#intentionally smudge anything like who is actually using anything but their fingers for that. youre a liar if you say otherwise

[harbingersecho]

in-story drawings i love youuuuu anyway shea now why would you draw a lovingly rendered portrait of the helvling and also a sketch of their monster form? 🤨 gay ass.

[meowzfordayz]

hashira at home (aka domesticity)

Author’s Note: writing these made me feel all mushy gushy in love in pining in every heart emoji existent and nonexistent. 😌 Considered writing Tengen w/o Hina, Makio, and Suma, buuut they make me feel all mushy gushy too. 🤗

hashira at home (aka domesticity)

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~3,100

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

~faqs~

Loves ironing

All your cloth napkins? Crisp, pristine, folded just right

Dress pants? Not a misaligned seam in sight

If you own anything pleated? Orgasmic

He used to iron the curtains until you switched them to shutters

Because seriously: who irons curtains ?!

Your lovely, love Gyomei — that’s who

—Actually though, you just got tired of tripping on them

—Plus, shutters can be adjusted

—Whereas with curtains, it’s all or nothing

That one time you bought a shirt that was intentionally wrinkled?

Yanno, the scrunched styles that hold their scrunch even after washing?

Yeah

Gyomei BAWLED trying to get that shit unwrinkled

—You come home to him crying over the ironing board

“Um… love?”

“[y/n]!” utterly aghast

“Your shirt won’t smooth — I’ve tried everything,” tiny whimper

“a l l a f t e r n o o n,” sniffle

“I’m so sorry.”

You raise an eyebrow

Is that my nice���

A giggle escapes you

Gyomei glances in your general direction, alarmed by the noise

You walk to him, resting a light hand on top of his 

“Don’t worry Gyomei, it’s supposed to be wrinkly.”

WHAAaaatTTT ?!?!?!

Snaps at you if you try to help around the house

It’s ridiculous

Like

Okay it’s kind of sweet

And you have a lot more free time since you rarely have to do chores

But you feel… lowkey useless?

Obanai’s breadwinner AND housekeeper?

Hello, sir, what is my purpose here?

Not that you do literally nothing !!

But he objectively takes on significantly more

“I told you [y/n],” he mutters exasperatedly, “Don’t wash the dishes. I’ve got it.”

That’s the final straw

You sink to the kitchen floor, back against the fridge, elbows propped on your knees, hands hiding your face

He frowns

Oops?

Crouches in front of you

Gently attempts to pry your hands away

No such luck

“... babe? [y/n]? What did I say?”

 “M’useless Obanai,” you whisper

His expression tightens

“Useless? [y/n]? Where is this coming from?”

He’s not angry at you

But he’s pissed at whatever—whoever—is causing you to feel this way

“I-” you gulp, “Idon’tdoanythingaroundhere,” you blubber.

Huh?

“You, y-you, you work every day, do the chores every day, scold me whenever I t-try to help. I’m uSELESS.”

You’re sobbing, miniscule shudders wracking your huddled form

Well damn

Now Obanai’s pissed at himself

“How long have you felt this way babe?” he asks quietly, worriedly

Inwardly, he berates himself

Disgusted—disappointed—that he’s the reason you’re collapsed, disheveled 

“I dunno,” you mumble

“You aren’t useless. Never. Ever. Impossible. I just,” he exhales shakily, frustrated tears threatening to fall, “I just want you to be able to do what you want. To pursue what you want.”

“What if I wanna clean the toilet?” your bottom lip quivers as you finally peek at him through your fingers

He smiles wryly, snaking #punintended his palms under your forearms to cup your cheeks

“I never meant for you to feel useless. Only taken care of, cherished,” he touches his forehead to yours, “Adored.”

“You go overboard,” you grumble

“We could make a chores chart?” he offers

“What are we, children?” you scoff

He pecks your nose, “No, but I do go overboard, and a schedule could help me keep myself in check.”

Nodding tentatively, you grasp his wrists, your eyes staring wetly, brightly into the soft dampness of his own

He helps you up, pulling you into a firm, reassuring hug

Murmurs playfully into your hair

“You can clean the toilet anytime. I promise.”

Wants to help you so badly

But always seems to miss a spot

A splotch of grease on the stovetop

A stain on a shirt

Crumbs on the counter

Smudges on a glass

“Mitsuri, my honey, are these clean or dirty?” you’re peering into the dishwasher

“You can’t tell?” she giggles, peering into the dishwasher beside you

“Nope,” you respond matter-of-factly

“I swear I rinsed them off before putting them in,” she pouts

Thing is

You believe her

100%

She’s your golden gal

It’s not her lack of effort that’s ever problematic

She just

Sucks at cleaning ?????

“Mitsuri,” you smile fondly as she pouts harder, already knowing what you’re about to say, “I appreciate that you tried.”

“I did tryyy,” she wails, “Lemme try again? I mean, how pathetic am I that I can’t even wash dishes using a dishwasher?”

You’re doing your best not to snort

Really, truly

You end up snorting anyway

She stands, hands on her hips, glaring

You giggle

Laugh

Laugh until the corners of your eyes tear up

She grabs your stupid face and kisses your stupid mouth

Begins to storm away

You continue laughing as you catch her waist, tugging her in for another kiss

She’s your golden gal

Making and drinking tea with you, for you, is her favorite pastime

Breakfast

With any and all snacks

Lunch

During and after dinner

At least, you assume it’s her favorite pastime what with how often she places a steaming mug next to you

In reality, it’s twofold

One: she does enjoy tea

Your tea collection would make practically anyone envious

Black: chai (5 varieties), English and Irish Breakfast, Earl Grey, etc

Green: genmaicha, hojicha, jasmine, matcha (4 varieties), sencha, etc

Herbal: chamomile, fruity (8 varieties), ginger, peppermint and spearmint, etc

Miscellaneous: dessert teas (6 varieties), medicinal teas (7 varieties), and white teas (3 varieties)

Two: she noticed at the beginning of your relationship that you constantly forgot to hydrate

So brewing you a heavenly mug of tea also ensures your health

Tea collection aside

Your mug collection is…

Err

It’s

There’s a lot of them

Fancier, hand made mugs — acquired throughout your travels together

Silly, impulsively purchased mugs with cute phrases on them—“Positivi-TEA” and “Tea (n.) a hug in a cup”—things like that

As well as your mugs and her mugs — personal favorites that require permission before borrowing

Gosh forbid either of you break each other’s

You did, once

Shinobu forgave you… eventually

But she’s broken two of yours

And if she ever breaks a third, you’re claiming the right to break one of hers

Because like: first time’s an accident, second’s time a coincidence… but a third time ??

—Don’t worry, y’all make stunning mosaics or fridge magnets or whatever from the broken pieces

Refuses to buy any rugs

Not even for the bathroom

Y’all have a slightly raised, bamboo platform instead

“It’s better for the environment,” he claims, “Less microfibers getting into our water system.”

You purse your lips

Sure

The house’s floors are wooden

Gleaming, planks—swept daily by the man himself

He gushes constantly about the “natural aesthetic”

About how sunlight alters and shadows the pine differently throughout the day

The “charm” of creaky boards — the familiarity of learning exactly how and where to step

In order to not wake each other in the morning

Or to “accidentally” wake each other

Depending on your moods

Hehehe

And it is

It’s absolutely the aesthetic

The aesthetic of you

You’re so lively, wondrous, incredible

He’d hate to mute your brilliance with a rug

Patterned or solid

Bright, dark, shaggy, woven

Cheap or expensive

You move with an elegance, a timelessness

Deserving of an environment that accents your magnificence

Not competes with it

“You’re silly,” you poke his cheek, giggling at his intensity, “Nobody thinks like that about rugs, and I wouldn’t feel offended or insecure if we got one or two.”

He shakes his head resolutely, eyes as piercing as they are affectionate, “No.”

“My feet get cold in the winter, Kyo,” you cross your arms

“I strongly dislike vacuuming,” he’s stubborn, “And rugs dirty quickly.”

“That has nothing to do with my cold feet.”

“Wear socks,” he suggests, “Or slippers?”

“You know damn well those only help to a certain extent.”

He resists chuckling

He does know, damn well too, that socks or slippers aren’t enough for your poor feet

“You can use me as your foot warmer,” he shrugs nonchalantly

“That’s only convenient in bed, Kyo.”

He smiles at that

In his opinion, your freezing toes curling into his overheated skin every night as you cuddle into bed is the best part about winter

The delicious sound you don’t even realize you’re making as you melt into his welcoming embrace

Hm…

Maybe that’s why he’s so anti rug?

He’s whipped though

So like

He buys you a rug

Obsessed with minimalism

Not that you’re particularly cluttered yourself

But this man’s fanatic

“Quality over quantity,” he frequently remarks

Which, you agree

But minimalism can be… inconvenient?

Like, for some things, sure, minimalism is nice

You appreciate knowing where stuff is

That’s there rhyme and reason—meaning—to your possessions

Plus, he doesn’t encroach on your personal belongings

You could use 3 closets or take up ¾ of the bathroom space, and he wouldn’t care

—1 closet and ½ of the bathroom space is plenty anyway

But you’re tired of constantly doing laundry because you only own

2 sheet sets

12 towels: 2 body towels, 2 hand towels, 2 washcloths, 2 dishrags, and 4 for cleaning

And constantly hand washing dishes because you only own

settings for 4

1 of basically anything you could think of (i.e. mixing bowl, spatula, cutting board, etc)

Thing is, you don’t own enough dishes/kitchenware to properly fill up the dishwasher

He does laundry and washes dishes too, of course

But you eventually sit him down

“We need to talk.”

He nods slowly, anxiously recalling your recent interactions

Did I forget to kiss them good morning?

Or good night?

Maybe I left them on read again?

Except you don’t get upset over petty shit

Which worries him even more

Why do we need to talk ?!

Ohmyfuck

They’re breaking up with me ?!

I’m going to have to move out, find a new place, a new roommate, never love again

This is really happening, this can’t be happ-

“Nemi?” your voice interrupts his internal spiraling, “Are you okay? Is there something you need to tell me first? You… you’re, trembling?”

He glances at his hands, resting nervously on the kitchen table

“Areyoubreakingupwithme?”

Your eyes widen, softening with concern

“Absolutely not, Nemi,” and then quietly, “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Hell no.”

His head tilts back as he laughs, delirious with relief

You give him a moment—equally relieved—taking note of his now steady hands

“So what do we need to talk about?” he smiles warmly, previous tension released

“I want to buy more sheets. And towels. And dishes. And kitchenware. We could save a lot on water if we did laundry less often, and we’d actually be able to run the dishwasher.”

That’s it ?? He almost laughs again

“Okay.” He’s not putting up a fight? “But not too many more,” he adds teasingly Ahh, there’s my Nemi, “Can we go together?”

You interlock your fingers with his, fondness in your grip, “We can go together, Mr. Minimalism.”

He huffs

You compromise on 1 extra sheet set, and double your amount of towels

As for dishes and kitchenware?

You take him thrifting

So that all of your new-to-us goodies represent something special

Getting to build a life

Together

… you knew it was coming

Yuuup *pop that p*

This cutie patootie loses everything around the house

Doesn’t matter how many “designated areas” you create

Car keys on the key rack? More like in the freezer

—You installed a front door padlock after Muichiro locked himself out for the 17th time (yes, you kept track)

Socks in the sock drawer? More like one behind the couch, one in the fruit bowl

—Sundays are for sock hunting (he gets a smooch for every sock he finds — not that you withhold them normally, but the “prize” aspect motivates him)

Glass of water he poured himself 5 minutes ago? “[y/n] !! Have you seen my water ?????”

—You have

—You’re staring at it

—He left it beside you when he went to go to the bathroom 

And the house is modest — 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom, kitchen, living room with conjoined office

It’s not like he’s dealing with 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2 kitchens, etc

He’s just… scatterbrained

All the labeling you’ve done would be helpful… if he took a moment to read them before putting something down

He’s not allowed in the kitchen anymore

More accurately: he’s not allowed to do anything remotely complicated — in the kitchen

Because then you

Find bowls on the plates shelf

Realize there’s salt mixed in the sugar

Can’t figure out where the milk went (milk cartons aren’t inconspicuous either, so like ??)

End up with four somewhat worn out sponges (as opposed to wearing one out at a time)

Sometimes you wonder if you’re the issue

Like, what if he’s not that scatterbrained and you’re just irritatingly organized?

But he reassures you that that’s not the case

“[y/n], without you, the house wouldn’t function. I’m a mess.”

He doesn’t mean this self deprecatingly — he’s simply self aware and grateful for you

Surprisingly, he’s decent at shopping (as long as he’s got a list)

Groceries, toiletries, cleaning supplies, etc

He’s on it

And he’s eager when it comes to DIY projects

Still can’t trust him with big stuff (i.e. installations — you handle those)

But he paints all the walls

Scratches a couple tiny hearts above the baseboards

He thinks he’s sneaky, but you find them pretty quickly

—I mean, living w/ him you’ve basically become Master of All Things Lost & Found

You don’t mention it though, because it’s

Adorable, intimate, precious

Guarding the flip side of the same secret

He’s sooooo clingy

But never too clingy

He’s baby bear clingy

The perfect amount

Especially since he does a 180 whenever you’re out in public

Not that he doesn’t acknowledge you or your relationship in public !!

He’s just… very subtle

But at home?

Giyuu’s the opposite of subtle

He’s come-up-behind-you-and-kiss-your-neck-while-you’re-washing-dishes opposite of subtle

He’s always-offers-to-make-you-a-cup-a-bowl-a-plate-of-whatever-he’s-having opposite of subtle

He’s tickle-you-in-bed-on-the-couch-anywhere-and-everywhere-until-you’re-screaming opposite of subtle

He’s let-me-join-you-in-the-shower-so-I-can-scrub-and-massage-your-back opposite of subtle

He’s you-haven’t-kissed-me-in-10-minutes-so-come-kiss-me-before-I-faint opposite of subtle

Not to mention

He’s mastered the art of hickeys

Mastered as in

He knows precisely how to suck, to nibble, so they’ll linger when you’re home

And fade by the time you go out again

His clinginess is… heartwarming

Endearing

A reminder—just for you—of his love, his attention, his commitment

The begining of your relationship was the epitome of slow burn

Took months for him to tell you his favorite color

Let alone anything else

But you were persistent in your dazzling, patient way

As was he

Most relationships are draining for him

He isn’t exactly the, “I hate people,” type

He’s the, “I know my social battery and boundaries, and I respect them first and foremost,” type

So to stumble upon someone—you—who respects his social battery and boundaries just as firmly?

He consciously, constantly, lets you in

Because somehow, without even trying, you rarely exhaust him

You nurture him

Soothe him

Mature him

And he does his best to do the same for you

The house could be a museum

Ffs

Art everywhere

Paintings, drawings, mosaics, collages, sculptures, decorative ceramics, glassware, etc

It doesn’t help that the house is huge: more house = more art

There’s five of you living in it, yanno

Occasionally, you, Hina, Makio, and Suma add your own interests to the museum

But generally, Tengen’s essentially curating five people’s worth of art

Most of it created by local artists

Some personal indulgences of his

Like the gigantic glass wave in the living room

And the massive origami chandelier in the dining room

And the handwoven tapestry in the master bedroom

Okay

By “some” it’s really “at least a third”

And yet, he manages to put everything in just the right spot

So that it isn’t overwhelming

Probably because you and Makio would start auctioning off some of your least favorite pieces otherwise

But he makes it come together

So you and Makio restrain yourselves from throwing an eBay event

Hina and Suma are… less opinionated

—Suma enjoys the pretty colors

—Hina has only one qualm: an embarrassing photo of all of you framed near the entrance of the house

“It’s my favorite photo,” Tengen protests

He’s standing in the middle, arms crossed smugly proudly

Makio’s kissing your cheek

While Suma kisses Hina’s

“You look like our pimp,” Makio snorts

“There’s a lot of love in the photo,” you murmur softly

“Exactly!” Tengen exclaims

“Not including you,” you smirk, “You’re the smug bastard in the center.”

Tengen’s eyes narrow as Hina pulls you, Makio, and Suma into a hug

A hug very noticeably excluding him

Hpmf

He grins to himself

*cue loud squealing*

He doesn’t follow a strict workout regimen for ~nothing

 Who is he if he can’t pick up all of his partners at once?

“Crushing- Ribs-” you gasp

*heavy panting*

“You know we love you too,” you wink teasingly

—After he lets everyone down

—And everyone catches their breath

—Except for him, obviously, he doesn’t need to catch his breath

—Lifting four people? Light work

“I know,” he chuckles, touching his thumb to your cheek

“I love [y/n] the most though,” Suma snuggles into your arm

—You’re her cooking partner in crime

“Me too,” Makio sticks her tongue out at Tengen, grabbing your other arm

—You’re her give-Tengen-a-hard-time partner in crime

Tengen looks to Hina ~hopelessly

—You’re her rock, her stability, her sanity (four partners is a lot to juggle)

She rolls her eyes, wiggling between you and him

Caresses your face, kisses your slightly parted lips

Warm, sweet, tender

Tengen growls

“Wait your turn pretty man,” Hina murmurs

He waits

No matter how long

He’ll wait

In line at the supermarket with an obnoxiously full shopping cart

Up at night for the last of you to return from work: if he’s home the latest, then he’s sure to check in on all of you

For all of you to get ready when you go out: it takes forever because getting ready to go out = y’all basically have a slumber party minus the slumber and minus Tengen

His turn to join in on cuddles, because sometimes y’all just don’t give a damn about him—lovingly, of course (he’s secure, he can handle it)

To kiss each of you as deeply, slowly, playfully as you want—as you need

You four are worth all of his time

Worth all of the time in the world​

[cake-writes]

Fever (Part One)

Pairings: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader (mentioned)

Story Warnings: Cheating, Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Smut, Breeding Kink (if you squint), Angst, 18+

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Steve couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. Not to his best friend’s girl.

Master List / Spotify Playlist

Two years today – your anniversary.

Not that it mattered, because the mission ran long. Even Steve didn’t get away from it unscathed, if the blood staining the shoulder of his uniform was any indication. You’d seen him hurt too many times over the years, but this time you felt guilty.

He’d gotten hurt keeping you safe. 

His best friend’s girl.

Bucky must have returned to the compound by now, you were sure of it. He’d been radio silent for the last three weeks on an assignment god knows where, but what you did know was that he’d be getting back today; said he wouldn’t miss your anniversary for the world, the hopeless romantic that he was. Your hopeless romantic.

You might have gone a little stir crazy as the days dragged on, missed him a little too much – so you passed the time by going on quick in-and-out missions in hopes that you’d get home and find him there waiting for you.

He wasn’t.

Each mission wound up being no more than a couple of hours, tops, except this one. You and Steve had been trapped here for the last day and a half. Too many Hydra agents to count. Too many fights for survival. Pinned down by the enemy, the two of you barricaded yourselves inside a too-large server room where the walls were thick enough to offer a modest layer of protection: two feet of metal and concrete, meant to safeguard Hydra’s most sensitive data.

The worst part wasn’t even that you were missing your anniversary. No, it was that you’d yanked an empty syringe from Steve’s back about twenty minutes ago and there was no way of knowing what mystery substance it contained. He hadn’t even noticed it, either, which made you wonder what the hell kind of pain tolerance he had. The stupid thing was just sticking out of him, needle about three inches long and yet he’d been completely fucking oblivious.

How?

Thankfully, Steve seemed to be doing okay, all things considered. His wounds would heal, of course. They always did. They always would. You tried not to worry, but you still felt guilty, so much you asked for the umpteenth time, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, doll,” he said in exasperation, holding his cell phone and yours up toward the ceiling in hopes that one of them would pick up a signal. “I’ll let you know if anything changes, you know, like I said the last ten times you asked.”

You huffed a little as you attempted to access one of the computers, having already tried five of them with no success. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt. Especially when it’s my fault.”

He laughed at that, somehow, despite the fact that you were both trapped in here with no hope of rescue. No signal, no reception, no dice. Things looked pretty dismal, but he was ever the optimist. “I can already feel myself healing. Stop worrying, okay?”

Computer number six was also a failure.

Another twenty minutes passed, but nothing changed.

Well, at least, not that you noticed. Steve was burning up, but he didn’t say a thing – didn’t want to make you worry. He cared too much about you for that, cared more than he should have for his best friend’s girl. 

Always had. Always would.

Sweat dotted his brow as he watched you try computer after computer to no avail. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away; even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, you were illicitly gorgeous, far more attractive than you should have been to him. Hair tousled, eyeliner smudged, tight black catsuit on your body ripped in too many places to count, cuts and scrapes and bruises peeking through – all superficial. 

He didn’t like seeing you hurt, either, so when the heat creeped up his neck, he wasn’t sure if it was from concern, claustrophobia, or carnal attraction.

“Anything?”

Steve’s question was simple, but he barely even recognized the sound of his own voice. Strained. Rough. Maybe because his throat was so dry.

When you glanced up from the screen and over at him, he forgot how to breathe. Bright eyes and a beautiful smile, despite the less-than-ideal circumstances. 

All for him.

Only for him, here, and sweet as sin.

“Nope,” you said cheerfully, popping the ‘p.’ 

That drew his attention to your mouth at the worst possible moment. As you focused back on the screen in front of you, you pulled your lower lip in between your teeth in thought, almost like you were trying to tease him, like you were trying to drive him out of his fucking mind. The sight shot straight to his groin; brought attention to the fact that his pants were starting to get just a little too tight. 

Then you looked up again at the silence and caught him staring. Tilting your head to the side, you asked slowly, “Still feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, and then he cleared his throat – tried to clear his mind, too, but it didn’t work. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Steve didn’t like to lie, but he didn’t have a choice. Not here. Not when he felt like this.

Your fingertips stilled over the keyboard as you studied his face a little more closely, and then you took a few steps toward him. “Are you sure? You look a little flushed.”

Your keen scrutiny only made him even hotter – made him want to escape before he did something he’d regret. He was already toeing the line.

But he couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t.

Not to his best friend’s girl.

With your approach came the heady scent of your perfume, and his resolve weakened even more – particularly when you pressed the underside of your wrist to his sweaty forehead. Your skin was far cooler to the touch than it should have been, and the physical contact sent a pleasurable chill through him.

“Something’s wrong,” you said with a frown, swapping your wrist for your palm, and then you brought both hands to either side of his flushed face. “You’re way too hot, Stevie.”

You spoke his name so softly, so gently – like a lover, like a balm. 

Stevie.

On your lips, it sounded sweet as honey.

Steve’s temperature already ran hotter than yours because of the serum, but you were long used to it because Bucky was the same. Ironic, really, that the only person on the face of the earth who’d be able to tell the difference without a thermometer was who stoked the fire to begin with.

Well, you, and whatever the hell it was he’d been injected with.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. Wrong. He wasn’t fine. The way he leaned into your touch was evidence of that.

“Here,” your hand trailed down his back to help guide him to a nearby chair, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, “Sit down, okay? Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Ravenous. Touch-starved. Not fine at all.

