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Y’all I haven’t written a fic in a hot minute but I have EMOTIONS OKAY

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

I love you- as long as there's free food | A Beadick Future-Fic

After going on a date and seeing another couple get a free meal for getting engaged, Bea and Ben hatch a plan that makes them start questioning just where their relationship is going. Read on Ao3 here

They’re on a date on a Saturday night, at a fancy place for once. Their normal “date” fare consists of takeaway pizza and binge watching Doctor Who on Netflix, but they figured that a fancy restaurant would be better for their anniversary. They’d been dating for five years, after all. That deserved something fancy.

They’ve just got their food when they here gasps and sighs issue through the restaurant. Turning in surprise, they see that the man at a table across the room is down on one knee, proposing to his girlfriend.

I wonder what that’d be like- wait. No. Not yet. Nope. Nuh-uh, Beatrice thought.

I think… no, no, what? Why would I- nope? Maybe? No. Ben thought, before glancing at his girlfriend and changing his mind to, Soon.

Of course, they were both knocked from these reveries by these crucial words from the waiter:

“Oh, and for the happy couple, dinner is on the house!”

They turned and looked at each other, the same plan forming in two minds.

 “You ready?” Bea asked him as they paused outside the restaurant.

“Yeah, just like we practiced, right?” Ben nodded, wiping his slightly sweaty hands on his pants. Fake proposal or not, it was still nerve-wracking. He was going to be proposing to Beatrice, after all. Beatrice, who he’d been in love with since he was fourteen years old. It’s practice, he thought. Good practice.

“Maybe without laughing in the middle of it?” Bea teased.

“Hey, that goes for you too, then,” he retorted.

“I only started laughing because you were, that’s no fair.”

“And I won’t start laughing, so you better not. Come on, love.” He pulled open the door and they both headed in.

They ordered their food and then waited a couple of minutes, just talking, but purposely playing up the “lovey-dovey stuff,” as Beatrice called it. They’d lean close to each other, blush and giggle while the other was talking, their hands clasped on top of the table.

After a few minutes of this, Ben quietly asked her, “Time?”

She nodded. “Time.”

He stood, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips before he began. “Beatrice Duke,” he proclaimed, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, “I’ve been in love with you since the day we met eight years ago. The last five that I’ve spent with you have been the best of my life. So,” he sank to one knee and pulled out the costume ring she’d bought at an antique shop. “Would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man alive?”

“Of course!” she proclaimed, barely able to contain her laughter. He put the ring on her finger and then stood up to kiss her.

When they broke apart, they heard the waiter proclaim, “Free champagne and dessert, on the house.”

Ben winked at her, and she winked back.

So that’s what it’s like to get proposed to, she thought. It’s kind of fun. A little awkward, but fun.

I have to do that for real, Ben thought, smiling down at his girlfriend.

 They stood outside their next restaurant of choice, a nice little Italian place. They hadn’t gone before, but Hero and her boyfriend insisted that the gnocchi was to die for, so off they went.

“We don’t even know if they’ll give us stuff,” Ben complained.

“They will, most restaurants do,” she shrugged. “Though even if we don’t, we still get to eat some good food and pull one over on about fifty people. Sounds like a good time to me,” she smirked.

“You’re diabolical. I love it,” he grinned, leaning down to kiss her.

Cutting the kiss short, she insisted, “Come on, save that for the restaurant. Let’s go.”

This time, they were going for the old ring-in-the-champagne trick. (“That’s such a cliché,” Beatrice had whined. “That’s the point. They’re expecting clichés. They’ll believe clichés,” Ben replied.) Beatrice would go to the bathroom, and Ben would sort the trick out with the waiter. (“At least since I’m expecting it, I won’t choke or anything,” Bea had said with a grin.)

And so a short while after they sat down, she immediately got up to use the restroom, giving Benedick a quick wink as she left. As soon as she was gone, Ben began to desperately attempt to make eye contact with their waiter, who spotted Ben’s awkward waving and headed over quickly.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked politely.

“Um, yeah, I’d like to order some champagne and uh… If you could poor it into the two flutes and, and….” he pulled the ring out of his pocket and showed it to the waiter, hoping that his awkwardness would just come off as pre-proposal nerves.

“Ah, yes, of course, sir. You’re not the first person to do this-“ the waiter caught himself, and added, “Because Buon Appetito is so romantic, of course. I’ll take the ring and place it in your lady love’s glass,” he said with a wink, taking the ring and walking away.

Ben then went to text Bea and let her know that she could come back.

The flamingo is in the nest. Why the hell are you calling it a flamingo? Have you never heard of code names, Beatrice? We’re texting each other, dickface. No one can overhear us. Will you just come back? Fine then.

As she sat down, she gave an overdramatic sigh. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by the flamingo thing at this point.”

“Hey! We agreed that you couldn’t mock me for that after you murdered Floyd!”

“I didn’t murder him, he was an inanimate object! And that was six years ago.”

“The North remembers.”

They then entered a staring contest that lasted all of ten seconds before they burst out laughing. They’d barely calmed down when they saw the waiter heading towards them with the champagne.

“Showtime,” Bea said with a wink.

“Sir, your champagne,” the waiter said with a smug smile as he lowered the tray.

“Champagne? We didn’t order champagne, did we?” She overacted her surprise, and it was all Benedick could do not to laugh. Then the waiter placed her flute of champagne in front of her and she gasped ridiculously loudly.

“Benedick?” she asked incredulously. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw the waiter snort when he heard his name.

“Yes love?” he smirked.

“Why is there a ring in my champagne?”

“Oh it’s a new fad diet Hero told me about- ow!” She’d kicked him under the table. “Okay, then.” He got down onto one knee and prepared himself for The Speech 2.0, smiling as he noticed the restaurant go quiet. “Beatrice Duke, I have loved you since I was fourteen years old and terrified of the idea. I loved you when I was seventeen and had convinced myself that I hated you. I loved you even more when our meddling friends knocked some sense into me, and it’s just been growing ever since then, and I don’t want it to ever stop. Will you marry me?”

“I love you too, you asshole. Of course I’ll marry you.” They both stood up and kissed, to tumultuous applause from the rest of the guests.

Their waiter gave a slight cough to get their attention, and the two broke apart.

“On behalf of the restaurant, I’d like to offer you this meal on the house, as a little engagement present.” He paused briefly, before adding, “Just do me a favor, and don’t saddle your kids with a name like his,” he joked.

They both laughed and gushed their thanks, and tried to stem their flow of thoughts.

That speech- it was a lot better than the other one. It felt almost real. Real wouldn’t be too bad, would it? Beatrice glanced at the ring, still at the bottom of her champagne flute. No, no, we’re not ready. Are we?

Benedick ran his thumb over his fian- girlfriend’s hand, thinking, I can’t just fake this again. Next time I do this, it’ll be for real.

