ll never know which one might be yours.

word count: 2k requested: yes by the sweetest anon. i loved the concept and i hope you like the outcome! warnings: none that i’m aware of, just floof

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

“Okay, how about me?” Another friend eagerly walks up to you with bright eyes as she clutches the cash in her hands.

You hide your sigh before holding your hand out, accepting her payment.

Everyone watches closely as you look at her closely before shutting your eyes. “Four months. You’ll meet them on July 2nd.” You tell her, watching as she excitedly walks away with the anticipation of finally meeting them, of meeting her soulmate.

“So, that’s at least fifty bucks today alone my friend.” Your friend walks alongside you, doing the calculations in her phone as you look around, noticing everyone’s dates in their minds that remains hidden away to all except you. “Man, if I had your ability I’d of raked in the cash a long time ago.” She chuckles before nudging your arm, snapping you from your thoughts. “Good job I’m here, Y/n.”

You nod in response as you keep your head down before exiting the campus and heading back home. “It’s not a great gift, Elsie.” You tell her as you unlock the front door and pull out your phone. “My phone is inundated with messages about other peoples soulmates.” You sigh, but Elsie doesn’t quite seem to get the point.

“What’s the issue with that? Just think how much money you’ll make from it!” She encourages, but you shake your head as she follows you into the living room. “People get to know when they’ll meet their soulmate, you make twenty bucks per person. And ten for close friends.” She comments as you roll your eyes.

“But I’ll never know about mine, Els.” Your statement hangs in the air as the realisation hits her.

“Oh,” She mutters before sitting down beside you, letting the words truly sink in. “I, I’m sorry Y/n.”

“No need, Els.” You say with a small smile. “Sometimes it just hurts that I know when everyone will meet their soulmate, but I’ll never know about my own.” You admit, even know it’s still difficult to come to terms with. “After five years of knowing I thought this would get easier.”

“It will, Y/n.” Elsie tries to remain positive as you shrug your shoulders before rising to your feet.

“I’m going to take a nap.” You speak through a yawn as she waves you off, returning her attention to her phone.

As you collapse down onto your bed, you reach for your phone.

Scrolling through the endless requests you pause, seeing a missed FaceTime call from the one person you’ve missed talking to.

Postponing your nap, you try to call and wait for the endless ringing to come to a halt, and luckily it does. “Hey, you in class earlier?” He asks through the phone as you force yourself to sit upright.

“Yeah, and a lot more people asked about their soulmates obviously.” You scoff as he chuckles to you.

“That’s still a trend, huh?” He questions as you nod to yourself. “Y/n, I can’t see you nod but I’m assuming you just did.”

“You’d be correct, Dave.” You chuckle. “So, what’re you up to this evening?” You rise to your feet, wandering over to your laptop before starting it up and curling up into your chair.

David glances over at his clock, seeing Natalie sat editing with Jason. “Just some more editing really. Nothing exciting.” He tells you half-heartedly. “We could always FaceTime though?” He tries to hide his excitement about the idea, unaware of how eager you are to see him once more.

“Yeah, I think I can squeeze you into my busy schedule of sleeping and avoiding assignments.” You tease as the familiar butterflies start to flutter in your stomach.

“Okay, well I’ll catch up with you later, don’t work too hard.” He jokes, unable to hide his smile from his friends.

Elsie wanders up the stairs, noticing you looking down at your phone, struggling to wipe the smile from your face as you stare at the blank screen.

“I still find it weird you guys have never met,” She inputs as she leans against your doorframe, snapping you from your thoughts.

Uncrossing your legs from your chair, you swivel to face her. “It’s not weird,” You mutter. “he’s just in another state and the money I’m making is going straight to my savings.” You explain something she’s heard countless times.

“And you don’t want to fly out to LA only to meet him and discover he’s got a soulmate ready and waiting.” She finishes for you as your smile falls. “Why can’t you just see it when you guys FaceTime?” She questions.

“I don’t know,” You say truthfully. “something in my head blocks it off. I have to meet the person in person.” You explain, somehow still getting to grips with the technicalities of this ‘gift.’

“Do you want to meet him?” She takes a step into your room, testing the waters as you focus on the dark screen of your phone, watching it light up with another soulmate request.

“Of course,” You admit with a heavy sigh. “I just don’t want to disappoint myself by thinking of something that isn’t possible.”

“Well, you won’t know until you try, Y/n.” She nudges your arm lightly as you look up to see her trying her best. “I’m going to order Chipotle, want some?”

A small scoff leaves your lips. “Like you have to ask, Els.”

Over the last few weeks, you came to the decision, it wasn’t easy to make and frankly, you were terrified. “So you’re really going to see him?” Elsie sits beside you in the living room as the flight confirmation remains on your laptop screen.

“Yeah,” You breathe out. “I used most of the money saved from the soulmate checks.”

Elsie squeezes your hand and rests her head on your shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it, Y/n.” She states, feeling you nod softly as you shut your eyes.

“I hope so too.” You admit through nerves as you have less than a week to go until you’ll finally meet your close friend in person. “I’m just wondering if he’s excited or unphased.” A small laugh leaves your lips as you envision him filming with the likes of Madison Beer or David Blaine, and then there’s you.

Yet, across the country David was sat in his room, trying his best to calm down. “Dave, you gotta relax.” Natalie jokes as she walks in, seeing David lying on his back with his head hanging off his bed. “You’ve known each other for like a year now.”

David groans before sitting upright, feeling the blood rush as he turns to face Natalie. “It’s not that,” He admits. “I really care about her, but what if she’s not the one? Like, I’ll still care about her, but I’m falling hard.”

Natalie sighs before sitting beside her best friend. “You won’t know until you meet her I guess.” Natalie pats his thigh. “And who knows, maybe you’ll meet and she isn’t the one, but you’ll have a great friendship and story.” She shrugs her shoulder, seeing David remain unconvinced.

“Thanks, Nat.” David mutters as he looks over to his phone, counting down the days until you arrive.

Wandering through the airport, you wheel your suitcase alongside you. You’re still wearing your headphones, having music blasting into your eardrums to ease the gnawing sensation you can’t shake.

“Okay,” You mutter to yourself as you make it to arrivals, knowing he’d be there somewhere waiting for you.

As your eyes search for him, all you can see are numbers and dates for other people. You can see some will wait for years, and others are blank as they embrace a loved one. Despite it being somewhat of a gift, you shut your eyes as the sense of being overwhelmed returns.

“Y/n?” You hear your voice being quietly spoken in front of you, and you open your eyes to see brown ones looking right back at you.

Opening your mouth to say something, you’re startled. He’s here, in front of you. His hands are resting on your arms as his smile widens. “Hi.” You manage to squeak the word out before he laughs, enveloping you into a tight hug.

Dropping your bags to the floor, you wrap your arms around him, not wanting to let go.

“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting in person.” He mutters into your hair as you let out a sigh of content before pulling away. “Like, it’s been a long time coming but you’re here!” He motions to you as you twirl around, he can’t help but think how much prettier you are in person.

“That I am, Dave.” You joke before he helps you pick up your bags. “I was expecting a cute ass sign and everything.” You tease, watching as he rolls his eyes before motioning to Natalie and Taylor standing with a brightly coloured sign.

‘surprise, bitch!’ It reads and you laugh at the state of it, having clearly been battered along the way.

“Yeah we had a few issues, it kinda got run over on the way.” David comments, scratching the back of his neck as you smile before greeting some of the friends you’ve heard plenty about.

“I love it,” You tell him geuinely as your bright smile forms on your lips, causing David’s heart to swoon. “so, where to?”

“Ooh how about that cafe down the road? They do the best matcha lattes.” Taylor suggests as you follow behind her and Natalie, David remaining by your side as he struggles to keep his eyes off of you.

“Dave, stop staring at me.” You speak up, catching his gaze as a pink tint crosses his cheeks.

“I’m not staring,” He comments as his hand reaches down for yours, and waits for you to pull away, but you don’t. “I’m simply admiring as I’ve waited for this moment for months.” He chuckles, squeezing your hand lightly as your fingers intertwine.

As you sit in the car beside David, he props his camera up. “So as you guys know, this is Y/n.” You wave happily to the camera, still shocked that this isn’t just a dream. “And, she has a special gift.” His voice trails off as he turns to face you, knowing he’s waited for this exact moment to know the truth.

“You can tell when someone is going to meet their soulmate for the first time, right?” Natalie questions and you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Yeah, I can see when they’ll meet them in person. What date it’ll be and sometimes a time. If it’s blank, they’ve already met.” You explain what you do understand about this and both Natalie and Taylor raise eyebrows.

“Could you do me?” Taylor asks, smiling shyly as you nod.

David watches as you turn around, focusing on Taylor closely before you close your eyes. Within seconds, he watches as you open them. “Thursday, 2:45pm.” You tell her and her jaw drops. “And yours is blank, Nat.” You tell her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Of course it is.” She huffs.

“Wonder if it’s Todd after all, hey, Nat?” David jokes, receiving a playful punch from Natalie. “Okay, how about me?” David focuses on you, seeing worry spread throughout your expression.

“Sure,” You force the word out as you shuffle and face him.

Holding his breath, David watches as you close your eyes. He notices you scrunching your face up, before a small smile lines your lips.

“Looks like you already met them.” You tell him. “At 1:13pm, today.” You reel off the information that was displayed to you and pause.

“Holy shit.” Natalie comments before covering her mouth, allowing the realisation to hit you both.

“Well,” David chuckles as you remain quiet, letting it all sink in. “hi soulmate, ‘bout time we met in person.” He leans in, resting his hand on your cheek. “Is this okay?” He whispers into your lips.

“More than okay.” You whisper before kissing him back, relieved you finally made the choice to come and visit after all.

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years

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Decryption Error: “The Long Weekend, Part I”

Summary: Elliot and Y/N’s friendship continues to deepen as they spend time together. Even though the aftermath of what happened in the server room isn’t something either of them can forget as Tuesday morning draws closer, Y/N can’t help but wonder if being in a relationship with Elliot is what she really wants.

Summary/Mood Board, “The Server Room, Part I”, “The Server Room, Part II”

Word Count: 7700

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @lovie-rami @txmel @hopplessdreamer @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @alottanothing @moon-stars-soul

If you want added, just let me know.

Warnings: Marijuana use, slight sexual references

Why am I in the guest room?

Oh.

That’s why.

My thoughts were only muddled for a moment until I glanced down and was greeted by a pile of messy black hair and the faint smell of cigarettes that clung to a well-loved hoodie.

I turned my eyes toward the nightstand as I reached for my phone to read the time.

9: 21 am.

I needed to call Franco if I wanted to have a chance of replacing the ruined servers before Tuesday. As I attempted to slide out from under Elliot, his arm tightened around me and his breath hitched before he sighed, still fast asleep. It looked like I was going to have to wake him up to make my escape.

“Elliot,” I whispered.

“Elliot,” I said again, this time in a clear voice.

Nothing.

I sighed and reached up to wipe the sleep away from the corners of my eyes, hoping my movements would wake him.

I looked down again and was struck with a profound sadness.

Elliot was clinging to me like I was the last thing tethering him to reality. His head was snuggled into the middle of my chest, his face planted between my breasts. His arm was slung across my lower ribs and his leg was hooked over mine. He also had my other arm trapped between our bodies which meant that my hand was—oh.

Yup.

That’s some morning wood.

I didn’t want to embarrass Elliot, but I desperately needed to call Franco. I thought I could just hook my leg over the edge of the bed and pull myself out, like one of those tricks where the magician pulls the tablecloth out from under a perfectly set table.

I moved my leg to the edge of the mattress and also used my free arm to do just what I had imagined.

It worked.

However, it also resulted in Elliot’s head thunking onto the mattress and startling him awake.

He sat up quickly, his head whipping back and forth to take in his surroundings before he fixed his eyes on me as I clung to the bed, half in and half out.

“You’re a heavy sleeper,” I said as I stood up and watched Elliot clutch at the blanket, his brows furrowing as his eyes searched my face.

“Do you know where you are?” I asked when Elliot failed to say anything.

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He cleared his throat but only a whisper was all he could manage. For the second time that morning, I felt a deep sadness.

He wrecked his voice yelling for someone to let him out of the server room.

“Your place,” he croaked as he reached up to tentatively touch his head, wincing when he made contact with the bandaged wound.

I nodded as I stood by the bed.

“I need to call my friend Franco to see if he can get me some servers to replace the damaged ones. If he can get them to the office, you and I can install them, route them back into the network, and things can function as normal on Tuesday.”

Elliot nodded and croaked again, scowling over his inability to speak.

“Hey—it’s not like you use that voice that much anyway,” I said, pulling a frustrated smile from him.

“Have a lie-in while I make some tea and figure out our next move,” I said as I dialed Franco’s number and left Elliot alone in the guest room.

As it turned out, Franco could get the servers, but he couldn’t get them until Monday.

“Are you sure, Franc—no one in the city can do it any earlier? Money is no object,” I added, a clench of disgust shooting through me as I said it.

“Yes—I know you know, but I had to say it. It’s been that rough of a night,” I stated as I moved the whistling kettle off the burner.

“Monday it is then—I don’t care how early in the morning.”

“Stop thinking you still owe me something—this should make us pretty fucking even,” I quietly laughed, rolling my eyes and pulling teacups from the cupboard.

“Uh-huh. So noble of me to offer up Dad’s money.”

“Yes, the tea’s on.”

“Shut up. Call me if anything changes—bye.”

And before Franco could hang up, I spit out, “I’ll owe you!”

Franco Rivera attended Columbia on a scholarship. He used to be a skinny little Puerto Rican kid who literally fought his way through middle school and his freshman year of high school. Fate intervened when Franco saw something on TV talking about our increasing dependence on technology; paired with watching the rich kids at school get their Xboxes and iPods, Franco decided to learn everything he could about computers. When he got to Columbia, he already had a fully formed business plan for a company that would sell and repair computer equipment—eventually, he broke into the distribution of serves by capitalizing on the trend of companies moving toward software-defined data centers that relied on open-source standards. Franco had earned his big break by being smart and identifying a trend; however, he got the startup money for his company because I was his first investor.

I loved being able to support my friends—wealth wasn’t something to be hoarded; it was something to be used to give back to your community. My father had instilled that value in each of his children, and Franco’s company had been my first real investment.

Now, Franco had a company that employed over 45 people, and it was still growing.

I wasn’t naïve, though. I read. I researched. I paid attention. Working in the Financial District opened my eyes to the rampant greed that allowed people to damn near get away with murder if it meant making a profit. I liked to believe I was working for a good company—a company my father, who I knew was a good man, painstakingly chose to invest in.

But there was always a part of my mind that wasn’t so sure if any corporation could be categorized as “good.”

Maybe I really was naïve.

Elliot appeared in the kitchen and drew me from my thoughts. He was still tucked into his hoodie and he reached down to hitch up the oversized sweats once he stopped walking.

“I’m sorry I’m not a coffee drinker,” I said as I got up to pour Elliot some tea.

Elliot shrugged his shoulders and watched as I prepared the tea, eyeing the serving tray everything was set out on. I was copious with the honey and then squeezed in a good bit of lemon, too.

“Our nanny was English,” I explained as Elliot eyed my set-up. “Presentation always matters when it comes to tea.”

I smiled as I offered Elliot the steaming cup.

“Drink it all—the honey and lemon will help with your throat.”

Elliot took a long drink, using both of his injured hands to hold the cup steady.

“How much of my conversation did you catch?”

The tea helped give Elliot a bit of his voice back and he rasped, “Monday. No servers until Monday.”

“I don’t suppose you know anyone who could do better?”

Elliot shook his head no before adding, “Impressed you got them so fast.”

“Franco’s an impressive guy—he never met a “no” he couldn’t turn into a “yes.”

Elliot settled on to the same kitchen chair as he sat in last night, and we sipped tea in silence until I decided to talk aloud about what I had been planning.

“I was thinking we could swing by your place, get whatever you need for the weekend—don’t even open your mouth. First of all, you’re injured. Second of all, it’s a holiday and I don’t want to spend it alone. Third of all, Christ only knows how long it is going to take to do all of this, and if something goes wrong, I need you.”

Elliot never took his eyes off my face and I almost laughed as I saw the fight just drain out of them. Like Franco, I could also turn a “no” into a “yes.”

Elliot swung off the chair and walked over to his backpack; he pulled out his cellphone and his cigarettes. He held the pack up to silently ask permission.

“No, you can’t smoke in here, but I take it as a compliment I stress you out so much you need a cigarette,” I teased.

“Go out on the balcony. There’s an ash tray because some of my other friends are savages, too.”

Elliot rolled his eyes, and when I made a noise of offense, he turned and shot me a grin, an actual full-blown Elliot Alderson grin.

“Be still my heart,” I said, teasing him even more and drawing out a silent laugh as he opened and closed the balcony door.

* * * * *

Elliot was quiet during the drive to his place. I listened as the navigator gave me directions after he had plugged his address into my GPS.

When we arrived, I cut the engine and said, “I can wait, or I can come up, but I’ll confess I’m afraid you won’t come back if I just let you go alone.”

In his raspy voice, Elliot replied, “You can come up.”

I followed Elliot into his building and up the stairs to his apartment; he didn’t live in the greatest neighborhood, but I put the shabby interior—peeling paint, noises from other people in the building, the single, easy lock on the door—out of my mind and acknowledged my own bias.

Everything Elliot had, he earned on his own and I admired that.

While the interior of Elliot’s apartment was in better condition than the exterior, my eyes immediately went to the mattress on the floor in the bedroom. I wanted nothing more than to pull up my Amazon account and order him a bedframe—just a simple platform bed, nothing fancy.

“Sorry—don’t really have people over,” Elliot whispered, his voice cracking a little as he rubbed at the back of his head before realizing his hands still hurt too much for that.

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, “I think it’s cozy.”

Elliot gave me a half-smile as he looked desperate to shove his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Do you mind if I take a shower and change?” Elliot asked in his broken voice, hitching up the sweats once again.

“Of course not. You’re not my prisoner . . . unless you want to be?” I said darkly as I quirked my brow, pulling another lopsided smile from him.

