#When the dad screams towards the end of Teaching Jake I felt that in my soul.

[robin-josephette-biden]

A Statement Through Horror: BDG and YouTube

In his video announcing his departure from Polygon Bryan David Gilbert [BDG] stated, “I want to make things that one day people will make a show like unraveled about.” [Paraphrasing here]. Since that announcement he has made some of the most interesting and engaging comedy videos on the platform. On Bryan’s channel, there is a section called “bdg’s scaries” that contains three videos. The first how to make jorts was released April 27, 2019 and will not be part of this analysis, as we are focused on the other two videos. These two videos are Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss which was released on October 25, 2020 (two months before his final Unraveled video and departure from Polygon) and Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan '97 which was posted March 3, 2021. If you have not seen these videos yet you should stop reading immediately and go watch them both (honestly everything on his channel is amazing, especially the surprisingly compelling and personal Dances Moving! series) before continuing to read this as I will be spoiling both of them. The position of YouTube celebrity has been the source of a good bit of commentary as short form online media has become more and more central in our culture. Bryan has created two videos that I feel do an excellent job of exploring the relationship between youtuber and audience. I should also point out that this is merely my interpretation of these videos and is in no way BDG’s intended message. I’ll start by going over the first video. Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss opens with BDG outside an apartment building, standing in front of a black car. BDG points up at one of the windows and says, “Three years ago I was living in that apartment right there. Third floor, leaky windows, cockroaches, the worst.” I do not know if the real life BDG actually lived in that building, but the 3 years timeframe does line up neatly with his beginning to work at Polygon. BDG continues to bad mouth his old apartment and mentions how he has turned it all around stating, “But just last week I paid off my very first Subaru Impreza. And I own my own house in Nebraska.” This radical change in life-style he credits to, “. . . [working] from home, [making] my own hours, and [being] my own boss. And you can do it too.” I think that it is interesting that BDG’s career up to that point mirrors that of his character, going from newly graduated content creator making small videos in his apartment to one of the most popular creators on Polygon. And all that being accomplished through work that many (rightly or wrongly) would not see as fitting into the mold of the traditional 9 to 5. The idea of making millions working from home, at your own pace, and with no boss is intrinsically tied to the mystique of the YouTube celebrity. Moving into BDG’s office he explains that he makes $20k a month working on spreadsheets. A massive spreadsheet appears behind him that is dated, 01.12.88 (nothing of note happened on January 12, 1988 and the only thing that happened on December 1, 1988 is a large cyclone that struck Bangladesh, January 12, 1888 is the day of the Schoolhouse Blizzard which struck the midwestern US and killed 235 people (remember this for later)) and is filled, seemingly randomly, with garbled nonsense symbols. Many of the cells are the same as other cells and there are empty cells scattered haphazardly throughout the spreadsheet. BDG explains that he got this strategy from Dorian Smiles. In exchange for working on these spreadsheets BDG receives $10k - $20k a month (an amount that lines up pretty damn well with the amount he should be getting through his Patreon page currently, I don’t know if this was true when the video was made though) from Dorian. Wanting to know where the money is coming from BDG asks his bank and they explain that he is wiring the money to himself from another account he has. He grows confused as to the nature of this work and the disproportionately large amount of money it brings in, explicitly mentioning his confusion as to how the money is coming from someone with, “. . . my name and my voice.” and sets about to find and confront Dorian Smiles. BDG sets off for Center Nebraska, which is close to where Dorian lives (a small town in the northeast corner of Nebraska). He states that Dorian’s address hasn’t existed since 1888 (that’s a familiar year isn’t it?) when it was supposedly condemned during an enormous blizzard and is, “. . . just woods now.” The video then transitions to BDG walking through dark woods while his narration talking up the Dorian Smiles program continues becoming increasingly broken. He comes across a figure sitting in the woods that is convulsing strangely, when he calls out to it the figure turns and is him (heretofore named Dorian). Dorian slowly puts his hands over his nose and mouth while staring at BDG at which point the narration cuts out. BDG copies Dorian and when Dorian removes his hands in a flourish, BDG does the same to reveal that he no longer has a mouth. The video quickly cuts back to BDG in his office talking about the program, he asks the viewer, “Why don’t you join me?” and then sits back and smiles while that line repeats without him moving his mouth. The most pressing mystery is who Dorian Smiles is. I think the most likely answer (and one I know I am not the progenitor of) is that Dorian is a reference to The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde, the story of a young man that has a portrait that ages and takes on the ravages of the debauched life its subject lives while Dorian himself does not. BDG would therefore be the unwitting recipient of that blessing, reaping massive rewards while his double, Dorian, lives in poverty and solitude. I like this explanation for Dorian, but I find it to be far more mechanical than thematic. On a metatextual level you could read that Dorian represents the character of BDG. The person that is in all of BDG’s videos, and the one with whom so much of the audience forms a parasocial relationship. In this lens the parallels with BDG’s own life make more sense. By this point in BDG’s career it is not difficult to imagine him feeling stifled creatively at work (I feel comfortable saying this given how soon after this video came out that he departed Polygon). His character had grown too large, potentially becoming alien to him, no longer reflecting the art he wanted to make and so he made a video about a distorted version of himself stealing his voice. In this way the video becomes a statement on his artistic integrity and his desire to test new boundaries and go in different directions. In hindsight, with the knowledge of his departure and then success after leaving Polygon, the video becomes almost heartwarming (if it weren’t terrifying) in the same way that a before and after picture of someone improving themselves can be. We will return to the Dorian Smiles system, but now we must move to the second video, Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan '97. I’ll save you the blow by blow breakdown and aim for a quick summary instead. This video is a simple stationary shot of an old CRT tv. A VHS tape is inserted and a video of a man teaching his, evidently young, son how to use a camcorder plays. It is relatively wholesome and corny in that way that all home movies are and when it ends the tape rewinds and the segment plays again, this time with a few deviations. Over replays the father becomes aware of what is happening and begins trying to reason with Jake through the camcorder begging him to stop watching the tape and move on. The father is menaced by a large shadowy figure that does not speak or move when confronted. Eventually the father resorts to simply taking the camera and recording his own screams of pain. On the final rewind the father simply says, “Attaboy.” before calmly walking out the room and into the dark hallway, a doorway opens at the other end, filled with orange light, and the father walks through and down stairs. The final shot of the video is of the television, showing the hallway, as orange light begins to flicker in the background of the left side of the TV. The sound of the father descending the stairs transitions from the TV to diegetic and a shadow appears briefly in the light. On one level the video is clearly a statement about loss and about trauma. Jake is losing himself by watching these videos on repeat, trying in vain to relive a happier time. In that desperate desire to regain what was lost he is distorting it, making it into something it isn’t, hurting it. At the beginning the father says, “Never ever press the rewind button, otherwise you might record over a precious memory. We always keep the recording going forward . . .“ I think there is an additional, and more personal for BDG, reading however. The father is the modern character of BDG, and we, the audience, are Jake. He is pleading with us to leave the past behind and move on. This was only his 3rd video that he posted after leaving Polygon. It is a plea from him to leave the old character behind and stop trying to make one into the other. To stop obsessively comparing the new videos to the old. To let the future be the future and let the past be the past. He is telling us that his new work will not be like the old, that he has progressed past that and that now his viewers need to as well. The detachment and confusion of Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss has transformed into a desire to move forward. But he needed to ensure that his audience was ready to come with him, and so he made a video about loss and the dangers of sinking too far into it. I know that there are some of you that feel I am reading too much of what I assume to be BDG’s thoughts and emotions into these interpretations, and I am the first to admit that I might be. In no way am I trying to say these are the only interpretations of these videos or even that they are correct. I think there is so much more of an artist that they put into their work than they realise. I do not know the mind of BDG, only he does, but these videos made me feel that I had a glimpse into the feelings of a man whose work I admire. These videos are either longer or a drastically different tone to the material he has put on his own channel and as such they stood out to me. They felt different, and they seemed to ask for a different level of scrutiny. On some level maybe BDGs videos can not be divorced from the story of BDG as a content creator, the same as any modern internet semi-celebrity, or indeed any artist. I guess there was also a part of me that wanted to answer the call to action I heard when BDG left Polygon, to unravel his work. I hope in some small way I’ve been able to do that.

[slytherinbarnes]

bright stars and black holes

pairing: Josephine Lightbourne x Clarke Griffin

word count: 5.6k

warnings: language, anxiety, some death, some angst, some fluff, a hint of smut if you squint your eyes. 

summary: Josephine Lightbourne is used to getting what she wants. everything changes when she meets Clarke Griffin.

a/n: this is my secret santa gift for @lovelessdyke​​! I know I went way over the 1k word limit, but when I was told the pairing, I got really excited and just couldn’t stop! thank you to my bff for helping me figure out the plot and work out the kinks, I love you the mostest! also thank you to @hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis​​ and @johnmurphyisqueer​​ for hosting this! it was so much fun, and a very good distraction from my holiday stress. okay, enough rambling, here’s the fic!

my masterlist

Josephine Lightbourne is used to getting what she wants. 

So when she is put into another host, one that fights back, it lights a fire in her that she hasn’t felt in decades. She loves Gabriel, she knows that for sure, but even things with him had become complacent. They’re in love, but they’re at odds, too fundamentally different in their approach to immortalhood to really be anything more than star crossed lovers. 

Everything changes for her when she meets Clarke Griffin.

Of course, she doesn’t meet Clarke in the traditional sense, not the way that most friends or lovers are introduced. Instead, Josephine is resurrected in Clarke’s body and meets her first through her friends, her family, her people. Forced to pretend to be the fallen Nightblood from Earth, John Murphy teaches her how to trick the people in Clarke’s life into believing that she’s still alive. But of course, it all goes to shit when Bellamy figures out her secret and threatens revenge. Luckily for her, she can be very persuasive. 

And because Josephine always gets what she wants, Bellamy and his people agree to put everything behind them, to forget that her parents gave her an unwilling host. But when Josephine goes to bed for the first time in her new body, aided by a sleeping pill, a smile of satisfaction on her face, she soon learns that Clarke is not one to give up easy, not even in death.

When she meets Clarke in her mindspace, surrounded by metal and the hum of an engine, the face of her original body reflected back to her in the pointed glare of Clarke’s blue eyes, she suddenly realizes that the feelings she has for her stolen body are deeper than an appreciation for Clarke’s form. Instead, Josephine finds herself enamored with another person, more interesting than Gabriel, maybe even more interesting than herself. She finds herself falling for the angry Wanheda, the Commander of Death, the girl who refuses to back down even when faced with love.

-

Clarke Griffin is tired. 

Tired of war and death and running for her life, tired of killing and bearing it so her people don’t have to. She is too young to be this tired, but she has shouldered a lifetime of burdens in just a few short years, and it’s finally worn her down. So after the initial sadness of not getting to tell Madi and her mother and her friends goodbye, she finally starts to feel at peace for the first time in years. She thinks that maybe she can live forever in the Shallow Valley in her head, surrounded by her sketched memories, the scent of her father’s cologne still hanging in the air. Something rare that her mother had found at the trade post, some relic from pre Praimfaya Earth. Clarke’s sure it must have cost thousands of ration points, or at least a really good bribe, but she’s thankful her mom found it, because the smell is comforting to her. She’s sure that if she was back on the Ark and went into her parents room, that scent would still linger, despite the years it’s been since her dad’s death.

But just as Clarke starts to settle in her new home, her sketchbook in hand, something starts to happen. 

A low rumble, a prickle of unease across her skin, and she finds herself on her feet and out the door before she even knows what’s happening. And as she stares at the red door at the end of the hall, anxiety heavy in her chest, it swings open, blinding her with light before a pretty blonde girl steps into her space. Clarke knows immediately that it’s Josephine, she remembers the pictures from the shrine, but she’s sure that even without the pictures, she would know the imposter in her body. And at the sight of her, Clarke’s earlier peace has faded, replaced now with anger and determination, because as Clarke stares at Josephine, a smirk on the girl’s face, she is reminded of who she is. 

Clarke Griffin, Wanheda, the Commander of Death. 

And the Commander of Death backs down for nobody. 

-

Josephine stalks down the halls of the unfamiliar Ark, searching the ship for a sign of the girl that she sent running, scared for her life. 

She can hear the thump of her dad’s footsteps nearby, but there’s no sign of Clarke, the hallways suspiciously clear of any sign of her. She shakes her head, determined to get this over with once and for all, to finally have control of the body that does not belong to her. But as she turns a corner, her eyes land on an airlock. Down the hall, another door closes, Clarke surely disappearing behind it, but Josephine doesn’t care about that right now. 

Right now, she just wants to know what’s behind door number one. 

She walks towards the airlock door and pushes the button, stepping inside, and the doors slide shut behind her. When she turns to look, she sees that she’s no longer in the airlock, but just outside of it, transported into Clarke’s memory with the push of a button. Josephine smiles, aware that this memory must be strong, traumatic, if it sits on its own, away from Clarke’s sketches. 

She looks around at the scene in front of her, through the dimmed lights of the Ark. She can see a man, and who appears to be his son, lingering in the room, a handful of guards, and a woman with a long braid that Josephine immediately identifies as Abby, Clarke’s mom. Another man is standing in front of Abby, tall, handsome, whispering quietly, and Josephine only has to wonder who he is for a second before Clarke comes tearing around the corner, screaming out, “Dad!”

She watches with intrigue as Clarke is held back by a pair of guards, released on the command of the other man in the room. Clarke runs across the room and into her father’s arms, both of them crying as he holds her tight. He presses a watch into his daughter’s hand, and the man from before suddenly announces, “Jake, it’s time.”

Jake says his final goodbyes before he crosses the room and stands in front of the airlock, waiting for the doors to slide open. When he does, he steps inside, turning around to face the small crowd, Josephine among them. And in a move that Josephine is unprepared for, the guard near the airlock hits the button, sending Clarke’s dad flying out into space. Josephine’s breath stutters in her throat despite herself, watching as a younger Clarke falls apart in her mother’s arms, and she suddenly understands why Clarke ran past this memory. 

And as Josephine steps out of the airlock and back into the Ark in Clarke’s mind, she gets a flash of understanding for the scared girl running from her, all too familiar with watching a parent die.

-

Clarke glares at the red door at the end of the hall, a wreath adorned on it. 

Josephine now knows exactly how to get her our of her own head. Something that Clarke revealed to her in a moment of weakness, reminded of the tiredness that weighs heavy in her bones. But then Monty showed up this morning and reminded her of her need to fight and her desire to protect others, which is why Clarke now stands in front of the door to Josephine’s head. 

Monty offered to go with her, but she shook her head, letting him know that this is something she needs to do alone. So she takes a deep breath to steady herself, and then she twists the knob and steps inside of Josephine’s mindspace. It’s organized, cleaner than her own, all of Josephine’s memories arranged into books and stacked onto row upon row of shelves. Clarke feels a rush of overwhelming anxiety, wondering how she’ll find anything to help her in a library this big, but then she remembers what her dad used to tell her when she got stuck on a particularly difficult word problem in school. Take a deep breath and start at the beginning. 

Clarke wanders to the first stack of books, her eyes roaming across the titles quickly, trying to find anything useful. She sees Josephine’s first date, her prom, her graduation from college. Training for the Eligius mission, journeying through space, her first few days on Sanctum. But suddenly, the books end and the next set of volumes begin, all labeled Josephine Ada Lightbourne II. Clarke backtracks a little, to the final copy of Josephine I, and she pulls the book out and flips it open. 

The library around her transforms into the chaotic landscape of Sanctum. There are trees on all sides of her, except for in the small clearing to her left, which houses a series of tents. Clarke steps into the clearing as two motorbikes drive up, and when they pull their helmets off, Clarke finds Josephine approaching with a guy. They’re talking quietly to each other, but Josephine seems to be in an excited rush, searching for her father. As she draws closer to a large tent in the center of the clearing, a woman lets out a wail from inside, and Josephine’s smile drops as she starts to slow down outside of the tent, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Clarke moves closer to the pretty blonde, starting to understand a little bit of the obsession that Josephine has for herself, but she shakes the thought free as a woman bursts out of the tent in front of them, clutching the side of her neck and chest. 

Josephine takes off running towards her, a worried cry ripping from her throat as she reaches the woman. “Mom! Mom!”

Clarke watches as Simone hits the ground, Josephine immediately sinking to her knees beside her. And before she can even truly process the loss of her mother, an older man stalks out of the tent, an axe in his hand. Josephine’s expression morphs into one of horror as her mind starts to put the pieces together, looking at him with fear. “Dad, what are you doing?”

Clarke has one second to take in Russell’s first body before he grinds out, “Sanctum is mine”, and slashes his daughter’s throat. Clarke can feel Josephine’s terror as she processes the idea that her father just killed her mother, and now her, and she can feel Josephine’s final wave of emotions as she struggles through her last few breaths. The last emotion Clarke feels surprises her, an emotion so strong it washes over her like a tidal wave: regret. She can feel it squeezing her chest as she watches Josephine take one final breath, the light behind her eyes now dead to the world.

Clarke snaps the book that is still in her hand closed, taking her back to Josephine’s mindspace. She starts to feel like she might be a little in over her head, because she can feel herself pitying the woman who snatched her body. She shakes her head and shoves the book back onto the shelf, stuffing the ounce of feeling she had for Josephine back down with it. 

And with another steadying breath, she opens her mouth and yells towards the open door, “Monty, I need your help!”

-

Josephine got really into meditation when she was in college.

Her mom swore up and down it would help her with her studies, but the only thing it ever did for her was give her a headache and piss her off. That is, until she started body snatching, and she found that sometimes, she could find memories that lingered in the brain, unreached by the mind wiping fluid. She got a sick sense of pleasure searching for these memories in each new host, watching the memories of someone else’s life unfold, that person now pushed out of their own body, and she always made sure to seek them out the first few nights in her new host. 

The exception, of course, is her current host. 

With Clarke still in her own mind, and Ryker now working to help rid her of the problem, Josephine hasn’t had a chance to search Clarke’s mind for these phantom memories. Not that she’d need to, because she could just waltz right into Clarke’s mindspace and start touching the sketches on the walls, but she’s starting to wonder if those phantom memories exist before a mind is completely gone. They must, if they remain even after the procedure. 

So as Ryker works in the shop downstairs, building her an EMP to rid Clarke of her neural mesh, she sits upstairs in the loft, cross legged, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed. She repeats a few mantras for a while, clearing her mind and peeling away the layers of this world until the only thing around her is her inner mind. She imagines herself pulling back the layers of her brain, Clarke’s brain, searching between the folds and around the corners for any memories hidden deep inside of her. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, Josephine finds one.

She pushes herself inside the memory, the blank space around her transforming to a cool brown stone. There’s a long hallway stretched in front of her, a door halfway through it, and she can hear soft murmurs from the other side. She walks towards it and pushes her away inside, unaffected by the locks on the thick metal door, and her eyes roam over a control room of sorts. In front of her, stretching from one wall to the next, are a series of cameras, chaos flickering across each one. She sees someone strapped down to a table, their mouth open in a silent scream, and it takes Josephine a second to realize that it’s Abby. On another video feed beside it, she can see Octavia, surrounded by a large group of people, guns pointed at her from every angle. As she takes in the videos in front of her, trying to piece together where she is, she hears a voice behind her mutter, “Together.”

Josephine spins around, her eyes landing on Bellamy and Clarke, unnoticed by her before this moment, their hands slowly pushing a lever forward. Josephine rolls her eyes, remembering John’s stories of Clarke’s genocide in Mount Weather, her eyes now privy to the moment in question. She can see the turmoil on Bellamy and Clarke’s faces, the heartbreak they’re now faced with as they kill hundreds of people in one swift motion. 

Josephine starts to walk towards the pair, but the scenery changes, and she realizes this must be a series of memories, hidden deep in her mind so Clarke can pretend they don’t exist. She sees now that they’re outside a settlement of some sort, a sign at the front labeled, “Camp Jaha”. Bellamy and Clarke stand just outside the gates as the rest of their people file inside, and Josephine can tell that this is a goodbye based on their body language alone. She’s always been good at reading people, especially in their most vulnerable moments, and right now the young leaders have heartbreak written all over their faces. 