 The restaurant this time was the same pizza place they’d gotten their pizza from the infamous day of the pizza party. They sat around a huge circular table, the entire old group there, plus a couple of new additions. Meg had brought her fiancé, and Hero had not only brought her boyfriend, but convinced John to come as well.

The pizzas arrived, and a glance at the toppings led Balthazar to give Pedro his most withering look.

“Anchovies? Really? I shouldn’t have let you order.”

“Oh come on, they’re good! If you really don’t like them, just pick them off.”

“They’ve already contaminated the pizza. And I won’t kiss you if you have anchovy breath.” Balth crossed his arms proudly; sure he’d won the argument.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to eat some so you’ll have it too,” Pedro retorted smugly.

“Oh shut up you two,” Meg teased.

Ben laughed with the rest of them, trying to disguise his nerves. The ring in his pocket suddenly felt heavier than lead. Pedro and Hero knew what he was planning. Hero had actually helped him pick out the ring (they’d managed to find a company that sold fair trade certified gemstones, and gone from there) and Pedro had been enlisted to keep Benedick from talking himself out of following through.

Pedro quickly made eye contact with Ben, a silent, Ready? Ben nodded.

“So, Olive Man,” Pedro teased, “what’s it like to be in a relationship for- what, five years now?”

“You should know mate, your getting close enough to it yourself,” Ben retorted, looking between Pedro and Balthazar.

“Just humor me, man.”

Looking over at Beatrice, who was settled next to him with his arm around her shoulders, he steadied himself, and began.

“It’s frustrating as hell,” he started, fake-wincing as Bea gave him a playful shove. “I’m never quite sure what she’s going to do or say. If we’re left alone for too long, we talk ourselves half to death, and I love it.” Seeing her expression soften, he gained the confidence to keep going. “She’s the worst enemy anyone could ever be cursed with and the best friend I’ll ever have.”

“Hey!” Pedro interjected, his voice full of mock hurt.

“It’s the unfortunate truth,” Bea replied with a straight face.

“Hey, you’ve got me,” Balth replied, giving Pedro a quick peck on the cheek.

“I thought you hated my anchovy breath.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“As I was saying,” Ben huffed, “I’ve loved this lady of disdain for pretty much as long as I’ve known her. And that’s not something I ever want to stop doing.” He pulled the box out of his pocket, opened it, and placed it on the table in front of her. “I’ll never stop, if she’ll let me.” A beat of silence washed over the table, and Ben asked, “How about it, love? Would you like to marry me?”

“What do you think the answer is, dickface?” she teased, before responding, “Yes, of course, you idiot!”

The table exploded with whoops and cheers, and everyone pretended not to notice John slipping Meg a five-dollar bill. (John had his money on it being another year before they got engaged. Meg insisted that the two would jump at the chance as soon as the idea had worked its way through their thick heads.)

Once they finished the pizza, their waitress brought over a huge sundae.

“We didn’t order this-“ Ben started.

“Oh, the entire kitchen staff heard you guys celebrating. They insisted that we send this over, free of charge,” she said with a bright smile. “Congratulations, you two!”

The ice cream sent a chill through Beatrice that she couldn’t chalk up to brain freeze. Was this proposal real, or was it another plot for free food? She looked down at the ring on her finger. It was new, but he could’ve lost the old costume ring and just gotten a replacement. Benedick wasn’t ready to actually propose. Was he?

They walked out to the car, worry weighing heavy on her heart. She looked up at him and joked, “So, that was some good ice cream. And that speech was a lot better than the other ones, as is this ring. Don’t even care if you did lose the old one. You should save it for next time,” she rambled, and began to work the ring off her finger.

As soon as he saw her taking the ring off, Ben’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Beatrice Duke, you have got to be kidding me right now. I did not plan out that whole speech with Pedro, I did not spend hours with Hero finding a ring that was fair-trade certified and to your tastes that took a good chunk of my paycheck for some free ice cream.” He pulled her closer. “I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, okay? If you’ll let me.”

For once, she was dumbfounded. When she finally found her words, she managed a quiet, “Yes.” Finding her voice, she repeated, “Yes, yes, of course.”

His face broke out into a huge grin. “That’s fantastic,” he said, pulling her in for a kiss, before pausing. “That ring is staying on.”

“Of course it is, dickface.”

“And I’m not proposing again. Not even for free food.”

“What if we want free food?”

“We can always pretend you’re pregnant.” Before she could smack him, he quickly added, “Kidding, kidding, geez! Heh. Kid-ding.”

“Oh shut up you dork.”

“Make me.”

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

I love you- as long as there's free food (Beadick fic sneak peek).

I say sneak peek because I want to share this prologue-y bit that I just wrote (which is inspired by this post) to a beadick future fic. Enjoy, y'all.

They’re on a date on a Saturday night, at a fancy place for once. Their normal “date” fare consists of takeaway pizza and binge watching Doctor Who on Netflix, but they figured that a fancy restaurant would be better for their anniversary. They’d been dating for five years, after all. That deserved something fancy.

They’ve just got their food when they here gasps and sighs issue through the restaurant. Turning in surprise, they see that the man at a table across the room is down on one knee, proposing to his girlfriend.

I wonder what that’d be like- wait. No. Not yet. Nope. Nuh-uh, Beatrice thought.

I think… no, no, what? Why would I- nope. Maybe? No. Ben thought, before glancing at his girlfriend and changing his mind to, Soon.

Of course, they were both knocked from these reveries by these crucial words from the waiter:

“Oh, and for the happy couple, dinner is on the house!”

They turned and looked at each other, the same plan forming in two minds.

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Ghosts That We Knew - Chapter Two

Clarke sifts through the events before and after the rescue, trying to figure out why Bellamy forgave her.

Read on Ao3 here

But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart

Clarke was trying her best to stay focused on her patients. Well, her other patients, that is. With the huge influx of patients, the medical staff had decided to divide up the injured, each doctor taking a certain number of patients for their own, which was certainly better than everybody trying to take care of everybody. A sharp look toward her mother had gotten Clarke assigned to Bellamy’s section. The message was clear: I’m not leaving him again.

Every time she had a break, she spent it by his bedside, catching him up on what had happened. They’d lost Harper, who’d been harvested for bone marrow already, but the others were fine. Monty had broken a leg, Jasper an arm, and Miller had been shot through the shoulder, but otherwise they were mostly fine. They’d even had a new addition, a girl from below the mountain, Maya. She was Jasper’s… something, and she’d received some of Harper’s bone marrow before realizing where it had come from.

“You got them all out before me?” he asked, and she winced at the accusation.

“We happened to find them first…” she said slowly. She had run through the entire lab, battle be damned, searching for him. She’d broken open the cages the 47 were in and shouted orders at them along her way, but the entire time she was focused solely on him. When she’d found him… he’d been laying on the floor of another cage, bleeding and forgotten, but still breathing. Still breathing.

“Clarke, it’s okay. I went in to get them out, remember?”

“Why the hell are you comforting me?”