“I am, though—at least until. . .” Elliot trailed off, his eyes leaving mine and fixing on the laptop that was sitting on the tiny table in front of the couch.

“Shower,” I said, taking a seat on the couch and pulling out my phone to prove I could occupy myself.

As soon as Elliot disappeared into the bathroom and turned the water on, I put my phone away and started tidying up. I gathered up the pizza boxes on top of the microwave and the take-out containers beside the sink. I pulled out the full trash bag and replaced it with a new one that I dug out from the nearly empty cupboard under the sink. I sat the garbage bag by the door so we could toss it on the way out.

Next, I went in to make the bed, and while the smell of stale cigarettes and—yeah, definitely weed, lingered, the sheets smelled a lot like Elliot. When I caught the scent of him, I found myself inadvertently smiling, which scared the shit out of me.

I shook it off and reminded myself I was Elliot’s boss and that I was also in his apartment on a Saturday because he destroyed four servers and didn’t remember doing it.

Without being too invasive, I looked around for the things that made the place “Elliot.” His reading selections were interesting: high-brow literature mixed in with metafiction, computer books that were probably from college, but as I looked closer, I saw that many of them were really old, ancient, in fact. I wondered if they had sentimental value.

He also had some psychology books and some philosophy books, including one that looked interesting called, Digital Disconnect. It was sitting on the shelf nearest to his computer, so my eyes continued their trajectory by scanning over the elaborateness of his computer desk; it was the only thing that seemed to scream “Elliot Alderson” in the entire place.

Something was niggling in the back of my mind—being here, looking over Elliot’s apartment made me realize something . . . was just off. He was so neat and particular at work about his desk and his workspace. I wondered why his apartment didn’t reflect that same precision. I thought through the possibilities and wondered if Elliot was depressed. I knew about his anxiety and his inclination to avoid touch, but his apartment told a deeper story.

Yet, another part of me thought about the fact that we are all multiple people, changing our masks from one situation to the next. How we are at home is not how we are in public; how we are with close friends is not how we are with strangers or new acquaintances.

The only way to find out which theory was correct was to get to know Elliot better.

When I heard the shower click off, I quickly made my way back to the couch. As I tucked my legs under me, my eyes landed on a little box on the end table. Curious, I opened the lid to take a peek and discovered it was his weed box. I jumped back when the bathroom door opened, surely looking guilty as sin, but I was equally sure that look was slapped off my face by another when Elliot came padding out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a too small towel that he clutched at his hip.

I am certain my mouth dropped open at his near nakedness because he squeaked out an apology before walking quickly to his dresser. I had not noticed the delightful trail of dark hair that ran down his stomach and disappeared beneath his towel last night, which I silently applauded myself for.

But right now, Elliot was not in immediate distress, so I found I myself watching the muscles in his back move as he dug around for clean clothes, wondering just how much that little towel would let me see. After another second, I mentally slapped myself and forced my mind to start functioning with some sense of propriety. I shifted my position on the couch, sitting so my back was against the armrest and I was facing the kitchen.

“Did you make my bed?” Elliot’s voice cracked with the question.

“I have an illness. I’m so sorry,” I said in a voice that was too loud for my naked employee’s tiny apartment.

I could hear Elliot shuffle into his clothes, his muffled curses audible as he had to use his hands to dress.

“Do you need help?” I asked, hoping to any god it didn’t sound slutty when I said it.

“Nah. I’m good. Hands are just stiff,” Elliot said, his voice a little clearer as he walked out from the bedroom.

“Kitchen, too?”

I looked over at him and while shrugging said, “I told you I have an illness.”

Elliot shook his head as if I were some sort of mystery he wasn’t ready to figure out.

“Do you have a first-aid kit here or anything? I can rebandage your hands, or at least your head.”

Elliot walked back into the bathroom and came out with a little basket that held some butterfly bandages, Neosporin, gauze, medical tape, and a few other first-aid things.

“Impressive,” I said digging around once he handed me the basket.

Elliot took a seat, flexing his hands and looking them over as I adjusted my position to scoot closer to him. The gash looked much better already, but there was definitely bruising around the wound. I swiped at some of the wetness along Elliot’s hairline before gently applying the butterfly bandage.

“Did I hurt you?” I asked, my eyes searching his face for any sign of pain.

“Didn’t feel a thing,” Elliot said with a quick flick of a smile, his voice still a whisper.

I held his gaze for way too long, lost in the depths of his grey, well, maybe a little more blue in this light, eyes.

“Let’s see those hands,” I said, blinking and finally looking away, wondering if there was blush coloring my cheeks because it sure felt like it.

He spread them out, flat on his thighs and his fingers trembled as he tried to stretch them. His knuckles still looked awful, torn and scraped, and the bruises had deepened into a darker red.

I dug around in the first aid basket again to pull out the bandages, medical tape, and the Neosporin. I applied the Neosporin to the worst looking of the cuts on his pinky, ring, and middle finger of his right hand, wrapping band aids around each of those second knuckles. On his left, he had deep gashes on the knuckles of his first and middle fingers so I had to apply Neosporin and use the gauze to cover that area. I tried to apply the medical tape so it wouldn’t be a nuisance, but it was such an awkward place to bandage.

“Sorry,” I said as I smoothed the tape.

“It’s fine,” Elliot rasped.

I put the medical supplies back in the basket and handed it to Elliot who returned it to the bathroom.

Because I could think of no other way to ask, I pointed to his weed box and blurted out, “Can we take that with us?” in my same too-loud-for-this-apartment voice.

Elliot laughed, his shoulders shaking and his teeth flashing, except that with his hoarse voice there was very little noise that emitted from his throat.

“Thank you for laughing, or in your case, shaking, at my awkwardness,” I said narrowing my eyes and frowning.

Elliot composed himself quickly, clearly worried he had actually offended me.

“You seem way too straight to smoke. You made me smoke a legal cigarette on the balcony,” he explained, still grinning, his voice rasping and graduating to an occasional squeak.

“Marijuana does not have the same Surgeon General’s warning as cigarettes,” I retorted. “Just forget I asked.”

Elliot shook his head and picked up his box, walking over to where he sat his backpack down and placed it inside.

He shot me a smartass glance before he took his backpack into the bedroom and packed up some more of his things.

“What else did you go through?” Elliot asked as he shouldered his bag, his eyes glancing toward his computer desk.

“I would never violate your privacy,” I said, a little offended that he seemed to think looking in a box on an end table that smelled like weed was akin to going through someone’s computer.

“Besides, I’m just way too straight to do such a thing,” I said, mocking him from earlier.

Elliot smirked and watched me with those big eyes again as he moved to stand in front of me, so close that I had to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze.

“Remind me to tell Pandora not to invite you over to her place,” he deadpanned.

“Smartass,” I said as a grin overtook my lips.

* * * * *

Before I put my car in gear, I did a quick google and loaded up the directions to a nearby grocery store. As soon as the navigator announced our destination, Elliot whipped his head in my direction.

I smiled and said nothing as I followed the navigation.

My car seemed to fill with Elliot’s unease and I had about all I could take of his shuffling in the seat next to me before he finally asked why we were going to the market.

“Well, since I was denied my long weekend, I figured we could have our own version of a picnic today. Do you ever eat anything other than takeout?”

Elliot took a while to answer the question, probably warring with just how much he wanted to tell me.

“Not lately,” Elliot finally decided.

After another long pause, Elliot rasped, “I don’t really know what people eat at a picnic—hamburgers, hotdogs, that sort of thing, but isn’t it different for every family?”

“Alright, I see your point. Well, what did your family do?”

“I don’t remember,” came Elliot’s very quick, very quiet reply. It was such an unnerving response that it made me feel anxious. I felt bad for prying, and even though it was an innocent question, the more I got to know him, the further away I felt from understanding him.

I compensated by talking in a rush about my family traditions.

“My family is pretty traditional. My dad grew up on a farm and so did my mom, although her family only raised horses. They both know how to cook good, old-fashioned dishes and picnic food for us was always, like you said, hamburgers and hot dogs, macaroni or potato salad, pasta salad, bean salad, cole slaw, fruit trays, veggie trays. Stuff like that. Mmm—and chocolate cake or brownies or s’mores for dessert. My mom makes a killer chocolate cake.”

“You’re going to make all of that?”

“Why? Does it all sound good? Not gonna lie—I’d love to fatten you up a little,” I said glancing over at Elliot as I turned down the street next to the store to look for parking.

Elliot didn’t say anything, so I let the question hang awkwardly in the air.

Grocery shopping with Elliot Alderson was no different than shopping with a morose teenager, except he was a little more interested in what was going in the cart instead of playing on his phone. He kept his hood up and his eyes darted around everywhere, like something was going to jump off the shelf and attack him.

As I was mulling over whether to get the tri-color noodles for the pasta salad or to stick with the plain, it occurred to me I was totally alone. I threw the tri-color noodles in the cart and glanced around, wondering where he went. As I made my way to look at the produce, I got a little worried it was too much for him and he bailed. I had just pulled my phone out of my bag to text him when he reappeared.

I laughed when I saw what he was carrying—s’more supplies.

“Dessert?” he questioned and I nodded yes.

“Good decision,” I praised.

Elliot offered to help me pay for the groceries, but I told him he could pay his way by helping me cook. He acquiesced, but insisted on carrying everything, loading up his arms with my grocery totes while I scolded him about his hands.

Once we got back to my place and deposited all of our bags on my kitchen island, I got to work on organizing my food prep under Elliot’s watchful glances. He eventually removed his hood and started to relax. I glanced back at him as I set two pots of water to boil on the stove.

“Your hair’s kinda curly when it isn’t styled,” I noted.

Elliot frowned and ran his hands through it.

“I like it,” I said as I walked over to where he was sitting on the kitchen stool.

“Can I?” I asked, my hand poised near his hair.

He nodded, and I ran my fingers over his scalp, fixing some of the stray pieces.

“There. Very nice—like a dark Ryan Phillippe circa late 90s.”

Elliot quirked a brow, probably unsure whether it was a compliment.

“Who is that?”

“You’ve never seen Cruel Intentions?”

Elliot shook his head no.

“Well—let me tell you, you’ve missed out. This was the movie that fostered the great love saga between Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon.”

I walked over to the TV and turned it on, flipping through my subscription services until I found the movie. I turned it on, and returned to my boiling pots, pouring noodles into one and dumping the potatoes into the other.

We cooked, chopping, slicing, and mixing, while we watched Cruel Intentions. Elliot was pretty enraptured by the actions of the characters, growing frustrated every time one of them did something terrible.

“You get really into movies,” I commented as I put the mayo back in the fridge and returned to stirring my potato salad.

“I like to think about what the characters should do and compare it with what they actually do,” Elliot said without moving his eyes from the screen, his voice stronger.

“Why?”

“I like to think about why people behave the way they do. Most of the time, I just don’t understand it . . . them. I don’t understand them.”

“Join the club,” I said.

Elliot turned away from the screen and looked at me.

“That’s not true—you know how to talk to people, how to manage them and their behaviors. Everyone at work respects you. Even likes you.”

“I’ve worked hard to earn a good reputation, but come on, El. I know what a lot of them say about me. It’s no secret my dad’s face is hanging behind the front desk downstairs.”

Elliot turned his attention back to the TV.

“You don’t act like them,” he said pointing to Kathryn and Sebastian.

I laughed and said, “I sure hope most people don’t!”

“I mean you don’t act rich.”

“My parents would kick my ass if I did. Not everyone on Wall Street is evil.”

After a long silence, I asked, “So, which character do you find the most interesting to watch?”

“Annette,” he replied almost immediately.

“Really? Not Sebastian?”

“Nah. You can tell he’s just another trope—a Byronic hero who will probably die as soon as he achieves self-actualization.”

“So, why’s Annette more interesting?” I said, avoiding confirming Elliot’s theory.

“She’s unafraid to follow her beliefs even though they go against societal norms, well the norms of her peer group at least.”

“Sex is hard to resist,” I said.

“Especially at that age,” Elliot added.

“Do you speak from experience?”

Elliot’s head snapped in my direction, his widened eyes moving over my face as he decided, presumably, whether or not to answer me.

“I guess so,” he finally decided.

I smiled and stated, “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. Ever. I’m getting used to you just ignoring me when you don’t want to say anything.”

“I don’t mean to,” Elliot said, and when I looked at him for clarification, he elaborated.

“I don’t mean to ignore you or anyone really. It’s just sometimes better that I don’t say what’s in my head out loud.”

“Does that get tiring? Having to always filter yourself?”

“Yeah. It does. But it’s better than being called a freak.”

“Have you been called that?”

Elliot looked back to the TV, and softly replied, “Yeah.”

I walked over to him and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. Elliot closed his eyes and sighed.

“You can’t make up for every shitty thing that’s ever been said or done to me.”

“What if I want to try? What if I want to erase all that bad and create good to go in its place?”

“It’s impossible, Y/N. People are naturally inclined to hurt other people. Or at the very least, disappoint them.”

I frowned, wanting to tell Elliot he was wrong, but was he? Look at what just happened to him. It was clear this wasn’t the first time in his life something this shitty was done to him. I had no room to stand on a soapbox and tell him everything would be okay.

It was never okay for people like him.

I sighed, and I moved back to the other side of the kitchen island to start searching for my grill pan.

Elliot got up and paused the movie, heading out on the balcony to smoke.

After I prepped the pan and laid out the hamburgers and hot dogs, I joined Elliot on the balcony. He was almost done with his cigarette, but a pretty long ash had grown at the end as he was staring at his phone.

“What’s up?”

Elliot didn’t move or say anything for a minute, so I reached out to pull his cigarette away and stub it out in the ashtray. That movement caused his eyes to flicker up before he tossed his phone down on the little table.

He ran his hand through his hair and his leg began to bounce up and down.

I pushed.

“What happened?”

“Everyone knows,” Elliot muttered.

“Knows what?”

Elliot looked at me like I was an idiot, but I couldn’t read his damn mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and stop looking at me like I’m an idiot because I can’t read your mind.”

“Everyone knows what the fuck happened in the server room!” Elliot yelled, standing up and kicking at the chair he was sitting in, sending it crashing into the side of my apartment. He was pacing, both hands in his hair, his eyes unable to focus on anything for more than a millisecond.

While it was unnerving to see this side of Elliot, I tried my best to tamp down my own frustration. I kept my voice even and calm when I asked Elliot about the message he received.

“Who texted or emailed you?”

“Sarah texted me.”

“What did she say?”

Elliot stopped pacing and picked up his phone, quickly entering his passcode and then thrusting the phone out to me.

Are you okay???

Answer me Elliot!!!

Aaron told me what Ali Maurice and Corey did—Aaron feels horrible. So does Julia.

Please answer me because if you don’t I’m calling Colin.

“Elliot. Answer her. I do not want Colin involved in this.”

“I don’t know what the fuck to say,” Elliot said as he snatched his phone back. “Hey, I’m fine. I’m stuck at our boss’s house because I went fucking batshit. See ya at work. Smiley face.”

I frowned and walked over to fix the chair Elliot had kicked and I heard the click of his lighter as I thought about what to tell Sarah.

“I want their weekend ruined,” I said, and Elliot’s eyes flicked to my face, clearly surprised. “And it’s always best to tell as much of the truth as you can—an elaborate lie only makes you look bad and for the fifteenth time, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

I walked over to the balcony where Elliot was leaning, his cigarette forgotten as he listened.

“Tell Sarah that in order to get out, you had to pull the power cables on a few of the servers. You knew when they went down and didn’t come back on, Miles would call me in. Everyone knows Miles calls me for everything so that won’t be a surprise to her. It also won’t be a surprise you figured out how to get out without a phone because everyone knows you’re ridiculously smart.”

Elliot just stared at me.

“Text her!”

Elliot’s thumbs moved over the keys, and we both waited for her reply. I moved closer to Elliot so I could see his phone. He took another drag on his cigarette as Sarah’s reply popped up.

THANK GOD YOU ARE OKAY!!! THOSE FUCKING ASSHOLES!! They deserve to be FIRED and if Y/N knows what happened I bet they will be!!

“Alright,” I said. “She’s testing you—she’s digging around to see if you’ve told me what happened. Little snake—I thought liked her.”

“How do you know that’s what she’s doing?” Elliot said as he exhaled more smoke, his voice starting to croak again.

“Stop smoking—you’re ruining your voice! Anyway, she said, ‘if Y/N knows what happened.’ That means she is fishing to see if you told me everything, probably because it’s pretty damn obvious I’m one of about five people you talk to at work. You need to tell her you don’t know what I know because you left after I let you out. Tell her I was pissed and the last thing you heard was something about checking the sign out sheet to find out who didn’t sweep the office and set the alarm.”

Elliot followed my instructions, including the one about stubbing out his cigarette. Sarah responded, once again, almost immediately.

I’m glad you’re okay and I still think they all acted like fucking assholes, but I know Aaron and Julia are sorry they didn’t stop it or come back to let you out. Actually if you didn’t answer me, they were gonna get Colin and go in to let you out.

“Yup—she just confirmed that she’s fishing for Aaron and Julia.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She’s friends with them—at least, I know they hang out. They’ve come to happy hour together before and I’m pretty sure Sarah eats lunch with that whole group. Sarah must’ve texted at their request because she’s one of those handful of people you talk to.”

Elliot shrugged his shoulders and said, “I thought she was nice.”

“People are fucking complicated,” I said, pushing off from the railing.

“What do I say next?”

“What would you normally say?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s your answer. Come on—I’m starving and I’m going to pull my gender card and make you grill up the meat because you’re the boy. Can you handle that?”

Elliot nodded.

“Hey,” I said, turning around so fast Elliot almost ran into me.

I put my hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“They’ve taken up enough space in your mind. Do not give them any more today.”

Elliot nodded and licked his lips, his eyes growing a little watery as I looked into them.

As it turned out, Elliot was capable of cooking. The burgers and hotdogs turned out great, and as he manned the grill pan, I spread out the food we had been prepping all day. It was entirely too much, ridiculously indulgent, but I didn’t care. I was stressed—stressed about last night, stressed about Elliot being stressed, and stressed about having to deal with all of this absolute bullshit come Tuesday morning.

“Come on—let’s take our plates on the balcony,” I said, leading Elliot out the sliding glass door.