Steve sank into the worn leather desk chair, but that proved even worse. Now he had to look up at you – look up at your pretty little face and try not to imagine how you’d look straddling him, taking every inch of his cock.

Yeah, like that was possible.

He’d break you. How Bucky managed not to was beyond him. You weren’t enhanced like either of them.

“I’m hot,” Steve finally admitted. “It’s hot in here.”

A flimsy excuse. Even he knew it wasn’t. Something was wrong.

“Really? I’m actually kind of cold.” With a smile, you made a show of briskly rubbing your arms, probably to make him feel better – and then you teased, “Maybe you can warm me up, huh?”

Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.

Your brows rose in surprise, but you laughed soon after.

Oh. Had he said that out loud?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

And it didn’t seem to bother you, either, because the concerned look in your eyes was still there and your jokes and laughter were a front. “Are you nauseous? Sick? Come on, talk to me. Please?”

Oh, he liked the sound of that. 

Steve quickly found himself wondering if that was how you sounded when you begged for more, begged for release, begged for something only Bucky was lucky enough to give you.

Imaginary pleas of please, Stevie, please echoed in his ears.

His eyes closed as your fingers threaded through his hair – an attempt to soothe the ache settling into his bones, perhaps. You quickly stopped, however, and he only realized why when he looked back up at you.

When had he taken hold of your wrist?

“What is it, Stevie?”

Shit, honey, if only I knew.

But the words didn’t come. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth.

Steve noticed, then, how easily his fingers and thumb overlapped – how small and delicate you really were, not to mention how absolutely defenseless. Your eyes were impossibly soft as you gazed down at him with such concern, such care, that he somehow wrenched his hand away.

“I… I don’t feel right,” was what he finally settled on.

“Can you describe it?”

You were worried about him, he knew, but you should have been worried about yourself for entirely different reasons. With you so close, he had no choice but to breathe in the irresistible scent of you. It drove him crazy.

You drove him crazy.

Through gritted teeth, Steve managed a rough, “Just find a way to get us out of here.”

“But you’re—”

“Now,” he barked, and you immediately jumped into action at his harsh tone.

Thirteen computers and counting.

Another ten minutes, and you were on computer number seventeen. Still no dice.

In between hurried keystrokes, you snuck glances over at Steve only to find him watching you like a predator might watch its prey. It unnerved you a little. Eyes dark and breathing laboured, he seemed much worse than before – overheating, but you didn’t dare check his temperature again. Your stomach had been in knots since he raised his voice with you, or maybe it started when he grabbed your wrist – a firm grip, one that might have left bruises beneath your shredded sleeve.

Why were you so anxious?

This was Steve. Captain America. Your boyfriend’s best friend. He’d never hurt you, at least not intentionally and you had a feeling that all of this had something to do with the mystery substance running through his veins. He’d be fine. 

That was when the computer dinged with a signal. At last. You might be able to get a message out, even if the reception was so poor. It was a short one, a quick and dirty ‘SOS’ along with your location. Command would send an extraction team for the two of you.

After you hit ‘send,’ you let out an audible sigh of relief. “Finally got a message through. Don’t worry, they’ll get us out.”

Something about that phrase snapped Steve’s resolve. He didn’t want to get out.

No, he wanted to get in.

That was when your back slammed against the wall, so hard that the impact left you gasping for air. “What—”

But you couldn’t finish that sentiment because Steve’s lips were on yours, hot and wanting and unfamiliar – not at all like how Bucky kissed you, how Bucky loved you more than anything.

For a moment, you froze up, absolutely stunned by what he’d done. You came to your senses quickly, though, and shoved him hard in the chest to get him to stop – but only after a few frenzied tries did he finally break away.

Breaths coming out in short bursts, you croaked, “What the hell?”

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself against the wall with one arm above your head. His free hand came up to massage his temple, a distraction from the tightness of his pants. He’d caged you in – trapped you against him so deliciously and when he finally spoke, he sounded just as wrecked as he looked. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I’m with Bucky,” you hissed, voice wavering. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Angry words laced with fear. He didn’t blame you.

But he couldn’t stop himself when his eyes dropped back to your mouth, and in an instant, he found himself wanting another taste, another touch. The fever burning hot fire through his body made it impossible to ignore, let alone resist any longer. What little self-control he had was gone.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he choked out, and then his hand was in your hair, too-tight grip allowing him to pull you in for another kiss. This time he was much less forgiving, almost bruising your lips in his need for you – lips so soft and pliable and his. 

Steve overpowered you with such ease, especially when he swept his tongue into your mouth to sample your sweetness straight from the source. Scalp stinging painfully, you put up a fight, at least until he gathered both your wrists in one large hand and pinned them none-too-gently to the wall. Pain – not a lot of it, but enough to sting, to smart, to leave more bruises. 

No matter how hard you struggled, you couldn’t break free.

Of course you couldn’t. You weren’t strong enough. Not against him.

You attempted to knee him in the groin anyway, a last resort, but he easily deflected it by shoving one of his thighs in between yours. Thick, corded muscle pressed hard against your clothed core, wrenching a strangled gasp from your throat.

“Steve,” you whimpered against his lips, still trying to break free from his hold: an exercise in futility. “Damn it, stop, let me go—”

But he didn’t. No, instead he kissed you again, muffling any other protests, any other objections – and moans, too, he soon discovered when you mistakenly ground against his thigh in another failed attempt of escaping.

Peppering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses, he murmured, “How am I supposed to stop when you sound so pretty?”

Pretty for him. 

All for him.

A shudder wracked your body at the feeling of his breath against your ear, at the low timbre of his voice – rough and full of desire.

You stopped fighting after that.

And then you started to feel the heat, too. You felt the burn on your tongue, first, felt it prickle against your lips – uncomfortable, stifling heat, a fever that quickly made its way through your extremities, made your knees go weak, made you melt against him like butter. 

If Steve hadn’t been holding you up, you would have hit the floor.

“It’s too hot,” you whined, leaning back against the wall, revealing more of your throat for him to mark, to claim. The sharp, sudden ache between your legs was unbearable. “God, it hurts—”

“I know, baby,” he breathed against the saliva-slickened skin of your neck. “I know it does. I’ll make it better.”

Your arms were thrown carelessly around his neck, now; when had he even let you go? You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You just needed him, needed what he was going to give you like you needed air. 

An insistent tug around his collar – an unspoken plea, but the words soon followed, spilling from your mouth like a broken record. “Make it better, Steve, please make it better, Stevie, please—”

“Jesus, doll,” came his groaned reply as he all but yanked the zipper to your catsuit down, down, down between your breasts, and then the sleeves followed, fabric ripping along the seams. The moment you pulled your sports bra over your head, he palmed your breasts – left hot kisses and even hotter touches against your hypersensitive skin, and when he took a nipple into his mouth, you shivered.

“Not enough,” you gasped, fingers curling in his hair.

The taste of your skin was intoxicating – salty sweet with sweat and something he couldn’t quite place.

Longing, perhaps. Or dread.

Teeth raked against the pert bud and again your knees gave out, but Steve held you steady – a welcome reminder of his thigh between yours. This time, you ground down against him purposely, far too impatient and needy to wait for more.

You just couldn’t stop. Not that you even wanted to anymore.

With your free hand, you blindly fumbled with his belt and, somehow, it loosened. His fly was next, frantically unzipped until you had enough leeway to slide your hand into his boxers. As soon your fingers wrapped around him, Steve let out a shaky breath and met your eyes with a shared, albeit fleeting thought—

This was wrong.

But neither of you could stop.

You shoved his pants down below his ass, freeing him from the constraining fabric. His cock was hot and heavy in your palm, and you smoothed your thumb over the leaking slit.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he swore, sending a surge of heat straight to your core.

You wanted this – wanted him.

Steve stripped the rest of your catsuit off in about two seconds flat – half tore it from your body in order to reveal your soft skin and perfect curves. Not that he had a chance to really appreciate them, however, because with a flick of his wrist your panties were in shreds on the floor and you’d slung one leg around his waist.

So fucking eager. He loved it.

He hiked your thigh up higher – allowed you better access to line him up, and when the head of his cock glided through your slick folds, you breathed, “Make it better, Stevie.”

So he did.

Steve slid all the way inside of you in one fluid motion, to which your eyelids fluttered shut, head lulling back against the wall with a dull thunk. The pleasant burn of him stretching you out so beautifully had your fingernails digging into his shoulders, leaving angry red marks behind.

“That’s it,” Steve coaxed, his large hand cradling the side of your face. “There you go.”

The tight, velvety drag of your walls as he slowly withdrew drove you both absolutely insane – and then he slammed all the way back inside, punching the breath from your lungs.

“You— god, you feel so good, Steve, give it to me, I need you, fuck me, Stevie—”

You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore, so blissed out of your mind already and he’d barely even started. With the his cock so deep inside you, the tip snug against your cervix, Steve couldn’t think straight either – and hearing you beg for him like this was better than he ever could have imagined.

He kissed you, then, all teeth and tongues, swallowing every single one of your pleas. Your arms slowly came to rest around his neck, and with unsteady yet practiced flair, you jumped up the tiniest bit – jumped up into his arms, and sure enough, he caught you.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why you knew he would.

Bucky.

A train of thought quickly forgotten as both your legs wrapped around his waist. Hands palming your ass, now, Steve fucked up into you – fucked you to pieces, and then he kissed you back together.

“Fill me up,” you gasped against his lips.

Jesus.

You didn’t have to ask him twice, especially when he felt the tell-tale flutter of your walls around his cock. You were close, and your soft, breathy whimpers only confirmed it.

“Gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yeah,” you moaned. “God, I’m so fucking close—”

Steve’s thrusts started to falter, then, and his fingertips dug into your hips. He left more bruises, but the mix of sensations was too much for you to handle and with a strangled cry, you fell apart, walls clenching down around him – desperately trying to milk him dry.

Even your body wanted him to come inside.

It pushed him over the edge, the knowledge that even on the most primal level you wanted him to fill you up – a conscious decision, but an instinctive one, too. With a soft groan, he pushed in as deep as he could go and spilled hot inside of you, marking your insides like a brand.

As he came down, exhaustion hit him like a wave. He set you down gently, but then he held one of his hands to the wall to keep himself from falling.

He felt weak, and so did you.

Chest heaving, you slid to the floor in post-coital bliss, cum dripping down the insides of your thighs. Steve wasn’t nearly as winded, and of course he wasn’t. He had the serum coursing through his veins, just like Bucky.

Bucky.

Bucky.

“Oh god, Steve,” you choked out, staring up at him in horror. “What— What did we do?”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock, feverish haze finally starting to clear.

Two years today – your anniversary.

Not that it mattered.

Part Two / Cold Sweats (fan-written sequel)

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

[oneweekoneband]

meet me behind the mall!!!!!!!!!

I don’t know why Taylor Swift thinks that teenagers drink wine, and I don’t know why she chose to record and release a wistful high-school-other-woman song which left me feeling naked as a frog and therefore furious. Some questions we ask only so as to be soothed by the familiar sound of our own voice, still there after all. The answers are not coming. 

The Taylor Swift Teen Love Triangle Triad of “cardigan”, “august”, and “betty” is the part of folklore that makes me most bullish about where Taylor is going as an artist. A turn away from writing songs which are intentionally meant to appear confessional and toward, instead, songs which reveal the personal as refracted through fictitious circumstances and made-up characters is a better use of her big, weird brain, and allows that brain to be unleashed on a broader plain of experience. It’s incredibly embarrassing to be an adult woman with my own problems to manage and to have living in my head Taylor Swift’s demented YA fiction, but it’s an embarrassment that feels appropriate, like I could never really have escaped this fate. On “betty” she gets to play-act as a contrite teen boy who knows he’s done wrong, and while obviously the most charming thing about the song is Taylor saying “fuck” (and also her giving us a little of the ol’ razzle dazzle by way of some light twang), her experiment with imagining what it’s like to be a skateboarding kid who hates dances, trying on an imagined teen boy interiority as a costume, is effective too. 

“cardigan” is more removed, less plaintive and shouty. This is a song from adult Betty’s perspective looking back on this period in her life and in her relationship with James, who the song seems to imply she is still with now. While—full offense—I believe marrying your high school girlfriend or boyfriend is a disorder which should have its own listing in the DSM, restoring order by putting the original couple back together so as to make the story one of true love triumphing over adversity, rather than a series of sketches of kids doing fuckup kid things just because it is not easy to be alive and to be alive alongside others and with gentleness, least of all when you are very new at it,  is the only conclusion this saga could ever have reached with Ms. Swift at its helm, and I do appreciate the consistent, if baby-brained, internal logic. I’ve never known a teenage girl whose signature garment was a cardigan and, frankly, this Betty sounds like sort of a self-absorbed drip (I do love, love, how Taylor’s own voice comes through so clearly on the lightly threatening, smug lines, “I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired / And you’d be standing in my front porch light” !!) so I’m not totally surprised she got cheated on, but that’s very uncharitable of me and probably comes from the same meaty polyp in my brain that is responsible for my still loving all the hilariously mean-spirited, woman-hating songs on Speak Now.

“august” is about the other girl. The “her” in James’ rather pathetic defense, “slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long”. “august” tells a story that brings to my mind another story. It is a story I won’t belabor because it is neither exciting nor unique. It will not illuminate an unexplored human experience, as it is, in fact, incredibly boring, regular, an incident which would be at home in any normal Tuesday, ordinary as meeting at the mall. This is a million years ago and there is a boy whose basement I go to sometimes after swim practice. We have matching team sweatpants with our names embroidered above the pocket at the right hip and I like to switch pairs. I’m you and you’re me and when we have pushed and bent the tiredness out of our muscles together, making experimental declarations in hushed voices down there while the furnace groans, well, then I’m you and me and you’re you and me and we are we are we are. 

One February day at twilight I bound out of the school building with wet hair and a fleece jacket, but his car is already gone. No worries. Standing at my locker the next afternoon like in a movie he will say, easy as anything, that he has a girlfriend, a family friend, two towns over, she goes to private school. You’ve probably met her, he says. And right then I remember that I have. Last year I did her zipper in the bathroom at a dance. We were fighting but we never really broke up, he says. For months you’ve been fighting? is all I say back. Fighting since October? As if that matters. Like that’s the point. My voice is pinched and ugly and I know I’ll hear that sound forever. Well, anyway... I feel bad. He doesn’t clarify for whom he feels bad. He’s got one sneaker toe working against the other one atop the tile floor that’s the murky green of sea glass. He looks at my St Brigid’s cross necklace, at the blue Masterlock hanging open like a broken jaw, at someone in a hoodie who punches his shoulder as they walk by. Nothing personal, he says, and there is a tiny smudge of cafeteria pizza at the corner of his mouth that I hadn’t noticed until that second and a day ago would’ve reached up and wiped away with the pad of my thumb, laughing. I get it, right? Oh, sure. 

The worst of it was not skipping pre-calc to cry in the bathroom, since, I mean, I couldn’t actually do pre-calc and would never learn how, but was inspecting my soul in the dark when I couldn’t sleep that night and finding part of me had known this all along, had chosen to pretend, wanted the wanting so badly I’d knocked from my brain the truth of how it was going to end. This would not be the last false love from which I’d find myself unceremoniously discarded, and in time I’d learn to be the liar myself, too. It’s unseemly to pathologize bad decisions, to take on poor impulse control or self-destructive patterns as an identity, but I do think that just as some people are born serial monogamists, part of a twosome forever with very little mess in-between, some of us were built from the very first cell to live like a pool ball struck and banging teeth first into the wrong mouths and hearts. I can examine my romantic history and tap my finger against the obvious errors, the times I chose what I knew would hurt me, when I ascribed hope to situations where it did not belong, when I, like the narrator of “august”, regarded someone as not mine to lose but still put myself in the position to be harmed by the losing, yet I can’t produce alternative choices that feel realistic. If you are in love and it doesn’t work out, there is mourning, there is pain, but there is all the while a record which shows something happened, it was real. “august” stands somewhat apart in the Taylor Swift catalog as a song neither about the glory of true love or the heartbreak when it’s over, but about the small, paper cut heartbreaks that are inescapable during each day of an untrue love. “It was never mine”. When it turns out you were wrong the whole time, fooling yourself, then even remembering that you’d been happy in the lie is like being trapped in a fun house, body bent and broken in the mirror, a thing not built right for this world. 

“august” is about the girl who James was with over the summer, the girl he leaves to return to Betty. Taylor said it’s the first of the three that she wrote, and I fear this has warmed me to her in some new and unsettling way. I fear this means she’s matured as a person and writer, capable now of a more expansive view of situations, to be generous. It’s like how you shouldn’t feed gremlins after midnight; there is no telling what new and more dangerous creature this woman might turn into if she’s suddenly been taught empathy. When Taylor-as-James in “betty” sings, “Would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?” in his effort to woo Betty back I hate him a little, that thoughtless child undeserving of the kind of adoration in lines like, “your back beneath the sun / wishing I could write my name on it.” I try to extend grace to this fictional boy, but I think of the “Do you remember? in “august” and I feel a little sick from being so certain that no... No, he doesn’t. Not really.

“Back when we were still changing for the better / wanting was enough / for me it was enough”. I’d like to think there is no last chance to change for the better. I’d like to think wanting is enough so long as you want the right thing. I’d like to think that God made sure Taylor Swift became a singer instead of a young adult novelist because the absolute last thing this world needed was this freak joining the circus that is YA Twitter. Most of all, I like thinking that Judy Blume knows that her beautiful, searing, devastatingly romantic and also textually gay 1998 novel Summer Sisters is the only important book that has ever been published, and, further, that the world will show me the respect of understanding and accepting that “august”, when removed from the context of the Swiftian child romance trilogy, sounds as if it were specifically written in homage. Taylor, I know I’ve accused you of at least fifty crimes this week alone, but if you want to talk about Summer Sisters, please get in touch.

[tsthrace]

clexa + jail + college + activism

Thought I’d repost the whole story here for those of you that don’t do ao3.

9,500-word one shot No content warnings Enemies to lovers Break up/Make up (sort of)

Sneak peek: “Why do you even care anyways?” Lexa shook her head. “You’re almost out of here. Aren’t you going to Ireland or something.”

“I don’t care.” Clarke’s voice returned to its sophomore octave.

“Well, you certainly like to spend a lot of big feelings on something you don’t care about.”

“Someone.” Clarke swallowed. Her head was tilted down but her eyes drifted up to Lexa’s, the blue endless like the middle of the ocean.

Lexa bit her lip. “Clarke…” The softness in her voice was no longer commanding.

Clarke felt a jump in her chest.

Madness

She had been stripped. She had been probed and prodded in places even lovers had never gone. She had been assigned a number by a male officer who referred to her only as “inmate” and refused to look her in the eye. She had been given a sandwich of dry bologna and moldy bread and a styrofoam cup of yellow-tinted water.

But none of that was worse than the manic smile on Clarke’s face.

“Can you calm her the fuck down?” The woman who asked had a tangle of long brown hair and dark circles under her eyes. She couldn’t stop her fingers from fidgeting, and her eyes scuttled from side to side like she was watching a tennis match on fast forward.

Lexa rolled her eyes. Kettle meet pot.

“She’s not with me.” Lexa threw a sideways glance at Clarke who paced the wall of bars in the holding cell. Lexa kept her face flat, but she felt her heart pounding. 

“What the fuck, Lexa!” Clarke's sharp voice rang off the cinder block walls. She didn’t stop pacing, that empty, wild smile still spread across her face.

The fidgety woman let her eyes rest on Lexa for a split second. “She seems to know who you are, sweetie.” Her eyes took off again.

Lexa rubbed her eyes hard. What was left of her eyeliner smudged across her fingertips. This wasn’t how this day was supposed to go. She was supposed to give an inspiring speech to tens of thousands of people in green shirts, rousing them to a roar no one in Exxon Mobil’s Houston compound could ignore. Drone shots would capture the magnitude of the gathering packing Springwoods Village Parkway so that every road into the campus was blocked—no one would get in and no one would get out while they were there. They had been planning it for months. Every move was choreographed. The timeline was carefully managed so as to be inconvenient but not unsafe for the people inside. But then Clarke’s Extinction Rebellion infiltrated. They brought superglue, chains, locks, signs, and 400 of their own people who were also highly choreographed, though their timeline was, well, flexible. Indefinite.

“We can spin it,” The words tumbled out of Clarke’s mouth like rocks in a landslide. “This is a win, Lexa. It’s a win. They’re already working on it. It’s already on the news.” Her eyes looked nowhere and everywhere, alive and wired to the point of vacancy.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with her?” The woman’s glance bounced back and forth off of Clarke.

Lexa didn’t know. A battle was waging inside her. Clarke had sabotaged the biggest day of Lexa’s career. She had commandeered her protest, her cause, undermining its legitimacy and stealing its power. Lexa was angry. But she was also worried. In all the years she had known Clarke, she’d never seen her like this. 

---

They met at UVA in their Approaches to Environmental Politics course. Clarke, a sophomore who had no business being in the upper-level class, was paired for the final project with Lexa, a senior who was just trying to get through her final semester. The project was broad and ambitious: plan one action that would have a meaningful impact on the growing climate crisis in the United States. It could be anything: legislation, corporate policy, activism. Break the action down into manageable parts. Be detailed. Account for opposing factors.

Lexa’s concentration was Environmental Policy, but she was tired. She wanted to find the plan with the fewest variables, the least amount of pushback. A major corporation like Walmart calling for biodegradable packaging in all their stores. Google switching exclusively to sustainable energy for their data center operations. Lexa hated capitalism. She faulted the constant profit and growth it demanded for getting the world into the climate crisis in the first place. But she knew, for the purposes of this project, that working within capitalism would be easiest. Being “green” was in; big moves in sustainability would be a PR dream for these corporations. And it wouldn’t disrupt the lives of the general public.

Significant change with little pushback except from the most radical in the movement. And then Lexa could graduate.

“We block railroad tracks all over the country, so that coal trains can’t get where they need to go.” This was Clarke’s idea. “We chain up to each other as blockades on the tracks. We set up camps around those blockades as a system of support and to control the narrative when the media arrives.”

It turned out that Clarke was one of the radicals. She had a dozen ideas and a hundred unconventional approaches to each of those ideas, and they all boiled down to massive disruption for the sake of an ultimate good. 

“If this plays out and all your dreams come true, millions of people will be without electricity.��� Lexa rolled her eyes. “All you’ll have is a bunch of people resentful of your movement. That’s gonna be the narrative.”

“So you just want to sell out?” Clarke returned the eye roll. Her face still had the soft roundness of a girl still trying to become a woman. Her voice seemed an octave too high. “You want to work with the people who created the mess in the first place?”

“It’s not selling out, it’s being realistic.” Lexa wondered if she had been so naive when she was a spry underclasswomen. “Besides, do you know how many contingencies we’ll have to plan for? National guard. Fox News painting us as lunatics. Working class railroad workers pissed that they can’t do their jobs. Do you think they’re gonna get paid when the trains aren’t moving?”