He muttered something that sounded something like, “It’s my job,” but before she could response he laid back down said “Never mind. I’m gonna get some sleep, P- Clarke. You should too. I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed yet.” He’d sent Octavia to bed hours ago similarly.

A little while later, she was relieved of duty and told to get some sleep. Unwilling to leave completely, she collapsed on one of the newly emptied cots- they’d sent Jasper back to his tent that day. She tried, but sleep didn’t come. The argument she’d had with Octavia before the rescue played on loop in her mind.

“Why the hell did you make him go?” she marched up to Clarke, hate in her eyes. A bystander grabbed her wrist, trying to hold her back, but she just shook him off. “I didn’t make him go. He volunteered, Octavia. It was his idea.” “He wasn’t going to! He was going to stay. He only went because you asked him.” “This was his plan-“ “He was going to stay! For you! He’d go to hell if you asked him to, and now you have!” “He’s going to be fine, Octavia-“ “You better hope he is. Otherwise his blood is on your hands.” The same look of quiet rage that haunted Indra’s eyes overcame hers, and the grounder saying came into Clarke’s mind unbidden. Blood must have blood.

Octavia had calmed since. There were a couple of times when they were still trying to save him, when they nearly lost him, that Clarke saw that look in her eyes again, and couldn’t bring herself to deny it. She’d done this to him. She’d sent him there. He should hate her- she certainly did- but he didn’t. Somehow, he’d forgiven her.

She held onto that forgiveness as she sank into a night of fitful sleep.

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Ghosts That We Knew- Chapter One

After Mount Weather, all of the characters have ghosts to face. It's up to them to decide who will lead their lives- them or the ghosts.

Read on Ao3 here.

You Saw My Pain Washed Out in the Rain

He knew he was awake, but he couldn’t bring himself to openhis eyes. Everything hurt so much. He could feel his legs beginning to come back to life as blood rushed back into them, bringing sensation back, yes, but pain too. His arms, his neck, his chest, they all ached with wounds and bruises. But now the pain was a dull ache, not sharp jabs. He couldn’t decide if it was better.

Once he’d registered the pain, he began to register other sensations. He was lying on a bed. That was good. Certainly better than the concrete floor of his cell or the cold metal table- he stopped himself before the memories could swallow him whole. Other sensations. Both of his hands were being held. Small hands, soft hands. O? One of them must belong to her. The other one… he couldn’t bring himself to hope. She’d sent him away. And there was something lightly pressing on his side- the top of someone’s head, he concluded.

He knew he had to open his eyes. Through his eyelids, it seemed to be mostly dark. If there wasn’t much light, it wouldn’t hurt that much. Slowly, he peeled his eyes open.

He was in the medical bay of Camp Jaha. He’d been right about that, at least. They’d gotten him out. Did that mean they got the others out? They had to have gotten the others out. He couldn’t’ve gone through that for nothing.

He leaned his head to the right, wincing quietly at the movement. Octavia. His little sister was there, she was there, she was safe, she was there. She was also out cold. It must be late, he thought. How long had he been there? How long had he been asleep? He stared at his sister for a while. Her head rested on her own shoulder, her legs splayed out in front of her. That can’t be comfortable, he thought.

He then dared to turn his head again. It wasn’t quite as bad as the first time, but his eyes still squinted shut from the pain. When he opened them, he nearly let out a cry of shock. The head pressed against his side, fast asleep, it was Clarke. After everything, after sending him into that damn mountain, there she was. He wanted to scream at her, he wanted to caress her, he wanted to push her away, and he wanted to kiss her. He never could decide how he felt about her, but now, after the mountain, she’d only made it worse.

He leaned his head back so that he was staring up at the ceiling again. He couldn’t go back to sleep. He didn’t want to go back to sleep. He also couldn’t move. Might as well let them know he was awake, then.

“I thought I was supposed to be Sleeping Beauty here,” he croaked. He didn’t know when the last time he actually spoke was. His throat was rough and raw.

He felt movement on either side of him, and knew he’d gotten the response he’d wanted.

“Bell? Oh my God Bell, you’re awake!” Octavia had sprung up out of her chair and was leaning over him, fussing over him.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed. I thought I was still out cold,” he retorted.

“How are you still this much of an asshole?”

“I’m your big brother. It’s my job.” He felt Clarke squeeze his left hand. She hadn’t spoken yet, and he knew why. But that first surge of anger… it was gone as soon as it came, and all he had left was more hurt. He turned his head towards her and smirked. “Hey, Princess.”

She flinched, and it took him a second to realize why. Spacewalker had coined that nickname. “Nice to see you awake,” she said softly.

“I could say the same to you two,” he replied. “Seriously. Those chairs can’t be comfortable,” he said to O. “Though I won’t pretend I didn’t see P- Clarke stealing some of my bed for a pillo-“ he began coughing, his throat raw.

“I’ll get you some water,” Clarke started to stand up, but Bellamy gripped her hand tighter.

“I’ll get it,” Octavia conceded. “I need to stretch a bit anyways.” She gave him a look, telling him silently, I know you need to talk to her.

“I….” for once, Clarke didn’t seem to have any words. “I’m so sorry, Bellamy,” was all she could manage.

“I know,” he said quietly.

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I shouldn’t have told you to, I should’ve-“ she was babbling now, staring down at her hands, unable to look at him.

“Clarke.” She turned toward him again. “It was my idea to go. You weren’t making me.”

“But I told you to.”

“And I wish you hadn’t, yeah. But it was my idea.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I couldn’t… I can’t lose you.” He kept waiting for her to say ‘too,’ but she never did. This wasn’t I can’t lose you too, this wasn’t I can’t lose another person, this was her saying she couldn’t lose him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he managed after a little while.

“You better not,” she retorted, using her free hand to wipe tears from her eyes. She hadn’t let go of his hand the whole time.

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Satellite Call

Note: This isn't really a pairing-based thing so much as a desire to explore Clarke's thoughts surrounding 2x08 (because I'm catching up and I just saw that one). I will warn you that it is highly angsty and I apologize. However, if you enjoy weeping, grab the popcorn and get started!

I found you.

I should’ve found you sooner, she thought as she lay awake that night. I could’ve stopped you, I could’ve. I should’ve. If we’d just gotten there sooner… Eighteen people were dead. Eighteen people. Elders, men, women, children. All unarmed. She didn’t sleep that night.

I’m in love with you.