It was hot out, but not quite as muggy as it was on Friday night. It really did make for the perfect picnic weather, and even though I was listening to the cacophony of the city streets instead of the lapping of water at my parents’ house, I was determined to be happy.

I was determined to at least pull Elliot out of his anxious thoughts. I wasn’t so bold as to assume I could make him happy, but if I could distract him, that would be good enough.

I walked over to the little wrought iron table that sat in the corner of the balcony and pulled it away from the wall to make room for both of us to sit. Elliot sat across from me and looked completely dejected.

“Don’t let them ruin anymore of your weekend, El,” I repeated. “We slaved over this all day—let’s enjoy each other’s company and enjoy all this damn food we made. We can pretend this is it—this is our last night of existence. Nothing comes after this so there’s nothing to stress about.”

“Isn’t that a little morbid?” Elliot asked, a smile playing with his lips.

“All the best people in history have always been a little morbid, don’t you think?”

Elliot shrugged, but I kept the conversation flowing. Soon, the memory of Sarah’s texts began to fade from my mind, and I hoped they faded from Elliot’s, too.

After we both returned to the kitchen and piled our plates full again, Elliot laughed as I almost tripped and dumped everything on the floor. His reflexes were quick, reaching out to grab the arm that held my plate, but as I thanked him and moved toward the door again, Elliot didn’t let me go.

I looked at him and he said in a heartbreakingly soft voice, “Thank you.”

“This is what friends do,” I said, looking at him and smiling. “Not all people suck.”

“You don’t suck,” he said.

“Mmm—careful. That could be an insult if we were in a more . . . compromising position,” I said, winking at him and heading out to the table.

“You don’t take compliments very well,” Elliot noted as he sat down across from me again.

“Well, look at you being all observant. But you’re right. I don’t. I’m sure it’s some deeply rooted, psychological bullshit,” I said as I bit into my hotdog.

“No. You’re just a good person. Humble. Even though you don’t have to be.”

“Is that how you see me, here in my luxury apartment that my daddy mostly pays for?”

“Don’t do that—don’t deflect,” Elliot said, his fork poised above his potato salad. “You always try to negate a compliment by using humor or by bringing up the one thing you can’t change—the one thing that isn’t your fault.”

I was silent, shocked by Elliot’s observation. Every time I thought he was distracted or uninterested, he was listening. And he clearly spent time thinking—about me.

“Use your words, Y/N,” Elliot said, a little grin playing with his lips so I could see he was being a smartass by parroting what I had told him.

“You’re a real shit, Elliot Alderson. Do you know that?”

He shrugged and took a big bite of potato salad.

* * * * *

After we finished dinner and put everything away, I walked over to Elliot’s backpack, picked it up, and brought it over to him.

“I say we smoke and finish the movie because I’m too stuffed to eat a s’more.”

Elliot nodded, opened his backpack, and pulled his box out while I went to the cupboard to grab a tray we could use since my coffee table was made of wood.

I watched as he neatly set everything out on the tray and broke the weed up. I watched his fingers pack the bowl, and when he was finished, he offered to let me hit it first, but I declined.

I watched Elliot take a hit, my eyes drinking in the way his fingers moved and the way his lips closed over the pipe, watching as he pulled the smoke into his lungs to hold it. He waited before exhaling slowly, and then he passed the bowl and lighter to me.

I copied his movements and also took a nice hit—deep enough and long enough to cause Elliot to raise his eyebrows.

I shrugged and handed the bowl back to Elliot as I enjoyed the head rush from my first hit in a long time.

It was good weed, and I sat back and let it take ahold of me, feeling really relaxed for the first time in longer than I’d like to admit.

We slowly smoked the bowl and once it was ready to ash, he turned it over, checked the holes and repacked.

We smoked again, and I felt ridiculously good, ridiculously content. Mostly, I wanted to stare at Elliot because my inhibitions were currently dwelling in a land of incoherence.

I sat facing him while he laid his head back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. I just couldn’t comprehend how fucking pretty he was. He had taken his hoodie off because it was too warm outside, so he was wearing a black t-shirt. Elliot had pulled on a pair of dark jeans, too, when we were at his apartment. His arms were relaxed at his sides and the bandaged hand closest to me was resting on the couch. For once, Elliot’s body was almost perfectly still.

I was a calm person from day to day, but when I got high, I was pretty much a caricature of a pothead. I loved everyone and saw nothing but the beauty around me through the most sensuous haze. I wanted to giggle and talk about the cosmos, but things felt different with Elliot.

It took me a long time to piece together what I wanted to say to him.

I scooted closer to Elliot, squinting at him.

“Do you ever wish you could just reach out and stop time. Just like, grab the second hand and make it stop ticking?”

“Is that what you want, Y/N? To stop time right now?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Elliot’s eyes were closed as his head rested on the back of the couch, but when I failed to answer him, he opened his eyes to seek mine out. I hadn’t stopped staring at his face, so his eyes met mine almost immediately.

“Because I really like you,” I breathed. “And if time keeps ticking, those feelings are going to make everything so complicated. I don’t think they’re going to go away and I’m afraid they’re not going to away but I’m also afraid they are going to go away and then I’d hate that and you’ve just got me all fucked up.”

“I really like you, too,” Elliot said, a little giggle bubbling out of his throat as his fingers twitched toward mine. “I think I feel the same fucked up way as you if I correctly followed what you said.”

I watched the movement of his fingers as they crept closer to mine. Our hands were barely a whisper apart, and it felt like there was poetry in that—we were so close, yet still so far.

But I was just too damn high to puzzle out that meaning.

I bypassed touching Elliot’s hand and moved into his lap. He lifted his head off the back of the couch to watch me. I perched closer to his knees, avoiding turning what I wanted to do into something overtly sexual.

I plucked Elliot’s hand off the couch and peeled away the bandages. I lifted his hand to my lips and began kissing his wounds, featherlight, noiseless kisses across each scrape, cut, and bruise. I repeated my kisses on his other hand, all while under Elliot’s watchful, half-lidded gaze. His lips were parted and he occasionally flicked his tongue out to wet them, but he never took his eyes off of me.

I placed a gentle kiss to the palm of each of his hands, enjoying the soft skin before I placed one of Elliot’s hands on my heart and the other on the side of my face. His fingers jumped a little, but I closed my eyes as I pressed my hands into his, his palm flattening out against my chest and my cheek.

“El,” I breathed, lost in the sensation of him, the weed making everything seem so far away yet so close that it was squeezing me from the inside out.

“I like it when you call me that,” Elliot whispered.

I smiled before releasing his hands and leaning forward to wrap my arms around him in a hug.

I felt his hands run across my back and snake underneath my shirt, softly caressing my lower back. I sunk into his ministrations as I clung to his neck and breathed in that citrus scent again.

I pulled back and smiled at him, his face so pretty in the haze of my high, his eyes smaller than usual, but still bigger than anyone else’s I’d ever met.

“Are we friends yet?” I asked.

Elliot seemed to genuinely consider the question before replying, “Yes.”

“Friends,” I said, feeling like I was tasting the word for the first time in my mouth.

Elliot smiled, clearly amused.

“Let’s finish the movie, friend,” he said, still smiling.

“Only if you’ll cuddle with me,” I said, wiggling off of Elliot’s legs.

He huffed, a tiny little laugh as he shrugged his shoulders.

He shifted his position to lay down on the couch, tucking himself into the cushions to make room for me on the outside. His head was propped up on a pillow and he was just slightly angled more on his back than on his side; in other words, he provided the perfect place for me to snuggle in.

I stretched out next him and damn near purred at the feeling of his body against mine. I wiggled back, trying to get as close to him as possible, and I giggled at the absurdity of cuddling on my sofa with Elliot fucking Alderson.

“You’ve gotta stop wiggling,” Elliot mumbled as he breathed in the scent of my hair. “Unless you wanna be more than friends.”

I wiggled into him again before giggling and promising to stop.

“Not yet,” I whispered.

We turned our attention to the movie and eventually dozed off. When I woke up, something way too bright was playing on the TV. I squinted my eyes and sat up, causing Elliot’s eyes to blink open.

I shut the TV off and pulled him off the couch, stopping to grab waters from the fridge before leading him to my bedroom. I shucked off my pants and squirmed out of my bra. Elliot pulled his jeans off and after a moment’s hesitation, his shirt, too.

“I want to snuggle you now,” I said, as I crawled into bed, my words thick with sleep.

Elliot got into bed and faced away from me. I aligned my body with his, and I wrapped my arm around his waist. His wounded hands were healing, their hurt practically forgotten as he pulled my hand tight to his body and secured himself in my grasp.

#Elliot Alderson #elliot alderson x reader #female reader #elliot x reader #elliot #mr robot #rami malek #rami malek character #mr robot fanfiction #Elliot fanfiction #elliot alderson fanfiction

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ladywritesthings · 5 years

Text

(i was) meant to be yours, ch3

AO3

---

Caleb seemed better the next day, Jester thought pleasantly. And the next day, and the one after that. She still kept an eye on him — it was her job, after all — sneaking glances at him out of the corners of her eyes when he wasn’t looking, as he slowly seemed to settle down over the long days and cool nights, traveling aimlessly across the Xhorhasian wastes. It probably didn’t hurt that she had, despite some initial resistance and a few raised eyebrows, managed to convince the rest of the Nein that he just needed some space. Caduceus helped, even without prompting. And that appeared to do the trick; it seemed the sleep and their talk had helped him in some small way, and by the end of the week, he seemed very nearly back to normal.

‘Well, of course he is,’ she told herself with a satisfactory nod astride Yarnball. ‘I am a very good healer, after all.’

Nott in particular had needed some convincing to refrain from asking him too many questions, but she eventually relented, contenting herself with acting as his personal guard instead. She watched him closely, but less and less as the days progressed, and even pulled Jester aside one evening as they set up camp for the night.

“Thank you,” she said in a low voice.

“For what?” said Jester distractedly, sorting through her paints for the perfect shade of green.

“For… you know.” She gestured vaguely in Caleb’s direction, and Jester looked up to see him and Beau, deep in conversation. As they watched, she smacked him in the arm, laughing loudly as he smiled that small smile of his in return. “I don’t know what happened the other day,” Nott said, “when you went up to check on him. He still won’t tell me what he saw in that nightmare he had. But he told me you talked to him, and whatever you said helped. So thank you.” She squeezed Jester’s hand and Jester squeezed back.

“Of course, Nott,” she beamed.

“I won’t ask you what you talked about, I know it’s not your place to say, but…” Nott leaned in a little closer, a small worried crease across her brow as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is he… alright? Like really?”

Jester looked back at Caleb, at his relaxed frame and calm face contoured in firelight, and smiled. “I think he is,” she said, and deep down she knew she was right.

Leaving Yeza behind had been hard — even despite the guards they had hired to get him safely back to Felderwin, the money and instructions on retrieving the enchanted cart from the tavern owner to get him the rest of the way to Alfield, and the messages Jester relayed from casting Sending every night she could — and leaving him without having a clear goal in mind had been harder. That had been almost a month ago by now, maybe longer. Perhaps that was why she’d been so attached to Caleb recently. Not that that protective instinct hadn’t been justified, of course. But being able to give her some peace of mind in addition to calming Caleb down was two wins for the price of one in Jester’s book.

That night the clerics took first watch, Caduceus amusing himself by flipping through the cookbook she’d gotten him. She sat at the edge of the bubble, arms curled up around her knees as she watched the remains of their campfire slowly turn to ash. They didn’t really need watches anymore, hadn’t for a while; not since Caleb had learned to form the Tiny Hut, to be honest. But it was a comforting routine — sometimes things happened, after all — and sometimes it was just nice to enjoy the quiet on a night like tonight. It wasn’t entirely unlike being alone, but being alone surrounded by people was vastly superior to being alone without them.

Well, besides the Traveler, of course, but he was always there, so it didn’t really count.

So she relished the silence as it was, the rustling of pages, the soft wind through the gnarled trees around them. Picking up a broken twig, she traced a pattern absently in the soft dirt beneath her as the glowing embers gently winked out one by one. She felt calm, or as calm as she could be as the uncertainty of their future stretched out before them. Apart from agreeing to search for the remaining Luxon Beacon and Caduceus’s vague search for some sort of divine Kiln, they were directionless.

They had briefly entertained the idea of swinging down south, down to where Yasha was from, but when she pointed out that she not only hadn’t received any proper direction from her Stormlord, but would also be killed on sight by her tribe, the idea was squashed. It was also decided that it would be best to avoid the Empire for the time being — Caleb hadn’t quite perfected his vaguely-referenced teleportation spell yet, the one he’d promised would take her back to her mother, and the last thing they needed was to be connected to the Dynasty after essentially committing treason. A ragtag group of mercenaries “returning” from Xhorhas? They’d be hunted for sport by overeager Crownsguard if they got within five miles of the border.

And so they wandered, picking up odd jobs in whatever tiny towns they came across as they… well, explored was as good a term as any for what they were doing.

Tonight’s resting place was what could loosely be described as a forest, if one had never seen a real one before. The trees were tall and looming, but twisted and dead and scattered rather sparsely over the landscape; the only reason she couldn’t dismiss this patch of the countryside as simply more scrubland was the fact that there were trees around them in the first place, more than she’d seen clustered together in days now, and the trend seemed to stretch on for another mile, at least. She felt a little bad for Caduceus, honestly — to be away from home for so long, and not even be surrounded by a proper forest for days on end — but perhaps that was why he’d chosen to stay up with her tonight. The sound of the dry branches scraping together as the trees swayed in the faint breeze must be nicer than no trees at all. Even if it was a little creepy.

She dug through her haversack and produced the last of the pastries she’d squirreled away before they’d left the grumpy orc’s tavern: two crumbling bear claws and one jelly doughnut, lightly squished. The doughnut looked a bit iffy, the bits of jelly now leaking out one side having gone a funny color, but the bear claws were alright, if a little stale. She chewed slowly as she watched a log on the ash pile collapse on itself. It wasn’t fresh, or as good as the ones in Nicodranas — very few pastries were, of course, so she wouldn’t hold that against it — but the sweetness was a comfort.

Caduceus didn’t want the other one. She debated with herself a long time on what to do with it; should she wait a while to eat it? They still had another hour or so on their watch — she’d probably want a snack later. Or perhaps whoever traded off for next watch would want a snack. Or could she get away with saving it in the haversack for tomorrow? Surely it would last another day. But, then again, it was already in her hand, and the first one had been pretty nice…

“Warte, geh nicht!” The cry was quiet but sharp, a sudden, gutteral intake of breath in the still night air. She spun around for the source of it, hand going instinctively to her belt, though whether to her holy symbol or her handaxe was a bit of a toss-up. Caduceus’s staff was glowing. But all they saw was Caleb, sitting up ramrod straight with his blankets in a heap around his knees, breathing hard.

Oh dear. “Caleb?” she said warily.

His gaze snapped to hers immediately. “Jester…?” His hands, trembling slightly, ran over his face as he tried to calm his breathing. “I… ah,” he said, and stopped.

Jester and Caduceus exchanged glances as they slowly lowered their defenses. “Another bad dream?” ventured Caduceus gently.

“Ah, hmm. Scheisse.” He cleared his throat, but his voice was still hoarse when he said, “Sort of, I suppose.”

At least he hadn’t screamed this time. And at least he seemed, at least mostly, aware of his surroundings. His exclamation had been loud to her ears — quiet as the night around them was — but not, apparently, enough to wake their sleeping friends. Small blessings, she supposed. “Are you… okay?” asked Jester.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Her first instinct was to rush over to him — she was a healer, after all, and she remembered how badly he’d needed healing last time — but he didn’t seem to be in any immediate distress, and Caduceus was closer anyway. So she hovered where she crouched, feeling suddenly awkward and a little useless.

“I… think so,” he said eventually. He still looked kind of shaken, an expression she couldn’t quite place on his face, but his breathing had slowed. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” said Caduceus, laying his staff down gently. “Keeps the blood pumping, I guess.”

“At least you were quiet about it.” She meant it to be a joke of some kind, something to lighten the strange mood, but Caleb didn’t respond and she felt the lame attempt at a smile wither and die on her face. She settled back into a sitting position, for lack of anything else to do, and fiddled with the little twig she’d discarded. “Do you… want to talk about it?” she said finally in a low voice.

She noticed his eyes flick over to Caduceus quickly before he swallowed again. “I don’t — hmm.” He swallowed again, running a hand absently through his messy hair. “Perhaps — no, perhaps not.”

“If you don’t want to go to sleep again right away, you can come sit next to me,” she offered. “It’s warmer over here. Closer to the fire. You look kinda cold.” It wasn’t, he didn’t, and the fire was mostly out anyway, but Caduceus shot her an approving glance as Caleb appeared to mull the suggestion over. Of course he’d noticed Caleb’s hesitation to talk about it with him so close behind. Perceptive bastard.

“Ja,” said Caleb eventually. “Ja, okay.” He slowly pushed off his blankets and shuffled over, folding himself awkwardly into a cross-legged position next to her. They weren’t quite touching, exactly, but there wasn’t much leftover space between the sleeping bodies. Caduceus went back to his book with one final approving nod as she and Caleb sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, gazing into the dying embers. Well, he was, anyway. Jester was looking at him, as surreptitiously as she could out of the corner of her eye.

He seemed distracted, or lost in thought, but he didn’t look haunted. Or scared. Just… a little out of it. A little lost.

She wanted to say something, open her mouth and make him laugh, or comfort him, or distract him somehow from his distraction, but she felt that anything she’d come up with would fall flat, or be wrong somehow. So she simply sat there with him, with her arms wrapped around her knees again, just sitting and waiting in the awkward silence. Well, awkward for her. Or rather, it felt like it should be awkward. She wasn’t quite sure he was aware enough of his surroundings to be aware of the quality of the silence, awkward or otherwise.

“It wasn’t bad, exactly,” he said finally.

She looked at him fully this time. “Your dream, you mean?” she said in a low voice.

He glanced quickly over his shoulder and she followed his gaze, back to Caduceus. He appeared fully engrossed in his book again, which seemed to satisfy Caleb somewhat, and he relaxed just a little. “It didn’t feel quite like a dream this time either,” he said, turning back to the dying fire. “But not… not the same as last time.”