“This isn’t the time for incremental change, Lexa.” Clarke’s eyes darkened in a way that startled Lexa. “This is a crisis. We could be at the point of no return in a decade. People need to make sacrifices”

“This is a final project for a college class, Clarke,” Every word came out slowly, deliberately, quietly. Clarke didn’t know her well enough yet to know that Lexa getting quiet should set off alarms. “I just want to get an A and be done. You can save the world after I graduate.”

“You don’t even care, do you?” Clarke’s face looked more sad than angry.

“I do care, Clarke.” Lexa sighed. Clarke’s words stung, and it surprised her. “And I plan on doing the actual work when I get out of here. So can we please just make it easy on ourselves for now?”

“If you cared, you’d take every opportunity you get to make a difference.”

The next six weeks were a string of arguments, eye rolls, and unsatisfying compromises. Their final product earned them a B-minus. On the last day of class, Lexa strode out the door without even a glance in Clarke’s direction. 

But then UVA gave her the best package for grad school, and she found herself on campus for another two years. Her first year of classes kept her far away from the undergrads. She’d seen Clarke a few times in the coffee shops on the edge of campus and once at the library, but had always managed to keep her distance. For some reason, the sight of Clarke gave her a vague sense of guilt. It picked at her like a vulture picks at roadkill. 

But Lexa’s fellowship required her to TA her second year. The thought of teaching Intro to Poli-Sci made her want to claw her eyes out, but Lexa made sure it didn’t come to that. She engaged in a quiet networking campaign in which she happened to be at the same bar as the dean and then somehow got herself invited to dinner at Dr. Gudmundsson’s house. The professor’s children were delighted by her explanation of why rain happens. The following week she was assigned to assist in the professor’s Sustainability and Adaptive Infrastructure course, a high-level class that required more support of student research than actual teaching. 

Adaptive infrastructure had become Lexa’s speciality during her grad studies. Intentionally building entire cities from their sewage systems to the top of their skyscrapers in the image of its people’s shared values would require not only intellect but power, and Lexa was both smart and ambitious. 

She almost didn’t recognize Clarke in the second row of desks on the first day of class. She looked different. Her face curved more sharply towards her chin, her jaw line harder. Her blonde hair had been long two years ago, but now it barely reached past her ears in a scrappy bob. There was a steadiness in her eyes balanced by a glimmering intensity. She hadn’t become a woman so much as she had become so much more herself. 

Clarke noticed her, though, and threw a dismissive smirk at Lexa before she turned to square her shoulders to the front of the room.

A wave of irritation rolled through Lexa when she realized she was biting her lip. She sighed. At least they wouldn’t be assigned any final projects together. Besides, maybe Clarke’s approaches had gotten more sophisticated. Maybe she had grown up since the baby curves on her face had melted away. 

The first assignment proved otherwise. Lexa graded all the weekly assignments, and Clarke was furious with her six out of ten points. 

“Is this some kind of long-awaited vengeance?” Clarke had stormed into Lexa’s tiny office during office hours.

Lexa barely looked up from the email she was reading. “Are you serious?”

“I followed the assignment. I hit all the requirements.” Clarke pointed at her phone where, presumably, a copy of her graded assignment was on the screen. 

Lexa couldn’t see it in the glare of the office light, but she remembered it. It was creative, clever, but not what she was supposed to do. Her head didn’t move, but her eyes shot up to meet Clarke’s.

“You didn’t even try to hide the fact that you’re only studying Chicago’s bus system in order to disrupt it.” She let out a deep breath. “And you did a great job finding the limitations in routes and efficiency. I can tell you understood the study, which is why you got six points.”

“But I followed the assignment.” Both of Clarke’s hands were now on the edge of the desk as she leaned in.

“No.” Lexa sat back and closed her laptop. “You didn’t. And you know you didn’t. Maybe you can get away with that in other classes, but we need you to follow instructions. You can get creative with your final project.”

“Will you be grading that, too?”

“Part of it, probably.”

“Then I doubt I’ll be able to get too creative.” Clarke huffed and slung her backpack over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

The rest of Clarke’s assignments were flawless, though her analysis had a spiteful flourish to them. Each time, she found the most obvious conclusions and spent far more words than necessary coming to them. After four weeks, Lexa could only laugh. She had to hand it to her: even as she colored within the lines, Clarke managed to protest. It was artful.

They didn’t acknowledge each other in class. Most of the other students held Lexa with an earnest and completely unearned reverence. She had a presence, a silence that made her intriguing. The boys gave her shy smiles when she walked in, and she’d acknowledge them with a curt nod—which only drew them in more.

Halfway through the semester, Lexa noticed Clarke lingering in her office doorway. She could tell from her body language that she did not want to come in.

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Ms. Griffin, can I do something for you?”

Clarke looked up. “Can I come in?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Clarke walked in and looked back. “Can I shut the door?”

Lexa was intrigued. “Uh, sure.” She smirked. “You’re not here to yell at me, are you? Your work has been more than acceptable.”

“No, it’s not that.” Clarke sat down in the chair uninvited. “I...uh...I need a recommendation. From Dr. Gudmundsson. But she told me I had to go through you.”

“You could have emailed me.”

“That felt...cowardly.”

Lexa’s forehead creased. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I mean, given our history.”

“Clarke, it’s not like I have any say in your recommendation.” Lexa sighed. “It’s just a form that I need to fill out. Or you fill out, ideally, and give it back to me. Dr. Gudmundsson glances at it, I draft a letter, and she signs it. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing for you, but maybe it’ll feel less disappointing to know that I’m basically her administrative assistant. For this kind of stuff, at least.”

“It’s…” Clarke paused and took a deep breath. Streaks of sunlight streamed through the branches of a tree and broke across her. “Look, I know how this works.”

“Good.” Lexa shrugged. “I’ll email you the form.”

“Can we just do it now?” Clarke was chewing on her lip, her finger tapping on the arm of the chair.

“Uh, sure.” This wasn’t how Lexa wanted to spend her office hours. “Let me just pull it up.” Her eyes darted around the screen. “Okay.” She asked some logistical questions about Clarke’s major and concentration, electives she’s taken, and planned graduation date. Then she went to the next part of the form.

“Okay, so who are we sending this recommendation to?” 

Clarke smiled and looked down. “Friends of the Earth in Ireland.”

Lexa typed. “Okay, for what, though?”

“Their Extinction Rebellion training program. It’s kind of like a fellowship.”

Lexa stopped typing. “Aren’t those the people who superglued themselves to the gates of, like, a hundred coal mines last July?”

Suddenly, Clarke was looking her straight in the eyes. “Yes.” 

Lexa felt that strange guilt wash over her. She sucked in her lips and decided not to comment. She looked down at the screen. “So what do you think your intellectual strengths are?”

That night, Lexa was having a drink with some of the other TAs when she noticed Clarke across the bar. She was with a group, sitting next to a completely unremarkable young man whose face was giving her his complete and devoted attention as she talked. It wasn’t clear if Clarke knew he was there. 

Lexa smiled. Boys are so ridiculous.

She sipped at her beer and silently nodded through the TAs’ complaints about work conditions and bad pay. It’s not that she didn’t agree with them, but it was all they had been talking about for the last thirty minutes, the last thirty days. And she only had one semester to go. By the time it was actually resolved, she’d probably be gone.

She scooted her chair out and left her ranting colleagues to find the bathroom. Two gender neutral bathrooms lined a narrow hallway, and both doors were locked. As she waited, wondering if the narrow hallway was ADA compliant, one of the doorknobs rattled and Clarke emerged.

“Oh, hey.” Clarke looked past Lexa, almost like she was embarrassed.

“Hey.” Lexa studied Clarke’s face. It was strange to see her looking unsure. She waited for Clarke to move so she could get into the bathroom. She didn’t move. Instead, she leaned against the door frame.

“Can you believe this virus thing?” she asked.

“What?” Lexa squinted. 

“The virus, the Coronavirus that’s going around in China. Seems like a pretty big deal.” Clarke finally looked at Lexa. “I’ve heard there are some cases in Italy, too.”

Lexa remembered seeing something on Twitter but hadn’t paid much attention. “I haven’t heard much.”

“I just wonder if we should be nervous.” Clarke’s confidence seemed to return. “I don’t think this country is prepared for anything like that.” She scoffed. “I mean, I don’t think this administration is prepared for much of anything.”

Lexa tilted her head. She didn’t know why Clarke was suddenly bantering with her about viruses. “Can I…?” She looked behind Clarke, nodding towards the bathroom.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry” The hallway wasn’t so narrow that they couldn’t get past each other, but their arms brushed against each other in a way that made Clarke look back when she got to the end of the brief corridor. Lexa was already closing the door behind her. Clarke bit her lip and went back to her table.

At the start of their next class, Lexa noticed that Clarke looked up when she walked in, though she looked away quickly.

It was Lexa’s task that day to explain the students’ final project. It was relatively straightforward:  choose one infrastructural element in your hometown, assess its current efficiency in terms of sustainability, and design three ways to improve that efficiency—two of which were realistic given financial, social, and political limitations, and one pie-in-the-sky, no holds barred approach.

Lexa had a feeling which one Clarke would devote most of her time to.

To her surprise, Clarke dropped in during her office hours again a week later. She didn’t linger outside the door this time, she just walked right in. Even more surprising, it was to ask about writing policy and navigating local government legislation. 

“I mean, tax breaks created a society of stand-alone homeowners, right? So why can’t tax breaks encourage high-density living and co-housing?” Clarke spoke breathlessly. When she committed to something, she threw herself in, even if it was housing policy.

“Aren’t we talking about Bangor, Maine?” Lexa asked. “Isn’t that a small town?”

“Not tiny.” Clarke squinted, annoyed. “And besides, high-density housing isn’t just for big cities. It’s not just good for sustainability. It helps build community. When people encounter each other everyday, they start to care about each other. People are super isolated in Bangor.”

Lexa nodded. “Okay.” She didn’t need to know the particulars. She was just glad Clarke was finally recognizing how long-term change realistically happened. “So what are your other two approaches?”

Clarke pulled out what appeared to be a folded engineering map of a Bangor neighborhood. “Do you mind?” She nodded at the blank space on Lexa’s desk.

“Sure.”

They both leaned over the map as Clarke pointed out potential locations for rainwater collection tanks. 

“This is pretty ambitious,” Lexa said, her eyebrows raised. She looked down again, her hands gripping the edge of the desk, her long hair tumbling towards the map and hiding her face. 

Before she could stop herself, Clarke reached up and slid the loose hair behind Lexa’s ear. They both froze. Lexa felt goosebumps shoot up her arms. Clarke bit her lip in a dare. She didn’t mean for this to happen, but maybe...she did?

Lexa eyes shot to the map. She felt Clarke’s hand slide over hers. She glanced over and saw the line of Clarke’s neck curving delicately as her head tilted in her direction. She suddenly loved that line, wanted to run her finger over it. 

She swallowed hard and pulled away.

“We...this…” She fumbled her words. “We can’t do this.” She looked up at Clarke with stony eyes, though uncertainty lingered at their edges.

“Oh, right.” Clarke grabbed at the corner of the map, sweeping it in a wave off the desk. She didn’t bother to fold it as she gathered her backpack with her other hand. She turned towards the door without looking back. 

At that moment, both of their cell phones buzzed. Clarke stopped and looked at Lexa who was already looking at the text. 

Attention. There has been an emergency on the UVA Charlottesville campus. Health services has identified 23 cases of the Novel Coronavirus today. This virus is extremely contagious. To limit the spread, you are instructed to shelter in place. Please do not move from your current location until directed by authorities. If you are indoors, close internal doors and open external doors and windows. If you are outdoors, remain outdoors.

A tinny female voice repeated the message from a public address system in the hallway.

Clarke let the map flutter to the floor. “Shit.” She closed the office door.

Lexa let something that was half a sigh, half a laugh escape from her mouth. She went to the window to push it open.

“This isn’t funny,” Clarke said quickly, her eyes wide. “This could be really bad. I read that this virus can be airborne for a long time. They don’t even know what the incubation period is.” She turned her wide eyes on Lexa, suddenly worried. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel fine,” Lexa said, throwing up her hands. “Except I didn’t eat lunch. So there’s that.”

“This is serious, Lexa.” Clarke’s words were quick and clipped. “People have died in China, and it’s getting worse in Europe.”

“Are you feeling sick?”

“No, but—”

“Then let’s just deal with what’s happening right now.” Lexa’s voice was calm, almost soothing.

Clarke sighed loudly and collapsed into the chair. “You mean the fact that I’m now stuck here with you?”

Lexa bit her lip. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

Clarke looked out the window. “Let’s...just forget…”

“Clarke…” Lexa leaned back in her chair. “It’s not that—”

“What is your deal, Lexa?” Clarke stood up, suddenly angry. “It’s like you’ve had it out for me from the second we met.”

“I just don’t think changing the world requires breaking everything, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. “It’s nothing personal.”

It only made Clarke get louder. “No big change has ever happened because people were following the rules.” Her face went red. “You’re smart, Lexa. I know you are. And you care. You just don’t care enough.”

Lexa felt her heart pounding, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t move. She had been accused of not caring her whole life, people mistaking her calm for distance, her quiet for heartlessness. Even as she spent three years of undergrad building the network and support to change the university’s HVAC system from fossil-fuel based to an electric heat recovery model. It wasn’t glamorous, but it reduced the school’s emissions by almost 50%. Even as she slowly persuaded Dr. Gudmundsson to support the TA’s cause, one small conversation in passing at a time. Even though she’d never see the fruits of that labor.

She looked out the open window. “You don’t know me.” Her voice was soft and even yet somehow completely commanding.

“You’re right.” Clarke took a deep breath and sat back down. She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do you even care anyways?” Lexa shook her head. “You’re almost out of here. Aren’t you going to Ireland or something.”

“I don’t care.” Clarke’s voice returned to its sophomore octave.

“Well, you certainly like to spend a lot of big feelings on something you don’t care about.” 

“Someone.” Clarke swallowed. Her head was tilted down but her eyes drifted up to Lexa’s, the blue endless like the middle of the ocean.

Lexa bit her lip. “Clarke…” The softness in her voice was no longer commanding.

Clarke felt a jump in her chest. 

A door in the hallway crashed open, and heavy feet marched down the hallway pausing until a muffled voice shouted, “Clear!” Then the steps continued, then paused. “Clear!” Again and again. 

Clarke looked out the window of Lexa’s office door and saw two people in hazmat suits scanning every office down the hallway. She watched until they finally made their way to her. 

“We got two!” a man yelled through his plastic mask.

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked through the window.

“That virus,” the man said as he tapped on the phone he was holding. His face was sweating. “The one on the news. There’s been an outbreak on campus. We don’t know much about it, but it’s supposed to be super contagious. We’re just being cautious.” 

“I can go straight home,” Clarke said, her voice on the edge of frantic. “I only live two blocks from here. I’ll stay far away from people.”

“No,” the muffled voice replied. “You have to shelter in place until we can test you. The tests are on the way. Should only be an hour or two.”

“Do you see the size of this office?” She looked back and saw Lexa looking up at her with smug but amused eyes, which only irritated her more. “Half of it is taken up by a desk. There’s no food.”

“I have a protein bar,” Lexa said, shrugging.

Clarke rolled her eyes.

“It’ll only be a few hours,” the man repeated. “You’re big girls.”

“What did you say?” Clarke squinted at him with sharp eyes. Her hand reached for the doorknob.

“Clarke.” Lexa said, quiet but unassailable.

Clarke’s hand dropped.

The man either didn’t see or acted like he didn’t see. “I need to get contact info from both of you. Names, numbers, and emails.”

“Why?” Clarke crossed her hands in front of her. 

She didn’t see Lexa rolling her eyes behind her. “I don’t know, Clarke,” Lexa said. “Maybe so they can get in touch with us while we’re trapped in this room and let us know what’s going on.”

Clarke sighed and sat down in the chair across from Lexa. “Fine.” 

They both gave their information, and the two hazmats suits continued on their search. “Someone will be here in a couple hours.” The man called back as he walked off.

“I don’t trust them.” Clarke sunk into the chair.

“Seems to be a theme.” Lexa gathered her hair with both hands and pulled it back into a bun. She sat back. “You could obviously handle a campus outbreak much more competently.”

Clarke opened her mouth then realized that Lexa was suddenly leaning forward, waiting for a response. Her eyes were shining. Clarke bit her lip and sat down. She looked down at her hands. A thick silence filled the tiny office. A cool breeze circled the office, rustling her hair. She pulled her jacket closed around her, and turned to look out the window. 

Lexa sat back and noticed that curve in Clarke’s neck again. Somehow soft and sharp at the same time. She felt one corner of her mouth curve up and shook her head. She shivered. Clarke noticed.

“Should we shut the window?”

Lexa had a quip ready about Clarke being the epidemic expert, but she sucked in her lips instead. “Do you think it’s safe?”

A tired smile crawled across Clarke’s lips. “I don’t know. But I’m cold.”

Lexa stood up to close the window.

Clarke took in a breath and held it for a moment. “I didn’t mean…” She said, letting the breath out. “I didn’t mean to step over a line. I just figured...I mean, you’re only two years older than me, and I know you’re a TA, but…”

The corner of Lexa’s lip creeped up again in a sad but kind way. “It’s not that, Clarke.” She looked up. “I mean it is. Professors discourage it, but it’s not forbidden. But…” The sadness melted off her smile as it widened. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you kind of drive me crazy.” Lexa bit her lip.

Clarke tilted head. “Crazy how?” A light shone in her eyes. She stood up.

Lexa watched her as she circled the desk, that curve of her neck running smooth. 

“Like crazy in a bad way?” Clarke stopped just in front of Lexa and leaned against the desk.

“Definitely,” Lexa responded, her eyes shining. She leaned back. An invitation.

Clarke bent down and put her hand on Lexa’s cheek. Then she leaned in.

Lexa jerked her head back quickly, though mischief danced in her eyes. “You sure you want to do that? I could get you sick.”

“I don’t care,” Clarke replied just before her lips reached Lexa’s.

---

When they went home that day, they didn’t know that, though they lived less than half a mile from one another, they wouldn’t see each other again for three months. They didn’t know they wouldn’t be allowed to leave their homes except to buy groceries. They didn’t know that classes would be moved online for the rest of the year. They didn’t know that the only fanfare there’d be for graduation was receiving a piece of fancy paper in the mail in July. 

They didn’t know that it would be a terrible time to fall in love. But they did it anyway. They sat on Google Hangouts while they studied together. They sent Spotify playlists that they carefully curated for each other. Clarke mailed Lexa sketches she made of Lexa’s face from classes on Zoom. Lexa sent Clarke seductive texts during those classes and smirked as her face went red. Late at night, they touched themselves together on speakerphone, hoping their roommates wouldn’t hear.

When the quarantine finally lifted in early July, their reunion was marked only by their roommates who occasionally caught them in the kitchen grabbing food or walking from the bathroom back to the bedroom. 

When Lexa landed a prestigious internship at the World Resources Institute, she convinced Clarke to move to Washington DC with her. Clarke’s Friends of the Earth training had been moved from Ireland to online, and DC wasn’t a bad place to find activist friends. 

They found a tiny studio in Southeast. Lexa took the green line to H Street every day. Her work took her to Capitol Hill where she sat silently in meetings and took in the careful dance between her supervisors and congressional leaders. It was a game of give and take, sometimes infuriatingly slow and steady—too much given, not enough won.

“By the time you make any change, the planet will already be burning.” Clarke was stirring a pot of jarred pasta sauce. Neither of them had ever been very interested in cooking. “It already is.”

Lexa sighed. This was a variation on a nightly conversation. She moved in behind Clarke, wrapping her arms around her and resting her head on her shoulder. Her blonde hair smelled like summer. “Not tonight, okay?”

The scent of mediocre tomato sauce filled the room. Lexa sat down. “Anyways, how was your day?”

Clarke looked back with a hint of trouble in her eyes. “We talked about how to, uh, accelerate government action.” She smiled that smile that both drew Lexa in and infuriated her.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk.” Lexa rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stifle the grin.

Clarke set the wooden spoon down. She strode across their tiny kitchen and straddled Lexa, sliding her fingers up Lexa’s neck and through her hair. She smiled that smile and bit her lip. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

---

After three years, Clarke had turned their tiny apartment into the neighborhood headquarters for climate justice. Flyers about pollution in Congress Heights covered their kitchen table. Posters illustrating rising sea levels along the Anacostia River were stacked on a chair in the living room. Every Tuesday night, she gathered a small group of activists to brainstorm projects and actions.  

Lexa complained whenever she was home, which was rare. She had been promoted to project manager and was gone for days or weeks at a time at meetings in The Hague or conferences in South Korea.

“Do you know how much fossil fuel those trips put into the atmosphere?” Clarke had a hard time understanding how the good Lexa was doing at these meetings outweighed their carbon footprint.

“I’m sure you can tell me the exact amount,” Lexa snapped. She had just gotten home from the Netherlands and was not in the mood for Clarke’s preaching. She looked from the pile of flyers on the table to the bed which was a messy heap of blankets to the stack of dishes in the sink. 

“What do you even do when I’m gone?”

Clarke lowered her head, and her eyes narrowed. She took in a long breath as her jaw clenched. 

“You don’t get to do that,” she said in a low voice. “You don’t get to come back and act like you’re the only one doing ‘real’ work.” Her air quotes were comically exaggerated. “Just because I’m not on Capitol Hill or at the fucking Hague doesn’t mean I’m not doing real work. I’m not your housewife, Lexa.” 

In three years, Clarke had learned that Lexa heard her whispers better than her shouts. She had learned that her anger distilled and harnessed got her much further than her anger exploded and dispersed. She didn’t realize in the moment that she had learned those things from Lexa.

Lexa clenched her fists and took a breath. She let her fingers relax. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

Clarke looked down. “I don’t know if we should be doing this at all.”

---

Clarke moved into a giant, run-down house on the edge of the city with some activist friends. Lexa found a studio in Logan Circle. 

“This isn’t what I wanted.” Clarke turned the key to their apartment over and over in her hand.

Lexa looked up from the box she was taping up. Her green eyes were heavy. “It’s not what I wanted either, Clarke.”

Clarke looked slowly around the mostly empty apartment. It made her smile, and it made her tired. So many memories. Lexa stood up. Her face was streaked with dust and sweat, but her shoulders were pulled back. She stood up straight, unshakeable.

If things were different, Clarke would have hugged her until her body went soft. Instead, she set the key on the kitchen counter. She looked up. “I love you, Lex.”

Lexa nodded slowly and sucked in her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment then looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I love you, too.”

Clarke turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

---

Their paths crossed only a few times in the following years—at coffee shops in Capitol Hill and once at a bar in Southeast. Lexa texted Clarke on her birthday. Clarke texted Lexa when she found out Lexa had been hired as the Executive Director of Organizing for Climate Action, or OCA. 