She watches them hug before Clarke walks away, straight towards her, disappearing into the woods before the scene changes again. This time, Clarke is crouched low between a pair of trees, hidden in their shadows, the moon high overhead. Clarke’s hands are covering her face and her shoulders are shaking, and when her hands finally drop, her mouth is open in a silent sob. She’s trying to keep quiet, fearful of whatever may be lurking in the night, but every now and then a soft sob pushes past her lips and echoes in the space between them. 

Josephine finds herself wanting to comfort this girl, to reassure her that she made the right choice in Mount Weather, genocide or not, but she can’t. Because this is a memory and Clarke is her enemy, and she shouldn’t care at all for the young blonde breaking down in front of her. She starts to wonder if she should try to leave the memory, starting to feel like she’s overstepping, something unfamiliar to her, when she feels a hand push her shoulder, hard. 

Her eyes fly open and land on Ryker, a tired expression on his face, his hand pointing to the shop down below. “It’s nearly time.”

-

Clarke frantically steps into the library, looking around at the piles of discarded books. 

The barrier between their minds is breaking down and the clock for her body is ticking, making it easier for her to grasp bits and pieces of whatever is going on outside of her head. From what she can gather, she and Josephine are now with Bellamy, the EMP used to temporarily disable the shield instead of wipe her mind, and now Clarke is desperately trying to find anything that will save her life.

She is burning through memories as fast as she can, picking up books, exploring the contents inside, and then tossing them aside if they’re useless to her. 

And so far, they’ve all been useless. 

She’s been jumping around from version to version, too anxious to explore the memories chronologically, and she currently finds herself back at Josephine Lightbourne the First, her hand reaching for a book labeled, Long Nights. Clarke flips it open and feels herself get pulled into the memory, landing in an elevator, right beside Josephine. Her blonde hair is the longest she’s seen it at this point, falling over her shoulder in soft waves. A black, sparkly dress hugs her figure, and there’s glitter smeared around her eyes. Red lipstick is traced around the perfect curve of her lips, and Clarke feels a low tug in her stomach, a flutter of something she wants to ignore.

Because Josephine Lightbourne is standing in front of her, and she looks hot.

Clarke shakes her head and lets out a sigh of relief when the elevator dings, letting them off into some long hallway, and Clarke is thankful for the space she can now keep between her and her enemy. She’s hoping if she says it enough, she’ll start to believe it again. Josephine clicks down the hall on a pair of heels, confident and beautiful, finally stopping when she reaches a door at the end of the hall. She knocks twice and waits patiently for someone to answer the door.

The door swings open and Clarke has three seconds to take in one of the most incredible women she’s ever seen. She looks a lot like Lexa, her eyes bright green and her brown hair cascading down her back, and she greets Josephine with a pretty smile. 

They’re motioned inside and Clarke scrambles in after Josephine, even though the closing door will have no effect on her, and she watches as the two women greet each other softly. 

“Did anyone see you?”

“Only the doorman.”

The brunette smiles. “James is discreet.”

“Good, because I don’t think Eligius can handle another scandal. Not after losing the prisoner ship.”

“You and I both know that ship isn’t lost. Those prisoners were killed.”

Josephine shrugs, a slight lift of her right shoulder, uninterested in the conversation. “Maybe. But you and I both know that I don’t care.”

The brunette smirks again, cocking her head to the side, playing along. “And what do you care about, Josephine?”

“You.”

And then they collide in a kiss.

Clarke feels her breath stutter in her lungs, watching as the two women kiss passionately, unaware of her presence in this memory. They move from the doorway to the couch, kicking off their shoes as they move, and Clarke is frozen in her place by the door, unsure what to do. It’s only when she sees the woman slide Josephine’s dress straps down her arms does she slam the book closed, sending her back into the large library. 

She throws the book away as if it burned her, turning to lean against the shelves and catch her breath, willing away the butterflies in her stomach and the blush along her cheeks. She fans herself slightly, glad that no one is here to see her in this moment, unable to escape the memory as one single thought repeats in her mind on a loop:

Maybe the memories weren’t useless after all. 

-

Josephine looks away from Bellamy’s sleeping form, wondering how the hell anyone could get comfortable enough in a cave to get some sleep. 

But then she starts to think that he might have the right idea, because who knows what’s gonna happen to them tomorrow. Maybe she’ll need the strength to fight. Maybe she’ll need energy to run. So she closes her eyes, relying on some of her meditation tricks to clear her mind and lull her to sleep, the cave around her fading into a large stone tower. Josephine doesn’t recognize the building, which means that the pull of Clarke’s mind is getting stronger, and that the barrier between their minds is getting weaker. At this rate, they must only have a few hours left.

And Josephine knows that she should wake herself up, resist the pull of Clarke’s mind to her own and try to buy them a few more hours, but then she catches sight of her.

Lexa.

The woman that John told her all about before she saw her for herself in Clarke’s memories. Josephine usually skips any of Clarke’s memories that involve the dark haired Commander, something about her presence annoying the shit out of Josephine. But this time, she stays, catching an eyeful of blonde hair near the back of the room, curious about what is happening between Clarke and Lexa at this moment. 

Clarke’s hair is long, with streaks of pink and various braids, and she looks angry, hardened, different from the soft girl in the earlier memories. Josephine can’t decide if she loves or hates it, if she craves the quiet girl or the angry warrior, but she doesn't have long to think before Clarke opens her mouth and speaks to an approaching Lexa. “I stayed because it was the right thing to do for my people.”

“Our people.”

Clarke and Josephine both roll their eyes, not believing the warrior turned heda. Clarke closes the space between herself and Lexa, and Josephine moves closer to Clarke, subconsciously drawn to her at this point. She watches as the blonde narrows her eyes, her voice threatening. “If you betray me again, I-”

“I won’t.” Lexa takes a deep breath before dropping to her knees in front of Clarke, looking up at her with a serious expression. “I swear fealty to you, Clarke kom Skaikru. I vow to treat your needs as my own, and your people as my people.”

The energy in the room changes, and Josephine watches Clarke intently, willing her to turn away from the woman that left her to commit a genocide on her own. But instead, Clarke reaches out for Lexa, urging her to take her hand, and Josephine rolls her eyes, turning away. 

She forces herself awake, unable to stand the sight of the couple any longer, something akin to jealousy burning in her gut. Except that Josephine Lightbourne does not get jealous, because she always gets what she wants, and that Clarke Griffin is her enemy. Josephine feels nothing for her beyond a desire to have her body, and that’s. it. 

-

Clarke runs through the halls of the Ark, grabbing books and tossing them into the airlock, trying desperately to put space between her mind and Josephine’s. Right now, everything is blurring together, Josephine’s memories manifesting and moving all over Clarke’s space, and a warning message blares overhead. 

Clarke pushes the button to seal the airlock and send the books out into space before she opens the door and repeats the process, frantically tossing books into the gray coffin. As she picks up a particularly large stack of books, one of them tumbles off the top, the spine smacking loudly on the floor, the book falling open. And before Clarke can help it, she is sucked in, taken into one of Josephine’s memories, dropped right onto the stairs of Sanctum. 

Clarke picks the book up from its place at her feet, fully intending on closing it and getting back to dumping Josephine’s memories, when the woman in question runs past her, tears streaming down her face, expression distraught. Clarke can’t help the wave of curiosity that washes over her, and she turns to run after Josephine, following her down the steps, around the mountain, and through the fields around Sanctum. Josephine is quiet for a long time, just softly crying as she runs after a figure in the distance, and Clarke has no idea what’s going on until Josephine sees the figure near the edge of the shield, and she screams, “Gabriel!”

Gabriel stops and turns around, wearing a body unfamiliar to Clarke, and he looks at Josephine, clearly conflicted. Josephine closes the space between them as much as he will allow, stopping a few feet apart, just at the edge. She can hear guards in the distance heading their way, and Gabriel looks behind them warily, before looking back to his lover. “What you did was wrong, Josephine, and I can’t sit around and pretend like everything is okay anymore!”

“Gabriel, I’m sorry! Everything I did, I did for us. But if you want this to stop, we’ll stop, okay? These will be our last bodies, and when we die, we die for good. Just come back with me, okay? Let me fix this.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“Baby, yes I can. You know I can.”

Gabriel seems to be softening, until an angry expression crosses his features and he yells, “No! Stop it! I’m not gonna let you manipulate me anymore, okay? I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes. I do.' The guards start to sound closer now, and Gabriel confirms as much when he frantically looks over Clarke’s shoulder before turning back to Josephine, one last time. “I’ve loved you for over a century, but our love is not worth the price we are paying.”

Josephine’s distraught expression deepens, and she watches Gabriel back up towards the shield. “Gabriel, please!”

He mutters, “I’m sorry”, and then he runs through the shield, bursting out on the other side, unaffected by the radiation, thanks to his Nightblood. Josephine drops to her knees, a heartbroken cry ripping from her throat, no longer following Gabriel despite her ability to step through the shield too. The guards rush past her, waiting for the shield to drop so they can pursue the man she loves, but she doesn’t notice.

Josephine Lightbourne is too busy falling apart, learning for the first time what it feels like to lose.

Clarke is sucked out of the memory, pulled back into the Ark and plopped down in front of an angry looking Josephine. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, faking a bravery she doesn't feel in the face of the angry woman. “Oh please, like you haven’t spent the last few days snooping through my memories?”

Josephine looks surprised that she noticed, as if she couldn’t, and she shakes her head, her expression softening. “That’s different.”

“Doubt it.”

Their argument is cut short by the warning system intensifying, and Clarke knows that if they don’t vent everything right now, they’re both dead. She sets the outer doors to remain open, and then she grabs Josephine’s hand, dragging her through the halls of the Ark, back to her room. She pulls the door shut tight, ignoring Josephine’s protests, and seconds later they hear all of her memories vent, sucked out into the space that is the rest of their shared brain. As soon as it’s done, Josephine disappears, returning to the real world and leaving Clarke alone in her head. 

-

She doesn’t see her again until her body is strapped up to a series of machines, and Clarke is sedated prior to her scheduled death, putting Josephine right back in her head. She smiles at Clarke as soon as she sees her, and it seems genuine, lighting up her eyes and making her look younger. It makes Clarke feel warm all over, despite everything, and she tries to push it away as Josephine closes the space between them. “All I ever wanted was immortality, but now I’m starting to think that I was wrong. The immortality was about something else, a way to keep me alive until I got what I really wanted.”

Clarke shakes her head, not understanding, and Josephine mutters, “You.”

Clarke thinks of the knife she slipped into her pants earlier, the one she pulled from her memory of killing Finn, tucking it into her waistband in case she needed it. Her fingers twitch a little as she tries to figure out the conversation, giving Josephine a hard look. “Me? Or my body?”

“You, Clarke. Just you.”

“So does that mean you’ll let me have my body back?” Josephine nods, and Clarke eyes her suspiciously. “Everything you put me through the last couple of days, and you’re choosing to just give up? I don’t buy it.”

“Not choosing to give up, choosing you. Don’t you get it, Clarke? We’re meant for each other. Your entire life was spent cycling through boring boy after boring girl, always in search of something better, greater. You thought you had it with Lexa, but even she would become nothing to you.”

“That’s not true.”

Josephine scoffs, “I’ve been inside your head, Clarke. I know what you want, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. Lexa was a star, one that would burn bright and hot until she dimmed and you eventually left her, bored. I’m a black hole, endless, an adversary, something you’re always trying to fight off, but eventually you’ll get sucked into. That’s what you want. You want the fight. Lexa was wrapped around your finger; she bent her entire rule as Commander to cater to your wishes. But I’ll never be that for you. I’m someone enamored by you, someone who wants to see what makes you tick, what gets you going. But I want to be the one that makes you tick. I want to crawl inside your head and break you down piece by piece until I have every part of you figured out.”

“How romantic. You’re really selling yourself here.”

“I don’t have to sell myself because you’ve already bought in. You, Clarke Griffin, you love a challenge. You love to save the broken, redeem the sinner. You want a love that swallows you up and keeps you wild, a love that challenges you and distracts you from the mess in your head. And you already know that I can give that to you, otherwise, you would have slit my throat with that knife already.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, her hand subconsciously hovering over the knife tucked into her waistband. Josephine raises a single brow, unconcerned. “I told you. I know you, Clarke.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Watching a few of my memories doesn’t mean that you know me.”

“Maybe not, but I know enough. Now put the knife down, and choose me. Choose me over everyone else, and your body is yours.”

“So I pick you and Gabriel boots you out of my head. Then what?”

“You find me a new host.”

Clarke scoffs, “And what makes you so sure that I will? Who’s to say I won’t agree to your terms right now, and then smash your mind drive once I get my body back?”

Josephine shakes her head, a smirk on her face. “You won’t.”

And Clarke sighs, because she knows she’s right. Because the second that Josephine mentioned a host, she started running through options in her head. Somehow, throughout this crazy fight to get her body back, she saw a new side of Josephine. She saw beyond the sarcasm and body snatching, down to the scared girl that was killed by her own father, that lost Gabriel despite everything she did for him, the girl who watched someone shoot themselves just because she ignored their advances. Somehow, throughout it all, Clarke Griffin started to fall in love.

Which is why she looks up at Josephine with a nod, grabbing the knife from her waistband and tossing it away. “Fine, I choose you.”

Josephine’s face splits into a grin, and Clarke swears she hears her let out a little breath, as if she was actually nervous that Clarke would refuse her offer. Still, she maintains her air of confidence as she looks at Clarke, scrunching her nose up a little when she says, “Good. Now kiss me the way you always wanted to be kissed. The way you dreamed about when you tried to imagine your future.”

Clarke shakes her head, ignoring the vague reference to a memory that Josephine has clearly seen, already reaching out to pull Josephine closer, her hands automatically tangling in her hair. She crashes her lips to Josephine’s, both of them clutching each other tight, afraid to let go, and Clarke suddenly realizes that Josephine was right. 

She is a black hole. 

Clarke can feel herself spinning, spiraling, being pulled in by the chaos of the woman in her arms, and for the first time in her life, instead of hanging on...

She lets go.

-

[lynelovespopculture]

THE CHILLING ADVENTURES OF ZELDA: CHAPTER 16-THE NEW GIRL

 CORDELIA SPELLMAN, NOW 12, FEELS UNEASY AROUND THE NEW GIRL IN HER CLASS…

Cordelia Spellman, smiled at herself in her full-length mirror, as she finished buttoning her blouse and admired her new skirt. Then she sat down at her vanity and picked up her golden chain with a single crescent moon attached. Ever since her parents had given her the necklace as a Yule gift 6 years ago, Cordelia never left the house without her necklace. Whenever she felt anxious or upset, Cordelia would hold the half-moon and pray. Guess being the daughter of a high priestess made you believe a little more. It was a long-standing family joke that if Sabrina’s black headband was her trademark then the necklace was Cordelia’s. After fastening the chain to her neck, Cordelia gathered her school books together and putting them in her backpack when she heard a bird. Turning around, she saw a dove in a tree right outside her bedroom window. A dove that Cordelia knew well.

“Hello, October.” Cordelia greeted the dove before grabbing her backpack and exiting her room. Out in the hallway, Cordelia encountered another animal. A huge brown greyhound lay across the floor, directly in Cordelia’s way. However, this was no mere dog. This was the familiar of Cordelia’s brother, Jake.

“Come on, Apollo, move! You’re in the way!” The dog did move when Cordelia scratched him behind his ear. The dog and the 12-year-old walked through the living room together. As they neared the kitchen, Apollo ran ahead, searching for food and his master. Cordelia stayed behind just long enough to put her book bag down on a hallway bench. Inside the kitchen, Cordelia found the usual suspects: her parents

“Good morning, Mom and Dad.”

Her brother was now feeding Apollo a strip of bacon, and Vinegar Tom, her mother’s dog wasn’t far behind.

“Morning, Jake.”

And her cousin, who unlike her parents and her brother, didn’t live there but worked there and often showed up early enough for breakfast.

“Hey, Ambrose.”

Plus 1 new face around the table.

“Hey, it’s the good doctor.” Cordelia hugged her big sister before sitting down next to her.

“Good morning, Cordy!” LJ smiled. “You don’t seem that surprised to see me here.”

“I’m not,” shrugged Cordelia as she dug into her oatmeal. “Perhaps that’s because I just saw a certain dove perched outside my window not 5 minutes ago.”

“Damn that October! I swear that familiar of mine spoils all my surprises! Anyway, the official reason I’m here is to drop off some medical forums for the boys but I also wanted to check up on you. Are you sure you’re ready for what you need to do today?”

Cordelia couldn’t help but smile. Not only was today the 1st day of school, but it was also Cordelia’s 1st day of 7th grade at Greendale Middle School, the very class that her father taught since she was 4.

Annoyed, Faustus came forward with his cup of coffee. “Hey, you have been teasing your sister all summer about being in my class. I wish you would stop it. I’m a good teacher and you, Cordy, don’t think I’m going to be easy on you because I’m your father.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Dad. I going to pass 7th grade with hard work and good grades, the same way I’ll become a top student when I attend the academy.”

Zelda smiled at her daughter. “Now, that’s the right attitude.”

“Butt kisser.” Jake teased his sister good-naturedly.

 10 minutes later, everyone left the kitchen. Ambrose and Jake went to work in other parts of the house, while everyone else was heading out the door. Zelda, to morning assembly at the academy, LJ was heading to the hospital to start her rounds and Faustus started the engine to his white VW bug as Cordelia climbed in beside him.

“So, did you and Mom have the talk today?” she asked her father.

“What talk?” Faustus asked his daughter.

Cordelia shrugged. “The talk, the talk you and Mom have at the start of every school year.  The one where Mom asks you to come to teach at the academy and every year, you turn down Mom’s offer.”

“You know about that?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Everyone in the family knows. What I don’t get is why you keep turning her down. When I was little, you told me that Ambrose is the most powerful warlock in the family but I’ve known for a long time that it’s you. Plus, I heard Uncle C and Aunt Hilda talking about how you used to work there and- “

“Cordy, I don’t feel comfortable talking about this.” Faustus cut in.  “Yes, I used to work at the academy, but that was a long time ago, before the curse.”

“Of course!” His daughter spat. “Whenever I try to bring up anything about your past, all you ever say is it happened before the curse. Never mind that you always say you’ll tell me about this curse someday, but you never have. Dad, I’m 12 now, whatever this curse is, I can handle it.”

Faustus sighed as he pulled into the school parking lot. He couldn’t blame Cordelia for her anger toward him. She was right, of course, he brought up the ‘before the curse’ line a lot but what the child didn’t know was that he tried twice as much to tell his daughter what the curse actually was. Yet, he just couldn’t do it. Even when Zelda was right there beside him to support and help him to explain it all. But 1 look in Cordy’s innocent, trusting eyes, and Faustus chickened out every time. You’re weak, boy, you’ve always been weak. His father’s words were never far in Faustus’s mind. No words could be enough to express how thankful and grateful he was to the Spellmans for their unending understanding and support of him for the last 13 years. However, no matter how loved, safe, and secure his family would make him feel, something always happened, a memory, a nightmare, (last week’s was a real doozy) to trigger his never-ending guilt yet again. That’s why he declined Zelda’s yearly offer to return to teaching at the academy.  It was no longer a school to him, just a scene of his crimes. He felt the same way about the church, though he found it easier to avoid the school. When he did go to mass, he sat in the very last pew, even if as the spouse of the high priestess, it was his right to sit upfront with the rest of his family. He liked to get in and out, to see as less of the coven as possible. Even if the coven and the family’s forgiveness had lasted for 13 years, Faustus still lived his life as if that forgiveness could be revoked at any moment. This is why he couldn’t tell the youngest Spellman that it was only because of her mother that he wasn’t trapped forever inside a wicked, murdering husk. Sometimes it felt like Cordelia was the only 1 left in the world who didn’t know of his crimes and, selfish or not, he liked it that way.

“No, your mother and I didn’t have ‘that talk’ today, we had it yesterday.” There, it was all Faustus was willing to say on the subject. Faustus parked the car and pointed. “There are your friends.”

Thankfully, the sight of her best friends, blond triplets Emily, Erin, and Erica Warner, was enough to distract Cordelia from their current conversation.