“What do you mean?”

He hummed noncommittally, perching his chin on steepled fingers as he stared at the remains of their camp with glazed eyes. “I… don’t quite know how to explain it,” he admitted after a moment. “It was… like a dream, but more like a memory, I suppose. And it felt more real than both somehow. I don’t…”

She waited for him to finish his sentence, but he’d lapsed into silence again, staring at the glowing logs as though transfixed. “Do you want to talk about it?” she said eventually, in a voice that was almost a whisper now.

His face twitched a little at the suggestion, but she couldn’t quite tell if it was a good twitch or a bad one. “There isn’t really much to tell,” he said.

She pursed her lips a little against her arm, hugging her knees a little tighter. “You said that last time, too,” she reminded him gently.

“Yes, but…” He paused a moment, shifting in his seat. “Last time,” he began, “I didn’t want to worry you. Or frighten you. This one…” He paused again, swallowed. “It is not the same,” he said.

She traced her nail in the dirt, smudging her earlier squiggles. “Was it a good dream, then?”

This question seemed to stump him, and he was quiet for a long time. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

She picked up the twig again, doodled a frowny face in the dirt. “What was it, then?” she said. “What, did you have a sex dream or something? Is that why you don’t want to tell me about it? ’Cause it would be weird?”

The corner of his mouth definitely twitched up at that. “No,” he said. “I did not have a sex dream.”

The frowny face was lopsided, and she brushed it away. “I want to help you,” she said quietly. “I know you don’t like when people help you, but I’m your friend, you know. I want to try. But I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.”

He sighed a little. “It was a memory,” he said, “or something based off a memory, of someone very dear to me a long time ago. It was… bittersweet, I suppose. I haven’t thought about it in a long time.”

He paused again. “…But?” she prompted after a moment.

“But,” he sighed, letting his hands drop into his lap, “it wasn’t particularly noteworthy, as far as dreams go. Only to me.” He glanced at her. “You would be bored by it, I think.”

She huffed, her bangs puffing up a little. “That’s awfully judgy of you,” she said. “How do you know I’d be bored?”

He glanced at her. “Because I know you, Jester,” he said, and he said it kindly, but it felt like a dismissal all the same.

“Is it because there’s people around?”

“Jester,” he said, “there’s nothing to tell.”

He was shutting her out. “Fine, then, don’t tell me,” she frowned against her arm. It was easier to just let it go, but some part of her… hurt, somehow. She’d thought after they’d talked, after she helped him… It had been an intimate moment, a real moment, where he’d been vulnerable and she’d helped him, and — well, she didn’t quite know how to explain it, but she thought they’d shared something. That they were friends, truly friends, in a way they hadn’t quite been before. That he trusted her. He had to know she’d listen to anything that troubled him, even some boring, bittersweet memory-dream intense enough to rouse him from a deep sleep; that’s what friends were for, after all.

Either he was lying, and he had in fact had some sort of raunchy sex dream he was too embarrassed to recount aloud, or he didn’t know her very well at all.

“Where’s Frumpkin?” she asked instead.

He waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, you know,” he said. “Around. I sent him off to keep an eye out.”

“Oh,” she said, and the conversation died again.

The silence was killing her, but any topics she could think of were wrong; too boring or too lighthearted or not lighthearted enough. It was clear the dreams were off the table, even though his tight-lipped reaction rubbed her the wrong way in more ways than she cared to count, but she couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She felt stuck, almost. She couldn’t bear the quiet, being shut out like this, but she couldn’t just leave him, either. It would be rude, and besides, she didn’t want to. Didn’t want to leave him, leave his side, leave him alone with the thoughts he wouldn’t share.

The fire had long since burned out by now, but he still watched the ashes, apparently lost in thought again. She surveyed him out of the corner of her eye instead, the sharp lines of his jaw and brow casting shadows over his eyes, over the gentle curve of his neck.

“You need a shave,” she commented, a little bluntly. Petulantly.

He blinked in surprise, a hand reaching up reflexively to rub at the scruff on his chin. “Sorry?”

“You need a shave,” she repeated. “Pretty bad, actually. If you care.”

“Ah, I — I suppose I do,” he said haltingly, and looked at her curiously. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I-I don’t, really,” she said, feeling her ears heat up in spite of herself, and looked away quickly. “I just thought you should know, is all.” He was still looking at her. It was getting embarrassing.

He finally turned back to the fire, still rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I could have Yasha try again,” he said. “Although having her sword so close to my neck is… disconcerting.”

“You could get Nott to do it,” she suggested, slightly muffled against her arms again. “She has daggers, doesn’t she?”

“Those blunt little things?” He let out a little half-chuckle. “I wouldn’t trust her with those near anything.” He glanced at her again. “I didn’t know it bothered you so much.”

“It doesn’t,” she said hotly. Gods, why was he still looking at her? She didn’t know how or why the conversation had turned into something so excruciating, why she’d brought it up in the first place, but now that it had she wanted to melt away into nothing. “Shave, don’t shave, Idon’tcareanywayit’sfinewhateverokay.”

“Oh. I see.”

He was still looking at her, a curious tilt to his head, and he wouldn’t stop looking and she wanted to die, and she just about sagged with relief when Caduceus’s voice floated across the Hut to save her. “Hey, Jester,” he said, “it’s almost time for the shift change. Do you want to wake up Yasha, or should I?”

“I’lldoitthanksCaduceus,” she said a little too loudly, shooting to her feet in a cloud of dust. Caleb sneezed in her wake as she hurried away, clutching her haversack like her life depended on it as she shook Yasha awake with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, probably.

Yasha woke with a start, blinking up at her with a confused sort of look. “What’s — Jester?”

Jester tried to slow her pulse, which was hammering loudly in her ears for some reason. “It’s your watch,” she said. Her voice still sounded too high.

Yasha sat up, brushing back her wild hair from her face. “Oh, for a moment I thought…” She eyed her concernedly. “Are you alright, Jester? You look a little—”

“I’m fine,” said Jester.

Caduceus watched her with a kind of knowing amusement as she pulled out her bedroll and spread it out haphazardly, but what, exactly, he thought he knew was a complete mystery. Her nerves were buzzing with some sort of frantic, anxious energy, sure, and she could feel Caleb’s eyes on her from across the Hut, but he was all the way over there and she was here, as far away from him as possible, and that was all that really mattered.

And she was embarrassed — although why, exactly, she couldn’t say; it wasn’t as though this was the first time she’d insulted Caleb’s appearance for no particular reason than the fact that the thought had struck her and the words just tumbled out, regardless of the situation — but maybe it wasn’t that she’d insulted him, actually. She’d meant to, perhaps the first time she’d tried to insult him on purpose, just to get back at him for pulling away from her, and it had backfired so spectacularly he’d come away with the impression she cared about his appearance. Which was ridiculous.

“Good night,” she said loudly to no-one, and buried herself beneath the covers.

By the Traveler, her face was burning. Why did she even care? If he was going to be a dick about his stupid dreams, why the fuck should she care? Why did she feel the need to try to get a rise out of him, to get him to pay attention to her? She didn’t need his attention. He was smelly and weird and wouldn’t let her help him, and she didn’t need his attention.

So why was she still thinking about it?

#widojest #critical role #fanfiction #mtby fic #Lady writes things

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katalicz · 5 years

Photo

(You can also find this on AO3 here!)

“This is, by far, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“You know what?” Bandit starts, his chin resting on his hand as he watches Blitz chug down another glass of beer in 5 seconds flat, caught somewhere between disgust and amusement. The crowd around them cheer as he slams the glass down, and Fuze grumbles something under his breath in defeat before tossing a £5 note in Blitz’s direction.

Blitz pretends to bow victoriously, much to the joy of the crowd, and Bandit watches as Valkyrie pushes her way forwards to take the seat opposite them.

Just as she sits down, Thermite hollers for karaoke and successfully diverts most of the crowd over to the other side of the room where the machine patiently awaits. Valkyrie looks torn for a brief second – she normally performs at least one song, picked out by Blackbeard and almost always something dirty – before Blitz waves at her and says, “I’ll still be here later, go and sing!”

She grins at him, holds her hand out for a fist bump, and leaves just as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving Blitz leaning into Bandit’s side and grinning merrily. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and his eyes are dancing, and Bandit would lean over to kiss him if they weren’t sat in the middle of a crowded pub. Whilst the base knows that the pair of them are officially a thing (and have been for months), it's apparently still new enough that every little gesture makes them coo - or, in the case of Smoke, toss a handful of condoms at them at every given opportunity. It’s a bit like being back in high school, really - especially since four of the younger operators are now doing a staggeringly accurate rendition of Britney Spear's Toxic.

“What do I know?” Blitz grins, interrupting Bandit’s train of thought and gently kicking him in the calf. He's got a tiny bit of foam stuck to the top of his lip, which is endearing and gross and makes him look ridiculous. Bandit takes pity on him and wipes it away with a fond roll of his eyes.

“This is, by far, the stupidest thing you've ever done,” he says mildly, because it truly is. Fuze had been the last in a line of four to be defeated by Blitz’s lack of a gag reflex and subsequent ability to drink down anything far quicker than a normal human should probably be able to. It’s both impressive and gross, and he’s a little more than relieved that it only happens on a rare occasion, like before a rare day off, because it usually ends up with Blitz being drunk and needing to be carried home, which isn't exactly the easiest job in the world.

Blitz throws his head back and laughs, audible even over Rook’s singing. “I've made 20 euros, this is the best idea!” he replies, voice almost a shout and drawing a few looks back their way.

“You definitely haven't,” Bandit tells him, plucking the money from Blitz’s hands and putting it in his wallet with the rest of Blitz’s winnings. “And I'm pretty sure you've had enough, now, if you've seriously forgotten the currency.”

“I was joking!” Blitz quickly says, in a way that makes Bandit believe that he was not joking at all. “And it's not that late!”

He points towards the clock on the wall, which currently reads 21:43, and means that he’s been in the pub for going on three hours. Bandit had arrived an hour later – there had been an unfortunate situation involving a forklift, an ammo crate, and a fire axe back on base – so he’s not exactly sure when Blitz started, but he’s fairly sure that Blitz has had plenty all the same.

Blitz pouts sadly, which is ridiculously effective, because Bandit has never been able to deny Blitz anything at the best of times, let alone when he looks so sad. It’s something he only ever does when he’s in the stage between ‘drunk’ and ‘sloshed’, at least, which is a small bit of comfort when Bandit gives in.

He sighs, cursing his soft heart, and gives Blitz a fiver back - which should be able to buy him a single beer and not much more. He receives a quick, “I love you, you're the best!” and a firm kiss on the cheek in kind before Blitz is gone in a flurry of surprisingly coordinated movement, presumably in search of Valkyrie, who’s perched on the arm of a chair and looking rather out of breath. Someone whistles from across the room: he's almost 100% sure it was IQ, so he doesn’t bother responding, and instead turns his attention to the tiny stage where a frazzled looking Thatcher is now arguing with the karaoke machine.

Montagne comes to keep him company for a while – mostly to moan about their dumb, idiot teammates and their seemingly endless trend of getting into trouble, which means he’s had at least two glasses of brandy. Bandit lets him waffle on, half listening to the older man’s rambling thoughts and half keeping an eye on Blitz, who is at the bar with Smoke and Mute and likely to end up in trouble at some point in the near future if he’s not careful.

He makes his return four songs later, which is rather a bit earlier than Bandit was expecting. His £5 has become £35, which is unsurprising, and his legs are working just well enough to get him to their table without falling over.

He staggers to a halt, face flushed and wobbling on his feet, and Bandit just barely manages to sling an arm out around his waist to catch him before he tumbles into the wall.

“I'm back!” he shouts, voice slurred and happy, and Bandit is almost annoyed by how ridiculously fond he is of the idiot.

Montagne jumps up with surprising coordination to help steer Blitz into a seat, which is a relief, because Bandit’s arm isn't strong enough to hold up the entirety of Blitz’s weight by far, despite Blitz’s best efforts to make him do so.

“You're back,” Bandit replies dryly, accepting the wet kiss Blitz plants on his forehead.

“I'll leave you to it,” Montagne says with an exaggerated wink, and laughs as Bandit flips him off.

Blitz smiles warmly at him until the music starts back up, the speakers blaring the bass with far too much force. It’s enough to make Bandit wince, so he can only imagine how loud it is to Blitz, who drops his head to rest against the sticky surface of the table.

“Can we go?” Blitz asks, hands pressing against his temples. “It’s a bit loud, my brain hurts.”

“You’re an idiot,” Bandit tells him, gently patting him on the head and earning a whine for his trouble. “Have you had any water?”

Blitz groans, which Bandit takes as a no, so he pushes his half full glass of lemonade across the table to him, because any drink is better than no drink, and texts IQ to say that they’re leaving.

She sends him a myriad of emojis in return in place of anything remotely useful, so he texts Ash instead. He gets a thumbs up from her, which is better than nothing, so he gently prods Blitz until he sits up and drinks the lemonade.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he says, waving at IQ across the room before standing up and nudging at Blitz’s shoulders in an attempt to make him move.

“My face hurts,” Blitz replies, ever so eloquently, and lets Bandit heave him upright.

“I told you that you’d had enough,” Bandit huffs, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist and beginning the slow walk towards the door. It’s a bit of a task, really – the tables are close together and still mostly occupied, and Blitz is made almost entirely of solid, compact muscle, which makes him far heavier than he looks. It’s one of Bandit’s favourite things about him apart from at times like this, when it’s far more of a hinderance than a help. “For someone so smart, you’re incredibly stupid, sometimes.”

Blitz blushes and flops his head to rest on Bandit’s shoulder. He mumbles something that Bandit doesn’t quite hear – probably a denial, because Blitz is terrible at taking any sort of compliment – before gently squeezing on Bandit’s wrist.

“’Love you,” he says, voice slurred but undeniably affectionate, and it makes Bandit’s heart jump in his chest in the exact same way it did six months ago, when Blitz had first blurted it out.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies, gently pressing his mouth to Blitz’s temple. He smells like beer and sweat and it’s not particularly pleasant at all, but it’s Blitz, so he can’t bring himself to care. “I love you too.”

This was a bit of a silly one instead of anything too serious, I hope u like it anon ily <3

#r6s #rainbow six siege #bliban #banbli

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flightlessangelwings · 6 years

Text

Lost Souls, Kindred Spirits: Chapter 2

Bucky x Reader

Chapter summary: A friendly lunch date where Bucky and reader get to know each other.

“How’s your burger?” you asked Bucky.

“It’s good,” he replied.

You threw him a sympathetic smile, “I know it’s not the greatest place, but I’ve been coming here for awhile so it’s comforting. Plus, it’s cheap.”

He softened his expression, trying to not be offensive, “No really, it’s fine. Thank you again for this.”

“No problem! I guess it doesn’t totally make us even, but it’s the least I can do.”

You both continued to pick at the plates of food in front of you in silence for a few minutes. Normally you hate sitting in silence around someone new, but this felt comfortable for some reason. It was later in the afternoon, so past the lunch rush, which meant the diner was a little quieter than usual.

“So,” you started, “What brings you to New York?”

Bucky dropped his gaze down to the table as he tried to think of an answer. “I…” he started in a whispered voice, “I grew up here.”

“Oh, so you’re from here? Coming back home, yeah?” You weren’t sure why, but you had a feeling like this man across from you had quite a story to tell, and curiosity started to get a hold of you.

“Something like that,” Bucky looked back up at you.

“Well, if you need directions or anything, I can try and help you out. I’m not from here but I’ve been around the city since I was a teenager. What neighborhood you looking for?”

He paused for a minute. He knew there was a word that stuck out in his mind, he just needed to remember what it was…. “Brooklyn.”

“I’m not as familiar with that area, but I can do my best,” you said with a smile.

“Oh no, no you don’t have to do that. I’ve put you out enough already,” Bucky objected.

“You haven’t put me out at all,” you retorted, “Buying you one meal won’t break my bank account.” You took a sip of you water before adding, “Besides, it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

Bucky looked surprised at that. “You on your own?”

You sighed, “Yep. Both my parents are gone, and living in this city ain’t cheap, so I spend a lot of time at work just to survive. I don’t really spend much social time outside of the girls I work with. Besides, I’m usually really beat after work, I don’t have the energy to go out a lot.”

At your confession, Bucky found himself just as curious about you as you were about him. How could someone so beautiful be all alone? “What happened? With your parents I mean?” The question came out before he even thought about it.

It was your turn to look down, and Bucky could see the pain in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he raised his hands up in a surrendering motion, “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s ok,” You looked back at him, “I don’t mind talking about it. It’s been years.”

Bucky shot you a sympathetic look. He never meant to cause you any pain, even in the smallest amount.

“Really,” you reassured him as you reached across the table to put you hand on top of his, “That’s how conversations work, right? You share something, then I share something, and we go ‘round and ‘round.”

A thought popped into his head as he met your eyes: were you two becoming friends? He knew it was dangerous to let anyone in; there were things he could remember and none of it was good. But at the same time, he had to admit to himself that a friend in this world was a very nice thought. He said nothing to that, only nodded to let you continue.

“My parents came to this country in search of a better life. I was just a little kid when we came over. We ended up in Florida, but my dad always talked about how much he wanted to see New York. I know its super cliché, but he truly thought that this was the place where dreams came true. Where you’re supposed to live your best life, or something like that,” you smiled to yourself as you thought about your father. You continued, “He got a job in a factory. He worked his ass off trying to save enough money to move. But…” You trailed off.

Bucky watched you tell your story with a sympathetic gaze. Instinctively, he reached his right hand out to you much like how you did for him. You raised your eyes to meet his and took in a deep breath before you continued.

“There was an accident one day and…” you didn’t have it in you to finish the sentence out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered as he stroked his thumb across the top of your hand to soothe you.

“It was a long time ago,” you sighed as you wiped away a tear with your free hand. The memory never really healed, but it became easier to handle over time. You weren’t sure why you were getting so emotional about it again. Maybe you felt safe enough in front of this man to let your feelings flow freely.