Can’t wait to see all the “incremental change” you make, Clarke’s text read after the initial congratulations. She couldn’t resist. Lexa didn’t respond.

Clarke never told her that she kept a binder full of Lexa’s white papers. She didn’t tell her that she sometimes googled Lexa’s name and watched her interviews from local news shows on YouTube. OCA was steadily and methodically taking on the fossil fuel industry, coordinating deep investigation with targeted peaceful protest to force oil companies into altering their practices, and Lexa was quietly becoming a driver of the movement. Clarke, despite her irritation, couldn’t help but be proud.

What Lexa was gaining in influence Clarke was gaining in notoriety. Her first action was a die-in at Union Station 300 people covered in fake blood laid down across the public transit hub, stifling the morning commute. They demanded that Congress and the President declare a climate emergency. Clarke had coordinated logistics and wrote the demands. A few months later, she traveled south where she and 500 others covered in blue paint chained themselves to each other in a rough line across downtown Miami where the sea was predicted to rise in 50 years. This time, she was the one with the loudspeaker. She talked to the media, declaring their demands.

Lexa rolled her eyes when she saw a very blue Clarke on CNN calling for legislative and economic climate action. But she also couldn’t help but smile. This was always who Clarke was going to become.

But their worlds didn’t come together in a meaningful way for six years—when they locked eyes across a sea of people in Houston, Texas.

---

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” Lexa said under her breath as she watched her carefully orchestrated protest disintegrate. Her green-shirted supporters looked around in confusion as the Extinction Rebellion chained themselves to gates and trees and then to each other in lines across the roads that led in and out of Exxon Mobil’s facilities. 

“Lexa!” a muffled voice called through the walkie-talkie. “What do we do?”

“Just keep everyone calm.” Her voice was low, barely containing her anger. 

The news crews that had been gathered at OCA’s speaker podium started migrating towards the sudden action at the gates and intersections. Some of the green shirts were joining the human chain. 

“For decades, Exxon Mobil has been a leader.” She heard Clarke’s voice ringing out over the crowd. Clarke was standing in the bed of a truck where a makeshift PA system had been set up. “A leader in pumping carbon into our atmosphere. A leader in pushing for deregulation of laws that protect our earth. A leader in covering up fossil fuel’s impact on our environment. They knew. Oh, yes, they knew. And now they’re not going anywhere until they listen to what we have to say!”

A massive cheer went up. The crowd, including Lexa’s green shirts, raised their fists and phones.

“We will be heard! We will be heard! We will be heard!” Clarke started chanting, and Lexa’s green sea followed her, their voices echoing down the long parkway.

“Lexa!” the voice called through the walkie talkie. “You’re losing them. You have to do something!”

Fuck you, Clarke, was the chant repeating through Lexa’s thoughts as she swam through the crowd towards her. She was at least 100 yards away, and the crowd was thick.

The people went silent as Clarke climbed onto the roof of the truck with her mic. “They will continue to profit on the destruction of our planet, of our home, as long as we let them.” Her voice swelled. “We must stop them.”

“We must stop them! We must stop them!” The crowd took up her words again.

Lexa finally made her way to the truck and looked up at Clarke. What the fuck are you doing? Her eyes said what she couldn’t say out loud. Clarke smiled and jumped into the bed of the truck again. 

“Does OCA stand with us?” Clarke asked into the mic. She looked across at the mass of green shirts around her before her eyes settled on Lexa. She held her hand out to Lexa, inviting her up into the truck bed.

Lexa felt hot anger pulsing through her veins. Anger that Clarke stole her moment. Anger that all the details she had so carefully plotted were now falling to the ground like broken glass. Anger that she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t refuse Clarke, not now. She grabbed her hand and climbed into the truck, and Clarke immediately jumped onto the roof and waited for Lexa to follow. 

Lexa swallowed hard, letting go of her plans, her pride, her power. She grabbed the mic from Clarke’s hand.

“We stand together to call Exxon Mobil to accountability!”

The crowd roared, and she felt it wash across her like a wave. This was power, but not the power she was used to. This was raw and untamed. Clarke took her hand and they turned to face each other. The blue in her eyes flashed, and the power danced between them.

The energy suddenly changed. Shouts went up together with bursts of smoke. Tear gas. The crowd jolted, looking for an escape all at once. The people chained together cried out, unable to bring their hands locked in tubes to their faces. The edges of the sea spilled out across the parkway.

“Don’t run, Lexa.” Clarke’s voice was calm, but something wild lingered at the edge of her words. “They can’t see you run.” She gripped her hand hard. “Stay with me.”

Lexa saw black spots pushing through the crowd towards them. 

“Those aren’t cops, Lexa.” Clarke’s chest rose and fell quickly. “They’re private security. We’re on a public road. They shouldn’t be touching us. Stand your ground.”

“How can you tell?” Lexa hated how her voice was shaking.

Clarke’s jaw clenched. “You always thought my training was ridiculous…”

Six black spots surrounded the truck, men covered in riot gear. “Security! You need to come down.”

“No, we don’t,” Clarke said with her wild calm. 

“Come down or we will bring you down.” The man sounded like he was enjoying himself.

“Go ahead.” Clarke shrugged. “We’ll bring a lawsuit.”

The speed of their violence startled Lexa. They leapt into the bed of the truck and grabbed Clarke’s legs, pulling them out from under her. Clarke grunted as her back caught the edge of the roof. She went silent when the back of her head slammed into the bed of the truck. 

“Clarke!” Lexa shouted as she dropped to her knees and held up her hands. The riot men grasped at her. “If you fucking touch me…” She drew her shoulders back and glared as she started to climb down. The men let her climb down.

As she dropped into the bed of the truck, she saw the men pulling Clarke’s limp arms behind her to cable-tie her wrists. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Lexa rushed to her body. She glanced at the dozens of green shirts that had gathered around the truck holding up cell phones. “You sure you want to do that? She’s not even conscious.” 

The men backed off.

Lexa folded herself over Clarke. “Clarke,” she whispered frantically. “Are you okay? Wake up.” She swallowed. “Please.”

Clarke stirred. 

“Oh my God.” Lexa gathered her into her arms. “Are you okay?”

Clarke slowly turned and looked up at Lexa with drowsy eyes. “I can’t believe you’re with me right now.”

Lexa felt tears prick at her eyes. “I’m so fucking mad at you.” She smiled.

Sirens rang out in the distance.

Clarke closed her eyes and smiled. “It was an opportunity we couldn’t pass up. You organized it so well.”

“Fuck you, Clarke.” Lexa leaned over and kissed her forehead. 

When the police arrived, Clarke was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. 

“These are the leaders?” they asked the private security men.

“Yeah,” said the man who had pulled Clarke down. “They incited this whole thing.”

“This was a legal gathering,” Lexa said. “I have permits.”

“It stopped being legal when the chains came out,” one of the cops said. “You’re both under arrest.”

Clarke remained conspicuously silent as they were read their rights. Fury wrestled with concern inside Lexa. She was worried about Clarke, but she was also being arrested because of her. When Clarke stood up and swayed, losing her footing for a moment, the concern made a comeback.

“Shouldn’t she see a doctor or something?” 

“She seems fine to me,” a policewoman said as she led Clarke away towards a separate car. Clarke looked back at Lexa with sleepy eyes.

“Do you want to make a call?” Lexa heard a man’s voice ask distantly.

“What?” She turned. The man arresting her had soft eyes.

“I’m about to take your cell phone,” he said. “Do you want to make a call before I do?”

“Is that allowed?”

“It’s at our discretion.” 

“Did she get a call?” Lexa nodded in the direction of Clarke.

“I don’t know. I didn’t arrest her.” His soft eyes became impatient. “I’m not going to offer again.” 

Lexa sighed and pulled out her phone. She found Eleanor, the chairwoman of OCA’s board of directors, in her contacts.

“Lexa!” Eleanor’s voice was frantic. “Are you okay? I saw the video.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, it’s all over Twitter. Who was the other woman? The blonde. Is she alright?”

“That’s the woman from Extinction Rebellion.” Lexa felt the fury crest as she refused to say Clarke’s name. “Listen, I’m being arrested.”

“What? Why?”

“They think I was part of—”

“Thirty seconds,” the cop interrupted.

“Listen, Eleanor,” Lexa took a deep breath and drew her shoulders back. “I need you to figure this out. Bail me out or whatever...I’ve never done this before.” 

“We’re already in touch with the lawyers,” Eleanor said. “Just hold tight.”

“End it now,” the cop reached for her phone.

Lexa clenched her jaw as she ended the call and handed him her phone.

---

Clarke’s pacing had grown frantic.

“Calling into the water,” Her words came out louder and more senseless with every passing minute. “He just doesn’t know it yet.” Her frenzy filled the small holding cell. 

Their tangled-haired cellmate’s eyes followed her back and forth. Her face had grown pale, and her finger-fidgeting sped to a wild pace. She looked like she was going to be sick—or start a fight.

Lexa glanced between the two of them, feeling the tension push at the edges of the small space, the bars of the cells trapping everything. Her rage had carried her through the first hour. She had ignored Clarke, hoping she’d calm down so she could be properly angry with her. But Clarke hadn’t calmed down. Her eyes grew more vacant with every passing hour, her pacing quicker and more rickety. 

“Facing the springs,” she mumbled, stumbling a moment before her hand caught a bar to steady herself. 

“You need to do something.” The fidgety woman’s shaky eyes landed on Lexa. Her shifty fingers were now balled into tight fist. “Or I will.”

Lexa’s muscled stiffened. She felt her heart beating evenly, solidly throughout her body, and time seemed to slow. Her anger at Clarke had been boiling at the surface, but it seemed to melt, rolling off her skin, as something spread through her from her very core, taking control. She turned her whole body towards the woman and tilted her head down while shifting her eyes up.

“Just try,” she said, her voice low and quiet.

The woman wrapped her arms around herself and pushed herself against the wall. “Just…” Her eyes shot upwards, glancing everywhere except in Lexa’s direction.  “I didn’t mean anything…” She let out a sigh, and her body seemed to go limp like an opossum playing dead.

Lexa exhaled. “Right.” She turned her head towards Clarke’s quick, hollow voice.

“Can’t climb the clock,” Clarke was saying. She was panting and sweat trickled down the side of her face. “Can’t climb it.”

Fear started to creep through Lexa. Clarke had always been intense, always danced at the edge of wild, but she was also calculated. She never lost control. She managed madness like an ER doctor, knowing which screams mattered and which could wait. At least that was the Clarke Lexa had known. But now the madness was taking over. She swayed with the nonsense of her words, even as her feet kept carrying her back and forth, back and forth. They wouldn’t keep her up much longer.

Lexa swallowed, longing for the anger that had now fallen away. It had anchored her. It had made being in jail tolerable. It had given this terrible day meaning. It had made looking at Clarke tolerable. She was familiar with anger—knew how to stoke it like a well-tended fire that would burn hot but not too big.

A fire she could manage. She didn’t know what to do with fear. And Clarke was scaring her. 

Clarke’s legs finally gave out. She fell hard, her knees crunching onto the cement floor. 

Instinctively, Lexa darted to the floor beside her. She gathered Clarke in her arms. She was burning up. At first, she was dead weight against her, but she slowly lifted herself up as if waking up.

“Clarke?” Lexa whispered.

“Lexa?” It took a few moments for some life to come back into her blue eyes. They steadied, tired but focused. “What are you doing here?”

“Inmate 67348!” A man’s voice echoed through the cell. 

Lexa looked down at the stick-on badge they had given her. 67360. Not her. She looked down at Clarke’s. Not her either.

The fidgety woman seemed to be asleep in the corner. 

The guard shouted this time. “Inmate 67348!”

The fidgety woman shuddered and blinked her eyes open.

“Do you want out of here or what?” The guard didn’t lower the volume. “You made bail. Let’s go.”

The woman looked so pale that Lexa was almost worried about her. But she wasn’t her problem anymore. She shuffled out of the cell, and the cell door slid closed with a crash. 

It was just the two of them now.

“Lexa,” Clarke’s eyes drooped. “Where are we?”

Lexa squinted at her. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?”

Lexa let out a long breath as she finally realized what was happening. Memory loss. Fever. She swallowed.

“We’re in jail, Clarke.”

“What? Why?” Clarke’s eyes closed and her head tilted against Lexa.

“No, no, no, Clarke.” Lexa shook her. “Wake up. You need to stay awake.”

Clarke lifted her head, blinking her eyes like she’d had a little too much tequila. 

“Let’s go sit on the cot.” Lexa stood and helped Clarke to her feet. They shuffled to the cot. Lexa rested her back against the wall and propped Clarke into a sitting position. 

“Why are we in jail, Lexa?” Clarke’s voice was quiet like a child’s.

“We were at a protest.”

“You got arrested with me?” Clarke's smile was drunken, gleeful, and exhausted. For a moment, Lexa saw what she must have looked like as a child when she was begging to stay up with her parents even as she was asleep on her feet.

“Sort of.” Lexa sighed. It wasn’t worth getting into.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore.” Her eyelids fell again.

“Stay with me, Clarke.” 

“I’m here.” Clarke’s voice was sweet and quiet. “I still like you, you know. I mean, love you. Always have. There’ve been others since, obviously, but...not like you.” Clarke fell quiet for a long time. 

Lexa swallowed and closed her eyes for a few moments. Her heart started pounding in her chest. She felt like she was hearing a secret she shouldn’t be hearing, but she wanted to hear more. She took a few deep breaths, bit her lip, then finally shook her head.

“Clarke, wake up.” She put her arm around Clarke’s shoulders and pulled her towards her. “Tell me the last thing you remember.”

Lexa spent the next two hours nudging Clarke awake when she faded and asking her things. Recent things. Factual things. When Clarke hazily asked her if she remembered that day in her office when the coronavirus hit, Lexa steered her back towards the details of her activist training. 

Eventually, after several deflections, Clarke lifted her head like it weighed a hundred pounds so she could look at Lexa. “Why won’t you talk about us?”

“Because it’s not the right time.”

“Do you still love me?” She cut to the center of it, never one to give up. Her voice was quiet but clearer than it had been.

Lexa took a few breaths before turning her head and looking into Clarke’s eyes. “It’s impossible not to love you.”

“Inmate 67360!” The guard's voice rang. He looked into the cell. “You made bail. Unless you want to keep cuddling with your girlfriend.”

“She’s hurt,” Lexa said as she stood. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“She hasn’t made bail.”

“She might have a head injury.” She narrowed her eyes at the guard.

“She hasn’t made bail,” he repeated without an ounce of feeling. “Do you want to leave?” He looked up. There was a bit of feeling in his eyes. “You can probably help her more out there.”

Lexa nodded slowly and looked back at Clarke. “Are you okay?”

Clarke’s eyes were glassy, but a tired, wistful smile crossed her face. “I think so.” Her eyes drooped again. “Lex, how’d we get here?”

Lexa sucked in her lips. She hated to leave but the guard was right. She walked to the bed and bent down so that her face was even with Clarke’s. She brushed her fingers down her cheek. 

“I have to go, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded as her eyes slowly closed.

“Clarke! You need to stay awake.” Lexa shook her shoulders. “Hey.” She put her cheek against Clarke’s and whispered into her ear. “Just for a little longer.”

“I’ll try.” Clarke raised her hand to Lexa’s face.

---

It was late into the night when Lexa was released. Eleanor was waiting in the lobby for her. She was an older woman who had made the most of a marriage into money, smart enough to wield it to her will but smooth enough that people still liked her when she did. A natural-born chairwoman of a national organization’s board. Lexa was less charming and more aggressively direct, which made them a good team.

Lexa was surprised first by how sharp the older woman looked for the end of a disastrous day and then by the positively giddy smile on her face. Eleanor seemed to notice and evened out her features.

“Are you okay?” she asked like she was supposed to.

“What is going on?” Lexa was more interested in why Eleanor was so being so weird.

The smile splashed across Eleanor’s face again. “Everyone has seen the video, Lexa. It caught fire on twitter and then CNN picked it up and then all the rest. I’ve been fielding interviews all night.”

“What video?”

“Videos, actually. Dozens of them. From the protest. Everyone saw those goons take down that blonde woman.” Eleanor led her outside towards a waiting car. “It looked bad. Do you think that woman is alright? I mean, she shouldn’t have been there in the first place, but….Don’t you know her?”

Lexa bit her lip. “Yeah.”

Eleanor gushed past her. “Lexa, they want to talk to us.”

“Who?”

“Exxon Mobil’s people.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you understand how bad the videos look.”

“Of Clarke getting hurt?”

“Is that her name?”

“Why do they want to talk to us? It was Clarke who...” Lexa trailed off.

Eleanor shook her head as she opened the car door. “It was their people who threw the teargas into the crowd, too. They were off their property. They shouldn’t have been there. They need to clean this up. And there’s no way they’re going to work with that group of radicals.” Eleanor spit the word out like it tasted bad. “We’re the real players here, Lexa. They want to set up a meeting tomorrow. And the senators said they would reschedule for tomorrow or the next day, so that’s still on the table—”

“But what about Clarke?” Lexa rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted.

“I’m sure her people are taking care of her.”

“But you don’t know?” Lexa looked back towards the station. “You haven’t talked to them?”

“Why would I call them?” Eleanor’s eyes were angry. “They ruined everything today with their ridiculous chains and human barriers.”

“That’s not what you just told me.” Lexa tilted her head.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, Eleanor.” Lexa’s voice was sharper than it should have been with her chairwoman. “Because if I recall, Exxon Mobil’s people had no interest in talking to us before all this. It seems to me that if Clarke hadn’t been attacked—”

“—To be fair, Extinction Rebellion was asking for it—”

“—If she hadn’t been attacked,” Lexa interrupted the interruption, “there would be no seat for us at their table. Is that true?”

Eleanor sighed.

“Listen, Eleanor.” Lexa took a deep breath. “We’ll take the meetings, okay? I promise. But we need to take care of Clarke. She was in that cell with me, and she’s not okay. It’s the right thing to do. Even if you disagree, it would still be good optics. OCA taking care of the environmentalist who was attacked.” She looked up at her with tired, soft eyes. “We need to be on the same side.”

Eleanor studied Lexa for a long moment. Finally, she nodded, a small, curious smile tugging gently at the corner of her lips. “I’ll call the lawyer.”

---

When Clarke was released, she came out hanging onto a guard’s arm. She could barely stay on her feet. Her face was pale and shimmering. Lexa rushed over and propped her up, guiding her slowly out of the building to the car where Eleanor was waiting in the front seat.

“Oh my God.” She brought her hand to her mouth when she saw Clarke’s dazed face. 

“We need to get her to the hospital.” Lexa strapped Clarke in and slid into the backseat next to her. “You still with us, Clarke?”

Clarke nodded distantly.

“Just a little longer,” Lexa whispered, her voice no longer able to hide her deep worry.

Eleanor’s head swivelled at Lexa’s tone. She saw Lexa wrap her arm around Clarke, pulling her towards her. She saw Clarke rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder and Lexa close her eyes as she reached for Clarke’s hand. She had never seen her this soft.

Eleanor smiled quietly to herself and turned her eyes back to the front.

“Hey,” Lexa whispered again. “Stay awake. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“I know.” Clarke’s voice was so faint. She fell silent for a few long moments. “Hey, Lex?” she finally asked.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we can try again.”

Clarke didn’t see the tiny smile creep across Lexa’s face, but she heard it in her voice. 

“We’ll see.”

[novamm66]

From Earth to Sky - Chapter Ten

--

Who else is happy it’s Friday! I sure am. It means it is new chapter day!

This chapter was challenging. I tried to write it without giving away some major plot points from my first story Red Sky in the Morning. 

I know that I am giving Bianca a bad time in my story. It’s just how it worked out in my head. 

Enjoy!

--

“Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor.”

Bianca’s parting shot snapped the last of Kiaya’s restraint, and in a blink, Kiaya had Bianca pinned to the wall. Varric had never seen Kiaya lash out like this before. Her level head was something everyone had come to count on. But there was no sign of it now.

“How dare you.” Kiaya snarled as she pressed her arm against Bianca’s throat. “After this? You think locking this door fixes anything? The damage is done. That stuff has killed hundreds, possibly thousands, and polluted lands for who knows how long. The damage you have done will affect generations. I have already pulled a spike the size of my arm out of Varric’s back, and I am having a lot of trouble not blaming you for it getting there.” Bianca’s eyes flicked to Varric’s briefly, and he nodded, confirming what Kiaya said.

“I,” Bianca shuttered, but Kiaya cut her off.

“I am doing everything in my power to put the demon you let out back in its bottle. But the damage is done, and you are partly responsible for that,” Kiaya growled. “So don’t you dare threaten me. It is my advice,” Kiaya pressed on Bianca’s throat, causing the other woman to wheeze. “That you get as far away from me as quickly as you can before I lose what little sense I have left.”

Kiaya released her hold and backed up, her hands were glowing with power, and the mark was in full form. Bianca shot Varric one more glance before she was gone.

Bianca’s footsteps faded into silence. Dorian coughed. “Well, then.”

“Smudges,” Varric began, but he stopped speaking when Kiaya looked at him. Her fury had not receded. It burned in her eyes and seemed to pulse in the air.

“Let’s get back to camp.” Kiaya’s tone was clipped, controlled, and the group silently followed her out of the cave.

There was no sign of Bianca outside. Kiaya was breathing hard as she glanced around. “Thom, would you mind carrying my gear back to camp?” Without waiting for an answer, Kiaya stripped to her smalls. Then walked to the cliff edge next to the waterfall and dove into the deep pool below.

Varric helped gather up Kiaya’s things while Dorian watched the water. “If you are waiting for her to surface, you may be here a while,” Varric said to the mage.

“I know, I was just contemplating the distasteful idea of going after her,” Dorian answered.

“Best to leave her be,” Thom said as he led the way down the path. “Give her time. Also, I would bet you wouldn’t be quite as successful with that dive, although I would pay some coins to see it.”

Dorian’s vehement denial of anyone every seeing The tension that Kiaya had left behind began to ease as Dorian denied anyone ever seeing him high dive.

Varric spared one more worried glance at the water before hurrying after his two companions. “First round is on me this evening, gents. Let’s get back to camp.”

—

It was late, but Cassandra was still awake. She had trouble falling asleep without Varric beside her now. She was reading in Varric’s moth-eaten desk chair with a blanket over her bare legs.

Cassandra snapped the book closed when she heard his familiar footsteps on the stairs. Varric looked exhausted when he came through the door, but he perked up when he saw her. Cassandra immediately stood and went to him, wrapping her arms around him as his head rested on her chest. His pack hit the floor with a thud before Varric mirrored her position. Cassandra revelled in the feeling of well-being that came from simply holding him.

It lasted until Cassandra was pinched by his armour, and she hissed at the spark of pain. She helped him undo the many buckles that held his kit together, not speaking until the last piece was set aside, and they settled into bed together. Varric rolled his shoulders and stretched. Cassandra combed her fingers through his hair, trying to ease the tension he still held.

“How did it go?” Cassandra asked, and Varric’s answering sigh ghosted across her collar bone.