Timing had never been in their favor. Those words would’ve been something beautiful before. Now the butterflies in her stomach had wings of razor blades, tearing her apart as they flew. Ever since the village, she’d been looking to blame anyone but him. The people, for charging. He had them penned up like animals. They’re a proud people. They were unarmed. Murphy, for not stopping him. What did you want him to do, shoot him? He tried to. Herself, for not getting there sooner, for being his cause, the crusade he was on. Innocents died in the Crusades, too. There was no going back after this. Not for any of them. Not with people on both sides clamoring for his death. Half of her understood, agreed, even. One death to save hundreds of lives. One death to pay for eighteen deaths. How could she deny that? Her heart ached at the thought. If she did this, how was she any better than her mother, who turned her father in? How was she any better than the council that decided to sacrifice 100 teenagers to keep the Ark going for a few more weeks? How could she sacrifice the boy she loved- But he wasn’t just a boy anymore. The peacemaker she’d known had been warped by the loss of her. Something had been broken, and they were cutting themselves to pieces trying to piece it back together.  She loved him still, but being in love with him was too painful to imagine. It wasn’t I love you but I don’t like you, like it was with Bellamy, it wasn’t I love you but I can’t respect what you did, like with her mother, it was I love you but not what you became. The love she had for him was blood-soaked and full of bullet holes, it was real and present but it was killing her.

Be careful.

She knew what he was going to do, but she didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t until he stepped out into the open that she had to face it. The scream tore her throat open but out of fear, not shock. She watched the grounders drag him away and heard her conversation with Murphy echo through her head. “You were with him.” “I tried to stop him.” “Not hard enough.” I didn’t try hard enough.

Take me instead,

she’d told Lexa. She’d killed Atom, watched Charlotte leap, burned hundreds of warriors, left 47 of her people in Mount Weather. What were 18 more deaths to carry?

Let me say goodbye.

Raven had given her the knife so she could save Finn. That’s what she was doing, wasn’t it?

I love you too.

Finally she spoke the words that belonged to the children they’d been- the spacewalker and the princess. Words that belonged to those whose hands weren’t soaked with blood, who could look at each other and see hope, not death, who could look at the world and see beauty, not destruction. Words for those whose shoulders weren’t heavy with lives they’d taken. She would carry them all. Each of the 100 they’d lost, the ones in the mountain, the grounders on the bridge, the ones she’d burned, even the 300 volunteers of the Ark. She would carry them all with her. She would carry every single person that died in Lincoln’s village- the eighteen Finn had killed, and the boy he’d been, the person he lost a grip on when he did it. She would carry both of his deaths with her. She walked away, aware of the way each grounder stared at her, aware that she’d just stolen something from them. She was made of ash and blood and bone, but she kept walking. Somehow, she kept going.

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

And the Lyre of Apollo (Casekiel One Shot)

(Note to Librarians peoples- this is beckysicle. This is my fic blog.)

As if regular missions weren’t hard enough, the earplugs made it about a million times worse.

They were retrieving an item- the original Lyre.

“Technically the Lyre of Apollo,” Stone had volunteered.

“But you said that that Hermes guy invented it. So technically it’s the lyre of Hermes,” Ezekiel had countered.

“Technically, both of you should shut up,” Baird had finished, grabbing both boys by the scruff of their necks and steering them toward the Back Door.

The main issue with the Lyre of Hermes/Apollo was that when it was played, it induced a sort of musical fugue state- all the unfortunate victim could do was listen to the music and rock out to it.

“That doesn’t seem too bad-“ Cassandra began.

Jenkins cut her off. “Yes, it’s all good fun until the music stops and all those affected enter a brief murderous rage.”

“So, we find the Lyre before they can play it. Simple enough. I mean, it would kind of stick out in Seattle,” Baird shrugged.

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Jenkins shook his head. “The Lyre’s been around since the Ancient Greeks. If it stayed a lyre all the time, it would be in a museum by now. Or in the Library, more likely. But unfortunately it was made by Hermes, the god of thieves and tricksters.”

“Sounds like your kind of guy, Jones,” Stone elbowed the younger man.

“I don’t see any problem with him, certainly,” Zeke said with a shrug.

“As I was saying, it’s clever. It disguises itself as different instruments through the years, usually a string instrument. There are accounts of it being a harp, a mandolin, or a viola. It’s believed to be the cause of a riot at the premiere of one of Tchaikovsky’s ballets-“

“The Rite of Spring Riot? That was the Lyre?” Stone interjected excitedly.

“Yes, it was. As I was saying, it won’t look like a lyre. It’ll be something more mundane. Think guitar, bass, maybe even a fiddle or banjo. But whatever it is, it’ll have this marking on it somewhere.”

He showed them a picture of a caduceus superimposed over a rising sun.

As it turned out, some indie band trying to break into the music scene stumbled across the Lyre, now a guitar. They quickly grew in popularity (making them thankfully easy to identify as the new owners of the Lyre) and all of their gigs ended in wild success- and riots. Most people didn’t notice because the band only played in bars, but the clippings book did.

The plan of tracking them down and getting the guitar was going well. Ezekiel wanted to steal it, but Baird insisted that they would attempt to buy it first. Stealing was Plan B.

“Sell it to you? Are you insane? This thing’s our lucky charm,” the frontman protested.

“We’ve got one show tonight, and then we go on the radio tomorrow. Sorry, man. I know this thing’s awesome, like some sort of antique, right? But we can’t give it up,” their other guitarist added.

Which brought them to where they were now, running around a bar with wax stuffed in their ears (because apparently regular ear plugs weren’t up to snuff, and Jenkins had to give them some magical wax or something) trying to steal a guitar in the middle of the show knowing that as soon as they stopped playing, the entire crowd in the bar (which was surprisingly big) would turn into crazed murderers. No pressure or anything.

The plan was simple enough: Baird and Jake were to be towards the front of the crowd, acting as a distraction for the band. (“Okay, I get her, but why am I a distraction?” Jake asked incredulously. “Did you see the way the bassist was checking you out, dude?” Ezekiel replied with a shrug. “Oh. Yeah, I can do that,” Jake said with a shrug.) Cassandra would be on the catwalk above the performance, waiting for Ezekiel’s signal to get one of the spotlights to fall on an empty part of the stage. When the chaos happened, Zeke would spring from backstage and simply pluck the guitar out of the frontman’s hands while the guy was distracted. There wasn’t even a strap on the guitar, making the whole thing simpler.

The plan, of course, did not work out that way. It was all going fine at first- Cassandra dropped the light right on cue. The band all jumped off their barstools, swearing up a storm. The crowd started to grow agitated, jaws clenching and knuckles cracking. Eve and Jake tried to catch the boys’ attention, but the effort was lost as one of the audience members pointed up and screamed, “It’s that bitch’s fault!”

The entire crowd began throwing glasses, bottles, anything they could reach, really up towards Cassandra, who was yelping and leaping out of the way of the projectiles. Taking advantage of the renewed distraction, Ezekiel snagged the Lyre and ran offstage, and then froze in the wings.

He had to make a split-second decision. In front of him was the stairway to the catwalk. To his left was the exit. He could cut and run, sure. They knew that once the Lyre was far enough away, its effects faded. But who knew how long that would be, or if Jake and Eve would get to Cassandra before the crowd got her? No. He had to go get her. He’d seen her trying to think her way out of the situation, which only brought on her sensory overload. With a glance over his shoulder to the roiling crowd, he took a deep breath and bolted up the stairs.

He found her in a ball on the catwalk, hands over the back of her neck, muttering to herself very quickly. He removed his own earplugs and then gently placed his hands on her wrists to get her attention. Her arms dropped slightly, and he reached forward to remove her earplugs.