Bucky could tell that you were putting up a strong front, only to hide a lot of pain. It was a feeling he knew all too well. “So, you came here to honor your father then?” He hoped his assumption wouldn’t upset you more.

But you understood the meaning behind what Bucky said to you. In his way, he was sympathizing and trying to connect with you. “Yeah,” you exhaled, “Mom moved us here and found work where she could. Once I was old enough, I worked odd jobs too.”

Bucky leaned in as he listened to your story.

“Mom and I weren’t as close, but she was still family. She was all I had when we moved here,” your voice trailed off as you lost yourself in thought.

“Was?” Bucky asked, his voice low.

You sighed heavily, “Yeah,” you looked down at the table, tracing imaginary shapes in your mind to try and keep yourself calm, “I lost her too. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time late at night and…”

“I’m so sorry,” the look in Bucky’s face was genuine as he squeezed your hand tighter.

You looked up to meet his eyes and instantly felt comforted by the sincerity you found there, “It’s New York, what can you say?” You tried to brush it off so you wouldn’t linger on the thought, “I was 17 then. I’ve been on my own since. I made my own way, been able to get by in the city on my own.”

Your story sounded almost familiar: alone in New York, both parents gone, making your own way at a young age. Then it clicked in his head. You reminded him of Steven Rogers so much. Maybe that is what draw him to you, at least partly. Figures in this huge city he’d run into a person who reminded him of his best friend back in the day. The familiarity felt nice to Bucky.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky repeated, “I didn’t mean to make you talk about something like that. I know it must be hard for you.”

You wiped another tear from your eye and took a deep breath, “It’s fine. It actually kind of felt good to talk about again, oddly enough,” you chucked at the thought, “It’s been awhile since I talked about my parents or my past, it’s like I’m keeping them alive through memory by talking about them again. That sounds weird doesn’t it?”

“I’ve heard weirder,” Bucky smiled. And what a beautiful smile it was. This was the first time you saw a true smile from him, and once you saw it, you wanted to see it more.

“Indulge me then?” you set your elbow on the table and rested your head in your hand, ready to listen to this beautiful, mysterious man talk about absolutely anything.

Bucky did not want to get your involved in his mess, but he couldn’t deny your request. He chose his next words carefully, “I… I lost most of my memories,” he confessed.

Your expression changed, “What?”

“I don’t remember much,” he replied shyly, unsure how you would react.

“So that’s why you came to New York,” you put the pieces together, “You came home, back to what you know to try and jog your memory.”

Your unjudgmental understand took him off guard. He wasn’t used to any form of kindness, let alone from a beautiful woman like you. “Yeah,” he breathed out.

“Well,” you straightened your posture, “You need my help more than I needed yours then!” you said enthusiastically.

He shot you a quizzical look.

“Oh, come on, how would I not help you now?” you rubbed your hands together like you were getting ready for something to happen, “Besides you need someone who knows how the streets of New York are now. I don’t know how long you’ve been gone, but this city changed a lot lately. Come on, let me help you,” you pleaded.

Bucky was taken aback by your unquestioning urge to help him. But one look at your eyes told him you weren’t taking no for an answer, not that he could say no to you at this point anyway. He leveled his expression as he exhaled sharply, “Ok.”

You two spent the next few hours talking about trivial things. You caught him up on pop culture and news from the past few years, not knowing how far back his amnesia went. You told him about your favorite trends, important events, new music, pretty much anything you could think of. He listened to you with all his attention, taking in everything you were telling him. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t care less about your words, he just wanted to hear you talk with that brightness in your eyes. He studied your features and picked up on your facial cues as you continued to talk. He took the time to memorize every feature and detail of your faces, from the subtle dimples in your cheek to the way you fiddle with your fingers when you get nervous.

Time seemed to fly by, and the sun started to go down as you continued to talk in your diner booth. You glanced over at the time with a scowl.

“Dammit, I gotta go. Work,” you said as you started to gather yourself.

Bucky frowned. He found himself not wanting to let you go.

You grabbed some cash from your bag and set it on the table, leaving an extra tip for the waitress for staying so long. You scoot your way to the end of the booth, your legs sore from sitting still for so long. As you stood, you turned to Bucky who was also getting up. “You free tomorrow around noon? There’s a great place in central park with a little pond and lots of hills. I go there when I need some quiet time away from the noise of the city. I can bring my laptop and help you figure things out.”

Bucky stood up and smiled down at you, “Sounds great.”

You extended your hand and he took it. “It’s a deal then,” you said with a smile. “See you tomorrow!”

Bucky watched you leave and eagerly looked forward to seeing you again.

Notes: Thanks everyone for reading so far! I’m gonna try to update every Friday evening. And I’ll work on a masterlist this week too.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanficion #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine

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nighthowlers8795 · 6 years

Text

You Have Never Loved Me Part 12

Paring: Liam x Annie Williams

Warning: Not your TYPICAL Liam and not your TYPICAL MC

Catch up here : You Have Never Loved Me masterlist

Summery: Royal wedding time...

Tag list: @drakelover78 @indiacater @shirtlessbenpark @pens-girl-87 @madaraism @boneandfur @laniquelove @blackcatkita @never-ending-choices @writtenbycandy @alicars @hopefulmoonobject @mfackenthal @darley1101 @queencatherynerhys @lizeboredom @xxrainbowprincessxx @umccall71 @crookedsmilecreatorpasta @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @heatherfilliez @mrsdrakewalkerblog @diamond-dreamland @greyeyedsmile14

The whole kingdom is thrilled with King Liam and Lady Annie’s engagement. Hana and Maxwell decided to stay and help with the planning of the wedding ceremony.

Baumont house estate has turned into a secret base for the women in order to maintain the mystery of bridal look before the big day.

Every morning Olivia kidnaps Annie from the palace and keeps her busy at Baumont’s place until dusk. Liam has protested a million times that he won’t be able to see Annie between is meetings, and he got shut down every time by the Scarlet Duchess.

“What do you think about this dress?” Hana hands a sketch of a wedding dress to Annie.

“No, way. Too much skin exposure.” Olivia grabs it from Hana’s hand and shoots down another design in a split second. “ Didn’t you see how conservative Meghan Markle’s dress was for her wedding?”

Taking another sip of her flora tea, Annie enjoys her ‘quiet’ afternoon time with her best friends from New York and Cordonia.

It was her idea to find the right dress in Cordonia instead of looking for a designer dress in a foreign brand. They have been flooded with Cordonia designers letters and emails since the news got out. To make a time wise workable list for the dresses they want to try on, they started with going over the original sketches and work their way up to narrow down an actual list.

Ever since Annie’s arrival, the Trend magazine has been obsessed with her style. What did Lady Annie wear today was once the most searched subject on Google in Cordonia. If she wears a tea dress today, tomorrow all of the tea dresses in capital will be sold out. Annie thinks it’s a great opportunity to present some of the Cordonia’s finest fashion design to the world’s stage.

She flips through pages and paused her fingers on an empire style pearl white wedding gown with long lace sleeves.

“Girls, check this out.” She quickly draws their attention.

Hana exchanged a nod with big grin on her face with Olivia.”Hmm, we might already have a winner.”

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

“Ready to go?” Maxwell shows up at the king’s office right on time at 6.p.m. “Come on, Liam. We had a deal, this is your one and only bachelor party.”

Drake pushes him inside. “The quicker you come with us, the faster you will get this over with. I promised Olivia to be back before midnight. We don’t have all day, boys.”

“I’m just finishing up, one second.” Liam shuts off his computer and puts away part of signed documents. “Where is Tariq?”

Maxwell shrugs, “He said he’d just meet us at the bar. Probably picking out his special outfit and shoes.” He elbows Drake on his ribs and giggles a bit too happy.

Drake rolls his eyes on Maxwell, “Remind me again why do we have to include that loser?”

“Like him or not, his family is well respected among nobles and civilians. I don’t want to get on his father’s bad side.” Grabbing the coat on the back of his seat, Liam is ready to go. “Especially the last time I checked, his father was in favor of supporting Regina before I claimed the throne.”

They all become quiet when Regina’s name was mentioned. It was not pretty, political battles are never pretty. Loyal followers of the former queen have all been put under surveillance 24/7. The king knows too well Cordonia needs stability as a small nation. Liam will take all the support he can gets.

“How is the wedding plan going?” Drake tries to brighten up the atmosphere.

Thinking of his cute fiancee, a smile climes on Liam’s lips. “We have picked out the color palettes and the food for our reception.” Can’t believe in less than a week until they say “I do.”

“You are one lucky man to marry Annie.”

“I know.”

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

It was a fall wedding in the late afternoon. The area faces the breathtaking sunset on the beach. At the end of each seated aisle, jasmine scented candles hang from naked tree branches placed in the sand. Spread down the aisles are white petals with small seashells, as far as the eyes could see. Guests are seated in golden chairs set up on either side of the aisle. The king and future queen decided to have a simple ceremony saving taxpayer’s money, only a small group of nobles and close friends were invited. The people of Cordonia will watch the ceremony live on TV with the rest of the world with the teal green coast of Cordonia in the background.

“Okay, Okay Annie, you need to breath... Can you do that for me?” Hana asks.

Only five minutes remain before she walks down the aisle, she is nervous just like the first time she went on a date with Liam.

Olivia holds her hands, “This is it. Eyes on Liam, nothing else matters.”

The music starts to play, the girls rushed her to find Bertrand. He was kind enough to offer Annie to give her away.

Hana quickly grabs her bouquet before her final fix on Annie’s veil. “You will do just great.”

After Chance strolled down the aisle with a ring pillow strapped on his back, the priest asks everyone to stand.

And...he sees her.

She is in an ivory wedding gown with illusion styled long sleeve chiffon lace. The dress hugged her curves at all the right place and the V-neck set off her slender neckline. Annie’s chestnut hair was braided into a low bun on the side with a brush train long veil attached to the bottom of the bun.

Up ahead Annie sees Liam. He stands tall, his shoulders back and his eyes on her.

At that momen, time has stopped. She can only hear the waves crashing onto the beach and sea breeze.

They exchanged vows and rings. The rest of the day was a blur to the couple. They smiled so much it hurts their faces.

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

Like any royal weddings, the whole event brought political and economical advantages beyond the union of two people. Cordonia is more united than ever and the tourism industry is booming.

A few months has passed since Annie became Mrs. Rys and the queen of Cordonia. Their life is filled with happiness just like he promised it would be, sometimes she wonders if this is all a dream.

She likes to watch her husband sleeping at night.

“What’s wrong?” Liam murmurs from his pillow.

Annie buries her face in his chest. “Just afraid this is a dream.”

He lowered his head and takes a bite on her shoulder that squeezed a yelp from her.

“If it hurts then you are not dreaming.” Liam plants a kiss on his bite marks. “What do you want to do for Christmas? We can go to New York if you would like.?”

“I don’t really want to” Annie refuses.

“Don’t you have any traditions for Christmas?”

“Well, usually it was just me for the holidays. Hana has to spend her Christmas with her parents. So I worked on holidays at different malls. Everyone wants to take time off to stay with families...” She pauses, ”It’s not too bad, I have no place to go anyway. I was happy that I could make some overtime wages.”

” Are you just saying that to comfort me?”He holds her tighter, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that, it’s already in the past. Good night, my king.”

To apologize? In the past? The two phrases give the king insomnia. What if he has to apologize to her for his past?

To be continued

#trr fanfic #trr #trr liam #king liam #liam x mc #choices fanfiction #choices #the royal romance

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joeybelle · 6 years

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Oh, how the tables have turned - Clyde Logan x Reader

Part 1

Inspired by @clyde-prompts: “Some guys are rude and use ableist slurs against Clyde. The reader is with them, and although she feels bad about what's happening, is too scared to say anything in front of her "friends". She comes back to the bar a couple nights later to try and show him she's not a bad person. They get to know each other and fall in love”. Doesn’t fully follow the prompt

Warnings: Language, ableist slurs, general stupidity, first person point of view.

Rating: Mature

Setting: Pre-heist

AN: Please keep in mind when reading this that I’m not a native speaker so my English may be questionable at time. Also, I’m a very slow writer because usually when I have the energy to write I don’t have time and vice-versa. Any type of feedback is appreciated, even incoherent keyboard smashes. The things I tag sometimes don’t show up in tag searches so check the masterlist from time to time. Thank you <3

It looked like a dive bar and I was pretty sure it was one, but I wasn’t surprised in the least. It’s what I had expected from my friends. Maybe they’d grown up in the years I hadn’t seen them, but I was certain they still enjoyed cheap drinks and questionable company, at least sometimes. And to be honest, I wasn’t one to complain. With my dwindling budget, I would have done anything to save a buck.

“Baby!” Jake’s booming voice greeted me the moment I stepped into the bar, the heavy door closing behind me with a thud.

If there was something I really didn’t look forward to about moving back to my West Virginia hometown was being called ‘Baby’ once again. My childhood friend, Maggie, used to call me that since we were toddlers and somehow it stuck. Before I knew it, the whole high school knew me as Baby. Hell, that’s what the whole town called me. And while it was somehow acceptable (although a bit creepy for obvious reasons) in high school, in the meantime I’d grown up and felt like it was time for the nickname to die.

My friends were all gathered around a pool table, some actively playing, others watching or sitting at the nearby table. There were quite a few empty beer bottles in front of them, and I realized that the party had started way before I’d arrived there. Somehow, this made me uneasy. It’s never advisable to be the only sober person in the bunch.

Jake, Peter and his sister Lisa, stood around the pool table, and my childhood friend Maggie a little further by the bar. There was a brunette holding onto Peter’s waist, so I assumed she was his wife, but I couldn't for the love of me remember her name, although I was sure Maggie had told me about her multiple times. The others were faces I didn’t recognize. Although my group of friends in highschool has always been pretty large, the core was always made of the five of us.

Jake looked considerably more inebriated than the rest, although this didn’t surprise me either. Maggie had told me that he had become quite the heavy drinker after they had gotten married, and that scared me. He had always been tall and well built, and right now he looked even more massive than I remembered. With his volcanic personality and rather unpredictable nature, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Hopefully, with age came some wisdom too, but judging by his glazed eyes and the stupid grin he had on as he approached me, I highly doubted it.

“Fuck me, you’re still a babe,” he interjected, giving me a one armed hug, squeezing me a little too hard, making me flinch.

“And I thought I’d finally evolved into an actual woman by now,” I joked, wiggling out of his crushing embrace.

“Nah,” he said patting me on the butt, something I really didn’t appreciate, but remembering it was something we used to do as teenagers, I let it slip. “You’re still a baby. Hey Maggie,” he boomed once again, earning some glares from the other patrons. “Look who’s here!”

“Baby!” She shrieked so loud that I was sure at least half the continent knew I was back in town. Not that anyone cared, besides the handful of highschool friends currently huddled around a pool table in this rather rural bar.

Maggie almost tackled me, hugging me so tight it almost hurt. “Oh my god, you changed so much,” she said, running her hand through my hair. “I see you prefer it more natural these days. Is that the trend in New York?” she said, and I could sense a weird note in her voice. She twirled a bleach blonde curl around her finger and went to kiss her husband. She was still the same as always: bleached hair, tiny shorts and a crop top revealing a perfect abdomen that didn’t show any signs of the three children she’d given birth to in the past ten years. But she had always been the athletic one, head cheerleader and all that, and although I envied her sometimes, I was much too lazy to try and be like her.

“I don’t think anyone cares how you look like in New York. No one really looks at you,” I replied, shrugging.

“Is that why you came back?” I always knew there was a sense of bitterness that Maggie was left with after I went to university, but I had hoped it would be old news by now. Apparently not.

Maggie and I have known each other since we were in diapers. She lived a few houses down the road and we spent all our childhood together. She had always been incredibly beautiful and bubbly and fun and everyone loved her, so it was a given that she’d be very popular. She was a cheerleader all throughout high school, got herself a quarterback boyfriend (that she later married) and because I was her best friend I ended up with the popular kids too. And for the most part I really tried to blend in. I dyed my hair and wore short skirts, flirted with whomever was available, I even tried to join the cheerleader squad, but after face planting and breaking my nose, I decided it just wasn’t for me.

However, during senior year I realized that the small town we were living in wasn’t what I wanted. I dreamed of the big cities, full of opportunities and exciting jobs and interesting people and all that. I was tired of seeing the same old faces every day, the same two bars that sold cheap booze and the same bleak future for all of us. I told her this and started applying to out of state universities.

She was hurt. I know she had imagined that we’d both live here all our lives, get married and have children that would be best friends like we were before them. She used to daydream about this when we were little, we’d buy houses next to each other and we wouldn’t have a fence, just a big garden where we would both drink our coffee in the morning. So I understand why she would feel betrayed by my departure.

But this was never my dream. I always felt like this place was too boring and that I could do so much better. So I studied hard, applied to universities and was finally accepted to NYU, and since then I lived in New York for more than a decade. However, when I was just a teenager dreaming of big cities, I never imagined how hard living in one would actually be.

“Nope,” I said, shrugging. “It’s the money. Couldn't afford living in New York anymore.”

There was no reason to lie to her, or to anyone for that reason. Finding a job in my current field was hard so I had to resort to teaching jobs for the past few years, and the pay wasn’t so good. That coupled with my student loans, other random loans and rent, left me with very little for expenses, not to mention such luxuries and new clothes and internet. I felt really embarrassed having to borrow money from my parents just to live, even though they were always loving and helpful, so when I heard that the community college near my hometown had an opening for an assistant job in my field, I was happy to come back and not starve in New York. Big cities are way less glamorous when you’re homeless.

“It’s always the money, eh?” she said, and her eyes were a little softer, like she understood. With the current economy, she must have struggled at some point too. “You live in your old house, right? Too bad we sold my family house after my dad passed away, otherwise we’d still be neighbours,” she laughed.

“We’re not that far away. A short drive and we can visit anytime.”

“I know! I’m so happy that you’re back! Can’t wait to tell you all the new gossip!” She sounded so excited that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I just didn’t give a shit about any sort of rumours. One other thing that I really didn’t miss about small towns: the gossip.

“Hey babe,” Jake cut in. “Where are our drinks?”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry,” she apologized with a distracted smile. “I was about to get drinks when you showed up and I completely forgot why I went to the bar in the first place. What can I get you?”