“Thanks, Dad,” Cordelia pecked her father’s cheek, left the car, and made a beeline for her friends. “Hi, guys!”

“Hey, Cordy,” Said Emily.

“Hi, Cordelia” Replied Erica.

Erin just waved.

Cordelia frowned. “What’s wrong with you 3? You all look like you didn’t sleep a wink all night long.”

“We didn’t,” mumbled Erin.

“How could we when Mom and Dad had another all-night screaming match.” Emily agreed with her sister.

“Again?!” Cordelia frowned, the triplets confided in her that their parents were having marriage problems for quite some time.

“Hey there, girls!” came a voice from behind.

“Sara!”  All 3 Warner girls cried and turned to embrace the girl coming towards them.

Cordelia wasn’t sure what disturbed her more.  The fact that she had never seen this new girl a day in her life or that she got a warmer welcome from her besties than she did. However, Cordelia easily dismissed the thought when Erin turned back to her.

“Cord, this is Sara Reed. She just moved 3 doors down from us about 2 weeks ago. Sara, this is Cordelia Spellman, she’s been our best friend since, like, ever.”

“So, I’m finally meeting the famous Cordelia Spellman.”

“Well, I don’t know about famous,” Cordelia smiled.

The bell rang so the girls headed inside the school.

“Are you kidding?” Sara told Cordelia, “the triplets talk about you all the time. To hear them tell it, your family owns the town.”

“Hardy,” Cordelia giggled. “Truthfully, they only own 2 businesses, but they are all over town. Let’s see, my uncle owns Dr. Cerberus’s books and spirits and he runs it with my aunt Hilda.  She herself co-owns the Spellman Sisters mortuary with my mother but Mom teaches high school with my oldest sister, Prudence. So the mortuary’s day to day business is run by Ambrose, my cousin, and my brother Jake. Not too far from Uncle C’s shop, is the new office of my other cousin, Sabrina, who’s a therapist. LJ, my other sister, is a doctor.”

“What about your father?” Sara asked.

“Oh, Dad’s right here,” Cordelia answered. “Dad has been teaching 7th grade at this school since I was 4.”

“Which means that Mr. Spellman is our teacher this year.” Erin pointed out.

This made Sara confused. “Wait, I thought you guys were going into 8th grade?”

Emily shook her head. “Nope,7th.”

“I’m going into 8th.” Sara declared.

“I thought she was 12, like us,” Cordelia whispered to Erica.

“She is, but Sara is so cool, I’m not surprised she skipped a grade.”

“Oh yeah,” Cordelia smiled. “What makes her so cool?”

“She’s a Wiccan.”

Her friends didn’t notice when Cordelia froze and her smile disappeared.

 Nina Robinson was the school’s new 8th-grade teacher and she was not at all happy to be there. Some teachers’ passion was children, but Nina’s true passion was men. That was got her in her current troubles. If her boyfriend-correction, ex-boyfriend, had simply told his wife about them, he probably could have avoided a political scandal.  Yet here Nina was, in a backward hic town instead of her beloved New York.

How am I going to find Mr. tall, dark and handsome here in the middle of Nowhere, USA? Nina thought to herself just before Mr. tall, dark, and handsome walked by.

Luckily, Nina was standing right next to Theo Putnam, the vice-principal of the school.  “Um, Mr. Putnam? Who is that?” Nina asked, pointing.

“Oh, that’s Faustus Spellman, he’s been teaching 7th grade here for 8 years. His niece, Sabrina, is a childhood friend of mine.”

Nina could care less about childhood friends as she checked out this Faustus guy and she liked what she saw. Most women would back off when they saw Faustus’s wedding ring, but not Nina. She liked a challenge.

  “So, how are you today, Mr. Wilson?” LJ smiled at her favorite patient.

“Much better now that you’re here.”  Mr. Wilson took LJ’s hand and kissed it.

“Well, I’m certainly glad that those 3 surgeries didn’t rob you of your charm.”

LJ turned as the door opened and there was a man LJ didn’t know. “Excuse me, Mr. Wilson? I was sent here to check your I.V. and do some bloodwood.”

“Well, do it, then. Can’t you see I’m trying to flirt here?”

LJ chuckled as she moved to allow the stranger room to work. LJ also check the chart at the end of Mr. Wilson’s bed. “Everything looks good here. I’ll check back on you this afternoon.”

LJ and the man left the hospital room together. “I’m sorry, but have we met?” LJ asked the man out in the hallway. “It’s just that I’ve worked here for the last 5 years and I can’t place you.”

The man smiled. “Nor should you. I’m part of a group of interns that just transferred here from Moon Valley.”

“Oh, okay. Well, welcome to Greendale Memorial Hospital. How are you liking it so far?”

“I like it very much. I mean, the people are great. There’s only 1 thing I’m nervous about.  My pals keep telling me how tough our supervisor is. I haven’t met him yet; some guys say that our new supervisor is some hard ass resident named Dr. Spellman. Oh, where are my manners?” I’m Peter, Peter Watson.”

“LJ. LJ Spellman.”

Peter stopped walking. “You’re kidding, right.”

LJ kept smiling as she shook her head. “Afraid not.”

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“After I get my foot out of my big mouth, how about I apologize properly by buying you a drink after work?”

LJ’s smile got bigger. “I would like that.”

 Over the years, some found it odd, that everyone at Greendale middle school, both staff and students alike, all had their lunch break at noon sharp. Yet today, it was a blessing. For at 10 after 12, a fire broke out in the southeast end of the school. Far away from the cafeteria and the teacher’s lounge. By 12:30, all the fire alarms were screaming at full force and the firetrucks were arriving just as the yard was filling with people. By 1 pm, the principal and vice-principal were busy calling parents to tell them not only about the fire but also the happy news that no one was hurt. To give the school a chance to air out all that extra smoke, afternoon classes were held outside, made possible by the nice weather. Although the flames were brief, it did ruin 2 rooms. The library and the 8th-grade classroom were burnt and would be unusable for months. By 3, it was safe to come back inside. By 3:30, the school was over and Cordelia was putting some books in her locker before heading into the girls’ bathroom. Cordelia pushed open the door and froze. There, among a dozen lit candles, were her 3 best friends and the new girl, Sara, all hovering over an Ouija board.

[bqstqnbruin]

I think I’m gonna marry you

I just want to say that Charlie McAvoy is the loml and all of the gifs that come up when I search his name are gifs I already have on my phone and use for reactions or to annoy my friends and I’m not sorry. 

But I got to see my AP kids from student teaching today! Their AP Chem exam is tomorrow and I miss them and it was so nice to see them and calm them down a little bit before tomorrow.

This was requested from the fluff prompt list, and I low key love this one so I’m praying y’all do too ???? Here’s the original request!

10. I’m going to marry you one day

_______________________

Five Years Old

“I know moving to a new place is scary, sweetie, but we aren’t going to move back to Minnesota, I’m sorry. We’re going to be here for a while, God willing,” your mom crouches down to meet you at eye level. Your dad got a new job in doing something at JFK, which meant uprooting your family to New York. You ended up in Long Beach. On the beach. A Minnesotan on the beach. You didn’t know much, but you knew enough to understand that you hated it without wanting to give it a try. You just stare at your mom, a pout on your face, surrounded by the boxes your family has yet to unpack in the living room. “Why don’t you go down to the beach with me. Maybe you can make some friends that will make this a little easier?” You nod your head. She takes your hand, leading outside and down to the beach. 

People were out surfing, kids playing in the sand, moms reading on the beach. It was hot, the air felt dry even with the water right there. You can feel yourself start to cry, even as your mother drags you down to the sand, setting out a blanket from the bag you didn’t realize she had with her.

“Charlie! Come back here!” you hear someone yell as a ball comes rolling towards you, landing at your feet. A chubby little boy, about your age, comes running towards you. You pick up the ball, handing it to him. “Sorry about that,” the woman you assumed was his mom comes running up to him. “If you come back here, expect this a lot,” she says to your mom.

“Oh, it’s fine. We just moved here, so a familiar face would be nice, especially for my daughter.”

“That’s great! We live here, too, just up the street. I’m Jennifer, this is my son Charlie.”

Your mom introduces the two of you, Charlie’s mom offering to have the two of you go and sit and talk while you and Charlie play in the sand. You had no concept of time, but you felt like you were playing with him for years. You loved sitting in the sand, rolling and throwing the ball back and forth with him.

When the sun started to set, your mothers get you up to bring you back to your homes. With one hand in your mothers, you use the other to wave Charlie goodbye. 

“I’m marrying her one day!” you hear Charlie tell his mother, both mom’s laughing as you went inside for the night. 

Fourteen Years Old

“Charlie, what the hell are you doing?” you whisper, pulling him into your bedroom from your second-story window. He somehow managed to find his dad’s ladder, sneak out of his own house with it, and climb up to your window.

“It’s my last night before going to Michigan until college and my family had me so busy that I didn’t even get to say goodbye to you.” 

“So you almost kill yourself by scaling the side of my house instead?” There was no way you could let your parents know that a boy snuck into your room at one in the morning, even if it was Charlie. “Besides, if you don’t say goodbye, then I won’t have to cry about you leaving in front of you,” you admit to him. He was your best friend. You spent the last ten years inseparable, you went to all of his hockey games, he came to all of your soccer games, all your plays and musicals, you took all of the same classes, had all the same teachers. Most people thought you were dating, but he was like your brother growing up. Plus, he was moving to Michigan for hockey, it’s not like you could start anything now. 

“Like you crying in front of me is something I’ve never seen before,” he rolls his eyes, taking both of you to sit on your bed. “And I know you well enough to know that you would have cried even if you didn’t see me because of how dramatic you are.”

“Hey!” you try not to yelling, knowing your parents were in their room on the other side of your wall, “I’m not dramatic!” 

“I’m sorry, you’re right. The only freshman at our school to be cast as a lead in both the play and the musical this year isn’t the least bit dramatic,” he lets out, bitterly sarcastic.

You both let out a quiet laugh. You lay back on your bed, looking up at the ceiling. “What am I going to do with you?”

He lays back, too, his head pretty much against yours, “Make new friends so you’re not a loner?”

“Shut up!” you say, giving him a light smack, which was the best you could do given the angle you were at, “I’m serious! Char, you’re my best friend! What are we going to do without being able to see each other every day?”

“Well we have phones, so we can text all the time, like we do now. We can Facetime and Snapchat every day. Actually, no. Facetime once a week, I can’t deal with you that much.” He lets out a laugh, waiting for you to respond or something, but you were too sad about the idea of him getting on that plane tomorrow and leaving you. “Hey,” he sits up, trying to pull you up with him. He turns and faces you, sitting criss-cross on your bed, his hands in yours, “You’re my best friend. Even with me in Michigan, we’re going to get through this. How about this. We’ll make a pact. If we aren’t seeing anyone when we’re thirty, we’ll get married.” 

“Deal.” 

“So I guess that means, I’m going to marry you one day.” 

“I can’t believe you don’t have faith that I’ll find someone by then!” 

“Well, you won’t. I will. I am going to be a professional hockey player, after all.” 

You shove him back a little, “Rude!” both of you trying to contain your laughter. “I love you, Charlie,” you tell him through the last of your laugh.

He smiles, looking at your hands. “I love you, too, Y/N.” Before you know it, his lips are on yours. It was short, sweet, your first kiss. “I couldn’t leave without doing that,” he says, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving after you did that.” You both sit there quietly for a minute. “I think you need to go back Char, before your parents notice you’re gone.” He nods, opening your window to go back down the ladder. You close it behind him, watching him walk off down the street with it. 

Twenty-Two Years Old

“Get out! Get out of my apartment! I never want to see you again!” you scream, tears going down your face. You felt anger, sadness, the urge to pick something up and throw it for the purpose of breaking it, confusion, every negative emotion that you could think of or ever knew came flooding through your body as you watched your now ex-boyfriend take his stuff and leave, probably to go crawling back to the girl he was cheating on you with. You had moved out of your parents home in Long Beach to Boston for him. Well, actually, you went to Boston College, then decided once you graduated to stay in the area and get a job in the city. Him being there was just an added bonus. 

You follow him out, “I hope you’re happy with her, you jackass!” you yell, knowing it would piss off your neighbors. 

Only one would actually care enough to poke their head out from their door to check on you. “Y/N/N, what the hell happened?” Charlie asks, closing his door and coming into your place. He may or may not have found you the apartment that was right next to him for you to move in to. It was great when both of you wanted to go home, like for holidays and stuff.

You close the door behind him, going to your bedroom so you could throw yourself on your bed as dramatically as possible. “He was cheating on me. He told me tonight.” 

“He told you? I told you that two weeks ago that something was up.” 

“The worst part? I blame myself. Then I blame him. But I don’t blame her.”

“Um, ok, you’re wrong,” he says, making you sit up as you roll your eyes at him. “You did nothing that would give him the right to cheat on you. And why wouldn’t you blame her? She’s the reason he cheated.”

“Yes, but she didn’t know he had a girlfriend. She doesn’t use social media and he never told her.”

“Then we blame him and only him. But you,” he says, taking your hand in his face, wiping the tears off your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, “You are not at all to blame for this. You are the perfect girl. Any guy would be lucky to have you.” 

You wrap your hand around his wrist, letting out a small laugh. “Please, you of all people know that I’m not perfect. I just,” you stop yourself, sighing, “I just thought that he could be the one, you know?

“Oh, please. I was going to marry you before he even thought of it. We would have been celebrating our 50th anniversary before he even told you he was serious about you.”

“You can’t keep saying we’re going to get married, Charlie. It doesn’t work like that.” 

“Why not? I said it the day we met. I said it the day I left for Michigan, and I’m saying it now. We’re getting married one day.” 

“We’re not even dating.” 

“Then let’s date.” 

“Charlie, no!” you say, standing up and pacing around your room. “You can’t keep doing this to me! I just broke up with the guy I had been dating since I was seventeen. It’s been, what, not even an hour? I’m not ready to date anyone, let alone date you!”

“Fine. Then I’ll wait.”

Twenty-seven years old

“When Charlie and I were rooming in, I wanna say a hotel in Calgary, during our rookie season, we started talking about life, you know as guys do,” Jake says into the microphone, “and I’m not sure how, but we started talking about girls, again, as guys do. And I asked him if he had a girlfriend because he’s sort of a private guy. He starts to tell me about this girl that he met on the beach at home when they were five. He saw her and decided he was going throw her ball at her so that he had an excuse to go over to her and ask her to play. Luckily, their moms became friends so they got to keep playing with each other, and they pretty much became like brother and sister. 

“He eventually moved around because of hockey, them keeping in touch to the point where she knew his teammates more than he did because she would be on Facetime with him all the time talking with them instead of him. Then they both when to college in the same city, her at Boston College, him at Boston University. They were natural enemies, blah, blah, blah. And then he started talking about how she had been dating this guy he didn’t like, because he was always convinced that he would end up marrying her. 

“Flash forward a few years, he comes into practice, happier than I’ve ever seen him because she finally agreed to go on a date with him the night before. After practice he tells me, ‘I’m picking out an engagement ring for her, do you want to come?’” you hear people give a round of ‘aww’s’ and ‘how sweet’s’ as Jake continues, “Naturally, I tell him he’s crazy, but I go with him anyway, and he ends up buying the ring that sits on her finger right now, even though he didn’t give it to you for another three years after buying it.” 

He picks up the glass of champagne in front of him, raising it, everyone around you doing the same, “To Charlie and Y/N. I’m not really sure how he managed to get you to marry him, especially since he’s been saying that he would for the last twenty years. I, personally, would find that creepy,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “but he was right when he said you were meant for each other. To many years of happiness with him. Good luck, Y/N. You’ll need it.”

Everyone toasts to you, clapping as the music starts back up again and your friends and family start dancing. 

“I can’t believe it,” you say, looking at the scene of your wedding reception unfold in front of you.

“Can’t believe what, babe?” Charlie says, looking, too.

“Two things. One: that you let Jake give a speech at our reception. And two: that you were actually right about us getting married. How did you know?” He looks at you, beaming, “There was no reason why I wanted to go talk to you when we were five other than I knew that I wanted to. I said it then not knowing what it meant, but the older we got, the more I meant it.” 

“Come here,” you tell him, giving him a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

[writingsbychlo]

heart under construction (04)

word count; 5063

summary; sam attends the welcome evening event with his family, and finally gets to see you in yrou element, which doens’t do anything to quell the growing affections he has for you.

notes; I do feature @moongoddesskiana and @dylinski​ in this part, plus a big thank you so @fan-child​ for checking this part when I was worried it was too much fluff to be acceptable.

warnings; none, but, get yourself ready for the next part.

Sam could already hear the joyous screaming from crowds of kids before the door was open, and he tugged nervously at the sleeves of the dress shirt he wore, tugging it down over his wrists and scratching at the back of his hand through his anxiety. He resisted the urge to adjust the royal blue tie that was sitting around his neck, loose and gentle on his neck, in the perfect Windsor knot that Jake had fixed for him moments ago.

Something about not allowing him to go in there with a tie that looks like Alice tied it.

Pushing the doors open, the muffled sounds of screaming kids were honed and sharpened as the happy wails drifted out into the cool air of the night from which they had arrived, and Sam felt his eyes widen as he looked at just how busy the event was as he peered into the main event hall through the glass windows on the doors as their group lingered in the lobby. There had to be over one hundred kids here, their parents all vying to get them one of the twenty spots you actually had available. 

Alice was squirming in her father’s arms, Roger lowering her to the ground as he adjusted the plastic crown sitting in her hair before making a move to dash off into the crowd, Sam diving forward in just enough time to grab her little hand, pulling her to a halt before she could disappear and get lost in a group of other Tangled-obsessed little girls. “It’s.. a lot busier than I expected it to be.”

Sam turned, swallowing thickly and nodding to his brother, his eyes scanning over the groups of people he saw milling about, and he was glad he’d settled on a suit, both Roger and Jake matching him, as well as the majority of the other men he could see. With a wide smile, a smaller lady with a sweeping green gown hanging from her shoulders made her way around the desk, a clipboard held in her hands. “You must be Mr Taylor, right?”

“Yes.”

“Huh?”

“That’s me.”

The three men all looked between each other bewildered for a second, a laugh escaping the lady in the green dress as she wiggled her fingers at Alice, the girl squealing in excitement and burying her face into Sam’s thigh shyly, but he could still hear and feel the muffled laughs she was letting out. “We’re.. um, we’re all Taylor. We’re the Taylors. Hi.” Sam rolled his eyes at himself for his awkward mumbling, reaching his hand out to the woman as she simply smiled, shaking his hand before moving along to his brother and his brother-in-law. 

“Okay, well, my name is Kiana. To the adults, anyway. I’m one of the teaching assistants, for the nursery. I have some forms I need the dads to fill out, and I have a name badge for all of you!” Jake rubbed his hands together, nodding enthusiastically as she handed over a sheet of hand-written name tags. 

“Mine has a smiley face on it.” Roger mumbled happily, the teacher, ‘Kiana’, laughing a little as she signed them in on the computer behind the desk.

“(Y/N) wrote them all. She told me to look out for you, said it would be hard to miss you guys.” Sam’s brows rose, and he absentmindedly leaned down and scooped his niece onto his arms, balancing her on his side as she toyed with the lapels on his jacket in her boredom. “She had a packet of information for you, actually.. hold on.” 

While the woman fluttered around the desk in search of the package they had been left, Sam turned to his family, his jaw barely having opened before Jake was giving him a cheeky grin, nodding his head. “We’ve got the forms. Go find your girl.”

“She’s not my girl.” He mumbled, cheeks flushing red and Roger slapped at his husband’s chest, ignoring Jake’sprotests about how he was only teasing as he let Alice slide back tot he floor, her hands gripping his as she dug her heels into the floor and tried to pull him away toward the main room. 

“Not yet she’s not. If you match your tie to her dress, she’s your girl. It's basic rules.” Jake shrugged, and Roger scoffed, rolling his eyes as Sam finally indulged the little girl and let her pull him along towards the party. 

“Your tie matches my suit?”