“Cass, I know you’re overwhelmed, but we have to go now. There’s kind of a murderous mob below us. And probably behind us. There’s an emergency exit behind you. We’ll go out there and then figure it out, okay?” he said quickly, but softly. She nodded in response, and he grabbed her hand and ran out the door with her.

They were now on the roof, which Ezekiel couldn’t decide was a good or bad thing. Away from all the stimuli, Cassandra had calmed a lot.

“We still need a way out-“ he began, but Cassandra held up her hand to shush him.

“Shh. Doing math.” She spun about a bit, her hands following invisible equations and images. Ezekiel actually found it to be a bit beautiful, if freaky. It was like some sort of odd dance that he simply couldn’t hear the music for.

“Got it!” she cried, snapping him out of it. Grabbing a beer can that had been left out on the roof, she marked a spot on the ground. “If we start running right here, we should have enough momentum to carry us to the next roof.”

“Fine then, I guess we can use that instead of my plan,” he sighed overdramatically.

“And what was your plan?”

He shrugged and laughed. “Flying away?”

“We don’t have those shoes anymore, Ezekiel.”

“I was joking, Cassandra.”

“Fine then. Start running on three?”

“Yeah.”

“One, two-“ the door burst open.

“Three!” Ezekiel finished, off like a shot.

He was running, and then suddenly he was leaping, all the way across the gap. It felt magnificent- until the landing, which consisted of him tripping over the ledge and rolling ass over teakettle as the Lyre skidded away from him.

Groaning in pain, he glanced up and saw Cassandra standing above him, offering her hand, her dress not even rumpled.

“Please tell me you fell too,” he moaned, taking her hand.

“If it makes you feel better,” she said with a giggle, pulling him up.

They were now a lot closer together than intended, which brought about a nervousness he quickly tried to quash.

“Uh…. The Lyre!” he bolted away, trying to save face. Ezekiel Jones did not get tongue-tied over some sheila. Did he? He grabbed the Lyre, drumming his fingers on it nervously.

“We need to get it away from here,” he muttered.

“I know that. But Baird and Stone are still down there. And I don’t see another roof to jump to, so getting away in time to keep them from getting ripped apart by a mob?” Her voice strained with worry.

“They’re pretty good fighters…” a sharp look from Cassandra nipped that sentence in the bud. “No. Think, think….” He drummed his fingers on the guitar. He looked down at the design, the caduceus over a sun. The god of thieves made this, right? Surely the king of thieves could turn off the stupid crazy harp. He tapped the caduceus. “Come on, Hermes…”

As soon as he said the god’s name, the design, and then the entire instrument, began to glow. It changed shape in his hands until it was an actual lyre.

“Oh my goodness,” Cassandra gasped. “They’re stopping!” She turned to him, laughing and hugging him. She kissed him on the cheek, and something clicked in him.

Her arms still around his neck, he looked down at her, glancing at her lips quickly before asking, “Is it okay if I-“

She’d pulled him down and kissed him before he could finish his sentence.

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Nothing I Can Do (Shirbert One-Shot)

In the end, he ended up spilling his guts to Diana, her best friend. She somehow didn't hate him like Anne did, and turned out to be a remarkably good listener. Unfortunately, her only advice fell into his exact default plan: Give her time. Wait. It didn't exactly do anything to help the icy bolt that went through his stomach every time he saw her.

He'd just settled into his room for a long weekend of homework when his phone went off. Glancing over, he saw it was a text from Diana.

Matthew in hospital. I'm heading to Avonlea to be there for Anne. I'll try to keep you updated. No promises.

The news fell on him like a ton of bricks. He managed a quick, "Of course. Let me know if I can do anything," but he didn't know what that would be, if anything. He tried to get his work done, but for once in his life, he couldn't focus. All he could do was check his phone over and over and hope against hope, for Anne's sake.

The silence extended for days, and on some level, Gilbert knew what that meant. If she couldn't update him, it meant that either Matthew wasn't improving, or... but he had to keep hope alive, for her.

Just as the worry was beginning to eat him alive, his phone lit up with another text from Diana, and he immediately leapt for it.

He's gone. Heart attack.

"No. Oh no, oh shit fuck damn-" Gil didn't normally swear, but something about doing it right then relieved some of the pressure. Of all the people in the world, Matthew deserved this the least. And Anne- Anne was devastated, he just knew it.

It was Saturday. I was helping Anne and Marilla. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.

He quickly tapped out a reply:

Don't apologize. I'm not the priority.

After a couple of seconds thought, he sent another:

Give her plenty of TLC for me. I don't have her number and... and I won't say anything publicly until she does.

He put his phone in his pocket and his head in his hands. He took a few deep breaths as he processed the news. After a minute, he got up and went downstairs to tell his parents he loved them, and what had happened.

The next day, before he got ready for the funeral, his phone buzzed with a twitter notification. Against all of his expectations, Anne had apparently made a video. He opened it up and pressed play.

He'd never seen her like this. She didn't have any of the elaborate hairstyles or fancy makeup or exuberant energy that she'd always worn like armor. Soft-spoken and broken hearted, he was forced to remember once again that Anne Shirley was not a miracle, she was a girl. A young girl who had lost too much.

For months, she'd been breaking into his heart. In 61 seconds, his broke with hers.

He and his family went to the funeral, taking a pew a ways away from immediate family and friends. He managed to make eye contact with Diana and give her a quick nod from across the room. He then looked over at Anne, who was sitting straight-backed in the front row, determinedly staring at the portrait of Matthew. She seemed to know that everyone in the room was watching her, and determined to ignore them all.

This isn't for us, after all, Gilbert thought. This is really for her and Marilla.

After the service, he made his way up to the front. Diana stood next to Anne, an arm placed protectively around her shoulders. Anne stood with her arms crossed so tightly, she was hugging herself, stock still and silent as mourners all crowded around her, trying to engage her. As she saw him approach, Diana gave him a small smile.

"Anne," he began once he'd made it to her. Her floor-bound eyes suddenly shot up and locked with his. "Anne," he continued, "I really... I know I have no idea what you're going through, and I know you don't like me much, and I know that there's next to nothing I can do, but if you need anything-"

He was cut short by Anne stepping forward and throwing her arms around his waist, her face buried in his chest. He was shocked at first, but managed to gently place one hand on her back and the other on the back of her head.

Rubbing soothing patterns into her back with his thumb, he said in the quietest whisper, "Anything. I'll do anything."