“Uhh, a beer is fine. I can’t stay long anyway. I’m waiting for someone to deliver my fridge.”

“At this hour?” asked Jake.

“They got lost somehow. I don’t know, I just want my fridge, so my food doesn’t spoil anymore and I can have cool drinks once again,” I said, thinking at how the past week had been torture. I could easily live without the luxury of an AC, but living without a fridge was too much for me.

With the corner of my eye I could see Maggie returning, precariously holding too many beer bottles. I thought I’d help her, but the bartender had already gone around the bar and was taking a couple of bottles from her hands, making sure she arrived with them all in one piece. She shot him one of her trademark winks and I couldn’t help but laugh. One marriage and three kids later and she was still cheekily flirting with everyone.

“Hey fuckface!” Jake yelled, startling me. Confused, I had to look around to see who he was referring to. Following his extended index, it seemed that he meant the bartender. “You stay away from my wife! You hear me, stay away!”

Right. He’d always had a jealousy problem that didn’t seem to have gotten any better over the years. It was another thing I was glad I didn’t have to deal with while living in New York. As it seemed, I was already starting to regret moving back. Or at least, trying to mend relationships with my old friends. I guess distance wasn’t the only reason we lost touch.

“Come on, babe, he’s just trying to help,” she said appeasingly, and somehow I didn’t think this would help de-escalate the situation, so I hurried to take the bottles from the bartender’s hand so he could go back to where he wasn’t perceived as a threat by Jake.

“Thanks!” I said, looking up at him. He was a really tall and broad man, even taller than Jake, but he didn’t have the same intimidating stance. Maybe because his eyes looked soft, or because his face held a certain gentleness. “And sorry, my friend is a bit of a hothead,” I tried apologizing, hoping it would all stop here.

“It’s ok,” he said in a low, beautiful voice, that I had to admit kinda tickled my fancy. However, before I could say anything else he turned on his heels and went back behind the bar.

In the meantime, Jake was still yelling profanities, although by the tone of his voice he was more mocking than angry. “Jake, stop it for fuck’s sake,” I said, passing the beers along, and taking a sip from my own bottle, quite certain that more alcohol wasn’t the best idea, but I wasn’t their mother. “He didn’t touch her, he just wanted to help her with the beers that’s all. Leave him alone.”

“You’re still such a baby,” he laughed and I snorted. “You didn’t see how he was staring at her, the fucking creep.”

That made me look over to the bar. The bartender was making himself busy with something behind the counter but when he lifted his eyes, he did have and intense gaze, one that could possibly be mistaken for staring by an inebriated hothead. “I don’t think he meant anything by it,” I said, prying my eyes from the tall man. “Anyway, how are you all doing?” I said, trying to shift the subject, because I really didn’t want to be part of a bar brawl.

“Jake’s right, he’s always been a weirdo,” said Peter finally leaving the game of pool to join the conversation. “Staring creepily at all the pretty girls he couldn’t have. Cause he’s an ugly ass nerd.”

“Oh shut up!” I hissed, getting increasingly irritated. They spoke loudly like they wanted him to hear. I just wanted to spend a pleasant night out with my old friends, not to watch them belittle someone else.

“He’s kinda right, Baby,” Maggie said, apologetically. “He was always a bit weird. Not talking to anyone, that sort of thing. He was always ogling at us in highschool.”

“Do I know him?” I asked, trying to put a name to the face.

“Maybe. Yeah, probably, he was a year or two older than us. Clyde Logan.” The name didn’t ring a bell. “Jimmy Logan’s younger brother?”

“Ohhh!” I glanced towards him again trying to see if he looked familiar. He didn’t, and definitely didn’t resemble his brother at all. “Was he really in highschool with us? I don’t remember him.”

“‘Course not, Baby only had eyes for the great Jimmy Logan,” Peter said in a mocking tone, and I could feel the old bitterness was still there. He’d asked me out multiple times during highschool, and I always turned him down, but that had nothing to do with my everlasting and very well known crush on Jimmy Logan.

“Well, Jimmy’s single now,” Maggie informed me with a wink. “Not sure you’d like him anymore, now that he isn’t a star quarterback.”

“Wasn’t he going to marry Bobbie Jo?” I asked out of pure curiosity. Jimmy Logan hadn’t been on my mind for ages now so this conversation seemed weird.

“They broke up a long time ago. She’s married to some car dealer now. They have a kid together though.”

“I see,” was my only input.

“Bobbie Jo’s smart, she wouldn’t stay with a loser like him,” Jake laughed.

“Besides, people say the Logans are cursed.”

“Why would they say that?” I said, looking from Jake to Maggie, feeling more and more like I’m gonna regret this outing.

“Cause, you know,” she started explaining, “both their parents died, Jimmy fucked up his career because of his leg…”

“And this one lost his fucking arm in Iraq.”

Only after they pointed it out did I notice the plastic prosthetic strapped to his arm. I took my time to actually look at him, since he seemed busy behind the bar and not looking up. He did everything with only one arm, with more dexterity than I would have been able to, with both arms intact. There was this air of sadness on his long face, the corners of his mouth slightly curling downwards. I felt really sorry for him, being in a warzone is tough and coming back with permanent injuries is even tougher. I didn’t really want to know the mental trauma that came with it.

He suddenly looked up, meeting my gaze so I smiled and looked away, hoping he wasn’t too weirded out that I was staring at him. Given the shit he probably heard from my so called friends, he probably was.

“They say he’s lucky, he could have died that day,” Maggie continued, and I was starting to feel exhausted by this conversation. Not because I didn’t want to find out more about Clyde Logan, quite the opposite, but I was pretty sure we were close enough for him to be able to listen in. And none of them made an effort to keep their voice down. “But living with only one arm feels more like a curse to me.”

“He’s lucky alright,” Jake laughed loudly, and I feared the worst. “He’s lucky cuz he lost his left arm and he’s still got something to jerk off with,” he said, loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Clyde only looked up for a second, then went back to what he was doing.

“For fuck’s sake, stop it already,” I pleaded with Jake, now knowing full well that this meeting was a mistake.

“Well maybe he likes jerking off with the plastic hand,” Peter added, making an obscene gesture with his hand and I snapped.

“Jesus fucking Christ what’s wrong with you guys?”

“Relax, Baby! We’re just having a little fun.”

“This is definitely not fun!”

“What is it,” Jake said, placing an arm around my shoulders that I promptly shook off, “did New York steal your sense of humour along with your accent?”

He had such a stupid sneer on his face that I wanted nothing more that to punch him in the teeth. “I didn’t lose my sense of humour,” I snarled, “but never, no matter how stupid or drunk we were during high school, would we stoop so low as to mock a disabled person. And I’m not gonna start doing it now. Not gonna be part of this.”

“Baby, please, come on, he didn’t mean anything by it. You know how Jake gets when he drinks, he’s always been a jokester,” Maggie tried to salvage the situation, but it was too late for that.

“Sorry,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket, “I think my refrigerator’s here. I have to run. I’ll see you all around, I guess.” I turned on my heels and went to the bar to pay for my beer.

Clyde Logan handed me the change with the same unfazed if a little sad look on his face and I had to wonder if he was just so used to this kind of abuse that he just didn’t give a shit anymore.

“I’m not disabled, you know,” he said, and I felt my heart sink to the depths of hell. “I’m just… I’m just missing a hand, that’s all.”

He looked me in the eye for a second and there was so much sadness in that brief glance that it almost broke my heart. It filled me with shame that I had somehow contributed to that.

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean…”

“It’s ok,” he said, but his voice was strained. He turned his back to me and I wanted to cry.

I almost ran out of the bar and climbed into my car. I let out a prolonged wail of anger and shame as I repeatedly banged my head on the steering wheel. This wasn’t how I planned on moving back to my old hometown. I really wanted to pass unnoticed and live peacefully in the countryside for as long as I’d be here. Have a garden. Maybe get a dog at some point, when I’d feel I could be responsible for a life other than my own.

I didn’t want to realize that my highschool friends were shit and that probably I had been shit for being friends with them. I didn’t want to hurt the cute bartender’s feelings especially since he was a veteran and his voice was so soft. The only thing I wanted to do was crawl under a rock with a working refrigerator and spend the rest of my life hibernating.

I mentally said goodbye to the Duck Tape before I drove away, because I sure as hell wouldn’t step in that bar ever again.

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#clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #logan lucky #clyde logan x oc

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newenglandcus · 4 years

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Kitchen Remodeling Contractor Amherst Small Bathroom Remodel Contact: +16032621715

They are making a few great points on small bathroom remodel in general in the article further down.

Basic Answers On Rapid Programs For bath remodeling companies

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Sweet Harmony

THE OLD SAYING that good fences make good neighbors just isn’t true in the Hostess City, where Southern hospitality means more than just lip service. This was certainly the case for Jeff and Cindy Holker, whose across-the-street neighbor, architect Joye Reno, oversaw a full renovation of their Richmond Hill vacation home.

The Holkers selected Reno for her prowess rather than her proximity, but given that the recent Savannah transplants remained in their home state of Minnesota until the project was complete, Reno’s locale was fortuitous. “I could just walk across the street and check on things,” she says. “I was happy to offer that peace of mind for them.”Such neighborly warmth is part of what drew the Holkers to the Savannah area in the first place. “Friends in Minneapolis looked at us like we were crazy. They said, ‘why don’t you go to Phoenix where it’s 85 degrees every day?’ But Savannah brings good food, good culture, it’s on the water, and the people are great,” Jeff Holker says, noting that his wife’s interest in Civil War history and his love for golf and tennis made for an exceptionally good fit.

While the Holkers dreamed of a vacation home for several years, things fell into place quickly when they toured a three bedroom, three-and-a-half bathroom cottage in

The Ford Plantation in 2017.

It was the second house they looked at, and it had potential in spades: a wide front porch and workable floor plan, an enviable lot backing up onto a public garden, and moss-draped oaks on view from every window. “It’s the sweetest little house,” Reno says, but the homeowners felt (and she agrees) that the interiors “were just kind of blah.”

Reno and interior designer Linda Engler, who has worked with the Holkers on previous projects, spent seven months remodeling the home, infusing a coastal aesthetic and amplifying its secret garden-like charm while also honoring the Holkers’ modern tastes. “The shiplap is a great example, because it has a very precise delineation,” Reno says. “If you look at historic shiplap, it kind of weaves and changes, but instead we made it modern, with clean, sharp lines, and we used it both horizontally and vertically.”

https://www.savannahmagazine.com/sweet-harmony/

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Home Remodeling to Hold Strong Despite Coronavirus

According to survey by LightStream, despite the financial and economical hardships the coronavirus has caused, homeowners are still enthusiastic about improving their living spaces.

While it may seem counterintuitive, a recently completed survey by private loan company LightStream has shown that homeowners are still willing to renovate and remodel their homes during the ongoing coronavirus outbreak. According to LightStream, nearly three out of four homeowners (73%) are planning renovations this year—down only slightly from the company’s January 2020 Home improvement Trends Survey (77%).

In fact, homeowners are continuing or expanding projects (57%) at more than twice the rate of those who are cutting back or canceling altogether (23%).

As a result of the coronavirus, digital conferencing, family video calls and online happy hours have become an integral part of the new normal. In just four months, Zoom’s daily meeting participants jumped from 10 million to more than 300 million. With so many people opening their virtual doors to friends, family and coworkers, many are reevaluating their space.

LightStream recently conducted a home improvement pulse survey through Wakefield Research and found that two-thirds of American homeowners have a part of their house they just don’t like. Additionally, of those who have ever made a video call in their home, 64% have been embarrassed to show parts of their home, including the kitchen and bathroom (each at 20%) and the garage, basement and outdoors (each at 16%). No surprise to anyone who has been working from home with kids: 80% of parents are feeling this way versus 55% of non-parents.

After months of spending nearly all their time with roommates or loved ones, some homeowners indicated that they are ready for some intra-house social distancing. More than a third (36%) reported a lack of personal space in their home, with Millennials feeling the most cramped (62%) compared to Gen Xers (44%) and Baby Boomers (20%). And once again, parents are feeling the squeeze more than non-parents, with 57% reporting they are unable to get personal space compared to 25% of non-parents.

“As a result of COVID-19 shutdowns that closed offices, businesses, schools and more, self-isolation has forced Americans to take a much closer look at their homes,” says Todd Nelson, senior vice president of strategic partnerships at LightStream.

With summer approaching, nearly half of those planning home improvement projects plan to tackle outdoor projects (49%), followed by home repairs (35%), bathrooms (33%) and kitchens (32%).

https://www.cepro.com/news/home-remodeling-hold-strong-coronavirus-outbreak/

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Building Your Better Mousetrap With Better Home Improvement Advice

Keep your home improvement projects simple and organized with the helpful information in this article. You can never go wrong with making improvements to you home, you just need to know the best ways to do them in order to get the most from your money, and really, who doesn`t need to stretch a dollar these days?

Lampshades of simple structure and design are quite a bore. Get cheap stencils at the crafts store, an ink pad or acrylic paint, and try dabbing the designs around the shade. Doing this will add personality to your room and take away from your boring lampshades.

Seriously reconsider adding a swimming pool to your backyard. A pool can be an enjoyable addition to a home. What some people fail to realize is that they are also very expensive. Not only are there the initial costs to consider, there is also the cost of regular upkeep. Make sure you have the money and time required, to keep your pool area from falling into disrepair, before you spend the money on it.

When improving your house, there are some projects that you can do yourself and others that you cannot. If you feel like you can complete a simple task like repainting the kitchen, then by all means do it, in order to save yourself some extra money. Just be sure that you know what you`re getting yourself into before you start a project. You don`t want to try and remodel your bathroom and find out half way through that you`re not sure if you can complete the task without hitting a pipeline.

If you are looking for a functional home improvement project, try "building up." Walls create a lot of wasted space. Add matching bookcases in your living room or build a window seat where your family can sit and read. Simple projects like these can make every space in your home usable and valuable to your family.

With the housing market still being so depressed, it can seem like a waste of money to even do any remodeling on your home. But the truth of the matter is that buyers are still expecting a certain level of updates in the homes that they purchase. Following these tips will ensure that you have what buyers want.

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lobsters-on-their-heads · 7 years

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Welcome to Clone Club Chapt. 4: Cosima’s parents

<i>Cosima inducts her parents into Clone Club.

Link to the entire work here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12073659?view_full_work=true</i>

By choice, Sally and Gene lived as off-the-grid as possible when they were out to sea, which meant no internet and no phone calls except for absolute emergencies, which came in through their emergency cell. They had been out for five weeks this time, keeping in visual contact with a colleague's boat and studying marine habitats off the California and Oregon coasts. The trip had its bittersweet moments, as Gene's health was declining and they weren't sure how many more trips they could take. Sally had emailed Cosima a year ago, telling her about Gene's prostate surgery and how the doctors wanted him to stay closer to land because his blood pressure wasn't great and they worried about his heart. Cosima hadn't responded.

She's probably busy, Sally thought. She remembered her own graduate days – the sleepless nights in the lab, the last minute runs to the copy/print center, the camaraderie with other graduate students and younger professors. Maybe she has a new girlfriend. If she did, Sally hoped she was a good one. She'd lost count of the number of girls Cosima had dated, and those were only the ones Sally knew about. While a part of her applauded her daughter's romantic success, in recent years she had developed an on-going refrain: Just find a nice girl, Cosima. Find a nice girl who makes you happy for more than a couple of months. Someone you can settle down with.

It wasn't even about grandchildren. Sally's sister Margaret had five grandchildren now, and her brother had ten, but Sally had never entertained much hope of having any herself. Cosima was wonderful with children, but Sally suspected her daughter didn't want any of her own. Sally just wanted Cosima to have someone to take care of her, to give her the kind of life-long happiness and support that she and Gene gave each other. She wasn't necessarily worried about her; she just wanted the best for her.

A few weeks after emailing her, she called Cosima's cell phone, only to hear that the number was disconnected. She emailed again, this time sending the message to Cosima's UMN account as well as her personal account. Still, there was no response. This was unusual. Sally and Gene were not always easy to get a hold of, but Cosima usually responded to emails and phone calls within a couple of days. She's just busy, Sally told herself.She was so excited to transfer to Minnesota, she doesn't need her mother bothering her. And then she and Gene were out to sea again, off the grid.

For Thanksgiving, she and Gene went up to Sacramento to visit her sister Margaret's family. All three of Margaret's children were there, with their spouses and children, and all of them asked after Cosima.

“Oh, she's just so busy,” Sally said.

“We invited her to come,” Gene said, “but she never got back to us. I think she must've gotten eaten by the lab up there.” He laughed, but Sally knew he was worried.

Margaret's son Josh frowned. “It's not like her not to reply, though.” He and Cosima were born only a few weeks apart, and often joked that they should have been siblings. Once he could separate himself from the family crowd long enough, he took out his cell phone. Over his shoulder, Sally saw him checking Facebook, and she was about to scold him until he turned to her and showed her the screen. “Did Cosima delete her Facebook?”

“Oh, I don't know. You know we don't do social media.”

“Yeah, but she does. Or she did. She's not listed in my friends anymore, and there are no search results for Cosima Niehaus. I checked a couple mutuals, and she's not listed in their friends, either.”

“Well, you know, a lot of people are getting off Facebook these days. It's not healthy, I think, to be on there too much anyway.”

That night, in their bed at the Best Western near Margaret's house, Sally and Gene stared up at the ceiling. “Don't worry too much about her,” Gene said. “She's young. She's allowed to go wandering once in a while without telling anyone.”

She wondered how much he was trying to convince himself. “She's thirty-two,” she reminded him. “She's not as young as she used to be.”

“Thirty-two is still young. And she's curious. Maybe she found a great project that took her around the world, and she just hasn't gotten the chance to tell us about it, yet? Remember when she went off to Iceland for a semester, and didn't tell us until she came back?”

Of course she remembered. “What if something's happened to her, though?”

“If something really bad had happened, the school would have called us. We're listed as her emergency contacts. No news is.... not necessarily bad news.”