“Roger, we’re married.” He chuckled, his brother’s sigh being the last thing he heard before he was pulling open the main doors, the loud beats of child-friendly pop - some kind of Disney song, he was sure - taking over his mind as he looked around. Flashing disco lights danced off of the walls, ridiculous patterns to create the atmosphere for the kids as a clear dance floor was set up in the middle of the room. 

The tiles on the floor were also flashing up, some black and some lighting up white as toddlers jumped up and down and wore themselves out. On the left side of the room, tables covered with neat tablecloths lined the space, parents sitting and standing around them, socialising and getting to know one another, a small bar tucked away behind the adult section to serve them all. More tables were sitting along the right side, but on that side was activities, craft tables, games like twister and giant snakes and ladders, all kinds of things to entertain the kids.

In the middle of the room, you were standing, talking to a range of children as you falsely gasped and giggled, the group around you all looking up at you with pure joy as they shared their stories with you, little hands flying around and gesturing wildly. Alice had seemingly spotted you soon, because she tore her hand from his, moving at lightning speed across the room as she ducked and weaved through the legs of those standing around her. With a curse under his breath, Sam made attempts to follow, trying to navigate through the crowds as he watched her throw herself with force into your legs, your body rocking to the side as you gasped, looking down at her before letting a wide smile break out on your face. 

He lost sight of you for a moment as you sucked down, and when he finally cleared the groups to stand before you, he saw you holding the girl gently as her little arms wrapped around your neck, squeezing you tightly. When she realised you, she was quick to introduce herself to the crowd of infants you had been talking to, the group hitting it off instantly and you beamed at her as you rose back to your feet.

Your gaze ragged along his suit, from his toes to his chest and finally up to his eyes, your lips split in one of the biggest smiles he had ever seen you give off. “You came!”

“I promised I would. I wanted to, here I am.” Sam held his arms out, adding flair to his statement and you smiled, moving towards him and wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as his own hands moved to slide along your lower back carefully, one resting above the other as he held you close to him. Twisting his head, he nuzzled his nose into the space between your neck and your shoulder, sighing happily at the little giggle you let out, twisting in his arms as his scruff tickled your skin. “You look amazing.”

His words were muffled as he spoke them into your skin, your body shivering under his touch a little as he did, and you pulled back just far enough for him to look down at you. “What?”

“I said you look amazing.” His eyes darted up, taking in the crown that was sitting slightly off place on your head, the shiny plastic twinkling under the flashing coloured lights. “Your majesty.” With an over-dramatic flourish, he took your hand in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles and adding a wink, your laugh sounding out loudly around the two of you. 

You shook your head your eyes closing as you dipped forward, your forehead pressing to his cheek as you body still shook wit your residual giggles, and he chose instead to smooth his hand up and down your back comfortingly as he thought about just how nice it felt to have you curled into his side. “So, let’s take Alice to the craft table? I bet she’d love to make a macaroni necklace.” 

At the mere mention of it, the girl had turned back to them, her eyes wide and her smile shining as she bounced up and down excitedly, glancing around as she located her dads, walking through the main doors and holding onto a thick brown envelope, the teaching assistant from behind the desk still chatting to them as their daughter sped away to them, yelling about the pasta accessories she wanted to make.

Once Sam had laid his eyes on you, there was no way he was going to be dragged from your side. He’d started the night respectfully lingering by your side, his hand daring to come out to sit on your lower back the moment you had told him that you needed to mingle, but that he was welcome to come with you. He was astounded by the simple way in which you could flow between conversation with so many people, changing between important political chat to funny childhood stories, and the way you seemed to captivate everyone you spoke to.

He had heard almost all of these stories before, and yet, he couldn’t help but listen with avid attention every time you began a new spiel to enthral the possible parents around you. You had ended up allowing him to weave his fingers through yours when a particularly big group had begun asking him questions, and your thumb running slowly over his knuckles had grounded him enough to be able to actually enjoy the conversation. 

Now, you were leaning against his side, his arm wrapped securely around his waist as his fingertips rubbing slow circles onto your waist as you stuck to the conversation, his eyes fixed on you as he took in everything about the moment, from the way you would smile when listening to others to the way you would light up when adding a point of your own. 

As the hours had passed, the original loud and screaming hype of the kids had quieted as they settled themselves into their activities, still loud as they danced and played but no longer rowdy, the music changing to something slower as the evening progressed. He glanced away, looking over his niece as she bounced happily in Jake’s lap, and he hummed under his breath, watching as Roger dug through his pockets to find a snack for her, the three of them sitting together in their own little world. 

Turning back to you, Sam couldn't help himself from leaning forward, his nose brushing against your cheekbone as he kissed your cheek gently, the long kiss stretching out before he pressed another brief kiss to your skin, pulling back as you turned to look at him. 

“What was that for?”

“No reason.” He smiled, and you rolled your eyes fondly at him, glancing back to the group before you for a second before you leaned over him, kissing at his cheek in return and he beamed, pulling you a little closer as your side pressed up against his, your own arm coming up around his waist. “You want to dance, sweetheart?”

You merely nodded at him, and his arms slipped down to guide you onto the dancefloor, his arms circling your waist, and bringing you close to him, your eyes finding his as you shot him a sly wink while looping your arms around your waist and falling into a subtle way with him, his eyes focusing on his feet as he watched his movements. “Do you know how to dance, Sam?”

“Uh, kind of. I didn’t think that far when I asked you to dance. Shit.” He stepped forward carefully, and you giggled, your hands dropping down to adjust his grip, sliding his hands up from your waist to adjust them sitting on your back and hips, before you stepped closer, chest to chest with him, your arms tightening around his neck as his cheek rested against yours. 

“How about we just sway?”

He nodded but still felt heat rise to his cheeks as he looked down at you, humming along to the music under your breath, clutched carefully in his arms, and he swallowed thickly as thoughts about just how well you fit into his arms began to flood his mind once again, and his time, he didn’t even bother to chase them away.

Instead, he let his mind run wild.

He pictured himself at this event next year, being here by your side as your significant other and not as a relative of a possible student. He pictured driving you home at the end of the night, listening to you talk about how well it had gone before the two of you collapsed into bed beside one another and he got to hold you. 

He was thinking about how nice it would be to dance with you in other scenarios, too. He couldn’t help it. He’d seen how good you were with Alice, he could clearly picture the three of you dancing to silly pop songs in the car as you drove along. He could see the two of you jamming out as you painted the walls of a house or grinding together slowly in a dimly lit club or bar. He even let his mind wander as far as to picture that maybe the next time the two of you slow-danced together, your dress might be white and you might have a shiny ring on your finger that he’d put there.

He wasn’t quite so scared of these thoughts anymore, because no matter how hard his heart was beating in his chest, and how much the ‘fight or flight’ instinct was kicking up, he’d never felt more at home and at ease than when he was in your arms. 

You felt like home, you felt like everything he wanted and needed. 

He didn’t quite feel so hollow and lost when you were together, because suddenly it was like everything was pointing toward you, it didn’t seem blurry like you were the only thing in his world but instead, you brought everything else into focus. You made it all a little less manic and crazy, you made him understand his place in the world again. 

He wasn’t quite so scared anymore, because the fear wasn’t of being with you, but of being without you.

Pushing his face into your neck, he hid his smile from you and the world, his stubble tickling along your neck as he pressed a light kiss to your exposed shoulder, before snapping back to the present when he felt a small tugging on the leg of his suit pants. “Sammy, I wan’ dance!” 

You cooed at the girl at his feet, and he chuckled down at the girl, his arms tightening around you for a second as you giggled in his arms, squirming slightly to be released. “Go hang out with your niece, we can dance some more later if you’re up for it.”

“Promise?” You beamed at him, scoffing fondly as you nodded and he dipped his head down, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek before pulling away and holding his hands out to the little girl, her tiny hands sliding into his as he twirled her away onto the dancefloor, spinning her in little circles as he hunched over to reach her a little. He could feel her watching on as he lifted her up to balance on his toes so he could dance her around in funny movements, her loud and squealing laughter making his heart soar. 

Alice’s little hands grasped at his jacket, tugging on it as he bounced on his feet, spinning her around in circles, dipping her down and lifting her up into the air as the songs played, his heart racing and her little body shaking as she giggled loudly. He’d lost count of how many songs had played, but for once in his life, he had nowhere else to be, nowhere better to be and nobody else to be with. 

Everybody that mattered to him was right here. 

Roger and Jake were filling out forms and smiling together at the table, caught up in their own little world as they mumbled comforting words about their beautiful daughter to one another. Alice was looking nursery school in the whites of the eyes and seemed to have befriended every child in the room, and won the hearts of every adult, and Sam just knew she would be a popular and well-loved little girl. 

And you; you were chatting to random families, casting him glances every now and then as you sent him shy smiles, the kind of smiles that made his face split in a grin and his heart want to beat out of his chest. By the time Alice had worn herself - and mostly Sam - out, you were leaning against the bar, the room having emptied out a little and the yawning girl he’d been dancing with was now trailing her way over to her dads to snooze on one of their shoulders, and Sam made his way over to you as you excused yourself from the conversation you’d been having.

With a hand on either side of your waist, he supported himself on the bar, his heart racing as he panted a little, a coy smile on his lips as you chuckled at him, the girl having danced with him to so many songs that Sam felt like he’d worked a full day in the August heat. “You’re mighty touchy tonight. Almost clingy.” 

His jaw dropped, pausing in his movements to kiss at your cheek and he shot you a small glare, bumping your nose with his spitefully as he pulled back. Retracting his hands from your sides, he crossed them over his chest, putting a fake pout on his face. “Well, I was going to buy you a drink, but now I feel sorta’ insulted.”

He sighed over dramatically as you gasped, and he turned his head away from you as you slung your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close to him as you could with his arms still folded over his chest. “No, I never said it was a bad thing!”

He continued to ignore you, your little whines only entertaining him, and his resolve toward the act was quickly being diminished as you huffed, staring at him as he glanced out at the dancefloor. 

“Stoooop ignoring me! Wasn’t it you that said you wanted to be around me? I guess I could leave again..”

Your arms started to leave him gently and he let out a low growl, his arms flying around your waist as you squealed twisting in his arms to face away from him as you busied yourself by looking at the gin selection that they had on offer. “You’re guilt-tripping me! No fair!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m looking at the gin.” You mumbled, and it was his turn to let out a little grumble as he rested his chin on your shoulder. 

“How about I buy you a drink, and I keep hugging you, and you never leave again, hm?”

“I think I could work with that.” You conceded, and he hummed happily, his fingers smoothing circles onto your hips as you both waited for your turn to be served. 

“So, I was thinking.”

“That sounds dangerous.” You teased, and he scoffed at your statement, rolling his eyes and pinching at your waist through your dress in retaliation for your comment.

“The house is almost done, and I was thinking, I want to furnish the house. It would look better, and I have so many ideas about how it should look now that I think I just have to decorate it myself so I know that it’s.. perfect.” He let out a little sigh as he thought about the home, and you dragged your fingers along his forearm, humming as you listened, your head twisting so you could look over your shoulder to talk to him. 

“Sounds.. good. You’re really invested in this house, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s my house! I just want it to be perfect, and you helped make it perfect so far, so I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me to go furniture shopping?” You beamed at him, your face lighting up at the statement he nudged the tip of his nose against yours once again.

“I’d love that.”

You didn’t pull away, instead, you returned the gesture, the tip of your nose brushing his as your breath fanned across his face, and he dipped his tongue out to lick his lips, brushing against yours as he did and he was sure his heart stopped for a moment as he got the briefest taste of what it would be like to kiss you.

Sam was far too caught up in the moment and the way it felt like a second nature to hold you so tightly in his arms to pay attention to the room around him, nevermind the bartender with blue hair making her way along toward the pair of you. 

“Hi, I’m Sarah, what can I get you toni- oh, my God! Sam, hi!” 

Her customer service personality suddenly slipped away as a dazzling smile pulled on her face and she leaned her elbows on the bar, his eyes widening as he looked at the woman before him, to the woman in his arms, and back. His throat was dry, and he felt you cough awkwardly in his arms as you stood up straight, shuffling in his grasp a little as you patted on his forearm and his inner-voice was chanting ‘no, no, no, no!’ as he felt the bubble he’d so carefully crafted around the two of you threatening to pop.

“You never called me back, you look good, really good. I always told you that you’d look good if you grew your facial hair out a little more, and boy, was I right. Look at you.” She all but purred the words, his body stiffening as he licked over his lips, trying to work out what to say. “Is this your girlfriend? Did you finally settle down, the infamously popular Sam Taylor was finally won over?”

“Ye-”

“I’m running the event, my name is (Y/N).” He snapped his jaw shut, dread filling him as you shook hands with the girl on the other side of the bar.

“Oh, hey! You’re the chick that hired us! I want you to know, we were all so grateful for the overtime opportunities, and tips have been amazing, thank you so much!” You simply smiled politely, the same look that flooded his veins with anxiety as you gave her a basic response to her fawning. “What can I get you to drink?”

“You know, I actually have some parents I need to catch before they leave. Why don’t I let you two catch up?” He ducked his head to kiss your cheek, and you patted his chest, pulling away and letting him barely brush his lips to your cheek as you slipped away into the crowds, and he could scarcely acknowledge the fingers poking at his arm as he watched you go, disappearing from his sight.

“So, how’ve you been, hot stuff?”

“What?” He snapped back, looking at the woman before him as she chewed her gum, giving him a wink as she giggled, repeating her question and he swallowed thickly, putting on a polite smile. “It’s been good. I bought a house.”

“For you and that chick?” She jutted her chin out in the direction you had gone, and he glanced over his shoulder, smiling happily as he watched you greet two mothers with a son. 

“Eh, well no. The house was for me, it was a flip project, but you know..”

“You’re sorta’, kinda’, picturing the two of you spending lazy Sunday mornings in it and decorating a Christmas tree and all that lovey-dovey stuff?” She let out a wistful sigh, balancing her chin on her hands and fluttering her eyelashes as she teased him a little. 

“Worse. I’m picturing carrying her over the doorstep like it’s 1919, and little feet pattering on the kitchen tiles on rushed school mornings.” He sighed, letting out grumbles as he popped his elbow on the bar, balancing his chin on his fist as the girl before him laughed at him, moving around the bar as she grabbed a glass, tilting it under the lager pump and twisting the lever. 

“It’s nice to see. When you had that thing with me, you were seeing like three other girls and wouldn’t even give me your phone number because you were so scared of commitment. What happened there?” She grinned, and placed the beer he was so fond of down in front of him, before him as she rang up the total. 

“I don’t know. I mean, one day she’s the cute nursery-school teacher I bumped into and suddenly I can’t live without her, she makes my day brighter.” Taking a swig of his beer, he licked the froth from his upper lip and shook his head, looking out at the crown that was building around you as you answered questions for new parents. 

“That’s sweet.”

“So is she.” He mumbled, leaning against the counter and choosing to continue watching you, giving you his full attention and leaning against the bar as he had his drink. He didn’t want to interrupt you while you were in your element. Behind him, Sarah took up chatting, sucking him into conversation the second he turned back around and he found his glass draining as he listened politely to her ramblings.

He hadn't realised just how long he had been standing there, until his glass was empty, and his brother was tapping him on the arm, Alice with her head on his shoulder and she snoozed quietly, his own brother looking exhausted and he noticed just how empty the room had become.

“Man, you looked like you were having a great chat so I thought I’d give you a few more minutes but we really need to go now, Roger is practically asleep, Alice needs her bed.” Jake shrugged, and Sam’s eyes widened.

“How many minutes did you give me?”

“Uh.. like thirty, maybe?” Sam felt nausea twisting at his gut, he felt like he’d been talking to her for ten minutes perhaps, not forty-five, and his eyes flicked around the room to find you, unable to see you anywhere and he cursed under his breath. “Look, man, time to go. Come on.”

Sam sighed, nodding in agreement and taking his niece from his brother's arms as he balanced her against his chest holding her securely as his heart sunk, and he trailed after the two men before him as they gathered their things and headed for the main door. Slipping out into the cold night, he made his way across the parking lot and hushed the sleeping toddler in his arms when she stirred, dipping down to tuck her into her car seat as he tried not to wake her.

He adjusted her head to the side so that she was comfortable, making sure she was properly buckled in before rounding the car and climbing in on her other side. He could feel his brother’s gaze on him in the rearview mirror, and he purposefully ignored the gaze, until they were pulling out onto the road and Roger snickered under his breath as Sam’s cheeks heated.

“Shut up, I know, alright? I know.”

“We didn’t say anything!” Roger grinned cheekily at him, turning in his seat to face him as Sam pouted.

“Yeah! But, I thought you ‘didn’t want to settle down’ and that she ‘wasn’t your type’.” Jake pulled a voice, which Sam supposed was supposed to be an interpretation of him, but his eyebrows only furrowed as he glared at the back of his brother's head while the man continued to watch the road. 

“Well, that was before I started picturing us living in that big house together and making breakfast, or slow-dancing at our damn wedding.” Letting out a huff at the words, he bit at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling as the images came flooding back to his mind once again.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, Tinder sending him notifications and his thumb hovered over the screen, instead of tapping the app to open it he held his thumb down on it, clicking the ‘X’ on the corner. Confirming the deletion of the app, it disappeared from his home screen, and Sam felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders as it went.

“So, why don’t you tell her?”

“Because I got caught up at the bar for almost an hour when I was supposed to be buying her a drink, and then I left without saying goodbye. She’s probably super mad at me, again, it’s like I cannot stop fucking up and I-”

[Unknown Number] me, u, ikea, and lunch in the cafe?

“-nevermind.” He couldn't stop the smile on his face, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen as he added you to his contacts and typed out a reply. 

does sunday work for u?

He ignored Jake and Roger mumbling about him in the front seat, his cheeks aching from the smile on his face as words like ‘lovestruck’ and ‘idiot’ flew around him in the car from quiet mumbles. He adjusted himself in his seat, a hand rubbing at his jaw as he watched the three little dots on his screen dance up and down as you responded.

[cutie ❤️] it’s a date.

[insideabunker]

The Games: Chapter 12

 The dream was the same as always, darkness and the sound of glass shattering followed by silence and the terrible sting of the cold night air.  The wind bit at her nose and cheeks and something pressed down on her shoulder, crushing her tiny body with its weight.

Lexa woke with a start, her senses slowly returning as she peered around the dark space.  The shades were down, but sunlight slipped in through the cracks, casting eerie shadows across the room and illuminating the blurry figure hovering over her.  She rubbed her eyes, her vision finally focusing on the frowning face of Raven Reyes, who knelt over the bed, clutching twin paper cups of dining hall coffee.  She placed one of the cups on the bedside table and tilted her head toward the door of the room, which she disappeared through without a word.

Lexa untangled herself from the sheets, taking great care not to wake Clarke, who remained tucked into the brunette's chest, fast asleep.  She groped in the semi-dark for her shoes, slipping them on as she grabbed the coffee and snuck out of the room. The door had barely closed behind her before Raven pounced.

"You're sleeping over now?  Is there a U-Haul parked outside somewhere?"

Lexa gripped her coffee cup a little tighter, rattled by the girl's intensity and nowhere near awake enough to handle the third degree.

"What time is it?"

"Five AM, now answer my question."

"Clarke asked me to stay."

The corners of Raven's mouth rounded downward into a scowl, her eyes narrowing in disapproval.  "Did you manage to convince Clarke to get her leg looked at?"

Lexa sipped the coffee guiltily, trying to buy enough time to come up with a good excuse.

"No."

Raven rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the answer.  "Damn it, Woods, I was counting on you!" 

"I'm sorry."  Lexa fidgeted with her coffee cup, nervously wondering why she hadn't tried harder to talk sense into Clarke.  Then again, she thought, why hadn't Raven if it was so important?

"What about you? You could have stayed and helped me instead of just disappearing."

Raven scowled.  "I did not just disappear.  I went to find our coach, who was off screaming to the IOC about that sad-ass excuse for a referee.  Kane left right after the game ended; otherwise, he would have insisted on Clarke getting examined."  She glanced at the door, lowering her voice.  "Did you at least get a look at it?"

Lexa nodded.

"And?"