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

You don’t fit in the life you led You try in vain to squeeze back in, Like you did with your favorite dress when you were five The one that shrunk in the dryer when you helped with the laundry You try back on your descriptors “Perfect” itches like bad wool “Sweet” tastes like sour milk “Innocent” feels like the knives in your back Sure, they pulled them out But the scars still haven’t healed Innocence feels lifetimes away now You don’t want to call yourself a victim It makes it sound like you’re still broken But you can still see the cracks It’s hard to trust people now A raised voice makes you shake like a leaf And it takes you too long to calm down Sometimes you cry when you don’t mean to And you can’t explain why But everyone thinks they know Everyone thinks you’re broken And you say you’re past it But you still wake up silently from dreams Where you screamed for them to leave you alone But they’re getting farther apart So you have hope they’ll go away for good You’re taking back everything you were and sorting it out You’re clearing out the attic of your heart And you’re deciding what to keep, What to toss, And what to give away You’re working hard to be something else Not the innocent that no longer exists Not the slut that they named you Not the victim you’re seen as But the survivor that you are

"Survivor" - a poem from the perspective of Hero Duke

Prompt: Crime

I've hit a bit of a roadblock with "Weird Camera Guy" (which I actually may work into a full-on book) but I wanted to keep going with LLF so here you guys go

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Weird Camera Guy (Beadick AU - Part 5) - Lovely Little Ficlets Challenge (Day 7)

Beatrice decided that the next day was the perfect time to film a vlog. Hero insisted that she was too worked up and would probably regret putting it online, but Bea refused to give in.

“Anger is the perfect fuel for vlogs. People love rants. Besides, it’s a good story, and that’ll reel them in anyways. So don’t you worry, baby cousin.”

“You do know he might see this, right?”

“Let him. I don’t care.” She turned to the camera. “Hello, people of the internet! This week I have a fantastic story for you all.” She paused. “Well, not fantastic, but certainly fascinating. It started on a bus that Hero and I took to the mall last week- back to school shopping, you know…” She detailed the discovery of the camera, and showed the pictures from the discovery to her audience as she spoke. (She’d blacked out Ben’s email, of course.)

“You saved those?” Hero asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah. They’re part of the story,” Bea replied with a shrug.

“You’re putting pictures of someone on the internet without their permission. That’s illegal, Bea.”

“People put pictures of each other on Facebook all the time and no one complains. Stop worrying. Anyways, I decided to email the guy. We talked for a bit, and then he told me his name. Turns out the guy is my primary school arch-nemesis. I went to give him his camera back (Pedro insisted on coming to that) and the guy has not matured since primary school. He was just bragging and being all condescending and rude and arrogant and I just could not stand him. He’s awful! He’s a total asshole.”

“I don’t know, Bea. I mean, you just met him for the first time in years. First impressions aren’t always accurate. And he can’t be that bad.”

“He was whining on and on about how he was the star player back in England where they play real football. He’s so full of it, it’s a wonder his eyes aren’t brown.”

“Alright, alright, I get your point. But you should be nicer. This is going on the internet.”

“Fine, I’ll plug his stupid channel then. Click a link below to see Signor BeneDICK’s channel, if you dare.” She turned off the camera, already making the decision to not edit the video a whole lot. She was confident with how it was.

“Do you have to be so mean, Beatrice?” Hero implored. “I don’t think all that was necessary.”

“I can be honest about how I feel or I can be nice. And I’d rather be me than well liked.”

“Fine then. What are you gonna do when you see him at school?”

“Avoid him, if possible.”

“But what about Pedro? If he’s going out for the team, and Pedro’s captain…”

“I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it, Hero.”

“Alright, Bea. Just… keep an open mind. People can surprise you.”

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Weird Camera Guy (Beadick AU - Part 4) - Lovely Little Ficlets Challenge (Day 6)

Title: Weird Camera Guy (Part 4) Characters: Beatrice Duke (POV), Pedro Donaldson, Benedick Hobbes. Prompt: Introduction Word Count: 909 Rating: General Notes: This is based on that one post with the camera guy that can be found here. Part 1 can be found here. Part 2 here. Part 3 here.

“The Stratford. Huh.” Pedro remarked as they approached the café.

“Yeah, what about it? I’ve only been a couple times,” Bea replied as she opened the door. They were about ten minutes early, camera in hand.

“Balthy’s played a couple times here. They do open-mic nights sometimes.”

“Why am I never invited to these? I’m friends with him too. Sort of. Well, I try to be. The boy doesn’t talk much.”

“Something about it being easier to play for strangers than for people you know, I guess. And don’t bug him about it.”

“Why do you think I’d-“

“Beatrice, you know I love you, but you’re what I’d call aggressively supportive. And while that works for people like me or Hero or Meg, it kind of terrifies people like Balth or Ursula.”

“Are you saying they’re scared of me?”

“Not scared. ‘Intimidated’ would be the word.”

“Crap.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. You mean well. Just take it easy on them.”

“I’ll try.”

They ordered their coffees and took a seat by the window, waiting for Benedick to show up.

“So do you actually hate this guy?” Pedro asked.

“Don’t know him enough to hate him,” Bea replied with a shrug.

“So you like him, then.”

“Still don’t know the asshole well enough, Pedro. Stop asking questions.”

“Just trying to make conversation, Bea.”

“Well between Hero being convinced he and I are meant to be, and you convinced he’s some kind of creep, I’m just ready for this whole camera business to be over. It has nothing to do with what I think of a total stranger. You’re both acting like total weirdos.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Clearly, Pedro knew better than to try to engage Bea when she was annoyed. Finally, they heard the door open and saw Benedick walk in. Bea gave a small wave, and he came over to their table and joined them.

“No need to worry, Ben the Best has arrived,” he announced, gesturing widely as he sat down. Turning to Bea, he added, “I recognize you from your videos, which, while not as good as mine, were not that bad, and-“ he looked at Pedro, as if he was just noticing his presence. “Who the bloody hell are you, her boyfriend?”

“Best friend. And ease off, mate.” Pedro crossed his arms and looked Ben up and down coldly.

Ben held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, hey, I was just surprised there was someone else here. Thought I was just meeting little Bumblebea here.”

Pointing her coffee spoon at him like a knife, Bea hissed, “Call me Bumblebea again and I walk out of here with your camera, Benny-the-Dick.”

“Touché, Beatrice. Tou-fucking-ché.” He turned back to Pedro. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name, mate. You are-?”

“Pedro Donaldson.”

“Aha! The other mudslinger, I should’ve known. Of course you two stuck together.”

Bea shrugged. “My aunties work with his parents, he and I have gone to the same school since we were kids, it was sort of a give-in.”

“Hey, you make it sound so boring, Bea,” Pedro protested.

Bea elbowed Pedro jokingly. “Lighten up, man. I was just telling the truth here.” She turned to Ben. “So, what brings you to Auckland? And then away from Auckland. And then back again.”

Ben shook his head and answered simply, “Family. What else?”

Pedro quickly changed the subject before Bea could poke at an obvious (if not to her) touchy subject. “So, Ben, are you going to Messina this year?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be starting up there. You guys go there?”

“Yeah, we do,” Bea said. “Us and my cousin Hero.”

“The one asking about my vlog?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Well, it’ll be nice to meet her.” He turned to Pedro. “So, what sort of stuff is there to do around Auckland these days?”