That was in November. In March they'd sent Cosima a birthday card with a check for $200, but the post office returned it. Now it was late July and Sally sat in her favorite cafe in Fisherman's Wharf, sipping a chai latte and eating quiche as she sorted through the hundreds of emails that had accumulated during their voyage. Most were garbage. A few were from past students, asking for recommendations or research help, which she was happy to give. A few more were from colleagues, co-authors, academic journals, and assorted scientists invested in her work. She had just deleted a few dozen emails when she paused, cursor over the little trashcan, when she saw the subject on the next email. Hi Mom. Suddenly wide awake, she opened the message and read it a few times, surprised by the tears pricking her eyes.

Hi Mom,

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've been in touch. Things have been pretty crazy here. There's a lot that I want to catch you up on, but I'd rather do it in person. I'm in Latin America right now, on a research trip, but I'll be in Toronto for Christmas. I'd love it if you guys could come up to see me. There's some people I want you to meet, too.

I hope to see you soon.

Love,

Cosima

A research trip in Latin America. Well, that was a thousand times better than all of the horrible scenarios Sally had played in her mind over the past several months to explain Cosima's silence, but it didn't quite match with what she knew of Cosima's PhD studies in evolutionary biology. Or did it?Maybe she's in the Galapagos, she thought, looking at tortoises. Or studying the physiology of remote tribes in the Amazon.

She emailed back immediately, saying that they would love to see her in Toronto for Christmas, and could Cosima please tell them which dates to buy the plane tickets for. Normally they spent Christmas with Gene's family in Orange County, but after not hearing from her daughter for a year and a half, and not seeing her in person for a little longer, Sally Niehaus would happily fly to eastern Canada in December.

* * *

They only got Cosima's new phone number the day before they flew out to see her. For all the months prior, Cosima insisted on communicating by email only, and in those emails she'd said next to nothing about herself or what she was up to these days, except that she was doing well. Sally's questions about what she was doing in Latin America, or Toronto for that matter, went unanswered, but Cosima said she was sorry to hear about Gene's health problems and happy to hear about their recent sea trips. Cosima said she missed them and couldn't wait to see them again. Anything else, Sally supposed, would have to wait.

The trip to Toronto was predictably miserable. The Niehauses were boat people, not plane people, and the changes in air travel since they'd last flown in the 1990s did not improve their feelings towards it. If they were flying for any other reason, Gene would have griped the entire time, and Sally might have found a way out of it, but on the trip, they just looked at each other, squeezed each other's hands, and smiled.

At the airport, they had to contend with hordes of other people traveling for the holidays or winter break, and by the time they'd gotten their luggage and passed through the doors warning that one could not re-enter except through security, they were emotionally cooked.

And then, standing there amongst the people holding signs with names or bouquets of Welcome Home balloons, was Cosima.

She wore her red wool coat she'd had in Minnesota the one time they'd visited her there. She still had dreadlocks, bound up at the crown of her head, and thick-framed glasses, and when she saw her parents she still gave that big toothy smile that Sally would know anywhere. They hugged and Sally kissed her cheek and Cosima took their largest suitcase, and soon they were outside in the frigid Toronto winter. Cosima had a car, a light blue Toyota Yaris, that they piled into and which Cosima did not seem totally comfortable driving.

“It's a rental,” she explained. “We just got back two days ago, and we're only gonna be here for a month or two, so we're just renting whenever we need to, or taking Ubers.”

We. Sally did not miss the plural pronoun, and from the look in Gene's eye, neither did he. Instead of asking about that, though, she asked, “Are you going back to Latin America, then?”

“Um, no, actually. Probably Israel. Maybe Morocco. We haven't decided yet.”

“I see...” She did not see. “What kind of research are you doing, exactly, that takes you all over the world like this? I hope you're getting some kind of funding for it.”

“Oh, yeah, we have a, um, a pretty generous donor. Money's not really an object, thankfully.”

The first question, Sally noticed, went unanswered. Was this going to be a trend, then? Cosima hiding things, avoiding topics, being vague? “What brings you to Toronto, then?” she asked. “Does Minnesota have a program up here?”

“Oh,” Cosima said, “it's not through the university.”

“Who is it through, then?” Irritation threatened at the front of her brain, but she reminded herself to stay calm.

“We, um...” Cosima scratched her head. She was focused on the road, but Sally got the feeling that she wouldn't have made eye contact even if she weren't driving. “We have a nonprofit foundation that handles the finances and administrative aspects.”

“Mmhm.” Sally turned to look at her husband in the back seat. He was frowning, watching Cosima drive.

“You're being awfully vague, Cos,” he said, not unkindly. “Don't think we haven't noticed.”

Cosima navigated her way through a brief construction zone before answering him. “I know,” she said finally. “There's a lot. A lot that I need to tell you guys. I just want to do it face-to-face, okay? Like, when I'm not driving.”

“Okay.”

“Whatever it is,” Sally said, laying her hand on Cosima's shoulder, “I don't want you to be afraid to tell us. We'll always love you, you know that.”

Cosima half-smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “I know. I love you, too.”

* *

Their hotel was near a residential section of Toronto, near a park that must be beautiful in the summer. Cosima helped them carry their luggage up and waited while they settled into the suite that she had reserved for them. The suite had a couch, coffee table, and arm chair. When Sally emerged from the bedroom, Cosima was staring out the window, fidgeting with one of her rings and frowning.

“Gene'll be out in a minute,” she said, standing beside her daughter. “Is there anything that you don't want him to know just yet?” She kept her voice low, just in case.

“No,” Cosima said. “I want to tell both of you.”

They made some tea in the little pot they found in the kitchenette, then sat around the coffee table in the living area. Cosima was nervous; Sally hadn't seen her this nervous since high school. She reached over and took Cosima's hand and squeezed it. “Why don't you tell us what's going on? You'll feel better after you do.”

After a deep breath, Cosima began. “Do you remember,” she said, “when you got pregnant with me?”

Pregnant? Sally's eyes widened, and she nodded, still holding her daughter's hand. “Of course I do.”

“You got in vitro because you couldn't get pregnant, and you had to try a couple different clinics, or doctors or whatever.”

“That's right.”

“And they talked you through the whole process, about how they combined your cells in the lab and implanted them into you, and that I was just as much yours as if you'd made me naturally.”

“Yes....” If Cosima was trying to tell them that she was pregnant, she was doing it in an awfully round-about way. But maybe that wasn't what she was trying to say at all. She remembered then one of her last conversations with Cosima, before Cosima vanished into the ether and stopped returning calls and emails. Cosima had asked for more information about the clinic her parents had used to conceive her. She'd gotten blood and hair samples from both of them, saying she was going to run a genetic test. Sally squeezed her hand again. “You are ours, sweetie, no matter how... scientific the process of getting you was. You know that better than anyone, I would think, considering your background.”

Cosima looked down at the coffee table and scratched her forehead, then her nose, then her ear. “Yeah, that's kinda what I want to talk about.”

There was another pause. “We've told you everything we can about all that,” Gene said. “We can tell you again, but there's nothing new.”

“I found out something.” Cosima looked back up at them now, her jaw set. “Just before I moved to Minnesota. I found out that, when they said they used your cells to make an embryo, to make me, they lied.” Now she looked directly at her mother. “Whatever they did with your cells, they didn't put them back inside you. They used you as an unknowing donor in an illegal science experiment, and I was the result of that.”

Out of all of the things Sally had expected Cosima to say, that wasn't any close to any of them. “A science experiment?” she repeated.

“Yes.” Cosima took a deep, shuddering breath. “In human cloning.”

In the silence that followed, the heater turned itself on, filling the room with whirrs and clatters, and outside an emergency siren went by. Down the hall someone closed a door and called out to someone else. Cosima's parents just stared at her.

“I know it sounds weird,” Cosima said. “But it's true. I've seen all the evidence, I've run the tests myself, I've met the people who started the experiment and some of the ones who kept it going for years and years and years without making it public. I can prove it to you if you let me.”

Gene shifted on the couch, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “Human cloning? That's not possible. I've never seen any research that backs up that possibility. I mean, organs, maybe, but...”

“I know, and neither had I, because they kept it all under such tight wraps, but it was there. I've seen it.”

“So you're saying that you're a clone?” Sally asked.

“Yes.”

She took another moment to digest that. Whenever she imagined human clones, she pictures some science fiction android-type creatures who looked like lacked everything that made humans, well, human. That, or she imagined that terrible Michael Keaton movie from the 90s.

“And there are... others?” Sally ventured. “Other... clones?”

“Yes. There are 274 of us still living, that we know of. Some of them live here in Toronto; that's why I'm here, actually. We're, uh... doing Christmas together.” She smiled at that, and Sally imagined a room full of Cosimas sitting around a tree, with identical dreadlocks and red coats.

“You'll have to forgive me, sweetie,” Sally said, “but that does seem a little farfetched.”

“I know, I know. It's totally crazy, but it's true.”

“How did you find out about all this?” Gene asked. “If it's some top secret illegal experiment?”

Cosima sat up straight and adjusted her glasses, preparing to launch into a spiel. “Well, one of the clones here in Toronto, Beth Childs, contacted me about two years ago. She'd been contacted by a German woman who thought we might all be clones, so Beth ran a facial-recognition test though the driver's license records in Canada and the US. She found me and another woman living close to Toronto, and she contacted both of us. Once we'd met, it became pretty obvious that we were at least related, and I ran some genetic tests that proved that we were identical.”

That's why she wanted our hair and blood. She never said a word about this, though... “Two years ago? That's when you changed your research focus.”

“Yes. And that's why. I did the scientific work to find out where we all came from, Beth did the detective work, and Alison provided the funds.”

Another silence followed, and Sally looked over to her husband. By the frown on his face, she could tell he wasn't buying it. She remembered the episode of This American Life she'd heard, about people with delusional disorders. “But Cosima,” she said, “you look like me. Everyone says so.”

“I know, but that's... that's just chance. They probably chose you as a donor because you matched the physical profile. Plus, there's all kind of epigenetic and environmental factors that influence how we look and how we perceive each other and ourselves, and social expectations definitely play a role, too. People want me to look like you because I'm your daughter, and they see what they want to see. You see what you want to see.”

Sally leaned forward and looked at Cosima's face. Their eyes and hair were the same color, and her cheeks were rounded in the same way Sally's were. Even when she tried, it was impossible not to see a child that Sally herself had created when she looked at Cosima. She shook her head. “It's too hard to believe. I'm sorry.”

Cosima nodded. Maybe she had expected that response. “I understand. Are you open to some convincing, though?”

“That depends,” Gene said, “what kind of convincing?”

“Well, I'd like for you to meet my sisters.”

Sisters. When Cosima was born, Sally had been in her late thirties, and she'd spent nearly a decade trying to have a child. They'd been over the moon to have Cosima, but could not put themselves through any more stress to try having another child. It had hurt knowing Cosima would never have siblings. “Your sisters,” Sally repeated.

“Yeah, that's what we call each other. We're genetic identicals, so it fits, and we've gotten pretty close over the past two years.”

“All 274 of you?” Gene asked.

“Oh, no, just the ones who live close by. I mean, we're all sisters, but I was referring to just a few.”

They leaned back and thought about it. Looking at her daughter's face, Sally was reminded of when Cosima came out of the closet, aged fourteen, and so desperately wanted her parents to support her. They had, of course; there had been no surprise in her coming out. Sally leaned over and again took the hands of her daughter, now aged thirty-two, and repeated what she'd told her then. “No matter what, you are still our daughter, and we love you more than anything in this world.”

That afternoon, Cosima drove them several blocks east, into an old neighborhood of brick duplexes shaded by oak trees. The contrast in Cosima's demeanor between now and earlier in the day was striking. Where she had been stiff and withdrawn before, now she was relaxed and chatty. “Normally we'd be at Alison's house,” she said. “But they had a pipe burst a couple days ago, so we're celebrating at Sarah's house instead. It's actually a lot more convenient. Well, for us anyways.”

Cosima parked behind red minivan and they all got out. As they approached the house, they heard music playing and people talking, and suddenly Sally was nervous. “It's okay,” Cosima said. “You'll like everybody.”

The woman who answered the door was not Cosima's look-alike, and yet she was. Her face was shaped the same as Cosima's, but her expression was different. Her eyes had the wide-eyed wonder of a child, underneath a mass of curly blonde hair. “Hello Doctor and Doctor Niehaus,” she said. “Welcome to Christmas.” She stood aside to let them all in.

Cosima put her hand on the woman's shoulder and introduced her. “Mom, Dad, this is my sister Helena.”

Sally and Gene shook her hand and allowed her to take their coats. Cosima was beaming, like Helena proved the clone theory. Sally did not tell her that, based on appearance, Helena was probably just her regular sister at best, taken from a separate embryo created during their IVF process and given to another mother, but not her clone. They were ushered into the living room, where two more Cosima-ish women waited. There was Alison, with purple streaked hair and a fleece jacket Cosima would never be caught dead in, and Sarah, who admittedly did look quite a bit like Cosima.

“Well, it's very nice to meet you all,” Sally managed. Gene nodded and muttered something that might've been agreement.

In a little playpen were two baby boys playing with stuffed animals, and Sally skirted the awkward meeting by going over to them while Gene complimented the Christmas tree. Outside, there seemed to be more children playing in the back yard. Behind her, one of them women said, “Cosima, your parents are handling this so well. You remember what my mother said, don't you?”

“No, actually. What did she say?”

“Well, first she didn't believe you're my clone. She still says we're half-sisters. Then she said you were mulatto.”

Cosima laughed at that, and Sally felt her face burn.

A door in the kitchen opened up to the backyard and an elementary-aged girl stepped inside just long enough to see Cosima and her parents. Then she turned back and yelled, “They're here!” Soon the population density of the house doubled, with four children, three men, and a tall blonde woman who definitely wasn't one of Cosima's clones. They were all flushed and bundled from playing outside, and for a moment chaos reigned as children were told to take off boots, hats, and coats, where to put them, and everyone figured out where to put themselves without being in the way. Sally was trying to figure out which children belonged to which adults when one of the girls unwrapped her scarf, removed her hat, and Sally almost had to sit down. Standing in this stranger's kitchen was Cosima, twenty years earlier. She even had pigtails.

“Yeah,” Cosima said, seeing her mother's face. “That's Charlotte. She's the youngest one of us.”

“She looks just like you. I mean, exactly like you.” She reached out to touch the girl, but caught herself in time. This child was not Cosima, but she could definitely be Cosima's clone.

More introductions followed, and relationships were clarified. Oscar and Gemma, and their father Donnie, went with Alison. The babies went with Helena. The bubbly little girl with curly hair was Kira, Sarah's daughter. There was Sarah's brother Felix and his boyfriend Colin.

“And this is Delphine,” Cosima said last, “my fiancée.”

Before Gene or Sally to react to that, Alison spun around. “What?!” she shouted. “What, when... were you planning on telling us?”

Delphine smiled at Cosima and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Well, we wanted to tell you the other day.”

“But you had enough drama of your own,” Cosima finished. She was still watching her parents, holding her breath.

Sally approached her first, smiling broadly. “Well, Delphine, it's lovely to meet you. Finally, it seems.”

“Yes,” Gene chimed in, shaking her hand. “I would say welcome to the family, but that seems to be the other way around at the moment.”

Over a light dinner of sandwiches, Sally and Gene found themselves the center of attention. Charlotte and Kira wanted to know about their life at sea, Sarah wanted to hear about life in California, and everyone wanted to hear about Cosima as a child.

"It must be difficult," Alison said at one point, "to learn that she's not the child you thought she was."

It was a blunt was to put it, and a couple people raised their eyebrows at her. Next to Gene, Cosima looked at both of her parents, the anxiety creeping back into her face. Gene draped his arm over her shoulders, like he used to do when they sat on the couch together, looking at books. "It's unexpected," he said. "It'll take some time to wrap our heads around it."

"I think I would be angry," Alison went on. "I mean, I was angry when I found out that I was a clone. But in your position, I think I would be just..." She shook her head and drank some more wine, left speechless by the prospect.

Sally leaned around Gene to pat her daughter's back. "I'm not angry. I could be angry that they never told us. I mean, there could've been genetic issues that we wouldn't have known about, and genetic issues that we worried about without reason. But I'm not angry." She directed her next sentence to Cosima. "They gave us you."

All three of them had tears in their eyes. The larger family around the table gave them a moment before Felix scooted his chair back. "Well, that's about as much sap as I can handle in such a short time span. Anyone else want some of those Mexican chocolates this wonder child brought back for us?"

* *

After midnight, Cosima and Delphine sat wrapped in a comforter on Sarah's back porch, clutching hot mugs of cocoa with peppermint schnapps added. Cosima's parents were back in their hotel, and they had plans to get lunch, just the four of them, the next day, Christmas Eve. The Hendrixes had gone, the girls were in bed upstairs, Helena was taking care of the babies in the living room, and the back porch was the only place they could have any privacy.

“Well, I think that went well,” Cosima said.

Delphine tucked her hand between Cosima's thighs. “Yes, I think so.”

“They totally didn't believe me at first. Even after they met Sarah and Helena and Alison, it didn't really click with them. Not until they saw Charlotte.”

“It does make more compelling evidence. It will be strange when I finally see pictures of you a child, though.”

Cosima cocked her head. “You've never seen pictures of me as a kid?”

“No. I probably could have when I was at Dyad, but I never did.”

“Huh.” She drank some more schnapps cocoa and snuggled closer to Delphine. “Alison about shit herself when I called you my fiancée, did you see that?”

Delphine giggled. “Yes. I wasn't sure you would tell everyone like that, actually. She was more angry at Sarah, though, than at you.”

“Yeah, well, Sarah was just keeping her promise to let me tell everyone myself. She keeps her mouth shut when she needs to.”

“Certainly.”

They sat together in comfortable silence, listening to the breeze rustle the few remaining dead leaves on the trees and distant traffic going by. Cosima loved being with her sisters and her parents, but nothing was as good as being alone with Delphine. She toyed with her engagement ring. “Do you want me to change my name?” she asked Delphine.

“No? Why would I?”

“You know, when we get married. I could take your last name if you wanted me to.”

Laughter seasoned Delphine's words when she replied. “Do you want to have my last name?”