“Could have been better.” Varric pulled Cassandra tighter into his side. “Could have been worse too, I suppose. We closed the door to the Deep Roads, but it was Bianca that gave Corypheus access. Not intentionally but still.”

“That is not your fault.” Cass fought to sound calm through her anger on Varric’s behalf. “You are not responsible for the actions of others.”

“No, just my own.” Varric sounded defeated. “If Bartrand and I had never organized that expedition, so much would be different.”

Cassandra’s heart ached at the pain in his voice. “No one blames you, Varric.”

“Except myself.” Varric waved away Cass’s protest and changed the subject. “So Smudges finally show her temper. She almost throttled Bianca. It was a near thing.”

“What?” Cassandra sat up in surprise.

“Oh, yes. Smudges has a temper that we have never seen before, and I hope to never see again.” Varric gave her a crooked smile. But Cassandra could see weariness etched in his features. He looked so tired like this venture had taken more out of him than he wanted to let on. Cassandra leaned down and gently kissed him, offering the comfort she couldn’t find the words to express. Cassandra lay down again, nestling her head against Varric’s shoulder, gently kissing the side of his neck. “You should sleep now. You can tell me in the morning. If you want to.”

The candle burned low and went out. Cassandra was almost asleep, lulled by the steady beat of Varric’s heart.

“I’m happy you are here, Cass.” Varric murmured, his voice clouded with sleep.

“Always,” Cassandra said as the pull of the fade took her.

---

Cassandra gripped the stone baluster hard enough that her knuckles ached. She was expected at the Herald’s Rest. But Kiaya’s confession had thrown Cassandra into turmoil. Her shock had led to anger, which had sparked an argument with Varric.

Cassandra was startled when Cullen settled against the wall next to her.

“How long have you known?” Cassandra asked through gritted teeth.

Cullen sighed. “She told me after the battle at Adamant.”

“Fuck!” Cassandra pushed off the wall and paced to the tower and back. “How am I…” Cassandra couldn’t finish her question. She kicked the wall before cursing again.

“I know how you feel.” Cullen waved off her skeptical look. “You feel like everything that has been guiding you is false. That suddenly all the good you wanted to do in this life may be flawed, and you are picking apart every decision, every act. The guidelines you have believed in for so long are suddenly not where you expect them to be.”

“This is starting to sound oddly familiar,” Cassandra said dryly. Cullen was echoing the words she had said to him when she recruited him in Kirkwall.

Cullen grinned at her and continued. “What you have now is an opportunity to form your own guidelines…”

“Build a world that you want to see.” Cassandra finished for him, rolling her eyes. “And I dragged you into this nightmare.”

“Not the way I see it. You were right. We are changing the world by trying to hold it together.”

“How can this not change things?” Cassandra could feel her anger giving way.

“What does it actually change?” Cullen asked.

Cass groaned. “I don’t know. How did you forgive her?”

Cullen was quiet for a moment, watching the sunset colours start to bloom. “I walked away from Kiaya when she told me. At that moment, all I could see was my fears come to life.”

Cassandra gave Cullen a studied look. Shame was apparent on his face. “How far did you get?” She asked.

“A few paces, then I went back.” Cullen answer with a bone-weary sigh. “I remembered who she is and everything that she has done for us, all while carrying a fifteen-year-old secret and hating herself for it.”

Cullen met Cassandra’s eyes. “She the strongest person I know, Cass. Would you want to be judged on what you did fifteen years ago? I certainly don’t. Is there anything you can do to her that is worse than what she does to herself? Kiaya cares for people so much, you have seen it, is that so easily forgotten?”

“No. It’s not.” Cassandra’s anger was fading.

Cullen looked down as the pub door opened, and the sounds of merriment laughter spilled out. “It’s good of Varric to organize a cards night. Kiaya needs to know that she’s not alone.”

“Varric has a good heart,” Cassandra replied.

“So do you,” Cullen said. “And so does Kiaya.”

Cassandra exhaled the last of her anger. She could see worry still on Cullen’s face, and she smiled at her friend. “You can relax. I owe Kiaya my life a few times over, and I know nothing has really changed. It was just so unexpected.”

Cullen relaxed. “I know. I still have moments when I don’t believe it.”

“Alright,” Cassandra smacked her palms down on the stone parapet hard enough to sting. “Now, I really need a drink.”

Cullen laughed. “Me too, but not that stuff that Bull drinks or Kiaya’s Scramble. I need to be able to function tomorrow.”

---

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Lullaby

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- 2 more chapters to go.) Chapter Summary- Y/n and Daniel’s wedding draws closer. After her engagement party, Y/n pays Keanu a surprise visit. 

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Chapter 15

2 Months Later It was funny, Y/n thought; how fast things could change, how much faster they could go back to being the same. Maybe she’d taken them for granted, maybe she should have appreciated it more. But it didn’t matter, soon, it would all just be a memory anyway. 

In a month and a half. Six weeks exactly 

By the rate things were moving at, that would be gone before she could blink and by then, Y/n would be a married woman. Mrs. Warren-Wang. It wasn’t the name she’d have chosen for herself, but then again, she hadn’t really chosen much when it came to what being married to Daniel would constitute. Her mother and Alice though, they’d had a field day making the arrangements. They’d chosen everything; from the big things like the perfect venue and the cake to little things like party favors and color schemes. They were so excited, and sometimes, Y/n wished that she was excited too, but really, she dreaded it. She was dreading her own wedding day.

When a large hand stationed itself at her back, pecking the side of her head, Y/n tried to blink away the weighty thoughts that seemed to sink her. Returning to the moment, Y/n drank in her surroundings as if it were the first time, even though she'd been there all night. They’d done a wonderful job, the decorators that her parents had hired; turning the grand ballroom at Delice into an indoor fairy tail; an artificial tree sprouted from the center of the room, its plastic branches stretching all around against the high ceiling, with twinkling fairy lights woven into the perpetually green leaves to combat the intentionally dimmed setting. In mason jars, centerpieces with light colored flowers and lone candles sat at the middle of round tables, scattered strategically about the room, on top of pristine white table cloths. It might have been the perfect engagement party, if Y/n actually wanted to be engaged. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Chuckling quietly, Y/n couldn’t help but blush. At least he was a sweetheart, it could be worse. “You have, but I don’t mind hearing it again,” turning in his embrace, Y/n looked at Daniel through her thick lashes. He was her future, whether she loved him or not. She was learning to though, maybe. They’d only recently moved in together, in a place his parents had gifted them, just one street over from where Y/n grew up and she was beginning to find that he wasn’t terrible to share a home with; he respected her opinions and never made a decision without running it by her. 

“Well,” he grinned, “You look absolutely stunning,” leaning down, Daniel caught her lips in a sweet kiss, and on instinct, Y/n reciprocated, flattening her palm of the lapel of his black suit coat, “I love you,” he murmured when they pulled apart. 

Y/n wasn’t sure if she would ever get used to saying those words to him, but for the sake of making things easier, she hoped she could. “I love you too,” it felt foreign, saying it to Daniel, and every time she did, Y/n a painful pang in her chest followed by the unshakable feeling that she was betraying Keanu, the man she really loved. 

He had taken her engagement in stride, though Y/n could see that even if he didn’t tell her, it bothered him. They’d stopped going out, to avoid being seen in public and really, the only place they ever met up was at his house, after days of planning in advance. Keanu had, unfortunately, become her dirty secret. 

“Your parents want us to say a few words before everyone starts leaving,” no wonder they liked him so much, he was always willing to do whatever they asked. “Shall we?”

Y/n nodded slightly, letting Daniel lead her to the head table, up at the front of the room. Unlike the rest, their table was long and rectangular, similar floral pieces dominating the center of the furniture, occasionally punctuated by picturesque platters of sugary delights; macaroons that obeyed the theme and little round cakes with swirls of champagne flavored frosting on top. Behind their table on the raised portion of the large room, hung white and pink drapes, flowing effortlessly with floral garlands holding it in place at the top. 

Taking their places, Y/n stood next to Daniel, looking at the perfect picture of a doting fiancee, graciously accepting a glass of champagne as someone else handed him a microphone. When he pulled out a chair for her, Y/n smoothed the back of her ankle length, rose gold dress, the thick glittering bands running vertically along the garment rough beneath her fingers. Like everything else, the dress was her mother’s choice; long, stylish, billowy sleeves and a generous ‘v’ neck with a slit that exposed most of her legs when she sat, and finally a gold belt at her waist. Y/n was sure that her mother would be choosing her wedding dress too.

Maybe she should be the one getting married.

When Daniel reached for her left hand, Y/n let him take it, trying to smile lightly as he cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentleman,” he glanced around; all eyes were on him before long. He was like that, Y/n had found, able to command a room easily; charismatic, charming and strikingly handsome, women wanted him and men wanted to be like him. “It has been a great pleasure to be able to celebrate our engagement with you, and Y/n and I are both so grateful that we’ve gotten to share this time. But I’d like to keep you for just a minute more, so I can propose a toast to my lovely fiancee,” just after bending to kiss the back of her hand, he let to go to raise his glass, “Y/n,” he looked to her, “You are incredibly beautiful, inspiringly intelligent and everyday spent with you has been adventure, which is why I can not wait to make you my wife; so we we can spend the rest of our lives together, going new adventures, building new experiences and loving each other. To my love; Y/n.”

Just as he sat Daniel kissed her quickly and the guests cooed  quietly and when they broke, Y/n could feel all eyes on her, expecting her adoration for her groom-to-be next. What was she supposed to say anyway? As she stood, Y/n inhaled sharply, her heart thumping erratically when nothing fruitful would come. That was when the idea came to her; just say to him what she would to Keanu; should be easy right?

Right.

“Daniel,” with no time to waste, Y/n dove right in, trying to make the whole thing more realistic, “I don’t think that I could have gotten luckier; you chose me, and for that I will always be honored. I never thought that it was possible for me to love a man the way I love you, but still everyday,” it was much harder than she initially thought it would be; singing praises of love and adoration to a man she barely felt for. As she continued, with Keanu in her head, wishing that it was him there instead, Y/n’s eyes stung and her throat burnt, the emotion too heavy to be quelled. Maybe they’d think it was happy tears. Maybe she’d break down right there and prove them wrong. “Everyday, my love for you grows. You are better, so much better, so much more, than anything I could ever have dreamed to have in a husband.” Y/n’s tongue longed to say Keanu’s name, but she held it, even as the tears now flowed freely and she sniffled noisily, “Daniel,” Y/n breathed deeply, “Thank you for being everything a girl could want, and if I love you the way I do now, I can’t wait to see how much I’ll love you tomorrow, and everyday after that.”

An attendant took the mic and as Y/n sat again, their guests cheered. “See,” Heather leaned in, close to Y/n’s ear, “That wasn’t so hard now wasn’t it?” Swallowing thickly as warm tears tangled in her lashes, blurring her sight, Y/n kept her head trained forward, barely able to nod at her mother’s venomous words. 

The pictures had already started to make its rounds on the internet and Keanu needed a glass of whiskey just to look at them. Y/n, his Y/n, in the arms of another, who surely couldn’t love her the way he did. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was wrong, but Keanu just wished that she could leave Daniel and be with him; forgo her responsibilities and they could be together, without having to hide. It should have been him after all; he should be the one at her side in those pictures, who she was going to marry. But Keanu couldn’t ask Y/n to do that, he could never hurt her by requesting that she leave everything she knew just for him. 

If only love could be enough.

He hadn’t realized that his eyes had grown tear filled until a knocking at the door had him hastily swiping at them as he stood. Tossing his phone to the sofa, Keanu padded barefoot towards the door, gasping quietly at the sight on the other side of it.

“Hi,” she sobbed, one word enough to tell him how broken she felt, her lips quivering and tears falling freely. A cab was just pulling off the curb, signaling that more than likely, no one knew where she was, at least for now. “I hate this,” Y/n’s voice broke and she ran her hands anxiously through her freed hair. Still dressed for the engagement party, though with slightly smudged make-up, red eyes and stained cheeks. Still Keanu thought that, without fail, Y/n was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever been lucky enough to lay eyes on, “I hate this so much.”

“It's okay,” he gritted his teeth, trying to suppress his own tears as he pulled Y/n against his chest, kissing her hair as he rubbed her back soothingly, “It’s gonna be okay sweetheart.”

“No, it's not,” she blubbered, hugging him back and burying her face into his old t-shirt, finding comfort in his smell and the way his heartbeat felt against her cheek, “I….I just…” Nothing would come, what could she say that he didn’t already know? 

Keanu thought if his soul could be shredded to pieces, then that was what it would feel like. His heart was in his throat and all he wanted, right then and there, was to make everything better for Y/n; to dry her tears and ensure that no ill fate ever befell her. He wanted to be her knight in shining armor and the person she could rest her head next to at night. But he couldn’t be that, he might never be that. Feeling completely helpless to her plight, Keanu led them inside, stopping short in the hallway, “I’m so sorry,” a lone tear escaped his whiskey orb, so much more still kept painfully at bay. Keanu felt like he’d failed her somehow; Y/n had meant more to him than most and he couldn’t protect her from what she’d been running from.

Y/n didn’t pull away, but her tears slowed, the security that he offered enough to make her feel better, even for a bit, “It’s not your fault,” her reassurance was meek, but he knew that it wasn’t how she meant it.

“What can I do?” Keanu pulled her away for a minute, surveying her disheveled form, brushing some hair from her face, only to gently cup her cheek.

Y/n’s fingers slid from his forearms, gliding over his broad shoulders as they made their way to cup his neck, “Make me forget,” her whispered words drew him in as Y/n stepped closer, “Just for a little bit, I want to forget. I just want it to be us, please.” Arching upwards, Y/n initiated their kiss, her lips soft and tasting of champagne and something tart, like lemon. 

Keanu easily took the control she offered him, letting her bloom against him as she responded to his touch; nothing too much just yet, merely steadying hands on her hips. Tilting her head, Y/n slowly rounded her arms around his neck, standing on the toes of her strappy gold heels as she melted into his broad chest. Her tears went dry and no more came as they continued, his tongue gently passing over hers, one of his hands slowly descending to her lower back. “Are you sure?” He broke their kiss momentarily. Y/n had initiated it, but she was in a less than favorable metal state and Keanu didn’t want to take advantage of her.  

“Yeah, please,” she whimpered, trying to close the space between them again. 

“Okay,” Keanu breathed, catching Y/n’s swollen lips once again, that time in a slower, more sensual kiss. He poured his breath, his love and maybe even part of his soul into her, already establishing that the night would go by slowly. The world would humor them; stop its chaotic spin for a bit and they’d be privileged with a handful of sacred moments, so they could indulge each other in what was not meant to be. 

That night, as Keanu hoisted Y/n up into his arms, the lengthy cut in her dress allowing for her legs to easily tangle around his waist, he thought that Y/n didn’t deserve anything less than being appreciated and attended to, slowly and completely. She deserved his all, and Keanu was going to give it to her.

Upstairs, in his bedroom, where pale yellowish light from the harvest washed the hardwood in a somber pool at their feet, his steady palms guided Y/n so her back would be to him and after a lingered moment, he swept her tresses away from the back of her neck, pressing a warm, chaste, whiskey flavored kiss there, breathing her intoxicating scent as his stocky fingers led the discreet zipper of her dress down her spine.

The shimmery fabric settled around her feet, and her strapless bra followed by her lacy panties were next. Naked with the exception of her heeled sandals, Keanu urged Y/n to sit on his made bed, immediately getting on his knees after he made short work of stripping himself, taking a gentle hold of one ankle. A calloused, yet calmingly familiar touch rose goosebumps on Y/n’s skin as Keanu slowly worked on her shoes, dumping it to the side afterwards. 

It was a daunting task, but as his lips sought upwards, from the inner side of her leg, Y/n and Keanu maintained eye contact in the near darkness. Arguably, they were past the point of needing light to maintain their connection, it was always there, it would always be; Keanu was sure that he could find Y/n, even if the world had been plunged into pitch darkness. His open-mouthed, leisurely endearments sent shivers up her spine and electrified her nerves. 

Keanu’s touch, the way his body knew Y/n’s was incomparable; he was permanently in tune with what she needed, always eager to put her needs first. In turn, her breaths were shallow and audible, each hitch easily made out in the near silence and her gasps giving him life. 

With one hand supporting his weight, Keanu occupied the other by letting it roam appreciatively up her body. His longing erection brushed her silky heat when he finally ducked to reach her neck, the scent of her perfume still clung to her skin, drawing him in, the ends of his overgrown mane tickling her cheek. 

"Keanu," Y/n mewled, her warm breath gently blowing her hair, her hands sliding up his bare back, his skin surprisingly cool beneath her tender touch.

"What do you want, baby?" He worked his way down again, his lips circling her breast, his tongue swirling around her hardened nipple, eliciting a needy moan from her ajar lips. With his free hand, Keanu favored her other boob, his gropes gently and slow. 

The ball of Y/n's heels skimmed the back of his calves before tangling with his thighs, urging his hips towards hers, “You,” she breathed sharply, “All I want is you.”

All she ever wanted was Keanu.

If after the worst of the worst, he was all that was left, her world would still be complete. 

Complying after a minute, Keanu eased into her inch by inch, raising himself slightly off Y/n so he could admire the way her jaw hung slack. Finally nestled deep inside the tightness of her drenched heat, Keanu let a throaty groan leave his lips, low and appreciative. Y/n always fit so well with him; like two puzzle pieces that only made sense if they were put together.  

After a prolonged moment of just absorbing the feeling of Y/n enveloping him, Keanu, at an unhurried pace, started rolling his hips, his pace easy for her to keep up with. Clinging to him, with her arms reaching around for his shoulders, Y/n’s erratic breathing matched his and occasionally, her hips would buck to meet his. Their shadows danced on the dimmed walls, and they were so intertwined, it was hard to tell their bodies apart.

Progressively, the heat around them built, swirling with the heavy cloud of emotion, bringing with it, a light sheen to their skin. Time seemed to pass in slow motion, and something about those cherished moments felt vastly different from the ordinary; as if there was more depth to the act, like that much love had never been shared between them. Neither of Y/n nor Keanu wanted it to end, though, eventually, Y/n was gasping raggedly as she came around him, her clenching walls milking his member. Keanu wasn’t too far off, spilling his hot seed deep inside her, his rigid thrusts punctuated by low grunts and their tangled praises.  

Untangling was slow and graciously incomplete; Keanu rolled over to his side, one of Y/n’s legs still hooked over his waist. The natural light wasn’t enough to define their features, but still, Y/n thought that she could see Keanu clearly as she cupped the side of his face, the warm center of her palm over his ear; some of his hair laced with her her fingers while the pad of her thumb skimmed the laugh lines near his eyes; the evidence of a live well lived. Their noses barely touched and any closer might constitute their lashes tangling. 

“I don’t ever want to be without you,” her whispered admission accompanied glassy eyes and the knowledge that her desires may never be more than fiction.

Still, Keanu was clung to hope that they’d been in the best of graces and things could look up. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see her hurt again. “You will never be without me,” he reassured, bringing her face towards his, so he could seal his promise with a kiss. Keanu hated knowing that his assurances might one day be revealed to be empty, they couldn’t go on like that forever, but a voice in his head, so soft it was almost silent, seemed persistent in the belief that somehow, he would in fact, maintain a part of her life. 

Maybe it was right and they just didn’t know it; maybe he’d always be with her.

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @a-really-bi-girl​  @baphometwolf666 @sdaff2   @green-forest-dreams @weird-civilian @magnificentclodpiebanana

[themysteryofwriting]

How Ray Became Anxiety

Quick Note:  this work is based off an au of mine. Roman and Patton are NOT meant to be unsympathetic.  Just really not understanding and both kind of jerks to Virgil and also to Ray and the other darks later. Pretty much they don't get what they did wrong, not even realizing how bad they messed up, but they're not intentionally trying to hurt anyone

TW: Light Sides being Jerks, Major Character Death, Virgil ducks out, Transformation of Character

For Rachel, that day would forever be a reminder of how she messed up.  It was her job to protect, and yet she couldn’t protect the one person who had always been there for her.

They had just finished filming the episode ‘Am I Original?’ and even before they headed back to the mindscape Rachel could tell something was off with Virgil.  

At the time she thought it had been a mix of Virgil’s recent fight and separation from Janus and Remus, along with having to deal with the lights treatment of him.

She wouldn’t know until later that night how wrong she was.

Fortunately, she did have a bad feeling so she went to go check on Virgil, after making sure the others weren’t around so they didn’t overhear.  Not because she was ashamed of her brother or anything, it had actually been Virgil’s idea to keep their relationship a secret.  Mainly because he was scared of what they would do if they found out they were related.  Especially with how the others treated him.

Rachel had originally argued against it, knowing that they knew about the Creativity Twins and didn’t treat Roman badly, but a few very convincing arguments later, she finally agreed.

The second none of the others were around, Rachel headed to Virgil’s room and knocked on the door. “Anx you in there,” she called, just in case some of the others were still within earshot.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Virgil to open the door.  He smiled slightly upon seeing Rachel and let her in.  “Hey, Ray, what’s up?”

Rachel smiled slightly at her brother, but couldn’t help but notice he was fidgeting with his hands a bit as he talked.  He normally didn’t do that around her unless he was really anxious.  That wasn’t good at all.

“You seemed nervous during filming, I wanted to check on you,” Rachel said softly.

“Well, I’m fine now.”

“The way you’re fidgeting says otherwise.”

That caused Virgil to freeze, he clearly hadn’t noticed Rachel noticed him fidgeting. “Okay maybe I was a little anxious but it wasn’t too bad.”

“Virgil….”

“I’m fine Ray it’s nothing,” Virgil said, trying to shrug Rachel off, “Just a little thrown off by everything.  I’ll be back to normal in a little bit.”

Rachel just sighed.  “Okay how about we do a movie night or something? Make you feel better?”

“Nah, it shouldn’t be that bad Ray,” Virgil said, “Go work on that thing you said you were making me.”

“You sure V?  I can stay if you need me to,” Rachel couldn’t explain why, but something was telling her she needed to stay with Virgil, that she shouldn’t leave.

“I’m fine Ray, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“I know I just...have a bad feeling,” Rachel admitted, “I don’t know what it is but I feel like if I leave you alone something bad is going to happen.”

“Hey everything’s going to be fine Ray,” Virgil said, “How about you come back over after you finish the jacket?  I promise I won’t go anywhere and that will help you calm some.”

Rachel nodded and smiled.  “Yeah that should work. I guess I’ll see you later Vee.”

Virgil nodded. “See ya Ray.”

Rachel smiled as she headed out and back to her room.  Not knowing that would be the last time she’d see Virgil alive.

As soon as she got to her room, she pulled out Virgil’s jacket that she had been working on and got to work.  She didn’t have too much left to do, just a few finishing touches to make the jacket look better, and she wanted to finish as soon as possible as the bad feeling about Virgil wasn’t going away.