"Honestly?"  The goalie shuffled in place, rubbing her neck nervously.  "I mean, I'm not a doctor," she skirted the question, swallowing the guilt that welled up as she thought about the angry, purple bruising along Clarke's thigh.  "She said that if it didn't feel better this morning, she'd have it checked out by your trainers."

Frustrated, Raven ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the roots as she clenched her jaw tightly.  Lexa watched the muscles in her cheeks flex as she ground her teeth together, her irritation evident.  After a few moments of tense silence, Lexa cleared her throat, attempting to change the subject.

"Look, I don't know Clarke that well but..."

"That's right." The statement seemed to call Raven back from whatever had been on her mind. Her attention snapped to Lexa, completely focused on the goalie's features as she stared her down.  "You don't know her that well, but I do."  She let out a sharp breath, sipping more of her coffee as she surveyed the hallways to make sure they were still alone.

"Woods, listen to me.  I've known that girl since she was seventeen.  Clarke is my best friend."  

Raven ran a  hand over her tired face, massaging the slightly purple bags that had formed under her dark eyes.  "She's more than stubborn; she's downright unreasonable.  Winning gold means everything to her. She's not going to let anything get in the way of that, even if it means risking a permanent injury."

Raven's face softened.  "Do you know why it took Clarke more than a year to rehabilitate her knee?"

Lexa shook her head, waiting for the American goalie to illuminate her.

"It took her so long because she nearly re-injured it halfway through rehab.  She was pushing too hard, and she put a micro tear in the cadaver ligament she'd received."  Raven stared at her seriously.  "Look, if you're going to be sticking around, you've got to understand how intense Clarke is.  She doesn't know when to quit.  She'll work herself into her grave if you let her."

Lexa's face fell, her guilt growing as she realized how little she'd done to convince Clarke to get her leg appropriately treated.

"So," the American goaltender stared at her Canadian counterpart skeptically. "Are you?"

Lexa looked up, confused by Raven's question.  "Am I what?"

"Are you sticking around?"

Lexa bit her lip apprehensively, unsure how much she wanted to admit to Clarke's closest friend.

"I'd like to," she paused.  "If she'll let me."

Raven bowed her head, staring at her toes thoughtfully.  "Maybe she will,"  she looked up, her expression deadly serious.  "But, if you care about her you'll help her make the right decision, especially when she refuses to make it for herself."

-----

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?"

Clarke rolled her eyes at her father, smiling at his telltale smirk as he beamed down at her.  Warm yellow light from the afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the old rink, making Jake's face glow.

"Very funny, Dad."

"I'm just saying."  His eyes sparkle with mischief. "I remember this place being warmer when you were a kid."

He shoved his daughter with his elbow, smiling at her reverentially as he gave her the once-over.  "How ya been, Kid?"

Clarke shrugged.  "Tired."

"Of the game?"

"No," she shook her head.  "That's the one thing I never get tired of."

Clarke sighed and leaned into her father's side, burrowing herself into the old, flannel lined corduroy jacket that he was never without.  She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old spice, bay rum, and stale tobacco that always seemed to cling to him.

"Still smoking?"

"I'll quit when I'm dead."

"Not funny." She frowned, surprised to find that a lump was forming at the back of her throat.  "I miss you," Clarke barely managed to eke out as she forced back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"I miss you too, Kid."  Jake wrapped one of his strong arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter to him, gazing back at the rink as the shotgun crack of a slap shot broke the silence of the arena.

They stared down at the ice, watching as the puck sailed into the outstretched glove of a goalie.  Clarke watched at the goaltender curiously, recognizing the curly tendrils that peaked out from underneath her helmet.

"Who's the sieve?"

"I, um..."  Clarke fumbled for a way to explain Lexa's odd appearance in her dreamscape.  "Dad, what's she doing here?"

"You tell me, Kid." Jake smiled as he watched the masked figure discard the puck from her glove and crouch lower, readying herself for another shot.  "Never knew you had a thing for goalies."

Clarke felt the blood rush to her face, the blush spreading all the way across her cheeks to the tip of her ears.  "Dad!"

"What?"  He flashed a grin at her.  "You old man can't ask about your love life?"

Clarke blushed even harder, sure that by now, she had turned beet red.  "It's just," she paused thinking of all the conversations they'd never been able to have.  "I never got a chance to tell you..."

"That you're into brunettes?"

"Dad..." Clarke narrowed her eyes, imploring him to solemnity.  "Please, be serious."

Jake's face softened as he pulled her closer.  He stared down at her with a look the reflected nothing but pure, unconditional adoration.  "Kid, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I hadn't really figured it out yet."  Clarke sighed, burying herself farther into her father's side, thoroughly embarrassed.

Jake patted his daughter's shoulder reassuringly, thinking for a moment. "I always wondered why you never went through that boy-crazy phase your mother kept warning me was coming."

 "I thought I was just focused," she shrugged.  "Are you mad?"

There was a pause, and then to Clarke's surprise, a giant roar burst from Jake's lips.  "Kid..." His sides shook as deep belly laughter doubled him over, making his eyes water.  "My dream in life was that I’d never lose you to some loser boyfriend."  He wiped tears from his eyes, taking a moment to let his chuckling subside.  "I couldn't be happier."

It took a moment, but Jake finally managed regained his composure.  He winked at his daughter.  "So you like this girl?"

"I do," she nodded.

"Like, or like?"  He emphasized the last word, cocking one eyebrow.

Clarke avoided his gaze, feeling suddenly awkward.  She shuffled her feet nervously.  "I haven't known her very long.  I'm not sure yet.”

Jake's expression became wistful.  "You know," he paused, pondering something for a moment.  "I knew how I felt about your mother five seconds after I met her."  He nudged his daughter in the ribs, playfully.  "Some things, Clarke, you just know."

Clarke continued to stare at her shoes.  "You should see her play; she's so good."

"As good as you?"

Clarke's shoulders slumped, her face falling at the question.  "I'm not so sure about that these days."

"Hey..." She felt her father's fingers under her chin as he tiled her head up to look him in the eyes.  "Don't ever say that."

Clarke tried to look away, but her father held her gaze.  "I didn't teach you hockey because I loved the game.  I taught you hockey because from the moment you first put on skates I couldn't keep you off the ice.  You love to play, and you're great at it; the best."

Clarke finally looked up, acknowledging the honesty in her father's words.  She reached out a hand, squeezing her bad knee as it began to ache. "I'm not sure how long I've got left, Dad."

Jake nodded, his face solemn.  "None of us do, but you know what I always say."

"Find what you love and let it kill you."  They spoke the words at the same time, both smiling at the well-worn expression.

"Can you stay for a bit?"

Jake sighed, his eyes turning glassy.  "'Fraid not."

Clarke clenched her jaw tightly, refusing to let their last moment be a sad one.  She burrowed back into her father's side, wrapping her arms around his wiry frame as his arms encircled her one last time.

"I love you, Kid."

"I love you too, Dad."  Suddenly, the rink was dark.  The pressure of her father's strong, sturdy arms disappeared, and all Clarke could feel was a rush of cold air.  Then her eyes flickered, and she was awake, suddenly aware of a new set of arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

Lexa shifted behind her, pulling the blonde closer as she slid under the covers of the bed.  Clarke stretched a bit, turning herself so that they were facing one another.

"Hey."

"Hey," Lexa smiled apprehensively, clumsily rubbing at the back of her neck.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's ok."  Too tired to be concerned with the intimacy of the gesture, Clarke tucked herself closer into Lexa, leaning her head into the crook of the larger girl's arm.  "Where did you go?"  She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of deodorant and soap.

The goalie kissed the top of Clarke's head and ran a  hand through her disheveled locks, pushing stray blonde strands out of her face.  It was a tender gesture that, ordinarily, would have made Clarke anxious.  To the blonde's surprised, however, she found herself closing her eyes in contentment.

"That feels nice."

Lexa chuckled.  "Speaking of how things feel," she cringed, knowing that her attempt at a smooth transition had been clumsy at best. "How's the leg?"

Cautiously, Clarke began to move her ailing limb.  She stretched the leg, extending it nearly all the way before she winced at the tenderness.  "Well, I can move it at least.  She wiggled her toes, thankful to feel that she had full motion in all of them.  "No numbness or tingling in my foot."

The Canadian bit her lip, nervous to inquire any further.  "And the pain?"

Clarke attempted to bend the limb in the opposite direction, finding that it was much stiffer and more sore upon flexion.  "Well, it doesn't feel great."  She grimaced, "but, then again, it's felt worse."

"Can I take a look?"  Lexa tensed, bracing for Clarke to become defensive.  For a moment the smaller woman stiffened, but the tension in her small frame eased a second later, and Lexa felt her nod into her chest.

The brunette pushed her body upright, pulling back the covers just enough to expose Clarke's legs.  Slowly, she pushed the leg of Clarke's sweatpants up, careful not to jostle her limb as she moved.  Lexa recoiled at the sight of the angry purple bruising that seemed to have grown darker overnight.  

"Clarke," she hesitated, not wanting to upset the fierce girl tucked into her side.  "The bruising looks worse than it did last night."

Clarke nodded, surprisingly calm.  "That's normal.  She raised herself on her hands, chancing a glance at the leg.  Clarke frowned, growling in frustration as observed that the damage had not magically disappeared.  "That's just the blood losing oxygen as it raises to the surface of the injury."

"Wow," Lexa sounded genuinely impressed by her companion's savvy.  "Check you out, Dr. Griffin."

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, right."  She collapsed back against the pillows, groaning in discouragement.

"Clarke," Lexa hesitant, afraid to push the issue any further.  "You said you'd have your trainer look at your leg if it was still bothering you today."

"I know but..."  Clarke rolled closer, settling her weight against Lexa's body.  "Can we just lay here for a while? Please?"  She cuddled up against Lexa's side, sliding a hand underneath her t-shirt and trailing her fingers along sinew and rib.

Lexa shivered at Clarke's touch, her better judgment melting away as goosebumps formed along her skin.  "Yeah, sure.  We can lie here for a little longer."

Lexa shuffled down into the covers and slipped an arm over Clarke's waist, desperately trying not to grin like a fool.  She knew she should feel guilty for giving in so easily, but something about Clarke's touch, something about the way she said "please," tore at Lexa's resolve.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Clarke shook her head.  "I'm not sure I can sleep right now."  She continued to gently stroke Lexa's side with the blades of her fingers.  "Can you talk to me for a while?  Just until I fall back asleep?"

Lexa let her hand dip below Clark's sweatshirt.  She ran a flat palm over her spine and began to rub slow circles over the tense muscles of her back.  She felt almost giddy at the way Clarke' hummed into her chest, clearly enjoying herself.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Clarke breathed contentedly, thinking for a moment.  "I was pretty awful to you last night.  Why did you take care of me?"

Lexa considered how to answer the question, ultimately deciding that honestly was her best option.  She allowed herself a moment to gather the right words, and when the moment was over, stated simply, "Because, you matter to me."

"We just met though,"  Clarke peered up at her, her fingers stilling as she stared up inquisitively.  "How..." she hesitated, trying to understand how Lexa could be so sure about something in so little time.  "I mean, why?"

Unable to articulate her answer, Lexa shrugged.  "Some things you just know, I guess."

Clarke nearly froze at the brunette's words, the sound of them ringing in her ears as she remembered her dream.  Determined that it must be a coincidence, Clarke relaxed again, burying her face back into the crook of Lexa's arm.

"Well, thank you for staying."

"Of course."  Lexa leaned in, allowing her chin to rest on the top of the blonde's head.  She closed her eyes and continued to rub soothing circles up and down Clarke's back.  "What else do you want to talk about?"

Clarke thought for a moment, contemplating her options.  "Tell me about where you grew up."

Lexa laughed.  "It was called Rat Portage until 1905."

"Dare I ask why?"  Clarke laughed softly into the worn fabric of Lexa's t-shirt.

"I'm sure you can guess.  The goalie shifted her long frame, allowing Clarke to rest more of her weight on her.

"It's small, not as small as your hometown, but small enough.  In the summer, it's full of tourists and mosquitoes.  In the winter the only things to do are hole up in a bar and drink, or play hockey."

Lexa fought a grin, giggling to herself.  "Actually, there was one other thing to do in the winter."

She pinched Clarke's side playfully and earned a finger jab in return. "Very funny," Clarke murmured.  "I suppose that means you broke lots of hearts."

Lexa scoffed.  "Hardly.  There wasn't exactly a plethora of sapphically inclined girls at Beaver Brae Secondary School."

Clarke choked on a laugh. "That wasn't the name of your high school, was it?"

"It was, indeed.  Our mascot, somewhat incredibly, was the Bronco."

"Wait," Clarke raised one eyebrow.  "Your high school was named Beaver Brae, but your mascot was a horse?"

Lexa shrugged.  "It's Canada. We try to avoid redundancy by not doubling down on beaver themed everything."

"Anyway," the brunette smirked, tracing the edge of the dimple that appeared in Clarke's cheek each time she smiled.  "There were a few curious girls at a handful of parties, but I was hardly breaking anyones heart.  Most people didn't come out until after high school."

Clarke raised her eyebrows inquisitively.  "Was it hard being out where you grew up?"

Lexa's brow furrowed in thought, her mouth puckering to side as she considered the question.  "Maybe a little," she shrugged.  "I mean, Canadians don't care that much about gay stuff.  Mostly, Kenora was just small.  There weren't that many of us.  Not much point in being out if there isn't anyone to date."  Lexa ran the tip of her finger over the helix of Clarke's ear, eliciting a soft moan from the blonde. "People knew though.  Nobody gave me too hard a time."

Clarke continued to savor the feeling of Lexa's touch as the brunette's fingers moved from the top of her ear to the soft skin of her neck.  She closed her eyes, relishing the way it made her spine tingle.

"What about you?"

Clarke's eyelids fluttered open.  She stared at the olive-skinned girl whose fingers were now tracing the lines of her ribs. "What about me?"

"What were you like in high school?"

"Focused." Clarke rolled her eyes, thinking back to life in her tiny Minnesotan town.  "I had a boyfriend for about six months during my sophomore year, but he took too much time away from hockey.  "Plus," Clarke made a face remembering the hardships of making out when two sets of braces were involved.  "He wasn't a very good kisser, so I ended things."

Lexa tried not to laugh.  "Poor guy.  He must have been devastated."

"Perhaps, but I'm sure Brock Larson managed to move on."  

Lexa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You high school boyfriend's name was Brock?"

"Yes, it was." Clarke laughed at the memory fo her first boyfriend, a tall, skinny young man with sandy blonde hair who had been the object of every sixteen-year-old girl's affection.  "My friends thought I was crazy to break up with him," she smiled.  "He made boy's varsity as a freshman and was related to Dave Christian on his mother's side."

"Dave who?"  Lexa cocked her head to the side, lost as to about who Clarke was talking.

"Dave Christian?"  Clarke waited for Lexa to recognize the name. "The Lake Placid Olympics? Miracle on Ice?  NHL player?"

Lexa shrugged.

"He is one of the eight Olympic hockey players who've come from my town."

"Damn!" Lexa's eyes went wide "Are you guys running a breeding program?"

"We have an algorithm," Clarke deadpanned.  "Anyway, dad got sick right after I broke up with Brock.  After he died, I kept to myself and concentrated on hockey. I had to focus on getting a scholarship.  I didn't exactly have time for romance."

"So not much has changed?"  Lexa grinned mischievously, squeezing Clarke's hip.

"Very funny."  Clarke shifted her weight, settling into Lexa's chest. She laced her fingers into the brunette's hair and began running her hand through the mess of wavy curls.  "I almost had a girlfriend in college, but it didn't work out."

Lexa savored the feeling of Clarke's fingers as they massaged her scalp. "Why not?" 

 "It's complicated."  Clarke continued to work her fingers through the tangles in Lexa's hair.  "People knew I was bisexual at college, but not at home.  She wanted to date openly, and that was more than I could handle at the time."

"And now? "

Clarke sighed.  "I think people back home suspect, but they've stopped asking.  Besides, I've been so focused on the game for the last ten years that I've barely had time for myself, let alone anyone else."

"That sounds familiar."  Lexa pulled Clarke closer. She enjoyed the feeling of the warm body pressed against her and thought of the many long nights she’d spent on the road, curled up in bed alone in a dingy hotel room.  "It would be nice though."

"Hmm?"  Clarke's hand stilled.

"To have someone."  The goalie stroked the small of Clarke's back with the blade of her thumb, leaving goosebumps along her skin.

Clarke closed her eyes, imagining for a brief moment a life where obligations didn't bind her to team and county.  "It would be," she smiled sadly, "but I owe too much to my team to lose focus right now."

Lexa nodded, trying not to feel disappointed at Clarke's response.  "Well..."  She leaned in, kissing the top of Clarke's head absentmindedly.  "Maybe, one day, you and I will owe nothing more to our teams."

The blonde buried her face in the crook of Lexa's neck, inhaling the scent of her.  "I hope so."

For a while longer they lay there, bodies enmeshed, minds close to sleep but never quite there.  Finally, Clarke groaned, the ache in her leg getting the better of her.  She pushed herself up on her elbows wincing as she pulled back the covers.  "I think I better try to stretch this thing if I want to play on it again."

Lexa bolted upright at the statement, utterly confused.  "I thought you said you were going to get it looked at?”

Clarke swung her legs over the far side of the bed, cautiously testing the amount of weight the injured limb could support.  She stood up, wincing a little as she transferred a bit of her balance onto it.  "I said I'd get it looked at if it wasn't better by today.  It feels better."

"It looks worse."

"It always looks worse when it's healing,” Clarke said, brushing off the Canadian’s concern. She began hobbling towards the bathroom, and Lexa jumped up behind her, ready to catch her the moment the leg buckled.  Remarkably the blonde managed to bear weight on it, limping into the bathroom on her own to retrieve the bottle of Motrin.  She shuffled back towards the bed slowly and lowered herself onto the mattress with great effort.

"Lexa, it's a bad bruise.  I'll be fine after some rest and ice.  Besides, we don't have a game for two more days."

"Clarke..."

"Lexa, I'm fine."  She swallowed several pills and scooted back on the bed, stretching the leg out in front of her as she reached for her toes.  Carefully she bent forward, tensing her jaw as she began stretching the tender muscles.

"But..."

"I'm fine!"  The words came out through clenched teeth, though Clarke managed to smile through the pain.  "I promise."

Unsure of how to proceed, Lexa hung stiffly in front of the bed.  She stared down awkwardly at the frustratingly determined captain, racking her brain for a solution.  Thankfully, Clarke offered her one.

"Look, if you're that worried, we can meet up tonight.  That way you can check on me."

"Meet up?"

"Yes, for drinks, maybe food.”  Clarke smirked, as though Lexa had just missed the most obvious implication in the world. 

"Food?"  Lexa's eyebrows nearly shot up to the top of her head when she realized what Clarke was suggesting.  "Like, in front of other people?'

"Unless you'd like to meet in secret."  Clarke grimaced, continuing to stretch her stiff and bruised leg.  "Or do you not want to meet at all?"

"No!"  Lexa bit her lip, blushing at her outburst.  "I mean, yes, I do. I'd like that."

Clarke rolled her eyes at the sudden ineptitude of the usually cocky girl, relishing the effect her invitation was having on her.  "Ok, but let's meet off campus. " Clarke massaged her thigh, trying to work out the stiffness in the muscles.  "Some of the girls went out into the city the other night.  They said the Budnamu Brewery was great.  Would 7 pm be alright?"

"I... Yeah, of course."

“Good, then it's a date."

"A date?"

"Yes, a date." Clarke deadpanned. "I mean, it's been a while, but I'm pretty sure the kids still call it that."

"It's a date," Lexa nodded dumbly, stunned that Clarke was asking her out, and in public no less.

"I should shower." Clarke struggled to her feet and cast a furtive glance at the bathroom door.

"You should shower."  Lexa's head wagged up and down, too dumbfounded to pay much attention to what Clarke was saying.

"Lexa...?"

The goalie looked up, snapping back to reality.  "Oh, Right!"  She cleared her throat, trying not to turn red.  "You shower.  I should go."  Lexa grabbed her sweatshirt from the chair in the corner, hurriedly pulling it on over her head as she mussed out her wild mane and shoved her feet into the boots that lay haphazardly by the bed.