“I mean, I'd much rather have you, but I figured I'd put it out there.”

Delphine shook her head. “I want you to keep your name. Names are powerful, you know. They're a tremendous part of who we are.” After a pause, she asked, “Do you want me to change my name?”

“Nope. Then I couldn't call you Dr. Cormier anymore. Besides, there's already two doctor Niehauses, and if I finish my dissertaion, there will be one more. We don't really need a fourth one.”

#orphan black fanfiction #post-canon #welcome to clone club #cosima niehaus

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travisfuson · 7 years

Text

Storms of Twenty Seven

Just as the couple exited the restaurant, streetlights began to come to life. Their glow was dim at first, slowly growing to a bright shine. The sun had yet to fully set over the city, washing the street in an orange hue. “Thanks again, that was really fun,” the woman said while she fiddled nervously with her watch.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

“You know it’s still really early – we could catch a movie down by the pier?” She looked down from her watch to her date. He was looking at his phone. She could see over his shoulder that he was staring intently at his background. “I mean, I don’t work tomorrow morning, so….”

“Yeah, yeah.” he paused. “I don’t think… I think I don’t want to, exactly.” He put his phone in his pocket, examined the streetlights, and then looked up to her. Her heart began to sink to her shoes; she’d seen that look before.

“Oh, well, we could go back to my place and-“

“No, it’s, not, you know, it’s not the movie, it’s,” he fumbled with his words. He shifted his weight from the left foot to the right, and back to the left, planting it firmly. “You know, you’re really sweet and good looking, yeah?” She closed her eyes, gripping the strap on her purse, bracing for impact. “It’s like, you’re swell, yeah? Yeah and, like, you’re funny and, you know, you’re….” He trailed off. He could read her face through her curled lips and furrowed brow. He shifted back to his right foot and put his hand on his phone in his pocket. “I guess you know what I’m gonna say, then.”

“I just want to know why. I thought,” she clenched her eyes tighter for a moment before opening them. His stance was flimsy, noncommittal. A stiff breeze would send him over. “I thought we were doing well? The first date was good, wasn’t it? I thought it was good.”

“It was, you know? It – Sarah, you’re great. Really! You’re gonna find a guy, and I wanted to give it a try, but, you know…. And this has nothing to do with you, it’s me, it’s a me thing, but,” He tapped his toe on the ground and took his hand out of his pocket. “You know, it’s like….” He sighed, and scratched his head. He decided to rip it off like a band-aid. “You’re like six foot two, at least, you know? And that’s not in heels or anything. Like, it’s nothing wrong with you but, you know, it’s not for me, yeah?”

Sarah felt like she was hit square in the breadbasket. Her heart fell to her hips and the air got sucked from her chest. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, and it wasn’t the worst way she had been told, but that did little to dull the sting. She ran her hand up and down the strap of her purse. A car drove by and as it passed, a thick silence began to fall over the street. The man broke it again, shifting backwards a few steps. “I think it’s just best if we stop sooner rather than later, you know? I don’t want to hurt you or anything, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Cool.” He took another step backwards, starting to turn. “I’m really sorry. You’ll do great though. Have a good… you know, take care.” He turned and walked down the street briskly, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. Sarah stood there a few moments longer, watching where he went as the sun finally set, draping a dark blanket over the sky.

She let loose a heavy sigh, letting the weight of the conversation roll down from her shoulders. He had walked in the same direction as her apartment, and her superior stride would catch her up to him in no time. “I guess I’ll take the long way home.”

Gray clouds obscured the stars, and a gentle drizzle began to patter on the streets and rooftops of Red City. Sarah quickened her pace, determined to get home before the rain ruined her favorite dress. She ducked into the first convenience store she saw, hoping to wait out the sudden downturn in weather. It was a dingy little place with yellowed walls and cracked linoleum, and not another soul in sight. She grabbed two cans of wet cat food before setting them down, and picking up a single bag of the cheaper dry variety. She headed for the unmanned counter and waited. After a minute she began to wonder if anyone was actually there, and she turned her gaze around the store, peering over the shelves in search of the owner. “Hello? Is anyone here?” she called. There was no answer, and so she continued to wait. A newspaper stand beside her caught her eye, the front page featuring news from just the day before:

LOCAL HEROINE SUBDUES DOCTOR SUB! SEAFARER’S BRIDGE BOMB PLOT DIVERTED! The accompanying picture of a masked heroine holding a man dressed in an old-fashioned diver’s suit over the edge of a bridge was almost absurd. What must have been hundreds of pounds of man and metal were being held with one hand like a bag of groceries. Between the two of them, the woman was easily the more imposing of the two. But the crowd in the background was captured in a moment of thunderous applause, and the sub-header below read: IS MISS COBALT ON HER WAY TO BEING THE MOST POPULAR SUPERHERO OF THE YEAR?

The last line curled Sarah’s face into a crooked smile. She laid her money down on the counter, and carried the bag of cat food out in her arms, stepping into the rain. “Popular my ass.”

“Noodles! Noodles, mommy’s home!” Sarah entered her apartment sopping wet, closing the door with a foot and patting around on the wall for the light switch. The lights came up on the little one bedroom apartment which was sorely in need of cleaning. Dishes were scattered about, piling up on the coffee table and in the sink. “Tomorrow, definitely. Since I have no plans. Definitely.” She walked into the kitchen and opened the bag of food, pouring some into the dish on the counter. “Noodles you fat jerk, come say hello!” The sound of dry food clattering into the metal bowl roused the cat from slumber, tugging his chubby body out from under the couch. He lazily strode over to the counter, jumped and nearly missed, struggling to pull his generous backside up. He made a beeline for his dish, only to be stopped by a hand. “No, I said to say hello! I’ve been gone all day!” Sarah scooped up the cat in both hands, putting her face against his. “Haven’t you missed me even a little?”

Noodles had no response.

She sighed and set him back down on the counter, and he went to eating straight away. “You fat jerk, I know you love me. You could stand to show it once in a while though.” She leaned on the counter, her chin in one hand while the other stroked the cat’s behind. “I got dumped again today. I wasn’t even that much taller than this one. Four inches, max. And he was so nice, too.” Her eyes drifted to the rain against her window. “Not that nice, I guess, since he broke up with me for such a stupid reason. I mean, is it even dumped? Two dates, we weren’t really dating yet, right? Should I count this one?”

Noodles continued eating.

“I guess taking down my DateMe profile was too optimistic, huh? But I didn’t want to seem like I wasn’t going to be serious about him, you know? I wonder if he took his down when we set up our date.” She stood up straight, grabbing a dishtowel from on top of the refrigerator and tried to dry her hair. She squeezed the water from it, letting the towel drape over her eyes. “I guess I could start it up again, but would that seem too desperate? I’ve only been back on the market for an hour and a half.”

Noodles had finished his food and was halfway under the couch again, struggling to get his full belly through the opening.

Sarah watched in amusement, taking the dishtowel off her head and putting it back on the refrigerator. She shook her head at her cat and herself. “I’m asking my cat for his advice. I think I am desperate.” She went to her bedroom and slipped her dress off, letting it fall to the floor. “Matching underwear was also probably too optimistic.”

She looked in her mirror, hands on her hips. She thought she looked good, she really did – but the top of her head couldn’t quite fit in the full body mirror, and in that, she saw what almost every other boy from middle school to Dr. Sub said about her. Amazon. Giant. She-Devil. They were intimidated, and while she thought it was funny while she was younger, it was starting to wear her down by twenty-seven. She slipped into her pajamas, and looked at the clock. 7:25 PM. The trend was beginning to look like a way of life.

In the living room Sarah sat on her couch and opened her laptop. She navigated through a few pages until she brought herself back to her DateMe profile – an online site she had thought herself too good for in her early twenties was the driftwood she clung to in the storm of her later ones. With a few familiar clicks, she reactivated her profile. Welcome Back! The page read. “What a horrible thing to say at a site like this,” Sarah thought. “Ideally I wouldn’t ever be here after the first time.” Since you’ve been gone, please update your profile! She rolled her eyes. Two weeks time hadn’t given her time to make any drastic changes.

First, upload a picture of yourself! The previous picture she had used was of herself and her sister. She envied her little sister Mable – she didn’t get half the strength Sarah had been blessed with, but she did end up about eight inches shorter. Mable didn’t seem to have these sorts of problems, at least. She decided to change the picture to one taken of just her at a concert earlier that year. She was tired of getting messages asking if she was, “the giant one or not.”

How would you best describe yourself? Sarah paused, rolling over the question, feeling it was probably harder for her than for most women. At worst, most people needed to hide their bad habits like nail biting or drying their hair with dishtowels. Sarah had to carefully navigate the minefield of not announcing her secret identity. “Career driven. That sounds good and normal, right?”

Career driven, eh? Would you miss a date for work? Sarah clicked the affirmative without a second thought. Banks are rarely robbed at a convenient time, and doomsday plots don’t take rain checks.

What do you do for a living? She winced. “Ah, do I say… law enforcement? Would they be able to fact-check me on that? Could I get in trouble…? Oh, I know! Loss prevention! That’s sort of true!” She typed it in with renewed vigor. “Sounds kind of official that way.”

How important is money to you? Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. She looked up from her computer, and saw her tiny apartment illuminated by the bolt. She made ends meet working part time at a grocery store as, much to her dismay, heroic work is more of a non-profit lifestyle. She tried to wrap her head around how some of the other superheroes did, if they were living the same way she was, or if they had some sort of secret money-making strategy she hadn’t been let in on. She tried to consider the point of the question – to match her with people with similar answers. She didn’t need someone with a lot of money, and hopefully whoever she met wouldn’t expect a lot of money from her, either. “I guess not very important is the right answer.”

Is it okay to lie to your partner, if it’s just sometimes? This one gave her pause. She put her hands to her head, pressing her palms against her eyes. Miss Cobalt told everyone that honesty and hard work were the only ways to live your life, and if you did, you’d surely succeed. But the hypocrisy was never lost on her that she said that behind a mask. Was she not the biggest liar she knew? This part of her life she kept secret from everyone, even if by omission, was still a lie. She closed her laptop and set it on the coffee table. “I’ll… come back to that one.”

Sarah stood up and paced around her apartment, stepping over cat toys and discarded clothes. She walked to the window and watched the rain fall over the city. Lights from windows cut through the rain and illuminated snapshots of other people’s lives. Families gathered around television sets, a man having an animated argument on a video-chat, an elderly couple sharing a meal like they had so many countless nights before; Sarah envied them all, in some small way. The good and the bad, the people were living their lives connected to one another. Rain continued to patter on the window, growing in intensity.

A sharp ringing noise snapped her from her thoughts. She turned quickly, looking around the apartment. “Phone!” She instinctively ran towards her purse, darting to the door. “Not there, wait, where did I – Kitchen? No, wait, bedroom, bedroom! I’m coming!” she called out as the phone continued to ring. She went to the bedroom, rummaging through her purse, pulling out a bright blue cell phone. It was off, and she sighed with relief as the ringing continued. She set the blue phone aside, and pulled a second phone from her purse. The screen read in large bold letters: MOM. Sarah’s chest tightened up all at once again, and almost reluctantly, she put the phone to her ear. “Hello…?”

“Well! How did it go?” a cheery voice on the other end of the phone almost deafened Sarah. Too much exuberance to handle all at once, she pulled the phone from her ear and switched it to the opposite side. “How was the date with Clyde? It was Clyde, right, that’s the new one? From the bank?”

“It uh, it was fine. It was fine, Mom.” The sound of rain bouncing off the window was staccato and uneven. Wind rattled the fire escape and the gutters, threatening to shake loose all of the plants hanging from them, sending them toppling towards the flooding streets below. Sarah switched the phone to her other ear.

“He dumped you, didn’t he?” the tone was accusatory, but Sarah couldn’t quite tell towards whom.

“Yeah, we decided – we figured we’re just not a good fit, Mom.”

Thunder crashed outside, rattling the windows. “This is outrageous, Sarah. When are you going to get your life together? You’re pushing twenty eight years old and you’ve never had a steady boyfriend! Never once! Are you gay? Is that what this is about?”

“No! Mom, I’m not, I’m not gay, it’s just-“

“You know I wouldn’t care! Your cousin, Herschel? He’s gay, and his boyfriend is lovely. It’s fine if you are, dear. I seriously don’t care!”

“Look, Mom, I gotta go, okay?” Sarah shifted the phone to her other ear, clasping her free hand to her elbow. “I’ll call you on Saturday, alright? Love you bye!”

Sarah hung up the phone before her mother could protest. She paced around her room, pinching her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger while the storm outside grew more violent. Lightning and thunder came hand in hand, shaking the apartment to its roots. Wind splattered rain against the side of the building, as if trying to push it over.

Throwing herself face down onto the side of her bed with a heavy thud, Sarah tossed her phone into the pile of blankets forming at the foot of the bed. She pushed a pillow aside with her cheek and let her legs hang over the mattress, toes still reaching far enough to brush the floor. She closed her eyes tight and curled her lips. Rolling to her back, she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling and the light above her. Her eyes began to dance with spots and swirls. Her mind went back to her date’s face, tinted orange with the setting sun as he awkwardly shuffled like a cornered child. “We just weren’t a good fit.”

From the bed, the light switch by the door was barely within her reach. She considered turning off the light and crawling under the covers when the apartment shook again – this time not from thunder, but from a vigorous pounding on her door. She lifted herself off the bed and strode quickly for the door. The knocking came constant and hard, each blow as if the person on the other side of the door was having a fight with it. “I’m coming, just wait!”

As Sarah opened the door, she was met with a familiar scowl – the middle aged man who lived beneath her, scruffy and shaggy in all the wrong ways. She barely had the door open before an accusing finger was thrust across her threshold. “If I told you once, I’ve told you a thousand damn times! Quit your damn stomping around up here! Have I not told you a thousand damn times?!”

“Mr. Stewart, I’m sorry, but I keep telling you, I’m not stomping, I’m just-“

“Yeah right, look! I work thirds, you know what that means? I sleep weird hours, and every day, every day it seems I’m up here telling you to quit stomping around! I haven’t gotten a good sleep since you moved in, you know that! I don’t know what you’re doing up here, but if you don’t cut it out I’m gonna get you evicted, you hear me?” His breath reeked of sleep and plaque, assaulting her nose with impunity. His finger had not altered its trajectory even slightly, still aimed squarely at her chest. “You gotta keep it down, this is damn shared space! Didn’t anybody raise you better?!” Before Sarah could try to defend herself again, he retracted his finger. “If you say you’re not stomping, then you better start tip-toeing, you damn Amazon. I’m sick and tired of living beneath a damn circus!” With that, he turned and headed down the hallway, leaving Sarah mouth agape at her open door.

A moment passed, and thunder crashed again, causing the lights of the hallway to flicker. “Yeah, well… your breath stinks, how about that?” she finally said, and closed the door. She shook her shoulders out, letting it all wash over her like the rain. She stepped gingerly from the door to her couch, gently lowering herself into it and staring out the window. Noodles pulled himself out from beneath the sinking couch and slunk over towards the window, hopping up to perch on the sill.

Her view of the rain obstructed, Sarah leaned forward to open her laptop again. The last question stared back at her, eagerly awaiting her response. She steeled her resolve and braced herself, fingers adamantly punching the keys as if she had something to prove. “Sometimes you have to lie, if it’s to protect someone else. God, it’s too complicated – how am I supposed to give a black and white answer on something like that?” Noodles bat a lazy paw at the raindrops streaking down the glass. “If I can’t be honest with them, I’m at least honest with myself.”

Alright then! What’s your dream vacation? And no lying! ;). Sarah was taken aback. “Don’t you winky-face emoji at me you sonuvabitch – who writes these prompts?” She blinked a few times in disbelief, about to walk away from the whole thing again, but the question began to chew on her. Vacations were something she had always thought about, but had officially decided were a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not just financially, but morally – what if Beast King tried to abduct all the animals at the zoo while she was busy cultivating a tan on some beach somewhere? Sure, the city got by with robberies and small crimes before she showed up, but she had caused a dependency on herself to bloom in her wake. Whether she meant to or not, Red City could need saving at any time, and Miss Cobalt had promised to answer that call if it came.

But what about Sarah? Sarah, the girl at the grocery store who always had mustard stains on her pants? Sarah, who looked like she never got enough sleep, but always said her hobbies were just old movies and playing with her cat? Whose favorite bands formed in the eighties and hadn’t toured since the nineties? Whose bathroom smelled like lavender and had pictures of ducks on the shower curtain? Did she make that promise too? What was Sarah’s dream vacation – did she get to have one, or were things like just to be labeled under “frivolities?” If Miss Cobalt’s pledge was carrying a life sentence, was Sarah just guilty by association?

She bit her lip, and then let loose another sigh. She pushed the laptop away, and let herself fall onto her side. She buried her face in a pillow as the storm swelled with intensity, winds whipping up again and again, higher and higher. Her hair smelled like a dish towel and her face was getting covered in cat hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. All of the weight she tried desperately to shake off throughout the day was coming back to her with renewed force, threatening to press her straight through the couch and into the apartment below. As she felt the floor beneath her groaning with the pressure of her day, the tightness in her chest squeezing harder and harder, she heard another ring. A loud, piercing ring cut through the air of her apartment, and like reflex she threw herself from her couch and across the floor. She strode long and wide, reaching the bedroom in only three steps, shaking the ground with each and every one. She looked to the bed and saw her phone lying there, inert. But the ringing continued, this one coming from the bright blue phone she had discarded earlier. She scooped it up, and pressed it to her ear with no delay. She answered with authority and purpose. “Miss Cobalt.”

The voice on the other end was stern. “Miss Cobalt, this is Police Chief Drury. We’ve got trouble. It seems The Meteorologist has escaped prison – we believe this storm may have something to do with a weather controlling device he had been developing before his previous capture. If left unchecked, this storm could keep growing in intensity until it wipes Red City off the map. We’ve got a good idea of where he’s holed up, but my men can’t get down there with these flooded roads.”

“Not to worry, Chief,” Miss Cobalt said, slipping her blue mask over her eyes. “I think tomorrow’s forecast is going to call for clear skies and sunshine. I guarantee it.”

#Other Writing #long reads

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