Unfortunately, once Ray started to work on something, she tended to get in a zone.  This meant if anything happened outside her little bubble of focus and it wasn’t loud enough to break her out of it she didn’t realize what was going on.

The only things that were able to break her out of that state were someone coming to check up on her, one of the others being in enough trouble that they summoned her, or Thomas summoning her.

This was usually used to help guide Thomas out of a situation he got himself into, but it also worked when she was working on something.

Which means she didn’t get up that night until she finished.  And by that point, it was too late.

Rachel could tell something was wrong as soon as she looked up.  The feeling had only gotten stronger.  And her blood ran cold as she started to head over to Virgil’s room and found a purple flower crown and a letter waiting for her.

Rachel put the flower crown to the side for now and decided to read the letter.

Ray,

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll probably already be gone.  I’m sorry I know I promised to be there for you but I guess your feeling earlier was right.  I can’t do this anymore Ray.  I thought I at least had Logan but well...you were there for today’s episode. Thomas will be better off without me anyway.  He has you after all, and we practically do the same to help him.  I’m sorry Ray, I’ll hope you’ll do better without me.

-V

Rachel wasn’t even sure when she had dropped the letter and starting to bolt to Virgil’s room.  She had to stop him.  

As she ran she felt a sense of danger radiating from Virgil and tried to get there faster.  He would have already locked his room so she couldn’t sink in and stop him.  She had to make sure she got there in time.

But just as she arrived at the door, it started to fade.  

“No,” Rachel cried out, reaching for the doorknob, hoping by some miracle she’d be able to stop it from fading.  She didn’t care if it was improbable.  She had to try.  Not even giving up as the doorknob faded from her hands.

It wasn’t until the door completely faded that Rachel collapsed in front of it.  It wasn’t until she saw the tears drip onto the ground that she realized she was sobbing.

He was gone.  He had left her.  

Her body started to shake with sobs.  She didn’t want to do this alone.  She should have stayed with him, maybe then everything would be okay.  

She wasn’t sure how long she was there, just sobbing, not aware of her surroundings, but she did know that after a while she ran out of tears.

Just as she started to push herself off the ground she heard someone call out. “Rachel wait! You might not want to get up quite yet.”

Rachel turned in surprise and saw Logan standing there.  She wasn’t sure how long he had been there and was about to ask him what he meant when the pain hit.

At the time Ray had been about halfway off the ground, but the pain made her fall back down as she gripped her head.  It hurt so much.  Why did she hurt so much?

She couldn’t really focus on what was going on but it sounded like Logan was trying to talk to her?  She definitely felt hands on her shoulder, maybe trying to ground her?  

All she knew is the pain was bad enough that her vision was wavering.  “I don’t,” she muttered before her vision started going black, quickly losing consciousness afterward.  

By the time Rachel regained consciousness, she was in Logan’s room.  While she was still in slight pain, her head was still pounding slightly but nothing like the pain she had been feeling earlier.  She looked around the room in confusion before noticing Logan working at his desk.  “Logan,” she asked, noticing her voice was slightly sore as she spoke, “What happened?”

Upon hearing her speak, Logan looked up from what he was working on. “Oh you’re awake.  That’s good, I wasn’t sure how long you would be out.  As far as I know it’s only happened once before and-”

“Logan, my head hurts. Just get to the point.”  Rachel may have been a little harsher with Logan than she needed to, but the words in the letter kept running through her mind.  He had thought he had Logan before today’s episode.

Logan didn’t seem to notice as he started explaining.  “So the human mind is strange.  There are always sides that are needed and they’re the ones that appear in the mindscape. If a side ducks out, then said person is left without that side.  However, that’s not the case if there are two similar sides in the mindscape.”

“What are you talking about,” Rachel asked, still confused.

“Basically, when a side ducks out and a similar side exists in the mindscape, that side gains the trait of the other side.  Meaning what happened back there was that after Anxiety ducked out, you being the closest trait to him, ended up gaining the trait of Anxiety.”

“Wait no I couldn’t- I can’t just- that’s-,” Rachel said stumbling over her words, not sure what to say.

“It has happened before.  You can ask Deceit if you want to know.  As for proof it happened to you,” Logan said as he summoned a small hand mirror and handed it to Rachel, “All you have to do is look in a mirror.”

Rachel practically snatched the mirror from Logan as she looked in it.  The first thing she noticed was her eyes.  While the two different colors weren’t new, Rachel’s eyes had been green and brown before this had happened, what was new was her brown eye had turned a deep purple.  The same shade of purple that Virgil’s eyes had been.  Not to mention there was now eyeshadow under her eyes that she didn’t remember applying.  Trying to smudge it off did nothing, not even leaving any on her fingers.

“When you take on the trait, you also tend to take on some of their traits,” Logan said, “At least that’s what happened with Deceit, he didn’t have the scales until after it happened.”

Rachel nodded in slight agreement before realizing something.  “Logan, you want to explain to me why you were there earlier?  V-Anxiety left me a note but Anxiety’s room in nowhere close to yours, there’s no way you should have known what was going on,” Rachel practically growled at Logan.

Logan paled slightly, Rachel could be scary when she angry and all Rachel could think of was that Logan was the only one mentioned by name in the letter and he just happened to be in the area.

Logan took a breath to calm himself before speaking.  “I felt a disturbance in the mindscape and went to go check it out.  I didn’t expect it to be him.  I passed by his room on the way to check it out, I noticed that the door was gone and noticed you crying in front of it.  From that, it wasn’t too hard to figure out what happened.  I never meant for this to happen, I may not have gotten along with Anxiety,but I never meant to push him this far.”

Rachel paused at that, trying to figure out if Logan was lying.  Enough time around Janus, and unless someone was really skilled at lying she was normally able to tell.  And Logan...didn’t seem like he was lying.

“....You still shouldn’t have done it,” she finally responded.

“I shouldn’t have,” Loga agreed, “And Roman and Patton shouldn’t have either.”

That made Rachel freeze a bit.  She didn’t realize that any of the ‘light sides’ went against the others, nothing more than small fights at least.  And yet here was Logan, saying that what they had been doing was wrong.

“I- Yeah...they shouldn’t have,” Rachel said getting up.

“Oh before you go, I should warn you, while the physical changes have already happened, there’s still going to be the other changes, mainly gaining Anxiety’s powers and anything else he had to deal with,” Logan said, “And...while Roman and Patton will probably be...iffy about all of this, I will be here if you need anything.”

“...I’ll probably go to the others for a bit first, I still need time to process and….most of all I’m going to need time Logan, I’ll approach you when I’m ready.”

Logan nodded in understanding.  “Completely understandable Rachel.”

Rachel waved slightly as she headed back to her room. She thought she was going to be okay, until she saw the letter and flower crown on the ground once she stepped inside and she could feel the tears welling up again.

She quickly glanced between the jacket she had just finished for him and the flower crown and made a decision before slipping both on.  Anything to feel closer to Virgil. She started curling up in a ball as she sobbed her eyes out.

It wasn’t until after she calmed down again that she realized she had to tell Janus and Remus what had happened and somehow keep both of them from murdering the lights….or at least Logan since he had apologized. …..Crap.

[harrybridgers]

Writing Self Evaluation 2018

i genuinely can’t believe it’s been another year and its time for another one of these things,,,,,,wth,,,,thanks so much to @pattern-pals and @iamasphodelknox​ for tagging me!! 

All answers should be about works published in 2018. (Skip any questions you don’t want to answer, but please leave them on the list so that others can answer them if they want.)

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3: five

2. Word count posted for the year: 185,552 (!!!!!!!!)

3. List of works published this year:

purple rain

dissolve

when the city shines (like the sun at night)

moon river

shelter as we go

4. Fandoms I wrote for: one direction

5. Pairings: larry + zarry

6. Story with the most…

Kudos / Bookmarks: when the city shines

Comments: when the city shines/shelter as we go

7. Work I’m most proud of (and why): 

100% shelter as we go. that thing took me over a year to plan and write and i genuinely think it’s the peak of my writing in this fandom so far. it’s also filled me with the confidence to continue writing stories in that style and really just fucking go for it in terms of tackling big themes and things i’ve been apprehensive about touching before. i’m so proud of the characters and the setting and the story - it feels like a real milestone for me! honourable mention to dissolve, too, i love that fic with all my heart, it’s such a treasure and i can’t wait to work on more zarry fic in future. 

8. Work I’m least proud of (and why): 

when the city shines. i genuinely would delete it if it wasn’t so popular...ugh. looking back and reading over it, it just doesn’t feel like me. i still like it and i’m glad others have loved it, it just sticks out like a store thumb amongst everything else i’ve posted in terms of the quality. 

9. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

oooh no this is hard.....here have a few because i’m indecisive 

from dissolve:

“I don’t want to go to New York,” Harry said. “I hate it there. I want to go with you.”

“We can go another time,” Zayn said. “We can go whenever you like.”

“Right now?” Harry said, so softly. He finally looked over, and the vulnerability there was a kick to Zayn’s chest, made him reach out without thinking, to press a warm kiss to Harry’s forehead in a way he hadn’t before, cupping his cheeks in his palms and just kissing him there over and over, down along his brows and his temples and along his chin, tasting the salt of tears, his heart threatening to break through his ribs.

“I’ve already booked the flights,” Zayn said, lips pressed to Harry’s warm cheek. “We’ll stay at the Ritz. We’ll cruise on the Seine and I’ll take pictures of you on film and I’ll get them developed right there in Paris. We can pin them up on the windows and smoke on the balcony and I’ll get up before sunrise to bring you fresh croissants for breakfast. I’ll wake you up with my mouth on your cock–”

“Perfect,” Harry said, breathless as he laughed and cried all at once.

“We’ll walk around for so long that everybody forgets who we are. We’ll walk around for so long we forget ourselves. Just a little couple walking around in a big city. I’ll write our names on a lock and pin it to that bridge. I’d swallow the fucking key if you asked me to, Harry.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, just that he couldn’t stop, that he felt frantic and light-headed and flushed with heat from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes, and Harry was staring at him with this look in his eyes. Zayn brushed away another stray tear and tried not to shake, tried not to think about the way he’d just called them a couple, the way Harry kept staring.

They weren’t a couple. They were friends. They were friends who kissed and fucked and fucked each other up.

-

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, and his voice hiccups, fingers wrung together. “There’s no way I could ever understand what you went through, because I never even asked. There’s no excuses for anything. I can only say that I’m sorry. Sorry that I didn’t ask you if you were okay as often as I should have, sorry that I just let you drift away without holding on. I’m sorry I never said anything until it was too late. I was selfish, and I loved you, and I didn’t want you to leave me behind.”

“Harry, stop,” Zayn chokes out. He can’t look, can hardly breathe. I loved you. I loved you. I loved you.

“No,” Harry says, chin lifted. “You have to know, because I didn’t tell you back then and it ruined everything. This is me trying to fix it.”

“It can’t be fixed.”

“Then we throw it away and start again,” Harry says fiercely, eyes shining. “I’d throw everything out the fucking window if it meant I could touch you one more time.”

from shelter as we go:

It’s sterile and cold inside. When he flicks on the light, he freezes.

There’s a mirror hanging above the old basin, and he catches sight of himself before he can duck his eyes away to the faded shower curtain or the faded tiles, the faded bath-mat, the faded towels. He’s confronted instead with the faded image of a person he hardly knows anymore, that he hasn’t known for a very long time. There aren’t any mirrors in the other house, and he can’t remember the last time he saw himself in anything that wasn’t the disfiguring glaze of a window, some type of shaded reflection, but he’s faced with it now.

He lets the door fall shut behind him, then approaches the vanity slowly, regarding himself like a stranger.

The gauntness is what startles him most, the sharp hollows of his cheekbones, the tired, sunken circles beneath his eyes, the sickly shadows that cling to his jaw. There was a time, when he first shot up and started to grow, that he’d been broad and lanky. Now, his frame is slight, collar bones protruding, shoulders thin and sharper than he remembers. Everything about him seems frail, and he hates that, he hates it so much that his lips curl up when he stares at his reflection, at his greasy hair and the purple shadows, at the man he doesn’t recognize, a man who still feels like that boy who never got to grow up the right way, the boy who was tiny and clung to his mother’s fingers with a vice grip, the boy that suddenly wasn’t allowed to be a boy anymore.

-

“You’re good at that.”

Harry pauses, fingers still looped in the fine little string. When he glances over, Louis has shifted slightly onto his back, watching with hooded eyes.

“At what?” Harry says.

“Taking care of other people,” Louis says.

Harry holds his breath, and he doesn’t say anything in return, can’t. Instead, he pulls the blinds firmly closed and stares at the dusty pane, the way the lamp casts shadows, the dewy honey they’re stuck in.

“‘S funny,” Louis says, a breathless, broken chuckle. “When we do that, y’know, care so much about someone else that we stop giving a shit about ourselves.”

-

He sits forward and tucks his hands under his thighs, gaze lowered. “I feel like we all have this fire in our bellies when we’re kids, this passion to explore things and get obsessed with these fantastical ideas. And to keep carrying that fire, to cradle it and keep it from going out, it’s hard, y’know. And even if you keep it burning the candles got to melt away some time. Nobody ever shows you how to replace the wick.”

Harry thinks of his own little flame, snubbed out before he even got a chance to play with the fire. There’s something that makes him so inexplicably sad, picturing that puff of smoke, the moment it dawns that there’s nothing left to keep the chest warm. He can’t pinpoint it now, but it washes over him slowly, this realization that he couldn’t nurture that flame, that Louis did everything he could to try and keep his own alight. It feels like an ending point, this transcendence between the fuzzy innocence of everything childhood is supposed to be, and the strange, brutal truths that start to overlap into a life whenever the world deems it time.

-

“You have to understand,” Louis says, pulling back now, hands on Harry’s lapels. “Everything about this town exists in a time capsule. In one big cycle. Nothing changes. And the people that try and make changes, that start to drift out of this perfect circle that’s been made, there’s no room for them. I was one of those people, Harry. I still am, despite everything. I should have just stayed in my place.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry says, however naive it may be, however superfluous a thing it is to say. His own hands find Louis’ coat, the two of them holding on to each other. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“But I do,” Louis says, eyes shiny. “I always will.”

They stare wordlessly at each other. Cape Breton is waking behind them, the low curl of the swell flushing up the beach, children playing in the sand as they watch the silhouettes of the trawlers through the spring mist. All of that feels far away right now, every familiar thing Harry’s come to know about this place like a vague memory as he looks at the hurt in Louis’ eyes and feels this strange sense of understanding wash over him, that flush of anger and frustration fading to something he’s felt before but couldn’t put a finger on, that very first night at the bar, standing out in the cold snow and not being able to say a word.

-

and in lieu of spoiling things, for those who have read it, that entire last bar scene and confrontation between louis, sully, and fergus is hands down i think the best/my favourite thing i’ve ever written!!

10. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

oh there are always so many....i truly get the sweetest and most heartfelt comments, they make me cry. there are a few comments on shelter as we go in particular that touched my heart completely.....so thoughtful and lovely

11. A time when writing was really, really hard: 

i fell into the hardest funk for the first half of the year. i was indecisive and uninspired with literally everything i did, i had so many wips i wanted to tear my hair out omg. then in the second half of the year, i was finishing my uni degree and honestly....was just so depressed lmao. i was in a terrible creative cycle and never wanted to get out of bed. 2018 has been the toughest mentally for me, it took a lot to get over certain things, and forcing myself to believe in my ideas and get a long fic done was no easy feat. 

12. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you: 

both fergus and sully from shelter as we go - they feel so layered and real to me even though they don’t have much actual scene presence within the story itself. they just kind of feel omnipresent to me, and the parts they’re involved in are, to me, the most important and symbolic parts of the fic itself. i’ve fallen in love with writing original characters thanks to those two. 

as for a scene, it would have to be the bar fight, again from shelter as we go. i was unsure if i’d be able to pull that off in the way that i wanted it to feel, but i’m honestly so proud of that entire scene and everything that follows. 

13. How did you grow as a writer this year: 

i think i’ve found my place and style. obviously writing is always changing and you grow as you go, but i honestly feel like i’ve found this part of myself that is holistically who i want to be as a writer - i know what i want to say, what i want my work to feel like, what i want my characters to portray. writing and finishing shelter as we go opened up this whole new world of possibilities to me, as did writing dissolve. i just have so much passion inside me at the moment and i cannot wait to get through the wips i’ve got going. 

14. How do you hope to grow next year: 

the next larry wip i have is the most ambitious thing i’ve ever attempted, so i really hope i can grow in the same way i did with shelter as we go, bridging fanfiction with original fiction and just giving it my all!! and also to write more zarry because i feel like in that genre i have this whole new voice to explore 

15. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer: 

my harrie gc babies!!! particularly liz + nina......love all of u

16. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: 

not to be cliche but shelter as we go honestly became this like....physical embodiment of my mental state and just needing to get so much shit out of there. i always channel my personal feelings into my writing but that was a big one. 

17. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

don’t attempt to write four 50k+ wips all at the same time. just don’t do it. 0/10 would recommend. side affects include poor mental stability and constant rage at the google docs app. 

18. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting or finishing in the new year: 

my new larry wip.....shits gonna be wild. also zarry because i love the angst

19. Tag writers whose answers you’d like to read: 

im gonna taaaaaag @this-onegoes and @crossnecklace ily guys

[dearlazerbunny]

Second Chances

Pairings: Kylo x Reader

Genre/Rating: Modern AU; G

Words: 2900

Summary: Requested by anon, who wanted an mean-to-the-reader-but-secretly-likes-them Kylo  let me know if you enjoy it anon and if there’s any changes you’d like made!

Sitting back from your desk, you stretch your arms above your head, barely avoiding a groan. You’d been working nonstop all day- time for a little break. You grab your coffee mug from its place of honor to the right of your computer and head to the break room, where you can smell a fresh pot brewing. Unfortunately, you pause in the doorway. Looks like someone beat you to it.

Kylo Ren, also known as the world’s biggest pain in the ass and infinite thorn in your side, is staring intently at the coffee pot waiting for it to finish dripping, completely blocking the countertop. How just like him.

“Ahem.” You clear your throat, and he turns. When he see you, his eyes immediately narrow.

“Y/L/N.”

“Ren. Would you mind moving your- sorry. Would you please consider moving your entitled self a few feet to the left so everyone can enjoy the coffee?”

“Wow, you even said please this time. Just for that- no.” He continues staring at the pot.

Why is it this man’s goal to make your life as difficult as possible? Through gritted teeth, you ask, “did you at least put those papers I requested on my desk?”

“I gave them to Janet.”

“I- specifically asked that you give them to me.”

“But I don’t like you, so. Easy decision.”

God fucking- you intentionally take a deep breath as he finally fills his cup. Calm down, Y/N. This is nothing new, just the usual back and forth. No need to get upset. That is, until he pointedly looks at you, takes the brand spanking new pot of coffee, and very deliberately pours it down the kitchen sink, casually sipping from his mug in the other hand as he does so.

“Enjoy your coffee.” He drops the pot into the sink with a clang of finality before sauntering out of the kitchen as your anger simmers into overdrive.

Stalking back to your desk, you slam your mug down and sit yourself down, rubbing your hand over your forehead to ward off a migraine. Why does he insist on being such an asshole? And why does it bother you so much? Maybe it’s because to absolutely everyone else in the office, he’s perfectly decent towards. Well, maybe not decent, but certainly not hostile. He’s always been a bit of a loner, never really making any friends or talking to anyone throughout the workday. Kind of awkward around people, if you think about it. But still, being friendless is no excuse for the amount of shit you put up with.

You retrieve your papers from Janet, which is actually a very important set of documents crucial to closing a project you were assigned months ago. Work of this magnitude meant a raise, maybe even a promotion- if you did it right. The only problem is, it meant you had to work directly with Ren’s department, and Ren himself. It was a struggle to get him to do anything for you, but apparently he eventually got the papers done.

So you thought. Looking over the first page, something seems… off. And studying it more closely, your heart sinks with every line. All of the data you requested is either complete gibberish or definitely not what was actually aggregated, and most of the graphs look like they were done by a kindergartner on Microsoft paint. Entire paragraphs are copied and pasted from random internet articles that have nothing to do with the topic at hand, and it’s all written in what looks like comic sans. Worst of all, at the end of the twenty-plus page document, is his own signature- Kylo Ren- signing off on the report.

All at once, your chest grows tight, and tears begin to well in your eyes. This project was due in two days, there was no way you’d have time to redo all this work. What had you done to deserve this? You were perfectly pleasant to everyone- until Ren started being rude, and then you could give as good as you take. But this- this was the final straw. Snippy comments were one thing, but there’s no way you’re letting some lowlife asshole jeopardize your career.

Wiping away water with one finger, careful not to smudge your makeup, you pull up your email and begin typing a manifesto that you should have started a long, long time ago.

“Ren.” You stand by his desk, rigid, but internally triumphant. “If I could please speak with you in the board room.”

“Bit busy here at the moment, sweetheart.” He isn’t, of course, just dicking around online that doesn’t look like anything work related, but you take a deep breath and plaster on your best pretty-please falsetto.

“I really need to speak with you. I’m sure your… work can wait.”

Taken aback by your tone- your voice never got nicer than a growl when talking in his general direction- he finally nods and stands, following you to the meeting room. It’s private and not scheduled to be used for another hour, which is all you need to get your point across. You even hold the wooden door open for him as he walks in.

“What is this about? I’m more important than you, I’ve got actual work to complete.”

“Oh, because scrolling through tumblr counts as work. Right,” you shoot back.

“If you brought me in here to snark at me, I’m more than happy to oblige, but I have a meeting right about now, so I’ll see you in the break room-”

You hold out a hand, effectively stopping this six foot something man in his place. “No, you don’t. I checked your schedule. Sit your ass down.”

He does so, crossing his legs with a smirk on his face. “Such language. I could have you reported for that.”

You slam his bogus report down in front of him onto the table. “Mind explaining what this is?”

He smiles. “Just the report you asked for.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. Did you know the CEO asked me personally to handle this for him?”

Suddenly, his face seems to turn a little somber. “The CEO? He-”

“Did you know.” You cut him off, tears wavering in your voice, “That this project could have meant a raise for me? Maybe even a promotion?”

“No, I- are you crying?”

Damnit. You blink them away. “No. Of course you didn’t. Because all you are is a twelve year old child who insists on pulling bully pranks on someone who doesn’t deserve it.” You tap the papers in front of him. “I reported to to HR. Expect to hear from them very, very soon.”

Now he’s paying attention. “You did what now?”

“You heard me. I reported you. I’m sick of the abuse, Ren. I’m sick of the pettiness, the anxiety, the useless arguing. And once I show them what you handed me for this project? They won’t have any choice but to believe me.”

“Y/N-”

“No, don’t you Y/N me, Ren. It’s over. You’re done.”

“I can explain.”

That stops you short. “You- you can explain? Explain what, exactly? Why you’re hell bent on making my life miserable? I might accept that after one bad joke, Ren, but not after an entire year of putting me down. If you have some sort of excuse, it better be a damn good one.”