"7 pm at Budnamu Brewery?

Clarke nodded.

"And you promise to get your leg look at if it starts bothering you?"

Clarke nodded.

“Ok.  I’ll see you at seven."

Lexa turned to leave but was stopped by a small hand grabbing her elbow.

"Wait."  Clarke bit her lip nervously, hesitating.  Slowly, she leaned up on the tiptoes of her uninjured leg and pressed her lips to the corner of Lexa's mouth, delivering a soft kiss.

"Thank you for staying."

---------

Lexa was in a daze as she drifted down the hallway and boarded the waiting elevator, nearly forgetting to press the button for the first floor.  Clarke had asked her on a date.  It felt almost too good to be true, and yet it had happened.  Lexa had the text confirming the details on her phone.  She could barely contain the smile on her face as she floated through the elevator doors and into the cavernous lobby of the dormitory.  Nothing in the world could bring her down at the moment. 

"Lexa Woods?”

Nothing, except for the sound of her name coming from the stern looking man in the dark grey suit.  He approached her from the cafeteria, and out of the corner of her eye Lexa watched as Raven slipped away, apparently having just finished a conversation with him.  The man held his hand out for her.   "Marcus Kane.  I'm the head coach of Team USA Women's hockey."

Lexa took his hand and shook it firmly.  "Nice to meet you, Sir."

He smiled politely, his appearance losing some of its gruffness.  "May I speak with you a moment?" He gestured to a small lounge just off the entrance to the main lobby.

Reluctantly, she agreed, following him to a suite of armchairs tucked in the back.  The goalie took a seat across from him, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her ears as he watched her.

"So," he began earnestly. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude.  I hear you cared for an injured player of mine last night, Clarke Griffin."

Lexa nodded apprehensively.  “I did."

Kane looked solemn as he contemplated the young women across from him.  "I understand that you two have been spending some time together.  Am I correct in that understanding?"

Lexa nodded again, her pulse racing as she worried about the direction in which their conversation seemed to be headed.  "That's correct, Sir."

He furrowed his brow, his expression grave.  "Miss Woods, given your respective positions on opposing teams, you understand that the two of you spending time together could be construed as…” Kane searched carefully for the right word.  “Inappropriate?”

“Yes.”

Kane purses his lips for a moment, analyzing her answer skeptically.  Finally, his expression softened.  “Luckily, I considered Miss Griffin's integrity to be unimpeachable.  However, should the two of you choose to continue to see each other socially, I would advise you to proceed with the utmost discretion.”

Lexa nodded vigorously.  "I understand, Sir."

"Good then." Appearing satisfied, Kane patted the armrest absentmindedly. "In that case, Miss Woods, I only need to ask one more thing of you."

Lexa swallowed, dreading his next question.

"What's that, Sir?"

"I need to tell me whether or not my team Captain is hiding an injury from me."

Lexa's heart nearly jumped out of her chest.  It pounded like a bass drum, thumping in her ears and drowning out the hum of the lobby around them.

"I... I don't."

"The truth, Miss Woods."

At that moment Lexa's conscience was entirely at war with itself.  Lie, and she put Clarke at risk.  Tell the truth and she would betray her trust.  Neither one was an attractive option, and she shifted nervously in her seat, unwilling to choose either.

"Lexa..."

She sighed, resigning herself to the lesser of two evil.  Surely, Clarke couldn't fault her for being concerned.

"She says it's fine but, it looks pretty bad.  She can walk on it a little but.…” She bit her lip nervously.  "I think she's probably fine," she back peddled, attempted to reassure him. “Maybe she should have a doctor look at it though, just to be safe."

Kane smiled at her, smoothing out the wrinkles in his pant legs as he rose.  "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Woods."

With that, he started towards the elevators, leaving Lexa to dread her decision.

[rose-sunlight]

Parings: Jake x Amy, Holt x Kevin

Summary: The story begins. The group doesn’t exist, they are separated over different parts of New York. They all end up in the same place: The Bullpen Summer Camp.

WARNINGS: Minor Character Death, Abuse

A/N:  This is for the @b99fandomevents​​ Summer 2020 Fic Exchange written for @impossiblyizzy​​! Hope you enjoy!

Jake slammed the leaflet down on the table. His mother had slipped it through the door of his bedroom when his father slept in the living room. He wanted to be angry at her for this, to scream, and beg, and cry, but no words or insults could come to mind. This was pure shock.

He was looking forward to this summer; 11 weeks of no homework and mindless cartoons on the TV? Count Jake in. Maybe he’d try something different, though—he remembers his friend Adrian telling him about his new skateboard, maybe he could ask him to teach him how to skateboard properly, and not just blindly jumping and hoping for the best.

But no, now his parents were going to ship him off to some wishy washy summer camp for nine whole weeks. Now, he’d miss out on everything cool a sixteen-year-old should be doing on their summer break; like brooding in angst and staying in their rooms until the sun goes down. Now, he would have to participate in ‘team sports’ and ‘community activities’ and have a ‘life-changing experience with new friends’.

“You’re shipping me off to a hell hole?!” He glowered, watching as his mother barely looked up from her cross stitch. She finished one and glanced towards him, placing the needle and thread on the kitchen table.

She sighed “Oh, sweetie,” She consoled “I thought you’d be more happy, your father decided that this would be a nice learning experience for you.” Jake took a step back. Of course this was his dad’s doing, of course he’d want him gone for the entire summer for his own personal gain, so he could do whatever he did when he wasn’t there to witness it (Jake didn’t really know what it was that he did, but he assumed it was on the same level as sacrificing baby animals, like the demon he was).

“This is his idea?!” His voice raised a pitch so he sounded more like some of the girls in his class. He didn’t want his dad to wake up in a drunken rage, but he was increasingly wanting something to hit. If it was his dad, so be it.

“He’s your father Jake, not Satan”

“Here I thought they were one and the same. That’s not the point though, the point is that I’m not going to some wishy washy summer camp!” He retorted, before hearing the angry footsteps of his father coming from around the couch. His dad wasn’t a conventionally scary person, but it was the way he moved and spoke that managed to strike fear into his heart. He was like a giant in an average-sized person’s body, and right now, Jake felt 2 feet tall in his presence, and cowered. He didn’t like getting on the wrong side of his dad.

He looked down at Jake, arms crossed and face in a perpetual frown. Every day he saw this scowl, and every day he got his ass handed to him because of their disagreements.

His father had a booming voice when drunk “You’re so ungrateful!” He spat, “Look at the way you’re making your mother feel!” He looked back to his mom, who was frowning. Jake began to feel more guilty by the second “We want you to go, so you will be going!”

Jake puffed his chest out and scowled, fists bawled by his side “but-!”

“-You’re such a lazy little shit! This is why we want you out the goddamn house-” He physically shoved Jake, like a bully on the playground, and Jake’s eyes widened. He had been taken aback by the sudden escalation, even when it happened every day, practically. The stream of name-calling and hitting never really ended.

Jake stepped forward once more; he stood by the fact that he never learns his lesson, so his retaliation wasn’t unexpected by his parents “I don’t want to-”

He never did get his words in when he was arguing with his dad. Instead, he felt the harsh punch against his face, and sensed his body falling to the floor and crawling away until his back hit the cold wall. There was fear plainly shown in his eyes, as there always was, as the red splodge on his face ripened. “If I hear one more whiny ‘I don’t want’ out of your mouth…” He growled “you’re always whining about something, always playing the victim. That’s why nobody likes you, Jake. That’s why you’re getting shipped off to The Bullpen camp. Pack your bags.”

Jake stood up quickly, filing out the room. He knew when he was beaten, and that was one of those times. He angrily, but silently, stomped towards his room, trying his best not to punch his small twin bed in a sheer moment of fury.

He flopped down, knowing that he was going to go to this dumb summer camp even if he was dragged kicking and screaming, which he definitely would. He hit his pillow before flopping onto his bed, letting his rage take over before inevitably packing for this 9-week-hell.

~ Charles never did anything on instinct. That was something his mother always berated him for, in her own loving way. He didn’t take action, like how all Boyles never take action, and this seemed to cost him everything.

His everything, even if he had only known his everything for six months. Charles knew he was in love with her, and she knew that she wasn’t. She didn’t look him in the eyes as she sat him down by the high school bleachers on the last day of term before summer. Charles had planned out their agenda for the summer, for all nine weeks, so that they could spend as much time together as possible. She patted his hand and smiled, but she never really looked at him directly.

Eleanor wore her hair perfectly, with bleached blonde summer hair and dazzling sea green eyes. He could write a whole novella about how her sparkling eyes made him feel, and how, if he took more action, he will ask her if she’d like to travel the world with him so he could try and find a sight prettier than her eyes.

“You’re a really good…person, Charles-”

Charles cut her off immediately, eyes full of adoration “It’s because you make me good, I mean, you’re the two halves of my hole!”

“And that’s great, but-,” Eleanor paused, taking not of the gesture Charles had made “wait, do you mean ‘whole’ or ‘hole’? N-no, it doesn’t matter, what I’m trying to say is that-”

Charles once again cut in, placing a caring hand on the small of her back, which she flinched away from almost immediately, only spurring on his concerns “My sunflower, is something wrong?”

Eleanor stammered “Yes…uh, um, no—well…okay, I’m just gonna say it.” She sucked in a large breath before continuing “I’m breaking up with you.”

Charles froze, he didn’t know what to do. One part of him wanted to break down and cry, and another wanted to fall to her feet and beg her to reconsider. He didn’t do either, instead, he stiffened up, listening to her reasoning but still not completely hearing her. The one overarching concepts she had brought up was that he wasn’t impulsive enough for her.

“I just think I need someone who takes risks.” Her voice echoed in Charles’ brain, playing like a broken record as he trudged the five mile walk home. She wanted someone the opposite of him, someone who could decide between two restaurants in under an hour. His norm was to wait until one of them was closed and go to the only one left open. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want him, either.

Through his blurry vision and tears, he made his way to his computer. His parents were out, not returning from their sensual food tasting for couples retreat until much later in the night. Charles punched in the first thing he thought of—‘how to take more risks’. When the results seemed to extreme or adult (no, he wasn’t going to have a one-night stand, Wikihow), he changed it up, editing the search bar to tailor more to him. One of the results that came up was to go on impulse trips. He thought he might be able to do that if they gave him some time. He then researched ‘how to take impulse trips for sixteen year olds’

Google disregarded the first few words, instead focusing on adventures that were specifically for teenagers. He factored in how far away most were, and how uncomfortable he’d be in hot areas like Thailand, and found the perfect website. Without even consulting his doting parents, he had booked a place, and spent almost all his summer money on this trip. Old habits didn’t die that hard, though, and he was already packing when he had a week to spare.

This would show Eleanor how brave and risk-taking he was. After he had taken place in the activities scheduled, she’d take him back in a heartbeat.

~ Terry had secretly prayed a day like this would come. He had hoped that it would come later, but it had still answered his prayers in a dark way. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he had hoped for something less permanent for him.

Because as much as his dad used to hit on him, he never wanted to put on a jet black suit and see the day his father was put to rest. He didn’t want to listen to his family cry, and talk about how his dad was such a good man with a good heart. He didn’t want to stand up and deliver a speech about how, despite their non-existent bond, he loved his father and was devastated when he didn’t come home from the bar that night.

But he was devastated. He didn’t know why, but he was in mourning over his father’s death, but not in the way he was expecting. He didn’t mourn the same way he did when his Grandma Ophelia died. That was the feeling of incompleteness, like the memories of her were too little, and he wished he had spent more time with her. With his father, he was feeling as if he had lost hope.

He had always thought that if he gave his dad time there would be a day where he’d snap out of it, and he’d beg to be forgiven, go to his basketball games, and finally see him graduate with a proud smile slapped across his face. Terry now had concrete evidence that this would never happen, and the hope of playing happy-families was gone. He was left with painful memories and mental scars of his torturous behaviour.

The worst part of the funeral was black-suited nobodies to him coming up and telling him how to grieve, how they were sorry that he had lost such a prevalent role-model in his life. All Terry could do was grit his teeth and smile through it. There was one man, though, who he hadn’t even heard mentioned once by his father. One person that was grieving differently to everyone else; he was crying like he actually meant it, but also like he had already made peace with the loss. Terry found him intriguing.

When the man, dressed in a black tux with a bright green tie, different to everyone in the room, with a full head of bushy blond hair and a small frame, came barrelling towards Terry, he braced himself. He was ready for this man to defeat his expectations.

“You the son?” This abnormal man asked him. His accent was inherently English, dulled down by being in America for so long, or so Terry suspected. He wanted to say no, that Laurence was just over by the corner, drowning himself in alcohol even though he wasn’t the legal age. Instead, he just nodded. “Terry or Laurence?” he asked again.

Terry grit his teeth “Terry”.

The man snorted, not offering any condolences at all “A right dipshit, is what your dad turned into.”

“You mean he wasn’t always?” He didn’t want to laugh at his dead father’s funeral, but this man was doing it for him, letting out a massive guffaw at this stereotypical catholic wake.

“Your old man was good fun, at another point. All went to shit when his mom died,” He told him, and Terry perked up at the possibility of his dad ever being fun “I guess he never did speak about me. I’m Nelson.” Nelson extended a hand for Terry to shake. He obliged.

“How did you know my dad?”

Nelson chuckled. He pulled out his wallet, reaching for a picture. “The Bullpen Summer Camp in the late seventies,” when he saw how clueless Terry was, he lightly shoved him in a well meaning manner. Terry flinched. “Suppose you don’t know about that either, ey? Nah, your dad was voted ‘Camp King’. He was amazing at all the activities, I mean, he was the feller you wanted to share a kayak with—he made you laugh, and was a damn good rower. That’s the version of him I want to remember.”

The picture depicted a group of friends, six of them, three girls and three guys. The girls were dressed modestly, in skirts down to their ankles, which seemed so impractical for the activities. They stood with their arms at the waists of three other male friends. The boys were the same age as Terry, and his father was in the centre. His dad wasn’t what he was expecting. He wasn’t a bald, tall angry man with a pot-belly. This version of his dad was too much like him. He was muscle-bound, but didn’t look as tall with his peers, he had a full head of hair styled like Terry’s in a bulky afro, and he was smiling as wide as he had ever seen his dad smile.

Terry raised an eyebrow at Nelson, not knowing how to deal with the information he had told him, “You sure that was my father?”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

Nelson sighed, and took a moment to look around at the people ‘celebrating’ his old friend’s life. He took in for the first time how everyone else spoke—he was portrayed a complex, fascinating man instead of the good one he had known. He supposed a lot had changed since the seventies. “Yeah, I suppose it seems too good to be true.” Nelson pierced his lips before patting Terry softly on the shoulder. Terry flinched again. “I’m heading out. You need a ride home?”

Terry had only just met Nelson, and yet he seemed so socially unaware as to offer a teenage boy a ride home. “No, my mom’s probably gonna take us back.”

And she did, once she’d settled a few things with the funeral planners. Terry couldn’t stop thinking about his father. He couldn’t stop thinking about the similarities down to the very hairstyle. That’s when he made the choice. He had to go to this camp, and see what changed his dad. He had to see for himself that his dad was actually fun.

That picture still rattled him, which is how he ended up in the bathroom, sitting down on the bathtub staring into the mirror, a razor poised at his afro.

He carved a chunk out of it, and kept going until all he had a mass of curly hair at his feet. He looked back in the mirror to see what could only be described as a baby afro, short at the sides and on the top. When he looked in the mirror, he could only see himself, not the vision of his father haunting him. Sure, his mom freaked out when he showed him, but he felt as if he was distancing himself from that younger dad he never knew.

Especially since he was returning to see what his dad might’ve been like.

~ Rosa knew this was coming before they even said the word. This was the norm; her fourth and final trip to The Bullpen. She was sixteen now, which meant that this was her final time attending as a camper before going back as a camp councillor. She wasn’t the most liked; she kept to herself, and all the younger kids knew she carried a whittling knife everywhere she went, but she liked being in nature compared to the stuffy New York apartment her parents and sisters lived in.

It wasn’t a shock when her parents dropped the leaflet under her door and wordlessly gave her a suitcase—black with a purple skull over it.

They weren’t talking to her at the moment, and she was fine by it. She couldn’t care less (is what she told herself when she put her face into her pillow and screamed until she began to cry). It didn’t matter if they weren’t on speaking terms, anyway, because soon, she’d be gone for the holidays.

The Bullpen was the one place she got to be authentically herself, where no one cared if she went off into the woods without sunblock, where she wasn’t bothered by her sisters storming into her room to ask if she had melted down one of their possessions to make jewellery to sell in the schoolyard. The Bullpen, under the watchful eyes of the camp counsellors, was her second home, and sometimes, she liked it more than her first.

So as she looked down at the sheen of her black suitcase in the low light of her shared room, she gave a curt nod to no one in particular, and began to pack her bag, sniffing lightly as she folded her second-best jacket down into a tiny ball. She had gone through a change in style in the past couple years, from ballerina pumps and pink strappy tops to the polar opposite of black leather jackets and DIY ripped jeans. Her hair had just grown long enough for her pink streaks to be cut out, so her hair was a natural curly brunette shade. She packed everything she knew she’d need for her nine weeks away, and it only took a couple hours to pack.

None of her friends were going back this year; the others had left and gone onto bigger things, most of them were going on some massive party-filled holiday—Rosa had declined the offer, and decided to go back to camp.

Her parents still remained silent, they didn’t speak to her at all, not even when the bus came to pick her up, as it did every year.

~ Gina was talking to her friends on her phone while a video on her iPad played softly in the background. Her legs swung freely in the air as the lay flat on her stomach, her freshly painted toes sticking pointily out. She didn’t have anything planned for the summer, she just wanted to spend some time doing some serious soul-searching. By that, she meant going out just to take photos for her Instagram following with spiritual captions.

Her parents had constantly been threatening her to get off her phone, but she hadn’t taken any notice. Every month, they’d tell her the same thing, with a different punishment (no more phone, we’ll block YouTube on your iPad, we’ll send your clothes off to charity), and every month, she kept on her phone and nothing happened.

Her friends weren’t planning anything, but there was a party planned for a months’ time. It was supposed to be the best event since Gina’s party where she convinced everyone that Jay-Z would be there. She slithered her way out of that one by getting the people there drunk enough so that they wouldn’t even remember. She had her dress picked out before anything else, even now it stared at her through the crack into her walk-in closet. It was short and sequinned, sparkly, and low-cut. Her mother had reprimanded her on the choice, calling her every name under the sun purely based on the length and the fact it showed off a little bit of boob. Gina had called her pathetic, and then yelled that she was jealous.

Granted, Gina should’ve realised that she had gone too far, but she never apologised for her words, and she wasn’t going to break that oath to herself.

Her mom walked into her room, followed by her dad, whose hand was on the small of her mom’s back. She didn’t acknowledge them moving around in her room until they opened her closet.

“What are you doing?” She asked, sitting back up and pausing the video on her iPad. She didn’t like it when they went through her stuff, she’d made it clear through putting up CCTV in her own bedroom when she wasn’t there. “Get out of my closet!” She yelled, but her parents still ignored her, packing a bag of stuff.

Her father turned to face her with a soft smile, “We thought that this summer you could go somewhere fun.”

She sat back in her seat, suddenly thinking about how her parents were going to send her on some expensive lavish trip with her friends “Oooh, where? Paris, Greece…Italy?”

Gina slammed the car door at her arrived destination, dressed in a fancy tracksuit with a travel pillow slung over her neck, ready for a first class flight to wherever, and looked around at the sights before her. It smelt like pine needles and damp river air. As the car she had arrived in drew away, her hope of being rescued was gone. Her parents had taken her phone before kicking her out, leaving her stranded in this grassy, humid spot.

To her right, there was a big yellow house, looking like something out of a Victorian utopian novel, with a large red roof and grand double oak doors. There was no road, instead there was a dusty mud path towards the main house, with grassy meadow verges all the way to the brick steps towards the opening of the house. They had roses and daisies along the open windowpanes, ivy also climbing up around towards the top of the house.