“Well, there’s a bunch of clubs. Bea’s friend Ursula is in the AV club, which you might like because of the vlogging thing, and my friend Balthazar does a bunch of music stuff if you’re into that. Plus there’s the football team that Bea’s cousin Leo coaches. I’m the captain,” he finished proudly.

“Well, I’ll have you know I was the star player on my team back in England, the real home of football, so I suppose I can try out here, then, if your team’s got openings.”

Bea looked at him in shock. “Are you actually this much of a dick, or is this some kind of joke?”

Ben turned to her. “It’s called sarcasm, love.”

“I know sarcasm. That was being a total ass. And don’t call me love.”

“You need to get a sense of humor, love.”

“Why don’t you shove your sense of humor up your-“

“Okay!” Pedro jumped up and moved to stand in between the two. “It was great meeting you Ben, but Bea and I have got to run. Our families planned a… thing. But you should definitely try out for the team. Bea, why don’t you just give the camera back and we can go?”

Bea put the camera down on the table and stormed out without another word, closely followed by Pedro, who was mouthing “Sorry” to Ben, the employees, pretty much anyone in the general vicinity of the scene.

Little did either of them know that the night before, Hero had snuck a slip of paper with Bea’s name and number into the camera case.

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Weird Camera Guy (Beadick AU - Part 3) - Lovely Little Ficlets Challenge (Day 5)

Title: Weird Camera Guy (Part 3) Characters: Beatrice Duke (POV), Pedro Donaldson Prompt: Introduction Word Count: 335 Rating: General Notes: This is based on that one post with the camera guy that can be found here. Part 1 can be found here. Part 2 here. (It says right up there anyways so I'm just gonna apologize for the lack of Ben in this chapter but appreciate the Bea/Pedro friendship! But more apologies for Sad!Pedro

“I’m coming with you,” Pedro said decisively as he closed his fridge. She’d gone over to his house to hang out and relax, and ended up telling him the story of the camera, which she now regretted.

“Oh come on, Pedro. I can take care of myself,” Bea whined.

“I know you can, but you’re not meeting a stranger from the internet alone.”

“Really? I’m not five. Besides, he’s not a total stranger. Look, it’ll be fine.”

“We knew him in primary school. A lot can change in seven years.”

“That’s the same bloody thing Hero said, but I think she meant something much different.”

“What the hell did Hero mean?”

Bea mumbled, “She thinks I was flirting with him. I don’t think so, but-”

“That’s it. I’m definitely coming now.”

“Jealous, are you?” she teased, with an over-exaggerated wink.

Pedro laughed and shook his head. “As if, Bea. But if he thinks it was…” he paused, searching for the right way to phrase things. “I don’t want him getting any fancy ideas, Bumblebea.”

She smacked him, laughing a bit. “You asshole! I shouldn’t have reminded you that that nickname existed.”

He gave her a light shove away, mostly to stop her hitting him. “Oh, I remembered it. I just was waiting for the right occasion to use it.”

Beatrice crossed her arms. “And how is now the right occasion?”

“It would annoy you as much as possible.”

“You know me too well.”

“That’s the idea,” he smirked, walking over to the couch.

She stayed in the kitchen a couple of minutes longer, thinking. “Fine. You can come,” she finally said, going over to join him on the couch.

“Can is irrelevant. I was going either way. But I’m glad you want me to.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, like she always did. “I’m glad you care too much, you big dumb jock.”

He smiled, and looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “Yeah. No problem. What’re friends for?”

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Weird Camera Guy (Beadick AU - Part 2) - Lovely Little Ficlets Challenge (Day 4)

“So, have you emailed him yet?” Hero leaned in through Bea’s doorway.

“Emailed who?” Bea asked, barely looking up from her computer, where she was watching what must’ve been her 10th episode of “Friends” in a row.

“Weird camera guy, as you like to call him.”

“Oh. Yeah. I did.”

“…and? How’d it go?”

“See for yourself,” Bea said, clicking to a different tab and turning the laptop to face Hero.”

From: beatricetheduke@gmail.com

To: benaddicktion@gmail.com

Dear ‘weird camera guy’ (you never actually said your name),

I found your camera on a bus the other day. Thought you’d probably want it back sometime. Just email me back with a time and place (I’m going to assume that you live in Auckland as well.)

You’re welcome,

Beatrice Duke

P.S. My cousin saw a couple of the videos on the camera and wants to know if you’re a vlogger as well.

From: benaddicktion@gmail.com

To: beatricetheduke@gmail.com

Hello, Beatrice.

Glad you found my camera (and decided to email me back instead of just keeping it). I’m Benedick Hobbes, and I do in fact live in Auckland. I just moved back after spending a few years in England. I don’t know what part of the city you’re in, but could you make it to Stratford Coffee House at noon on Saturday?

Thanks a load,

Ben Hobbes

P.S. Tell your cousin that I am, in fact, a vlogger (channel name’s the same as my email). Also, “as well”? Are you a vlogger?

“This doesn’t seem too bad at all, Bea. What’re you talking about?”

“Just keep reading.”

From: beatricetheduke@gmail.com

To: benaddicktion@gmail.com

Thanks, Benedick. The Stratford isn’t too far from me, so I should be able to make it then. I am, in fact, a vlogger (check out Nothing Much to Do on YouTube) but I’m going to hold off on watching your channel for now, thanks. I saw the videos you had on your camera. Serial bird killing? Really?

Secondly, and I have to ask, did you happen to go to Avon Primary School? Because I have some distinct memories of a Benedick Hobbes there, and it’s not exactly a common name.

“Oh my god. Not that Benedick.”

“Hero, for the love of god, just keep reading.”

From: benaddicktion@gmail.com

To: beatricetheduke@gmail.com

I’m glad you can make it, Beatrice, but OH MY GOD. At the risk of not getting my camera back, Bumblebea? The girl who got the entire school calling me Benny-the-Dick? That Beatrice?

P.S. That story was both brilliant and tragic, I’ll have you know.

From: beatricetheduke@gmail.com

To: benaddicktion@gmail.com

Ohmygod. It’s you. First off, NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO CALL ME “BUMBLEBEA” ANYMORE. Well sometimes my dad but even he’s barely allowed too. Second off, I started calling you that because you sat behind me and would spend literally the entire time pulling my pigtails! Don’t act all high and mighty.

And it’s not my fault the nickname caught on. You have to admit, it was catchy.

P.S. BIRD. MURDER.

From: benaddicktion@gmail.com

To: beatricetheduke@gmail.com

Hey now, whoa. It’s not my fault your pigtails were that long and constantly on my desk. They’d get in the way of my work and hit me in the face, I had to do something. Besides, didn’t you and that kid Pedro start a mud war with me? On picture day? My mum’s never let me live down the school photo where I look like a swamp creature. (Okay, so that might be one of my favorite school photos. My point remains.)

Bea turned to Hero. “He’s being a total dick, right? Right?”

Hero smirked. “Actually, he’s bantering with you about primary school.”