“I- I like you.”

You stare at him. Wonder if you heard him right. No, that’s definitely what he said. Then slowly, take a seat across the table from him in one of the big leather armchairs. Your voice is dangerously calm. “You. What?”

“I like you.” He’s wide eyed, almost like he’s begging.

You laugh. You laugh so hard tears come to your eyes, but this time from sheer glee rather than frustration. You laugh so hard you’re almost out of breath and have to gasp for air. “You like me. You like me! Well, that clears up abso-fucking-lutely everything now doesn’t it?” You stand and straighten your skirt. “Get out of here. I assume you might want to start packing your desk.”

“No, Y/N, wait-” he grabs your wrist, which you wrench away.

“Don’t touch me, you creep.”

“Hear me out, then. Please. One minute.”

You sigh. Might as well give a dead man his final wish. “Fine. One minute.”

“I…. like you. I’ve liked you from the moment you’ve stepped foot in the office. And I thought I could get your attention by-”

“By what? Being horrific towards me?”

He winces. “Am I really that bad?”

“Try worse.”

“God.” He runs his hands through his hair, mussing the curls. To think when he first started here you thought he was attractive. “ I really fucked everything up, didn’t I?”

Unexpectedly, a tiny sliver of sympathy runs through you. “Even more than you could possibly imagine.” And with that, you march out of the room, head held high.

…..

Ren did indeed get fired the next day. You tried not to feel sorry for him as he slowly packed up his desk- after all, he brought this on himself. But you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit guilty. You didn’t know if you’d actually wanted to get him fired- having the abuse stop probably would have been enough? But no. Now you wouldn’t have to see his face everyday as a reminder of what you went through.

It’s been a month since then and you can honestly say you’ve never been happier at your job. No more constant aggravation or anger directed towards you has done wonders for your productivity, and you’ve actually started to make friends around the office. As time went on, Ren became a distant memory, and you quickly rose to one of the best workers in the office. However, on the off days, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had found another job, or if he was doing okay. Hell, even going to the coffee machine was a little too quiet for your liking now that he was gone. It was almost like you… missed him? But that couldn’t be right.

“Y/N?” You look up and see Phasma, the CEO’s assistant, standing by your desk. “If you’re not busy at the moment, Mr. Hux would like a word with you.”

Oh, damn. “No, I’m not busy. Is he ready now?”

She nods, and gestures for you to follow her. You do so, down the carpeted corridor and to the big imposing glass office that rules that floor of the office. Hux is sitting at his desk in an ever-polished suit, writing something on a notepad, but he looks up when Phasma knocks on the door. “Y/N here to see you, sir.” He waves you in and you go through the big doors and stand behind the chairs opposite his desk, unsure if it was appropriate to sit down or not.

“Please, have a seat.” You do so at the very edge, trying not to wring your hands nervously. “So, Y/N, how goes the project?”

Said project is the one that Ren almost ruined, but luckily the contractors were very understanding and let you have an extension to complete the work. “Exactly on schedule, sir. And I promise this time it will be done right.”

“Ah, yes. That is in the line of what I called you in here to talk about.” He drops his pen and steeples his fingers. “I’d like to speak with you about Ren.”

“R- Ren?” You ask, confused. “What about him, sir?”

He sighs. “I thought I might provide a bit of…context, to the situation. If you would like to hear me out, of course.” You nod, unsure of where this is going. “You see, I personally hired Ren. He and I are friends, from our college days. And as his friend, I would like to be the first to apologize for how he’s treated you.”

“Um, thank you, sir.”

He nods. “You see, Ren has always been… troubled, when faced with human interactions. He doesn’t really know how to handle people, or their emotions… or his own. In fact, it’s because of this he was having difficulty finding a job, and so I took him on as a favor. He’s smart, you see, and good at what he does. But he doesn’t know how to interact on a basic level.”

“…what are you saying?”

Hux smiles thinly. “My point is, how he interacted with you is the only way he knows how to interact with people he likes. I ad to cut off communication with him at work because if anyone saw him snarking at me, they’d wonder why I didn’t fire him immediately. But it’s just his way. He doesn’t know any other.”

“So you’re telling me when he told me he liked me, he was telling the truth. And by harassing me, he was showing me that he liked me?”

Hux raises an eyebrow. “He told you he liked you?”

“Right after I told him I was going to get him fired, yes.”

“Interesting. He’s usually a very closely guarded person. To tell you such a thing…” there’s a vague twinkle in his eye, an expression you’ve never seen on your boss’ face. “You must really be something special to him.”

“Something- forgive me if I’m having a hard time believing you.”

“I know it can be difficult to understand. All I ask is that you think on what I’ve told you.”

“I- sure. I will. Thank you.”

He nods. “You’re free to go.”

You leave the office more confused than ever.

…

That night at home, after ruminating over several glasses of wine, you had to admit part of what Hux had told you made sense. Why Ren never had many friends in the office, why he only seemed to rag on you. You almost felt like you were going soft, but you felt like you owed him some sort of apology. Maybe you had just missed the right cues and picked up on all the wrong ones. You even felt a bit sorry for him, if you were being honest.

A knock on the door takes you out of your thoughts, and you go to look through the peephole. Lo and behold, none other than Kylo Ren stands there, hands behind his back. You open it, ready to apologize before he could say anything, but are surprised by him shoving a big bundle of flowers right under your nose before you could even take a breath.

“Ren…? What are..?” You take them from his grasp and hold them out- a beautiful arrangement of assorted blooms and blossoms. “They’re lovely.”

“Do you like them?” He’s looking at you anxiously, like a child who’s expecting a scolding.

You have to smile. “Yes, I do. Do you want to come in?”

He looks surprised, but nods, following you inside. He stands quietly in the living room as you bustle to the kitchen to put the flowers in water.

“I know Hux talked to you.”

You sigh. “Yes, Kylo, he did. And-”

“Wait. What did you just say?”

“I’m- sorry?”

“Kylo. You called me Kylo.” He looks mystified, but also insanely happy. “You’ve never called me that before.”

“I guess I haven’t. Is.. that okay?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I was just… surprised, I guess.”

You nod. “Hux did talk to me, Kylo. But to be honest, I’d like to hear it in your own words.”

He sighs. “That’s what I was afraid of.” He sits down on the couch, running his hands through his hair. “I’m not good with… words. Or people. Or how people might think of me, when I do certain things. I’ve never liked anyone like you, Y/N. All my friends, they know me, they know how I talk, and they know to just brush it off and call me a dick when I do something stupid. But you… aren’t them. I never stopped to think that you wouldn’t know how to take it when I was being a jerk.” He takes a breath. “And I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For everything.”

“I like you a lot, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I went to my default.” He looks up at you. “Hux explained to me that that probably wasn’t the best idea.”

“Well, you’re spot on about just about everything. How was I supposed to know tormenting was your way of being friendly?”

“You couldn’t have, Y/N, it’s not your fault, it’s mine. And I hope, someday… you’ll let me take you out. To show you how sorry I am, and maybe make up for all the times I made you cry.”

“How about tonight?”

His eyes widen. “T- tonight?”

“Kylo, just by explaining yourself you’ve shown me how sorry you are. And I believe you, trust me.” You take a deep breath. “So maybe we can just start over, okay? Starting tonight.”

His smile could have lit up the entire city. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

[cruelzy]

movie

ao3 cross

pairing: bakugou/reader

“What?”

“I said,” you spoke offhandedly, eyes trailing the blonde ambling into the room with his mail. “We should go watch a movie on your day off.”

“Oh wouldn’t I just love that?” His voice was utterly drenched in sarcasm as he dropped the package, pressing a hand into the column of his neck with an irritated hiss. He sat without a semblance of grace, kicking the chair back.

“What? Why not?” You whined, begged, leaned over the table to invade his personal space. He batted away your flailing arms with a single hand, eyes never moving from the box he was opening. 

“I don’t have time,” he grumbled.

“Please?” Your muffled voice came from underneath his palm. Peering through the gaps in his spread fingers your tone softened, lips pressing gently to the rough skin. “You’re always training.” The young hero barely had any time to do anything, and it was driving you nuts. “Spend some time with me?”

Bakugou glared down at you. You found yourself being lost in the tunnel of those blood red eyes--a familiar storm within them quietly brewing, calm for now but ready to rage when necessary. 

He grunted a sigh, reluctantly submitting to your request. “Fine.”

You positively beamed, wiggling your eyebrows. “Yes! It’s a date then.”

“Not a date.”

“Shh,” You flicked his forehead. “Get into the spirit you brat.”

This’ll be nice, you thought to yourself as you jumped over the couch, dodging the chair that was thrown at you by the enraged hero. A nice, peaceful escape from the stress and excitement. After all, what could go wrong?

As it turned out, the right question to ask may have been ‘what could go right.’

Because everything was going wrong.

“We are not watching some dumb chick flick,” he eyed the poster of the movie with disdain.

The cashier looked nervously between the two of you from the booth, raising his hand slightly. “U-uh, you guys are holding up the l-line-”

“Shut up!” You both turned on him simultaneously, and he let out a terrified squeakclose to that of a dying animal. 

 You hissed a sigh through your teeth, turning back to Bakugou. “This is supposed to be a time to relax.”

“Sure.”

“Peace. Tranquility.”

“And?”

“What about loud explosions is relaxing to you?!”

His scowl deepened. “Do you even see who you’re talking to?”

“I-If i may cut in,” the cashier spoke again, quickly, rushing over the words lest the two of you decided to turn dark stares upon him again. “How about a c-compromise? There’s the n-newest comedy out?”

You paused. That might actually not be that bad. You turned hopeful eyes to your companion as he groaned for the third time that day.

“Fine,” that seemed to be his favourite word for handling the exhaustion that came with you, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

The cashier smiled, handing you the movie tickets with your receipt. “There you go! I hope you enjoy your date!”

Bakugou snatched the tickets with a bit more force than necessary. “Not a date.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the cashier’s flabbergasted expression and rushing to follow after his long strides. “Don’t worry--he’s just shy. Have a good day!”

The movie itself, quite plainly, sucked.

It was corny--and not intentionally so, but the kind that was trying way too hard with every bad pun. The row in front you seated a woman whose extravagant hair-do was attempting to shoot into the ceiling, and consequently you had to find creative ways to maneuver your head so that you could even see the screen. A couple elementary school kids across from you were snickering at everything. And you meant everything. 

You had to physically hold down Bakugou’s hand from blasting them through the wall.

Bakugou himself only got more annoyed as time passed--though you think that attributed more to the people around than the movie itself. He seemed pretty impassive on the film, apart from the occasional smirk whenever the main character would get hurt for comedic effect. Figures that would be what he found funny.

Your own mood increasingly soured with each second. Soon you lost interest completely, the screen becoming a collage of flickering pictures and background noise.

By the time the movie had ended, you had a stiff back from the seats, a headache from the rowdiness, and a strong temporary dislike for children.

“That was dumb,” Bakugou said, cut clear and straight to the point as the two of you walked down the sidewalk. You agreed.

“It was. I always seem to mess everything up yeah?” You mused absentmindedly that you hadn’t seen the stars in a while - what with the light pollution in your neighbourhood. It was nice to admire the twinkling lights for even a moment.

When you glanced back down, Bakugou was looking at you as if you had just said you were planning to go fly to the moon.

“What are you on about now?” He narrowed his crimson eyes at you in incomprehension, small wrinkles cresting by his eyebrows, his mouth twisted down in a familiar yet entirely alien gesture.

“You said you didn’t want to come, but I pushed anyway,” you laughed. “Right?” The laughter wouldn’t stop, and soon you found that words were falling from your lips without passing through your brain first. “Every time we try something like this, it fails. I should have learned my lesson by now, but I guess not. Looks like I’m even more stubborn than you.”

He stopped still, the scuffling of his shoes on the gravel fading to a silence that echoed down the empty street. You didn’t notice, already caught up in the white noise that buzzed and pounded inside your head.

“I don’t know why I even try anymore. Is it pity why you still tolerate me?” you rambled, choking on the laughter that had turned to gasping convulsions of giggles. Self deprecation twisted inside you, burrowed deep, writhing. “Not that I’d be very surprised-”

You tripped.

It wasn’t of your own volition, more a side effect of the hand that had suddenly grabbed onto the back of your shirt and pulled. The collar tightened around the front of your throat momentarily as you tried not to stumble. 

Bakugou released you once you were firmly put back by his side, making you realize you had begun walking without him. When had he stopped moving?

“Baku-?”

“First,” he made abrupt eye contact with you, his storm fully raging now, yet somehow still managing to look almost bored. You couldn’t break the gaze--it successfully planted you to the ground, preventing you from leaving whether you wanted to or not. “Stop with the waterworks.”

You blinked owlishly, mute in confusion, before you slowly registered the wetness on your cheeks. You touched a hand cautiously to the skin in disbelief. You hadn’t even noticed you’d been crying. Your mind further blanked when a coarse thumb wiped underneath your left eye, taking some of the moisture with it. 

“You’re being more of an idiot than usual. How are you responsible for the cashier recommending us that waste of time? Or for the morons in the theater?”

You couldn’t find a rebuttal. “I-”

“Quiet,” he growled, yet the caressing motion of his thumb on your cheek contradicted the harsh statement. “You’re messing up that damn makeup you wailed and fussed over this morning.” You flushed in embarrassment, knowing you over dressed for this simple outing. You couldn’t help it. You had just been so…happy. 

The blonde’s utter disregard of sugar coating the ridiculousness of what you were doing cut through your emotional fog, and you sighed. 

“You’re…right,” You murmured, tugging at the end of your shirt absentmindedly. “I’m sorry.” 

You made to move, already eager to get back home. You were exhausted, the shoes you had chosen to wear uncomfortable and squeezing the life out of your toes, makeup no doubt smudged. Your bed was calling to you, inviting you in its warm embrace.

“Didn’t I just say to shut up?” 

Perplexity and soon annoyance flooded you at his words, and your head snapped up, ready to lay it on him thick. Your mouth opened but any thoughts fell on a noiseless tongue as he slid his hand to the back of your neck, unnaturally warm against your clammy skin, the pads of his fingers pushing you closer abruptly. 

His mouth met yours and the world fell away. 

Against anything you ever would have predicted, it was soft at first. He was gentle even. (That’s it, that’s the sign, you must have been hallucinating, this is Bakugou you were talking about.) He pressed a short kiss to the corner of your mouth, once, twice, barely there, hovering. The third time he noticeably lingered, as if savouring the contact, fingers grazing the baby hairs at the base of your neck.

There was a lull, a split second where nothing was happening at all, merely shared breaths and uncertain hesitancies. You swallowed shakily, letting out a shocked whisper of his name from your lips onto his. 

The moment snapped and then his hand was suddenly tangled in your hair, and he was kissing you. You swear you felt sparks, bursts of heat running along your skin--and there was a good chance that it wasn’t your imagination, steam rising in your peripheral from him. He took advantage of your slightly parted lips--open from the words you never got to say--and dove deeper, pressed his free hand into the arch of your spine so that he could close the distance between you forcefully. You tried to think, comprehend what was going on, but anything other than the feel of his hands on your skin, the desperation curling in your chest, the taste of him was shoved to the back of your mind. 

It was over all too soon, and you opened your eyes (opened, when had you even closed them?) to see him studying you with an unreadable expression. He licked his lips briefly, causing your heart to stutter, before he turned wordlessly.

“Terrible date,” he spoke, but his words had no bite as he began to walk once more. You stood for another second, speechless, before a grin spread contagiously across your face.

“You admitted it was a date!” You yelled as you ran to catch up with him, nearly face-planting from your unsteady feet.

He snorted.

“I knew it!”

[maloleysweekender22]

The Truth and A Broken Heart//(S.M)

https://maloleysweekender22.tumblr.com/tagged/masterlist

Part 2 of https://maloleysweekender22.tumblr.com/post/163393529252/one-lie-and-two-broken-heartssm

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

It’s been two years and I have a healthy baby boy. He has His fathers eyes and a head full of curls. Noah stirs in my arms as we lay cuddled in bed. His eyes squeeze tighter in order to avoid waking up by the sun shining through the openings in the curtains.

“Morning bubs” I gently whisper as he presses his face into my side. I watch in awe as he mumbles words incoherently trying to talk keep the conversation going.

“I know right! The sun is to bright to today” I speak to him and all he does is yawn back in response. “Let’s get up bubs!” I start to sit up bringing Noah along with me. He sits on my lap staring up at me with a pout on his lips. I laugh as I watch him pout before falling forwards and laying his head on my chest. My fingers stroke his hair and before I know his breathing becomes even.

“Bubs your making it difficult today” I tell him as I lay him back down on the bed. I grab pillows and make a little fort with them so he doesn’t roll off the bed in his sleep. I walk around the room getting dressed for the busy day ahead. While walking down the hall towards Noah’s room I hear faint footsteps pacing in the kitchen. My initial reaction is to go and call the police, but then I hear whistling identifying the culprit. I walk down the stairs and enter the kitchen where James stands rummaging through my fridge.

“See anything worth taking?” I ask him while I stand at the door way watching him as he jumps a bit and hit his head on the fridge door. He turns around face red with Noah’s jello containers.

“Umm..... food wise no, but I like who’s standing I front of me” James says as he discards the jello containers on the counter while making his way towards me. I can feel my cheeks redden at his words and in no time his arms wrap around me engulfing me in a hug. I would be lying if I didn’t say I had a small developing crush on James. After everything that happened with Shawn, I decided to start a new life and moved to the United States. James showed me around while I got settled in Chicago. He’s been a really big help with Noah and on some level understands what I’m going through.

“Morning Beautiful” he says kissing my forehead while pulling away.

“Morning” I reply back before I hear Noah’s cries echo through the house. I’m about to head back upstairs when James stops me and goes up the stairs instead.

After a while I hear giggles enter the kitchen and find Noah cradled in James’s arms wiggling around. Noah sees me and makes grabby hands which gladly except and bring him into my embrace. I hear the flash of the camera go off and see James smiling down in his phone.

“Better send that to me” I tell him as I grab the ingredients to make some omelettes this morning. He hums a response before going off on the new upcoming concerts near the area.

“So The Weeknd, G Eazy and so many more are coming let’s go to one.” He says while flipping the omelette over on the pan. Noah watches in awe as he flips again causing a giggle to arise from his lips.

“I don’t even have money for that. And if I did I wouldn’t spend it on something only good for 3-4 hours.”

“Your right, but when is the last time you let loose? No worries or responsibilities for one night.” He responds while adding the eggs into the pan.

“I let loose” I say back defensively.

“Going to Chuck E Cheese with Noah is not loose” he says while flipping the omelette in the pan. I mutter back a response which earns a chuckle from James.

“Like that don’t you!” James says before placing cheese in the middle. I laugh as Noah reaches for James once again. In no time we are eating in the living room watching Finding Dory. Noah’s watches the. Movie without getting distracted and soon he is taking a nap on James’s lap. I watch as he snuggles closer to James and grips on to his shirt. I don’t notice that I’m staring at them until I see James staring back me with a smile on his face. I blush and turn around at being caught. His fingers grab my chin turning my face towards.

“You’re beautiful....” he whispers his lips are are centimeters away from mine. The anticipation is killing me and I decide to close the distance. Our lips move in sync the kiss is gentle and pure bliss something I haven’t felt in so long. James pulls away and goes to lay Noah down in my bed. He comes back and reconnects our lips together. I’m so lost in the kiss I don’t recall placing myself on his lap. His hands cup my cheeks as mine entangle themselves into his hair.

“Hey Y/- oops sorry” we immediately pull apart as we hear Brian’s voice. James pulls me off his lap and helps me up. As we stand up I see three other people behind Brian. My cheeks turn a crimson color as I see James wiping smudges of light pink lipstick from his mouth. Brian stands at the doorway looking at us with a small smile on his face.

Even after everything that happened with Shawn, Brian still remained in contact with me. He would come down to Chicago and spend some time with Noah and I.

“Um” I don’t know what to say as we were caught. I feel like a 18 year old getting caught by her parents doing something they shouldn’t.

“Don’t explain yourselves kids” Brian teases us causing me to hide my face in James’s chest erupting a chuckle from him. “So speaking of kids where is my bubba” he continues before I point up the stairs. As he moves away from the door way I’m faced with three frowning men. Matt, Andrew, and Geoff look at me.

“Oh hey guys” we stand in an awkward silence until Brian comes holding a pouty Noah in his arms. He sees me and start reaching over.

“Momma” he whines as Brian walks over to the guys. Brian turns towards me asking if they can come in. I simply nod before walking to the kitchen and grabbing glasses of water. A arm wraps around my waist startling me.

“Sorry. I have to go, but I’ll be back later with pizzas to have our Disney marathon with Noah. Um about earli-“ I cut him off with a kiss, he smiles and let’s go. “Later then later” he says as he turns around a tripping over his feet. I laugh lowly as I watch him send me a goofy smile. When I enter the living room someone else walks into the door.

“So I-“ the words don’t come out as I come face to face with the one and only Shawn. Dark circles are under his eyes a he looks at me. His eyes hold regret and sadness as he watches me take a step back from him.

A hand tugs at my jeans, I look down and see Noah looking at me wishing to be picked up.

“We’ll leave you guys alone” the guys leave and shut the door behind them. Shawn watches them leave before walking towards me. I do the most childish thing and run up the stares with Noah in my arms. I can hear his feet run up the stairs as well trying to catch up to me. I place Noah in his crib while handing him a bottle full of milk. As I turn around I bump into Shawn as he towers over me, his eyes are concentrating on a sleepy Noah. My hands push at his chest keeping him far away from Noah.

Shawn’s hands wrap around my wrists to keep me from pushing him completely out of the room. It’s no use because when I have something in my mind I don’t give up. I don’t need him giving my son’s hope up and leaving him just like he did me. Noah is still young and he can easily get attached to someone. I rush down the stairs after closing the door to Noah’s room, and Shawn’s not far behind me.

“Get out” I tell him as I point towards the door praying I don’t break down. He looks at me like I lost my mind. “Shawn I’m not going to repeat myself” I tell him shoving him towards the door. He doesn’t budge and stands there.

“Y/N, I want to see him. I’m his father dammit” he says a tear falling from his eyes. He wants sympathy well he isn’t going to get any.

“NO! YOU CANT COME IN HERE AND PLAY THE FATHER CARD SHAWN.! You can’t come here and ruin everything I’ve built to make myself feel worthy of something. To feel happy after everything you caused. He doesn’t know you and he doesn’t need to know you” I yell at him as I wipe the tears falling down my face.

“He can get to know me!” Shawn says calmly trying so hard not raise his voice.

“No he doesn’t! Shawn he doesn’t need you in his life! I’m saving him from a broken heart and stopping what future you have set up for him. I don’t need my son going to sleep every night wondering ‘why doesn’t daddy love me’ or ‘I’m not good enough for daddy.’ Don’t you think you’ve done enough to me already Shawn?”

“That’s not fair and you know it” he shouts back, face red with anger.