The road stemmed off like the branches of a leaf, to different areas and houses, swooping tall trees towering above the beaten track. Gina took notice of all the kids, mostly younger than her, some around the same age, who were wearing different coloured t-shirts: duller reds, bright oranges, grassy coloured greens, and duller royal navy blues. They all had different names in block letters, and Gina shuddered inwardly. Great, she thought, they’d shipped her off to a knock-off American Hogwarts.

~ Amy was sat on the bus, having been collected half an hour ago, and the first thing she’d realised was how unconventional this maths camp was. She had taken the only free seat in between a girl dressed in a jet black leather jacket who was carving something onto the side of the bus, and another girl, quieter, who seemed more like someone who would take this type of camp trip. She had big rounded spectacles and had woven her hair in plaits, chewing on the right one as if it were an instinct.

Amy nudged the girl excitedly “So, what do you think it’s gonna be like?”

The girl looked back at Amy with a raised eyebrow, as if she had just said something preposterous. She was only asking because this was the first annual maths camp, and she wasn’t entirely sure what the curriculum was going to be. “I’ve been there before, it’s fun, as long as you can swim”

“What?” Amy shook her head as the girl gazed out of the window, ending the conversation, “you’ve been here before?” She asked. The girl exhaustedly tilted her head back to face Amy.

“The camp has been open since the seventies, how have you not?”

Amy started to sweat “Seventies...this is the first camp opening!” She began to dig through her stuff, producing her leaflet that she had given to her dad for him to book. It showed crystal white buildings with a modern square between the buildings, the words ‘Bulletin Maths Camp’ written with a fancy cursive font. The leather jacket girl let out a loud guffaw, making Amy swivel around “What?”

“Dude, you’re on the wrong bus. This goes to The Bullpen Summer Camp.” She unzipped her jacket further so that Amy could see her dull orange shirt with a small logo that confirmed the name of the camp she’d been sent to. Amy began to hyperventilate, clutching the bus seat she was sitting on in pure fear. “Hey, you’re, uh, you’re kinda freaking out right now. It’s not that bad, your folks probably just got the name wrong. This camp normally comes up on any search first, just chill. You’ll have a good time, only a few of us carry knives.” Amy’s eyes widened, and she almost unbuckled herself so she could jump out the window. The leather-jacket-knife-wielding-maniac laughed again, before thumping Amy on the shoulder. “I’m joking. Again. It’s only me who does that, everyone else here are wimps.”

“I have to go back home. I can’t be here.”

“You signed up to the camp, you’re staying. Unless you want to break some rules and get sent home in Kevin’s tiny car.”

Amy’s heart stopped at the mere thought of breaking rules “Who’s Kevin?”

“He’s one of the camp counsellors.”

“Okay,” Amy sighed, hoping that this Kevin may understand and recognise that a mistake had been made and allow her to make her way home. She hadn’t brought her phone so that she could focus purely on the maths, but now, she wanted her phone more than ever. “Do you think I could stay with you for a bit just before I go home?”

The girl, whose curly hair Amy recognised as being almost exactly like the kind she wanted when she was little, smirked again, going back to carving her name into the side of the bus “Don’t worry, I got your back. Until you get housed, and then you’ll be your houses problem.”

Amy raised her eyebrow “Houses?”

“Yeah. There are a few.” That was the end of her sentence, and Amy didn’t want to push her. She did want to know her name, though.

“Amy. My name is Amy.” She said, extending a shaky hand for the girl to shake. Leather jacket girl glanced at her hand, not making any effort to shake it as she flicked her pocketknife up, twirling it and sticking it back in her pocket. She only nodded, so Amy put her hand back down “Rosa.”

Amy knew their conversation was coming to an end, so instead of probing Rosa for more information on their mysterious destination, she stayed silent, overhearing a conversation from a few bus seats away. There were two other boys, one by the window staring out, and another with curly brown hair that was poking up from the seats.

The window seat boy sighed, and Amy decided to look out the same window as Rosa.

Jake was about to lose his mind. This whimpering kid next to him had started in conversation with him as soon as he sat down. He luckily didn’t linger long on the yellowish bruise Jake had over his eye, instead comparing it to some girl named Eleanor, which had begun his large rant about her soft hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He knew more about this girl than he did his father.

“Oh, and she always did this adorable thing when she ate, she used to make this tiny smack with her lips…did I tell you how they’re-”

“-Soft and warm like kissing the sun, yeah, I remember that disturbing detail. Look, you’re gonna have to stop before I jump outta here myself.” Charles looked offended by that, before quickly forgiving the stranger before resuming his original upset persona, staring out the window in a sulk. A larger boy stood up from behind him with a stern gaze. He was taller than Jake and wore a grey hoodie with the hood up. He looked as if he had been sleeping, and Jake sunk back into his seat. He looked like how his dad did once he was woken up.

“Hey, he’s going through something. Try some compassion.”

Jake tried his best to back down, but he never learnt his lesson. Instead, he stood up, facing the taller boy “You try sitting next to him for an hour listening to his ex-girlfriends lips.”

The other boy went to place a hand on his shoulder, but Jake flinched away, immediately going into fight-or-flight mode, hitting his hand away. The taller boy scowled “Hey, don’t hit me, man, I’ll hit back”. To prove his point, he shoved Jake lightly. Jake slapped his hand more, going to swing at the boy. Luckily, he was flung back in his seat, tumbling over so he was facing the back of the bus. The bus had stopped, and they had arrived at their destination.

Jake was still staring at the back of the bus. He had made eye contact with a girl, around his age, who looked just as unhappy to be there as he was. She was staring at him, of course, she was, he had just began to start a fight on his first hour of being at this dumb camp. She had long black hair that waved at the bottom, with brown eyes and tan skin. He stared straight at her, and she stared back. He broke eye contact and sat back down, watching the beginning of the bus get off and look around the site.

He collected his bag, spotting the girl he’d seen taking her suitcase from near his. Jake shuffled towards her, smiling in his half-quirk smile. She spotted him before looking back down to her suitcase, looking around for someone. “Hey, I’m Jake.” He said, and the girl was about to respond before the other girl came and found her.

“and she doesn’t care. Bye.” She said, so Jake walked away. His best bet was to find the crying kid (Charles, his name was. He’d remember that and be kind to him) and stick by his side to avoid being totally alone through this stupid camp experience.

He found the kid, still moping around the place, and patted him on the shoulder “Hey. I’m sorry for snapping at you, I just really don’t wanna be here.” He admitted, and the boy looked up to him, and then to where his hand rested on his shoulder.

“That’s okay. I’m here because Eleanor broke up with me because I don’t take impulse risks. I think this will make her take me back and make me look more masculine than I actually am.” Charles unloaded onto Jake, whose mouth suddenly dropped, speechless. He’d never met someone so open before.

“Oh…well, I’m Jake, by the way.”

“Charles.” He raised his hand up in a short wave, and Jake was about to continue his conversation when a man walked up to the bus, looking around at everyone, new and old. He was average height, with a bald head and a neutral face.

“Attention Campers!” His voice boomed, and everyone shushed. Jake rolled his eyes, sighing, “Welcome to The Bullpen! I am Raymond, you can call me Ray. I am the head counsellor here; I overlook everything you do. I decide who is sent home for bad behaviour, and who gets extra privileges. At the Bullpen, we have different houses, you don’t get to choose your roommates, that’s down to us.”

Jake whispered to Charles “He sounds like a drill Sargent.”

Ray continued “Every house has a separate counsellor, there are 6 kids to a bunk and 49 of you with us this year. This means one group of you will be sleeping in the bigger room we have here. We normally house 50 kids here, and we have 8 houses. I will now pass over to Kevin who will explain.”

Kevin stepped forward; he had a beard and wore the same kind of outfits as Ray; everyday wear suits which didn’t seem to fit the vibe of this camp at all, but nevertheless, Kevin seemed a bit easier to read than Ray was. “Afternoon,” He greeted “As Ray was saying, there are 8 houses, these people will be your team for any activities, they will be your family. The houses all have different shirt colours, they have already been picked out for you and paid for by your parents or guardians. People who have been here before will stay in the same team, the teams are sorted by age.”

Charles’ hand had made his way to Jakes shoulder, and Jake found himself trying not to flinch or tell him to stop. Charles had already admitted on the bus that he found touch comforting, and if this was what it took to make friends here, he would have to allow him. “Looks like we’ll probably be put together, then.”

“Here’s hoping.”

“The team names are up to you to decide, they have to be appropriate, of course, but the colours are what you will go by for now until you have decided. The colours are as follows: Red, Pink, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Purple and White. I’ll pass you over to Norm, who will call out your names. When you hear your name, step forward and find your group.” He instructed, as another man, slightly larger with a Frankenstein haircut.

Norm smiled and waved as he read names from a clipboard “King, Warren, Reid, Flowers, Bright and Prentiss, you’re Red Team. Take your shirts, and your counsellor Jason will take you to Rose House. Okay, Orange Team, Peralta, Santiago, Boyle, Diaz, Jeffords and Linetti, take your shirts and your counsellor Ray will take you to Sandy House.”

The list continued as Jake stared at the people who were standing out from the crowd—the wide-eyed girl, her friend in the leather jacket, the boy who he’d tried to fight on the bus, Charles the emotional risk-taking non-risk-taker, and a new girl, who hadn’t been on the bus with them, dressed in fancy clothes and looking more miserable than he did.

These were the people he was supposed to be getting along with and spending most of his time with for the next nine weeks? Oh boy, was he in for it.

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A Walk in the Park

Summary: Yan’s on the case to find her adopted brothers, problem is she can’t stop running into problems to do that job. It doesn’t help that she’s easily distracted.

A.N: It’s Yan’s birthday, and I wrote this for that. I’m excited for Bim’s birthday, his is next month.

    Yan frowned as she canvased the neighborhood. She’d been watching the area for a while. The South End Park was a park she and her adopted brothers had frequented growing up, and about five years ago it started being under the protection of the heroes.

    So, Yan just had to find the hero and shake them down for information. The correlation was obvious, two of her brothers go missing, one of them starts working with the heroes for some crazy reason, and the park they used to go to all the time starts being under Hero protection.

    Problem #1: Arthur wasn’t the type of guy to protect a city park. Especially not continuously. That was more Kay’s style. But she was willing to take any lead they could get.

    Problem #2: If she stepped on Bim’s toes they’d get into a fight again.

    All Yan had to do was get a good look at the hero protecting the park and she’d know if it was Kay or not, and she could drag him back home. But this hero in particular always seemed to know she was coming.

    “Ma’am,” two police officers came towards her, and Yan rolled her eyes.    “Ugghhhhh!” Yan groaned. “What? I’m busy?”

    “You can’t walk around town at night holding a sword,” he told her. “Do you have a license for that?”

    “Uh, my boss is Darkiplier, I don’t think I need a license,” Yan boasted. Dark had trained the idea of calling him “Dad” in public years ago.

    The cops looked a bit nervous, “Maybe if this was twenty years ago, but we’re going to need that license.”

    Rolling her eyes, she charged at the cops, just wanting to scare them off more than anything so she could keep searching the area.

    They pulled out their guns, Yan already raising her sword.

    But she was cut short when she felt something like an aura rip through her, and she felt weird, like she’d been pushed back without being touched. Then a net was fired out from the bushes, hitting her arms and gluing her to the closest tree.

    “Oi! Nutcase Nelly, yah should’a stayed at the warehouses,” Chase warned her, his blaster in hand as he stood in full costume, J.J placing a pocket watch into his pocket as he came to stand next to him.

    “Hey!” she spat at first, and she saw two of the Septics standing behind the cops, Bro Average and J.J. She smiled at Bro Average, and screamed in delight.

    Bro Average looked at J.J uneasily. “Uhh,” he tried to look serious and threatening again. “Why are ye here an’ what does Dark want?”

    “Nothing,” Yan smiled at Bro Average, who started to move behind J.J, a nervous expression even coming through his mask.

    “Right,” Bro Average looked at the people around him.

    Her katana lowered, but the police and heroes didn’t quite let their guard down. J.J was looking around the area, his hand going into the pocket he’d put his pocket watch.

    “Hey, do you have a girlfriend?” Yan smiled at Chase.

    “No?” Chase answered hesitantly, wondering if he should be answering no anyways, or if he should just run because this villian already had a crazy-eyed look about her.

    “Oh, good,” she smiled, taking a step closer. “My name’s Yan.”

    “Ye just gave me yer name like that,” Chase hesitated, warning bells going off, “are ye allowed ta do that?”

    “I’m allowed to do whatever I want,” Yan took another step forward. “So what’s your name?”

    “I’m not tellin’ ye,” Chase tightened his grip on his blaster, J.J’s watch came out. “Yah work fer Dark.”

    She let out a manic giggle, “Aww, he’s a good guy, you’ll like him. I promise.”

    “How about you just come in quietly fer questions, we’ve got a series ‘a murders ta question you about,” Chase ordered. Suddenly something past through the group and J.J was shoving Bro Average to the side.

    J.J made one sign at Chase: “Run” moving his fists up and down quickly. Chase didn’t need a second opinion and he ran in the opposite direction at full speed.

    “Hey!” Yan shouted at him, Chase glancing back at the park to see that Yan was suddenly gone and J.J looked confused and alarmed. He was racing to catch up with Chase, watch still in hand.

    “Ye got that vibe too right?” Chase asked. “What’d she do?”

    “Flirt,” Chase stuck out his thumb and index finger and hit it to the palm of his other hand. “Did not like that you were divorced.”

    “Great,” Chase cursed, almost bowling into a trash can while trying to watch J.J’s hands, the other hero was trying to hold his hands up to make it easier for his friend. “That’ll teach me ta mess wit’ villains.”

    Back at the park, Yan was hanging up from a couple of the trees, ribbons of what looked and felt like spider silk gluing her to the trees, and making sure her short skirt stayed down.

    “Ugh!” Yan shouted in frustration, trying to get herself untangled. “Whoever did this, I hate you!”

    Color began to drain from the area as Dark stepped through to look up at her, a single eyebrow raised. “Well?”

    “Don’t just stand there and laugh, get me down,” Yan huffed. “He’s getting away.”

    “If you calm down, I’ll help,” Dark promised.

    “No!” Yan lamented. “It’s my birthday and I want him.”

    “I already got you your present. Besides, you had a boyfriend,” Dark reminded, studying the strings around them. “What ever happened to him?”

    “Jake was a cheating shark,” Yan spat, Dark just looking at her unimpressed. Then she looked around, “When did you get weird spider powers anyways?”

    “Oh this isn’t me, but I’m more than happy to take advantage of it,” Dark admittedly calmly and then reached out to pluck a part of it and it all unraveled, puffing into a purple-grey smoke. Yan was dropped to the ground.

    “Who’d you send to babysit me?” Yan huffed. “I’m eighteen, I can date whoever I want.”

    “Average is almost ten years older than you,” Dark warned sternly. “Besides, you’re not dating a hero.”

    “Yeah, well you’re old as dirt and you’re dating Dad,” Yan pouted.

    “You are choosing to be difficult,” Dark warned, his aura fanning out to check the area for any heroes that were eavesdropping on them, opening up a portal.

    “Why?” Anti buzzed in behind Dark, taking advantage of the open portal. “Hey, kiddo.”

    “Hey, Anti,” Yan smiled. “Tell the old man here I can date who I want.”

    “In the interest of bein’ difficult, I say go fer it,” Anti smiled.

    “It’s for Average,” Dark growled.

    Anti was quiet for a bit, clearly thinking about it. “I can kill ‘im,” Anti looked at Dark.

    “I’ll take care of it if he becomes a problem,” Dark promised.

    Yan’s right eye twitched, a behavior she’d long-since picked up from Dark. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

    “Hey, yer one ‘a the fun ones, an’ while I like botherin’ the Septics, I like ye more,” Anti admitted. “Sides he’s got baggage and ye don’t want that.”

    Yan gasped, “I can save him.”

    “Stop while you’re ahead, go bother Wil,” Dark dismissed.

    “Nah yer more fun,” Anti smiled. “Yer reactions are gettin’ boring when I stab ye. Ye’d get all furious and ye’d stab me back when I used to stab you.”

    “Then maybe you should leave me alone,” Dark warned, more than a bit of a bite to his tone.

    “Never,” Anti glitched out his effects, and summoned a slender, thin box. “Happy birthday, kiddo, tell the others I said hi.”

    Anti underhanded the gift to Yan, then he turned to Dark, “I’m takin’ Junior out on the town fer his birthday. It’s not permission, it’s a warnin’. He’s mine that night.”

    “He’s my son,” Dark reminded dryly.

    “Yeah, but yah wouldn’t have him if not fer me,” Anti grinned.

    “Ooooh,” Yan took out a baton and pressed a button that made it buzz with electricity. “I love it!”

    Dark groaned, “You had to give her that, she has enough weapons, an entire closet of them.”

    “Thank you, Anti,” Yan ran over to him to give him a hug, the chaos demon glitching a little at the rather unexpected contact. “You’re the best.”

    Anti rebounded quickly for it, grinning at Dark, “See, yer kids like me more than ye.”

    “You’re lucky I’m desensitized to everything you and Wilford do,” Dark sighed. “If you’re done talking to me, I need to track down Anxiety.” The greyscale entity waved his hands to the trees.

    “I think Remus was actually kinda funny,” Anti smiled, assuming Dark’s problem was with what had happened weeks ago instead of the spider thread. Yan let go of Anti. “Kid could stand ta get some validation every once in a while.”

    Dark’s aura grabbed onto Anti, the glitch demon just smiled at him, “No one gets to cat call him, and if I hear about it again he’s a dead man.”

    “I found another button,” Anti smiled triumphantly. “Remind me ta start settin’ Bim up with the guy. They seem like they’d get on like a house on fire.”

    Dark angrily threw Anti through the portal, smiling when Anti didn’t go through the portal so easily. “Come on, Yan, you can try to look for Average a different time.”

    “Fine,” Yan huffed out and followed Dark into the portal. Color returning to the park, after the portal into the Void closed. The park going silent except for crickets, and the nearby chittering of dozens of squirrels that had been disturbed from their slumber by Dark’s appearance.

[startofamoment]

that’s rough, buddy

Jake’s always had a complicated relationship with fire.

(A character study of sorts on firebender!Jake.)

Hi everyone! Welcome to this incredibly self-indulgent thing, in which I mash together my primary obsession of years past with my current reason for living. (Nevermind that they don’t intuitively mesh well. We’re just going to say that Brooklyn is kind of like Korra-era’s Republic City and call it good.)

An anon had asked me ages ago whether I had any headcanons on what type of bender each person in the squad would be. I hadn’t felt inspired to write an actual fic for this AU until the super talented @microfroggo took on my silly pitch to draw our boi Jake as a firebender a couple months ago. Because tumblr is tumblr, I’ll include the relevant links in a separate reblog down below – def check out Mikko’s work if you’re at all interested in getting something done!

PS: I should probably mention that I don’t do very much to explain the Avatar-related side of this AU. If you’re unfamiliar with the animated series, I’d recommend at least skimming through the wiki page so you get a basic understanding on the different forms of bending. (And honestly, if you have time, GO BINGE-WATCH A:TLA! I promise, you won’t regret it.)

PPS: FMA:B fans out there will note that I’ve included a little nod to everyone’s favorite Flame Alchemist… Because, yes, this is definitely just a gratuitous homage to all my hyperfixations. I’m sorry. (Not sorry.)

“That’s it. Use your breath, son.”

Jake inhales deeply then exhales, focusing intently on the small flame between his hands. He’s supposed to be making sure that it doesn’t blaze wildly or just die in the wind.

He’s done this particular exercise a bajillion times now. (Or maybe less – Mrs. Stratton did mention that he needed to work on his math.) Still, his dad says it’s very important to practice his control. Jake supposes that’s fair, given that it’s only been a few months since he nearly singed Nana’s eyebrows off while blowing out the candles on his blue birthday cake.

What he really wants to do is skip forward to launching fire missiles with his fists or propelling himself through the sky on flaming jets, exactly like he’s seen it done in the movies. But his dad says he’s got a long way to go before he can attempt anything more than a basic fire stream, so Jake just nods and does what he’s told. He’ll become a firebending master eventually.

Truthfully, though, Jake thinks that maybe if his dad weren’t working or golfing so much, maybe they’d get to train more often, and maybe he’d be able to progress to something other than breathing.