“So? I’m not going to meet my childhood archnemesis again to return his stupid bloody camera.”

“Arch-nemesis? Really Bea?”

“HE MADE ME EAT A BUG!”

“He dared you to. You didn’t have to take the dare. Besides, you then dared him to jump off of the monkey bars. Didn’t he break his arm?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, you should suck it up and return the stupid camera. A lot can change in what, seven years? You’re about to start Year 13, Beatrice. Besides, you really seem to be hitting it off with him. And who knows, if he’s moved back to Auckland, he might be going to Messina with us.”

For once, Bea was at a loss for words. After a bit of spluttering, she managed, “Hitting it off?”

Hero shook her head. “Bea, I’m your cousin. Don’t you think I can recognize your way of flirting?” She smiled and left the room.

Bea’s cheeks were burning with what she swore was anger as she flopped back on her bed.

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Weird Camera Guy (Beadick AU - Part 1) - Lovely Little Ficlets Challenge (Day 3)

“Hey Hero, look what I found!” Bea called to her cousin as they hopped off the bus.

“What, Bea?”

“Some poor sap left their camera on the bus! It’s a pretty nice one, too.”

“That’s terrible!” Hero frowned. “Is there any way to track down who left it?”

“Well there’s no name on it,” Bea mused, turning it over in her hands, “but we could always look through the pictures…” she added with a sly grin.

“Bea, that’s rude, not to mention an invasion of their privacy, and-“

“Probably the only way to get them back their camera?”

“Well we could give it to the police, or something.”

“You know it would only collect dust in the lost and found, or end up as an officer’s gift to themselves.”

“Well…” but Hero was stumped. Bea knew that she’d won this argument. She usually did.

“Come on, let’s have a look then.”

What they found was a bit of a surprise. Past a couple of videos of a dark-haired, lanky guy talking to the camera in his bedroom (“Do you think he’s a vlogger? Like us, Bea, right?” “Not a very good one, Hero. He’s talking about serial bird killing.”) were a series of photos.

They were all of the same lanky guy, (who, in Bea’s head, was now “weird-camera-guy”) holding a whiteboard. They formed a sort of speech from the guy.

“Hello”

“I see you found my camera!”

“Thank you”

“Unless you stole it.”

“But I’ll assume you just found it.”

“I probably left it somewhere really dumb,”

“Well he’s not wrong there,” Bea snickered.

“Like on a train,”

“Hey, he was close!” laughed Hero, leaning over Bea’s shoulder to see the pictures.

“Or at the post office,”

“Or in my dog,”

“What?!” the girls cried in unison.

In the next couple of photos, the boy appeared to be laughing.

“Well, probably not in my dog.”

“I don’t even have a dog!”

The whiteboard was blank in the next photo, and weird-camera-guy had a bemused look on his face.

“He thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he?” Beatrice scoffed.

“Well, it was a pretty cool idea,” Hero chided.

“Anyway, thanks for finding it.”

“We have a good time together, my camera and I,”

“One time, we took a photo of me in the bath.”

The next photo was, as promised, of weird-camera guy in the bathtub. Nothing could be seen, but it was still weird.

“What the- why the- that wasn’t necessary!” sputtered Beatrice. Hero could only laugh at the combined hilarity of the photo and her cousin’s reaction.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I showed you that.”

“Anyway, could you please email me at benaddicktion@gmail.com so I can get my camera back?”

“I will be relieved to have it back,”

“And I will probably hug you out of gratefulness!”

“Unless you have personal space issues,”

“or are remembering the bath photo,”

“in which case I will nod graciously at you from a respectable distance.”

“Ok. Go email me now.”

“And I will go wait by my computer for your email.”

They turned off the camera, both giggling a bit.

“So, are you gonna email him?” Hero finally asked.

“I suppose I will,” Bea said cautiously, “he seems a bit odd, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t get his camera back.”

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Better a Broken Resolution than a Boring Life - Lovely Little Ficlets Challenge (Day 2)

Beatrice had always been one of the few people she knew that was capable of keeping a New Year’s resolution. After Hero, Ursula, and Meg had… erm… illuminated some of her more prominent flaws, she’d made herself a list of strict resolutions for the New Year, which were as follows:

Make fewer snap judgments

Get a better grip on my temper

Admit when I’m wrong

Be less argumentative

The last one, as it turned out, Ben seemed determined to challenge. It was only the second day of the year, but oh, did he find ways.

When they were in a local café on New Year’s day, he began by pestering her about his first video.

“Come on, you have to admit, it really was the best video ever put to YouTube.”

“It was… interesting,” she said through gritted teeth.

“It was more than that, it was the perfect way to hook in a new audience.”

“It… certainly grabbed people’s attention.”

“And I have to say that my channel name is just so much more creative than yours was.”

“Was not! Nothing Much to Do is the wittiest title there is! Yours isn’t even playing off the best pun in your name, how could you say it’s the best name?!”

“Ha! I knew I could get you to break.”

“Dammit, dickface, I was really trying too.”

“You just can’t resist me, and you know it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, I’m your idiot now.”

“Is it too late to change idiots?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

“Oh shut up,” he chuckled, and he kissed her.

“Happy New Year, dickface.”

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

This Year - Lovely Little Ficlets Challenge (Day 1)

Looking around this room, he thought, you would never be able to tell that half of us weren’t speaking to the other half a couple of months ago. They were all sitting in the living room of the Dukes’ house, glasses of sparkling cider in hand, waiting for the new year to come. Pedro sat on the other side of the room, his arm cast casually around Balthazar’s shoulders. Claudio sat on the other side of Balthy, and on Pedro’s other side sat Beatrice, Benedick’s head on her lap, joking with Pedro as she absentmindedly played with Ben’s hair. Ursula and Meg were animatedly discussing something with Hero, smiles on their faces.

John remained where he was. His actions had begun to heal over, but he still felt like an outsider, an observer. It was his fault everything had fallen apart, so he felt lucky to even be there. For the moment, he was okay with just sitting in the corner, nursing his glass of cider.

Suddenly, a song came on through the speakers, and Balthy began singing along in place. Then Meg was standing, dancing, pulling Ursula up with her. Hero jumped up too, her head bobbing along with the music. Bea and Ben were up next, and they appeared to be attempting to see who could dance more terribly. Claudio was awkwardly swaying back and forth by himself. John found himself smiling at the scene. Everyone was just so ridiculously happy.

Then he felt a yank on his left arm, and he was standing up.

“Come on, little brother,” Pedro said, laughing. “You’re not getting out of this one.”

So he started dancing awkwardly as Pedro and Balthazar both sang along at the top of their lungs. As the song continued, he caught on to the chorus, and found himself singing along as well.

I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me.

[iguessiwriteficsnow]

Send me a ship and I'll tell you

How much I like it: actual cause of global warming | notp | don’t care | it’s okay | cute! | otp | MY BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN

"Their" song:

Who does more housework:

What couple cosplay they should do:

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