“Oh it isn’t. Let me tell you what’s not fair intentionally dragging on a relationship in which YOUR heart isn’t fully committed. Lies fall out of your mouth left and right. But you didn’t end it a relationship in which YOU KNEW I COULDN’T TAKE ANOTHER HEARTBREAK SHAWN. I told you about my last relationship the lies, the deception, and the total disregard for my feelings, and yet you do the same thing. I regret putting all my faith into someone like you. I have a son to take of and unlike you I won’t leave feeling worthless, unloved, and a complete disturbance in my life. Noah gives me hope for a better tomorrow! A life of happiness every time I watch him smile up at me.”

My throat is sore from the yelling to caught up in ridding myself of all the emotions bottled up that I don’t notice James standing behind Shawn with pizza and fries for Noah.

“GET OVER IT Y/N! HEARTBREAK EVERYONE EXPERIENCES IT NOT ONLY YOU. MAYBE IF YOU ACTUALLY WERE GOOD IN BED A-“ before he can finish the rest of the sentence I slap him hard. The force of my unexpected slap causes him to turn the the left. His eyes turn black in anger. Shawn’s hands are balled into fists by his sides.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! I’m sorry I can’t open my legs like she does to keep you by her side. Unlike her I have respect for my body and unlike her I know my worth” I tell him as I see James placing the boxes in the coffee table.

“Shawn!” Voices are heard from the doorway causing Shawn to turn around. Geoff, Brian, Matt, and Andrew have disappointed looks on their faces.

“Tell me something that is true” he says voice cracking at the end. I watch him as he clenches and unclenches his fists. Knuckles white compared to his flushed skin.

“You want the truth Shawn?” He nods hesitantly as if he isn’t ready for the answer.

“I wish I never meet you, but I’m glad I did because I wouldn’t have Noah by my side. So Shawn you got what you wanted now go, delete my number, forget my name, and forget all the memories we shared. I know I did and all they are nightmares to me that haunt me in the night.” I walk away leaving a teary eyed Shawn behind. I place my hands against the counter to avoid completely breaking down with him near by. I feel a hand wrap around me steadying from falling.

“Let it go Y/N....” James whispers to me and I do let it go. I let the tears fall down my face. I let out an agonizing scream.

“Ahhh!” I feel myself falling and James falls with me. He cradled me on to his lap as I sob. Everything I’ve bottled up in the last 2 years finally comes out. It hurts, it hurts so bad.

“It’s okay, let it out Y/N.” James tells me over and over again as he sways us back and forth. When I look up I see Broken Shawn staring back at me. I turn away avoiding his eyes that burn into my head.

“Shawn let’s go” Brian pulls Shawn away and all I can hear a muffled words.

A lie broke my heart and the truth broke his.

[prettyxlittlexwriter]

Blind Love

A/N: Thanks to @centerhabit​ for requesting this! I am so happy with how it turned out despite the fact that I've been so busy these past few weeks I was only able to chip away on this little by little. It hasn't been beta'd so please excuse any typos, I am so very tired. 

 centerhabit said: Would u mind making a Sherlock X reader where she's blind and he thinks she doesn't know who he is when they're on a date. When she tells him the truth that she knew he was Sherlock Holmes all along he's surprised. She kept her knowing his identity a secret tho bc he didn't want to take her case but it was only bc it brought bad memories for him??? But they still live happily ever after??? Hope that's ok!

“Unfortunately, I can’t take your case Miss L/N,” Sherlock said, causing the woman in front of him to frown.

“But…” the woman started.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cutting her off. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, trying hard to reign in her disappointment.

“I understand,” she said at last. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Best of luck,” Sherlock added, somewhat uncomfortably, as the disappointed client rose and exited his flat.

He watched her leave from his windows high above Baker Street; watched her out on the sidewalk, watched her getting her bearings, watched her turn and head North. Then, he moved. Grabbing his coat and descending the stairs until he, too, was out on the sidewalk, heading North. He stayed several yards behind her, although it probably wasn’t necessary to keep such a distance. One could afford a mild degree of sloppiness when tailing a blind woman.

She moved gracefully, so much more gracefully than most full-sighted women. She swept her cane out in front of her in small semi circles and Sherlock watched on, impressed, as she navigated her way to a small cafe several blocks from his Baker Street flat.

She’d come to him wanting answers about the accident that resulted in the loss of her sight. She’d been a manager at a bank on the Strand when it had been robbed at gunpoint. She’d hesitated a beat when they asked her to open the vault and she’d swiftly received a rifle butt to the back of the head, causing a bleed in her skull that damaged both retinal nerves.

Sherlock remembered her case. Scotland Yard had come to him asking for assistance in capturing the bank robbers, but he’d been busy. He’d dismissed the detectives, telling them that their case was of no interest to him. A week later, they’d struck again, and Y/N had been attacked. He’d read the police reports about her attack and her injury. He remembered thinking she was stupid to do anything other than comply with their orders and he hadn’t thought of the case again, until today.

As she sat in the living room of his flat that afternoon, however, he suddenly felt guilty for thinking she was stupid. She was well spoken, clearly highly educated. She had a small smudge of periwinkle blue paint on the inside of her left wrist as well as underneath the fingernails on her thumb and forefinger. She’d clearly been holding a paintbrush earlier in the day and he wondered why a blind woman would bother painting.

As she spoke, he quickly recalled the case and he realized that if he’d had taken it on back then, perhaps this woman would still have her sight. Perhaps if he had taken the case, she would actually be able to see the pictures she was still trying to paint. Feeling sick, he’d sent her on her way.

Now, here he was, following her into the cafe. He slid into a table towards the rear of the restaurant and pulled out his phone, pretending to be preoccupied with something on his screen, stealing glances at her as she sat, waiting.

Moments later, a waiter approached her, carrying a large Americano and setting it in front of her.

“Hey, Alan,” she said, smiling. “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” he replied. “Anything else today?” “Nothing right now,” she said, handing him a few bills. “Keep the change!”

 Although he had never been a blind person, Sherlock knew that routine was vital to one’s existence. The same items stored the same spots, the same color clothes folded in the same drawers, the same order at the same cafe. With very little effort, Sherlock figured out her routine.

 John would say that it was stalking, which is why Sherlock didn’t tell his friend about his frequent his visits to the cafe. Or the long walks along the Thames. Or through Hyde Park.

He didn’t know how to explain to his friend that he was captivated by her. She was both intimately tuned into to her surroundings while at the same time painfully unaware. Spending time with her, well, a ways behind her, was like seeing the world through a fresh set of eyes. He watched her inhale the air by the river and wondered when he had stopped noticing the earthy, damp scent. He watched her bypass a rather mean looking dog only to stop a few paces further to pet a sweet, playful puppy and wondered with amazement how she could tell the difference. He learned that she loved the rose gardens of Hyde Park, even though smelling the flowers often meant her fingers got pricked by thorns, and that she loved to trace her hands along the carvings of the Rima sculpture there, as well.

They were having coffee at her cafe one day, separate tables, of course, when Sherlock realized that Alan, the barista who usually took care of her, was not there. He watched on, his anxiety growing as no one came to wait on her. Finally, he rose and approached the counter and ordered two large Americanos. He paid and turned, approaching her table.

“One large Americano,” he said, placing it in front of her the way Alan always did.

“Thank you!” she said with a smile. “Alan must be off today.”

“It would appear so,” Sherlock answered.

“Here you go,” she said, handing him her payment.

“I don’t work here. This is just… my treat,” He replied. “I insist.” “Well then at least join me?” she asked, reaching out with her foot underneath the table and pushing the chair opposite her out from under the table. Sherlock looked at it for a long second before replying.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a seat.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, holding out her hand.

“William,” Sherlock replied, telling himself that it wasn’t really a lie.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, still smiling. For a moment, Sherlock took advantage of her not being able to see him and took in the beauty of her face and smile. He’d grown quite fond of the sight from afar, but to be this close to it was nearly intoxicating. “So tell me, do you often buy blind girls their coffees?” Sherlock chuckled.

“This,” he said, relaxing a bit, “Is a first.”

The conversation flowed easily between them, surprising Sherlock. He’d intentionally kept his distance from her physically, but he hadn’t realized until now how close to her he’d begun to feel.

“I usually walk along the river in the afternoons,” she said, when she’d finished her coffee, “But it’s going to rain.” Sherlock glanced out the front window of the cafe and saw that indeed, the skies had grown dark and rather ominous looking.

“How could you tell?” Sherlock asked before he could stop himself.

“There are other ways to observe than just using your eyes,” she said, her smile making his heart feel light. “Would you care to join me for a walk through the museum?” Sherlock stared at her, wondering what a blind woman could enjoy at a museum.

“I would, actually,” he said at last. They stood and she led the way from the cafe, easily navigating her way through the streets as she chatted happily to him, explaining just how she could tell the change in the weather.

They arrived at the museum and had gotten safely inside just as the skies opened up and the rain began. Y/N carefully reached out and took his arm.

“Is this alright?” she asked, tentatively. Sherlock’s mouth suddenly felt dry and he nodded. “Was that a yes?” She teased. He cleared his throat.

“Yes,” he answered at last.

“Ok,” she said. “You lead the way. Tell me what you see. Describe it to me as if I were blind.”

“You are blind,” he said, confused.

“I know,” she laughed and he realized she was teasing him again. They moved from exhibit to exhibit, Sherlock carefully and concisely describing each work of art in as much detail as he was capable of. Y/N hung on his arm, enrapt, listening to his deep voice and gentle tone, fascinated at being able to see things through his eyes.

“I never used to come here when I could see,” she said as they neared the end of their trip. “I regret that. I come now and wander around, listen to other people seeing these amazing works of art.” She stopped and looked up at him, her beautiful eyes gazing at him, but not seeing him. “But no one has ever described them the way that you did. It was almost like seeing again.”

The rain had stopped and Sherlock waited until she got on the bus headed towards her home. He barely slept at all that night, thinking of the feeling of her arm looped through his, the warmth of her body pressed against his own, the look of wonder on her face, as if the art before them was coming to life in her mind's eye.

She didn’t seem surprised at all when he joined her at her table with her coffee the next day.

“Aquarium?” he asked and her face lit up.

They walked down the long halls, past the big tanks, pausing so Sherlock could tell her what each contained. She rested her head against his arm while he spoke, using all her remaining sense to enjoy everything about being with him. The feel of his rough jacket against her cheek, the deep timbre of his voice, the scent of his soap, laundry detergent, shaving cream and aftershave.

Eventually, they wandered into a brightly lit room filled with people. Against the back wall was a large tank, sitting only about three feet tall with an open top. As they grew closer, Sherlock could see people actually reaching in as large fish swam around. His eye landed on a sign explaining the exhibit and when he realized where they were, he could barely contain his excitement. He turned to Y/N.

“Would you like to pet a stingray?” he asked.

���Can I?” she gasped. Instead of answering, he led her right up to the tank. He gripped her wrist and carefully lowered her hand into the water and held it still. Moments later, a large sting ray fluttered by, its smooth skin brushing against Y/N’s sensitive palm. He watched her expressions change from shock to delight and couldn’t contain the laugh that escaped his lips.

“Here comes another,” he warned and she stretched out her fingers as another large ray saw by.

“They almost feel like velvet,” she giggled. “But slimy.” Sherlock released his grip on her and held out his own hand, allowing the rays to swim beneath it.

“You’re right, I wouldn't have expected that,” he chuckled. They pulled their hands from the water and still smiling, the dried off on the paper towels provided. Y/N allowed Sherlock to guide her away from the exhibit. Her ears strained for sounds of other patrons and when she was sure they were alone she stopped. He turned to see why she had  walking and she moved her hands to the front of his coat, feeling her way up the lapels, letting them guide her up toward his shoulders, then his neck until her fingertips found the line of his jaw. She couldn't see him, but she’d felt his warmth, heard his voice, inhaled his scent and as her lips found his, she could finally taste his kiss.

It was sweet and gentle and she wanted to savor every second of it. All her other senses heightened as his arms encircled her waist, drawing her in against him, his hands cupping her face, holding her lips to his.

“Y/N, I have something to tell you,” he said as he pulled away. His heart was hammering in his chest and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. He had to get the truth out first.

“Is it that your name is Sherlock Holmes and you’ve been stalking me for weeks?” she asked, a playful smiling tugging at the corners of her mouth. He gaped at her.

“What…? How…?” he stammered, stunned.

“Come on,” she said, shoving him gently. “I’m blind, which means my other sense are much sharper. I recognized your voice, the smell of your laundry detergent mixed with your soap and aftershave was all over your flat, the rhythm of your gait…”

“This whole time, you knew?” he asked, feeling less stunned and more impressed with each passing second.

“Yes, I caught your scent on a breeze down by the river the day I left your flat,” she admitted. “It made me feel comforted somehow, knowing you were with me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sherlock asked, bringing his fingertips up to gently brush across her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I was just happy to be around you,” she admitted. “And I was secretly hoping your presence meant you were working on my case,” she said tentatively. Sherlocks heart sank.

“Your case…” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Taking her hand in his, he led her over to a bench and sat down beside her. He looked at her for a long moment, realizing that what he was about to tell her would serve to end this strange relationship just as it was beginning. “You deserve to know that it’s my fault you are blind.” He watched her brow winkle in confusion as the smile disappeared from her face.

“What… what do you mean?” she asked, her voice only a whisper.

“I was asked to take the case,” he said, his throat tight and his mouth dry. “I turned it down, I thought it wasn’t as interesting at the time…”

“Sherlock,” she breathed, but he cut her off.

“If I had taken the case, I could have stopped them before...before…” he stopped, his voice about to betray his anguish. She reached out and placed a hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes as he leaned into her touch.

“This was not your fault,” she said, quietly but firmly. “I’m not angry about being blind, Sherlock. I could have died that day. I could have suffered brain damage.” Sherlock opened his eyes and saw her smile. “I never knew what a rain storm smelled like. I never noticed the sound my paint brush makes on dry canvas. There are so many beautiful things in this world I was blind to when I had my sight. What happened to me was terrible, but it is not a tragedy. I may have lost my sight, but that doesn’t mean I can no longer see.” Sherlock swallowed hard.

“What do you see?” He asked gently and her smile widened She leaned in closer, pausing when she felt his warm breath on her skin.

“I see you, Sherlock Holmes,” she said before pressing your lips to his. When she finally pulls away, the ache in Sherlock’s chest has almost vanished. “And I’d like to continue seeing you… if you’ll let me.”

“I’d like that,” he replied, realizing just how much he actually would, indeed, like that.

“Good,” she said, standing and reaching out for him. He took her hand and placed it on the crook of his arm.

“What would you like to see now?” he asked. She smiled and leaned in close, whispering in his ear.

“How about your flat?” she said, smiling wickedly.

“But there’s really nothing to see…” he said, stopping when her expression registered with him. “Oh. Well. Yes. I can show you my flat. That sounds… yes.”

“Lead the way,” she teased, thinking about the different ways she could use all her remaining sense to experience Sherlock Holmes.

[magnificentsapcaddy]

Your Number One Fan

Hey everyone. I know this isn’t usually my style, but I wrote a quick little fanfiction for The Adventure Zone. It’s not that long - it’s 1,825 words, so do what you will with that information. It’s just a little something I wrote about Taako getting his start with on the road with Sizzle It Up. When I get my AO3 account, I’ll post it there, but for right now, you can read it here. If you have any strong opinions one way or the other, let me know! It would mean a lot to me.

When Taako started out on the road, life was hard.

It was hard to draw a crowd for Sizzle It Up in the beginning. After all, it’s hard to build an empire from the ground up. If nobody knows you, nobody wants to see you, you understand. It’s tough out there in the entertainment business.

Taako was never shy - he a performer by nature, after all. When you’re playing to a crowd of less than ten show after show after show, though, it starts to wear on you. It doesn’t matter how charismatic you are, or how bold you act on stage - when you’re dealing with that level of inadequacy, that level of disappointment almost every night for weeks upon weeks, you start to break down. You lose hope.

Towards the end of this period, just when Taako was about to give up, a single ray of light shown down on him. He could still remember the first night it happened. He was playing to a crowd in some backwoods town where the population was five-hundred tops. There were maybe ten or twelve people in the audience - par for the course, really. It was some dive bar, one of those places where it legally had to call itself a tavern because you can’t market yourself as a brothel or a place to buy illicit drugs. There was no reason whatsoever for the night to be any different from any other.

And yet, it was. In the far back of the room, by the door, away from the stage, there was one person - a woman, Taako figured, but he never was totally sure - who absolutely loved his shtick. Every joke he cracked, every prop gag he did, every pun he made (no matter how corny), this lady would cackle and howl with laughter. When the dish was finished, she hooted and applauded, rising to her feet. It was the first standing ovation Taako ever received.

When Taako moved on to the next town to perform the next show, he noticed that the lady had followed him. She also followed him to the next show.

And the next.

And the next.

Taako was flattered, of course - anyone would be, I think. Taako was quick to pick up on the fact that his crowd sizes were growing exponentially - slowly now, but exponentially nonetheless. The reason for this quickly became apparent as Taako found that somebody truly gracious out there was putting up flyers for all his shows. Sometimes, before he even got into town, he’d notice that there would be flyers singing his praise on every street corner, lamp post, and  bulletin board in the area.

Eventually, he’d find that, if he asked around, somebody would’ve already booked a room at a local inn for him. All expenses paid, to boot! Sometimes, he’d even wake up to little care packages waiting for him outside his room. They were never anything that extravagant - a nice bottle of wine, a sprig of exotic spices, that sort of thing. Once, he even received a hand-made plush mongoose, which, admittedly, was a strange gift to get, but one he adored nonetheless. Of course, later down the road, this sort of treatment would become commonplace as his fan base grew, but now more than ever, it meant the world to him.

Taako didn’t need to think that hard about who this mystery patron was.

It was his number one fan.

This fan’s laugh was never hard to pick out of a crowd. Taako bet that if he played to all of Faerun and she was listening outside of the arena, in the parking lot or something, listening in on a Stone of Farspeech, he would still be able to recognize it. He’d even make jokes about the laugh every now and again - nothing mean-spirited, of course, just gentle ribbing. At one point, this mystery woman laughing was almost like a running gag. Someone who saw his Neverwinter show and someone from the Estagund crowd could have gotten together, and even if they had nothing else in common, they could both recognize and probably imitate that laugh.

Then, one day, as inexplicably as it had started, it stopped. Taako was on the west coast, preparing a nice mulligatawny for the crowd, the recipe for which he had picked up somewhere near the Bay of Kings. He cracked a dumb joke, something along the lines that he hoped if he screwed up the recipe that the audience would give him a “mulligan-tawny” for the night.

The crowd - about four-hundred strong by now - laughed at the intentionally forced pun.

But his number one fan didn’t.

He spent the rest of the night low-key anxious, trying to not to show how worried he was. He knew, logically, it shouldn’t have bothered him at all. But still, he felt like he was a kid again, going out into the world without his aunt to depend on.

After a few shows, when it was apparent that his fan-slash-benefactor was no longer following him, he found a quick fix. If he ever, for whatever reason, got nervous on stage, he’d just cast Prestidigitation and conjure up that laugh. And when he did it, it was just like she was there in the crowd again. He could mimic it perfectly - he had heard that laugh so much by that point, that he could reproduce it just as well as he could reproduce himself saying, “Let’s sizzle it up!”. He felt cheap about doing it some times - everybody feels kind of ashamed to use canned laughter - but it brought him comfort.

In his times of trouble - say, after a rough crowd, or after getting jumped on the road, or after a fight with Sazéd - Taako would go into his trailer and conjure up that laugh over and over again. He could never put his finger on it, but it was like having an old friend beside him to calm him down.

The was some closure, though, a couple years down the line. It was a few months before the Glamour Springs incident, a few months before Taako would put himself into exile, forever on the run. He was playing to a smaller crowd on the docks of New Astencher, a few miles west of Pyratar. This time, he was preparing a local specialty, a squid-based soup in which every part of the squid was used, including the beak. Near the start of the show, as he was getting ready to prepare the squid, he cast a simple spell on it and moved it around like a marionette, making it catwalk over to the chopping board. “Hey,” he declared, “watch the fuckin’ throne, Howdy Doody, I’m comin’ for ya!”

This would later become Taako’s favorite joke of all time, because it was the first laugh he heard his number one fan laugh at after so, so long.

It was different now. She sounded older, far, far older than she should have sounded, but it was still her. Taako performed the rest of the show with a manic sort of vim and vigor that he hadn’t had in a long time. It was like a puppy greeting his master after they’d been away. The audience ate it up. It would go down as one of his best shows of all time.

For the first time, Taako got to see what this fan looked like, kind of, since she was sitting out in the open. She had her face and most of her body covered with an old tattered, red robe. Even if he didn’t know what she looked like, Taako felt incredible actually getting to see her, to put, if not a face, a form to the laugh that more or less saved his life.

After the show, after he gave out samples to the audience, and after he did his meet and greet and has his publicity photos and went through all of the usual business again, he ran back to where his fan had been, hoping to find her, to thank her, to finally talk to her.

He didn’t. She was already gone by that point. However, he quickly spotted that on a windowsill laid an envelope, with his name written in flowery cursive on the front.

This is what it said:

Taako,

I am so incredibly proud of what you’ve become. I’ve been away lately - I’m sure you’ve noticed. I had to tend to my own personal business, you see. As fun as it was to be your “tour manager”, for lack of a better word, I had to lead my own life. I’m sure you understand. Nevertheless, I want you to know that I cannot apologize enough for leaving so abruptly. It hurt me more than you could ever imagine to have to leave you ą͡͞g̴̢͜͠a̡í̷͘ņ.

Taako couldn’t quite make out that last word. After trying to decipher it for a moment, he decided it was nothing more than an ink smudge, and moved on.

I know you don’t know me, but - and I hope that I don’t sound malicious - I know you very well. You probably don’t remember it, but I actually helped you buy your wagon and some of your cooking supplies. It was nothing big, but I’m glad that you’ve done well with what I gave you.

I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but I am so overjoyed to see what you’ve become. You have fame and fans and, gods willing, fortune. You’re everything I always knew you could be.

Taako, I’ll be honest with you - I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again. I can’t talk about it, not right now, but I hope you believe me when I say that I’m trying to do great things, things that could change the world. Believe you me, Taako, as much as I love watching you cook and tell jokes and entertain, I have more important matters to attend to. And if some great misfortune should befall me before we ever have the opportunity to talk again, just know that you were a shining light in my life like no other.

I hope that I brought you as much comfort as you brought me pride.

With respect,

Your number one fan

Taako suddenly noticed that the paper was getting wet. He was crying. He quickly but carefully folded up the letter and put it in an inner pocket in his cloak before he wiped his eyes dry.

“Hey, Taako!” somebody yelled. It was a fan - not the fan, of course, just a fan. They wanted a picture with him.

He took a deep breath, cast Disguise Self on himself to make himself look more chipper, and went on with his business.

He would treasure that letter for the rest of his life.