The funny thing is: when his dad officially walks out of his life, despite all of their training, Jake’s not sure he even still knows how to breathe.

--- 

 His mom’s an airbender, and Nana’s an airbender, and Gina and her mom are airbenders. So Jake wants to be an airbender. (If only it worked that way.) 

He’s unfortunately stuck as a firebender, with no one to teach him how to actually firebend, so he has to resort to copying the Ninja Lion-Turtles on TV. Raphael’s naturally his favorite, although he can’t make heads or tails of how to replicate his fire daggers.

He almost never experiments with bending at home, of course. He’s not the brightest, but he at least knows how dangerous it would be for one of his attempts to go wrong without anyone around to help extinguish the fire. On the rare instance that his mom isn’t at her multiple jobs, she lets him practice while she paints ceramics or cooks. She’s only had to run in with a bucket of water once, but, well– once is enough.

And yes, he could technically be enrolled in lessons… but that would cost money, and Jake would really rather have a full belly than a proper fighting stance. His mom is overworked and overwhelmed as it is; he couldn’t possibly ask her to look into registration fees at the local dojo.

 ---

 Occasionally, when he’s alone in the park with Gina, he’ll run through the few basic exercises he remembers then attempt some fire-jabs and kicks. He’s not supposed to, but he’s fairly certain that nothing will catch on fire in an open field and that, on the off chance that anything does, a patrol officer will handle it. Gina doesn’t mind at all and usually just uses the time to meditate. 

It’s on one particular trip to the park that it happens. He’s not even sure how he does it, just knows that he goes from buzzing from the inside out to shooting electricity from his fingertips. He lifts his hand up in wonder, trying to get a closer glimpse at the little iridescent bolts. He’s so enraptured that he doesn’t realize where his other hand is pointing. He doesn’t see the string of lightning hurtling straight toward his best friend.

Everything turns out fine in the end. The blast wasn’t strong enough – he isn’t strong enough –  to fatally wound her, but Gina still gets brought straight to the hospital.

“I’m okay, Jake,” she insists with a huff, waving off his umpteenth apology. “Besides, I swear I met Raava in the two seconds your lightning hit me. Did you know she’d be ethnically ambiguous? The scrolls have not done her justice at all.”

Jake chuckles, accepting the jello cup she offers him.

For the most part, he’s glad that she’s fine and that she apparently met the Avatar Spirit and that she still likes him enough to give him her dessert.

Deep down, he feels terrible. He’s never going to lightningbend again.

 ---

 Jake had assumed that he’d find his path in college and know what to do by the end of it. Instead, he’s a new graduate back in his childhood bedroom, freeloading off of his mom for as long as she’ll let him. He’s really just coasting through life and going through the motions, aimless.

Eventually, his clarity comes – not in a spark, but in a short-circuit fire erupting just a few houses away. 

He’s woken up by loud sirens blaring and screams echoing in the night. He acts on instinct, running out before remembering to put shoes on and running into the blaze without a second thought. The ground should be blistering hot beneath his feet, but he doesn’t notice at all. He keeps going until he’s parting walls of flames, ushering the family of nonbenders to safety.

In the thick smoke rising from the still-burning house, he sees destruction. In his hands, for the first time in a long time, he sees something good.

He thinks that maybe he should join the local fire department, that he should use his bending to help control and extinguish rogue flames. He thinks about it, and then thinks about it some more, and then figures that he probably wouldn’t enjoy the constant reminder of how devastating fire can be.

Months after mulling over it, he finally comes to a decision: “Mom? I think I’m going to sign up for the police academy.”

“That sounds like a great idea, honey,” she replies, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m so proud of you.”

 ---

 It’s rough because all the other trainees have been honing their bending for years, whereas he’d been spending most of his life trying to restrain the inferno inside him.

Most of them laugh; one of them actually slams him against the lockers and calls him a “sorry excuse for a firebender.”

“Don’t mind him,” a voice says. “He wouldn’t know a good bender if the Avatar kicked him straight into the Spirit World.”

Jake looks up from where he’s slumped on the ground and recognizes her as the fierce metalbender no one’s been able to talk to all week. There’s a distinctive scar through her right eyebrow, and he wonders whether it came from a freak accident. (He also wonders how she got into the men’s locker room, or how she knew he needed somebody, anybody.)  

“I’m Rosa,” she says, reaching out a hand to help him up. “Wanna spar?”

 ---

 He gets better. 

He trains with any firebender that’ll take him on, watches instructional videos, goes on Yahoo! Answers… Soon enough, he’s wielding whirling discs and shooting comets of fire like the best of them.

The only thing he doesn’t even consider attempting is lightningbending. At least not until he’s in his thirties, watching wide-eyed as his new captain generates a cracking stream of electricity out of nothing. It’s just strong enough to stun the escaped convict they’ve been tailing, no real damage done.

“You want me to teach you how to lightningbend,” Holt says without preamble the next day.

Jake opens and closes his mouth dumbly, feeling thoroughly seen and not quite knowing how to respond.

“Before anything, Peralta, I should let you know that not everyone is able to manipulate lightning. It takes a different level of power and a certain kind of–”

“I can do it,” he interrupts quickly. “I’ve done it before, sir, when I was a kid. I just don’t know how to control it.”

Holt regards him for a long moment before nodding. “We start at seven tomorrow.”

 ---

 Jake’s always thought that fire meant power and aggression and pursuit. Instead, it’s weakness when he’s face to face with particularly-skilled waterbenders – those who can render him useless, temporarily buried within thick sheets of ice; or who send downpours of unrelenting, freezing rain over his head.

(He thinks, as Amy smirks and bends a rapid torrent of water toward his sternum, flinging him halfway across the training room, that he’s weak for her in a different way.)

 ---

 It had never occurred to him to measure the intensity of his flame. He’s always figured that the fire he produced was hot enough – hot enough to take down perps, hot enough to never turn the heat on in his apartment, hot enough to discreetly keep Amy’s coffee warm throughout the morning. (If she’s noticed him repeatedly finding excuses to pick up her mug, she hasn’t said anything about it.)

Charles, of all people, makes him check. “Hey Jake, do you know if you can keep a flame constant at say 350 to 425 degrees Fahrenheit?”

Jake turns away from his computer screen to look at him, his brow scrunched together in confusion. “Why?”

“I was thinking of doing an open-fire roast for the precinct’s Turkey Day dinner this year.”

“Boyle, you want me to firebend our main course?”

“It would make me so happy.”

Noting zero sarcasm in his response, Jake shrugs then swivels his chair back to his desk. “Okay, yeah– But ask Gina if we can book the training room for this. I’m not firebending a turkey in my apartment.”

 ---

 It turns out that being a walking furnace really does have its perks. Or at least that’s what Jake realizes as Amy burrows into his side, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck.

“You’re warm,” she mumbles sleepily, exhausted from the day’s departmentally-mandated sparring practice and the just-as-steamy bedroom activities that followed.

(It had to have been well over their thousandth time facing off in the precinct gym, both of them familiar enough with each other that they could anticipate nearly all of their attacks… Except he really could never have foreseen Amy’s final move: completely disarming him, not with a tidal wave but with a kiss.)

“Warm?” he scoffs teasingly. “I think you mean hot.”

She groans loudly but cuddles closer to him still, her smile burning against his bare skin.

 ---

 He gets thrown for a loop when their major serial murder case boils down to a ring of firebenders, all stuck in their old way of thinking.  

“You’re not them,” Amy reminds him, running a gentle but steady hand down his back.

I could be, he thinks. Because even now – especially now – in the calm silence of the evidence lockup, he can feel the sheer power thrumming beneath his skin. All it would take is for him to get too angry or too drunk or too anything, and the worst could happen.

“You’re a good person, Jake,” she says, her tone more firm than before. “You always have been.”

He swallows thickly and nods, letting her pull him into a long embrace.

 ---

 If there’s one thing he’s wished he could do with his firebending, it’s healing. He’s watched Amy do it countless of times, stepping up as the precinct’s unofficial healer whenever necessary. He’s felt the soothing power of it himself – cool water coaxing at his skin, repairing everything from a black eye to a bloody nose to a stiff back.

Right now, watching the love of his life start to bleed out before his eyes… He’s never felt more helpless.

“Damn it!” Jake yells, pushing his jacket into her side, willing the bleeding to stop. With the shooter knocked out and cuffed in the corner, he’s finally free to assess the damage. “When is the ambulance going to get there? You need a healer, now! ”

“J-Jake,” she chokes out, bringing a shaky hand to his clenched fist. “F-f-fire c-can cauter-r-rize.”

He lets out a sharp gasp, his eyes wide with shock. “You want me to burn you?!” He shakes his head vehemently. “No, Amy, no. It’s too dangerous. I could kill you–”

“Y-you won’t,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. The open trust in her eyes makes him want to sob. “Jake.”

“Okay,” he says, wiping hot tears with the back of his hand. “Okay.”

 ---

 “Can you do the twinkling lights again, Uncle Jake? Pleeaaase?”

It’s bedtime at the Jeffords household, and two little girls are decidedly not asleep.

“Please, Uncle Jake? Aunt Amy? One last story and the twinkling lights?”

He meets Amy’s gaze and raises an eyebrow. She shrugs, her lips curling into a smile. “I suppose just one short book wouldn’t hurt. Right, Jake?”

He hums, feigning thought while glancing at the clock. “We might have just enough time before your daddy and mommy get back.”

Cagney and Lacey cheer as he switches off their bedside lamp, and then watch with glee as he fills their room with dozens of tiny, carefully-placed flames. He makes them flicker with a precise movement of his hands, makes them float like fireflies in the night sky.

The twins fall asleep soon enough, lulled by the soft tone of Amy’s voice and the amber glow of the lights.

Sometimes Jake forgets how enchanting fire can be.

 ---

 Yet again, he’s at the mercy of a waterbender.

This time, it’s his daughter, only two-weeks-old and somehow already able to cause ripples and waves as she moves a tiny hand through the warm water in her tub. She lacks any real control, which is perhaps the biggest problem.

“Amy!” he calls out, equal parts awed and panicked. There’s nothing much he can do right now, apart from maybe distracting the baby with a dancing flame. (Not that he’d allow her anywhere near fire, at least not yet.)  

 ---

 “I’m going to be a waterbender like Mommy,” his son declares one day, with all the confidence of a child that’s crossed the jungle gym for the first time. He’s a little older than most kids are when they start bending, but it’s too early to be concerned about it; he could just be a late bloomer. (Granted, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t start bending at all. They’d love him just the same if he were a nonbender.)

“How about firebending?” Jake jests lightly, feeling a bit wounded but also kind of relieved.

“Hmm, maybe,” Max shrugs, before running off again to play.  

Of course, of course, when the boy eventually does start bending, it’s a scorching stream of fire that bursts from his small outstretched fist. He’d been mimicking the probenders they’d seen on TV the day before, copying their fighting stances down to a tee.

Jake meets his eyes and sees the same mixture of fear and amazement he’s come to know so well. He quickly takes control of the wild flame, tamping it down to a low ember before gently passing it back to his son.

Max nurses the glowing warmth between his two palms, staring at it in fierce concentration. It flares too-strong for a moment, then recedes but doesn’t fizzle out.

Jake nods at him and smiles, pride blossoming in his chest.

“That’s it. Use your breath, son.”

[zefurrwrites-blog]

Commission - In The Stables

Farms work you as hard as a horse http://www.furaffinity.net/view/25483186/

-----

“Why would I want to go to some dingy old farm” Jake groaned from his seat in the living room. The television in front of flashing a variety of colors as he played his game. His father sighed. “I’m tired of you and your brother doing nothing all day, running up bills, and not contributing to anything” his Dad lamented. His kids weren’t bad but just painfully lazy and spoiled. “Neither of you two even have a job. That was the deal this summer, remember? You’re 21 for Christ’s sake.” his father went on. Jake purposefully didn’t meet his father’s eyes. He knew the deal, he just hadn’t gotten around to holding up his end of it. Video games take A LOT of time after all. “Well you see I was going but…” Jake began. “But what? Lemme guess” his father said picking up a game case. “Screaming Weasels 2: The Weaseling?” he questioned. “It has twice the weasels than the first, though with even more content and more wea-” “Jake!” his father shouted making him shrink back. He ran and exasperated hand over his face. “Alright, I tried giving you two a chance, but it seems like you don’t even know the value of hard work” he said walking away with his phone. “Starting next week, you’ll be a farm hand on Barnaby Ranch” “But dad!” “No buts Jake. I gave you more than one chance. This is final.” Jake grumbled something unheard about stupid farms and dads. “Love you too kiddo.” *** “So he sent you to live on a farm? And I thought my parents were brutal” Jake’s friend, Samuel, said through his phone. They were video chatting as Jake rode a bus to a bus station. “I can’t believe Alex gets to live up at our grandparents while I have to rot on a farm” Jake complained. “Well Alex is a bit younger. And look on the bright side, no parents!” Samuel exclaimed. He waved his hands around for emphasis making Jake laugh. “Yeah whatever, yay. But that still doesn’t mean I like giving up my summer just to be some old guy’s errand boy” Jake shot back. “Do you know anything about this place?” Samuel asked. Jake shook his head. “My dad said he saw some ad online about it. Supposed to teach young boys ‘responsibility’ the value of hard work. An ‘unforgettable, transformative experience’” Jake said monotonously. Samuel snickered. “Yeah sucks to be you right about now then” “Such a concerned friend you are” Jake replied. The two friends laughing for another moment before Jake’s connection flickered. “Hey, Samuel, you there?” Jake asked tapping his phone. Samuel’s voice came in and out as the static increased. Before long, the connection died. Jake sighed and sat back in his seat. “Stupid piece of junk” he muttered. *** When the bus pulled into the station, every piled out of it. Most went their separate ways and only a few boys stayed behind. They were all around Jake’s age and in the same area. “Must be more unlucky souls” Jake thought. After a while of waiting around, a maroon van showed up to the bus station. The man who stepped out was quite built with slightly tanned skin. Jake figured it from working out in the sun all day. He had blonde hair and green eyes and wore a simple tank top and denim shorts with flop flops. “Afternoon all, my name is Sammy. I’m a foreman down at Barnaby’s Ranch. Are y’all ready to go?” he asked the small group of boys cheerfully. There was a mixture of less than enthusiastic responses. “Aw come on, don’t be like that. I promise you working on our farm won’t be the end of the world. It can actually be fun” he said with chipper enthusiasm. The boys piled out of the station, loaded up their belongings in the van, and headed their way to the ranch. Jake took a look out the window as the van drove by. Idle conversation between the other boys went on but he didn’t feel much like contributing. The landscape in the country was more entertaining to look at anyway. Trees lined the forests with summer crops springing up on farmland. An assortment of livestock could also be seen grazing the fields. Cows grazing by the roads as horses galloped up and down the pasture. The trip didn’t take long and soon the van parked in front of an old looking farm house. Sammy got out of the driver’s seat followed by the other boys piling out. Jake grabbed his stuff from the trunk and followed the others up to the porch. The door opened before Sammy could use his key. Standing there was an older man probably in his late forties smoking a pipe. He stroked his white beard in thought as he looked over the newcomers. Then a warm smile spread across his face and he laughed making his belly shake. “Uncle Barnaby, meet the new recruits. Recruits, this is Farmer Barnaby, he owns the joint” Sammy said. “Call me Uncle!” he said. “We’ll put some hair on you boys’ chests yet!” he joked. The other boys looked at him in slight confused as Jake took a better look at the man. He has thinning hair on his head with a pot belly. Only thing visibly covering him was a pair of denim overalls. His massive bare feet clomped as he turned and headed back in the farmhouse. “Well don’t stand there all day, come in come in.” The other boys filed in taking a look around the big home. Sammy eased his way to the front of the pack. “Okay so I’ll show you all to your rooms and tomorrow we can get down to work” he told them gesturing upstairs. The rest of the night was spent unpacking, getting to know the other boys a bit, unsuccessfully trying to call Samuel, and eating. The next day the group, led by Sammy, were showed what their tasks would be for the day. Jake was tasked with tending to the horses. All were accounted for except for the empty stall behind him. The sun was out in full force that day too making him wipe his brow of sweat. Halfway into his work he felt his phone vibrate. Jake reached into his pocket and pulled it out to see Sam’s face on the incoming call. Excited he dropped the rake in his band pulls the ‘accept’ button. Jake was met with his friend’s face full of worry. “Um, hi?” Jake said nonchalantly. “Dude where have you been I’ve been trying to call you forever!” Samuel answered. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m on a farm. There’s like, no service out here usually” Jake answered dryly. “Right” Samuel said realizing. Then he face lit back up in horror. “Shit, that’s right. Jake you have to get out of there!” Jake sighed. “What are you going on about?” Samuel turns his phone to his laptop screen showing multiple tabs on news articles. All talking about boys his age who’ve gone missing in the area. “What’s this?” Jake questioned. “That place you’re at is like a hotspot for weirdness. All these guys went missing around the same time, summer. And guess where exactly?” Samuel asked. Jake’s stomach dropped. “The ranch?” Samuel nodded. “But that could just be a coincidence dude” Jake argued. The connection started to act up again and before long it went dead again. “Son of a bitch” Jakes said hitting his phone. “Hard at work?” came a familiar voice from behind him. Jake jumped in surprise and turned around to see Sammy’s frame at the front of the stables. “Oh, sorry just took a little break” Jake replied. Sammy looked around the stable and frowned. “Hm, doesn’t seem like you’ve made much progress with you work.” “Yeah well, I get tired sometimes y’know?” he said innocently. Sammy grinned and nodded. “Oh I definitely know your type. No matter, we know how to deal with y’all here” Sammy said unzipping his pants. “Hey whoa man, what do you think you’re doing?” Jake said backing up. “Helping you get invigorated is all” Sammy said. Right before his eyes Sammy’s features changed. His nose and mouth pushing out as his nostrils grew large. His toes clumped together and grew out running his flip flops. Dense, brown fur rapidly grew all over him. His ears migrated to the top of his head as a tails grew up from his shorts as did his much larger length through his zipper. “Wh-what the hell are you?” Jake said shaking in fear. Sammy chuckled but it came out more like a whinny. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m a workin horse” he said laughing at his own joke. “This…can’t be possible” Jake said with wide eyes in shock. He didn’t have time to contemplate it however as a torrent of liquid poured down on him. It covered him head to toe and was stale and musky. Jake wrinkled his nose in disgust. He looked over to Sammy who held a dripping dick in his hands. “That oughtta do it” he said breathing heavy. Confusion gave way to anger as Jake realized what he was covered in. “Do what!? You just came on me you freak!!” he shouted. He took a step towards Sammy but buckled as he legs gave out. He fell to his knees clutching his stomach. “Awww fuck” he groaned in arousal as his pants tented. The cum covering him just moments earlier having disappeared from his skin. “I had a nice load saved up so you should turn fairly quickly” Sammy said learning able to stable wall. Jake barely heard the voice however as arousal swam through his mind, clouding it. It started in his hands. They tingled in a good way as soon his fingers widened. His nails also grew darker as keratin spread over them. Jake’s feet undergoing the same process in his shoes. As the heel pushed out his hoofed toes pushed through his shoes destroying them. Bone could be heard cracking as his hell shifted forcing his stance into a digititrade one. It also gave him the option of staying on all fours if he chose. Blond fur sneaked its way up from his thigh as darker brown fur took over his ankles. The blonde fur continued spreading over his body burying the skin beneath a dense pelt. Jake felt his ass rumble and turned out to see a nub growing out from his tailbone, his ass moving up in the process. As the nub continued to grow, his ass inflated as well and soon his puckered anus was visible. His erection was already painful being trapped within the confines on jeans and was only made worse as Jake’s groin mutated. The skin on his shaft mottled as a patch of skin grew around the base forming a sheath. As it grew in length, the mushroom head flattened to a medial tip. Jake’s moans were starting to sound reminiscent to whinnies as he fell deeper into the cloud of lust filling his mind. His chest barreled out and his neck grew slightly. His rounded ears pointed and migrated to the top of his head where he regained his hearing shortly after. As the blonde fur reached his face, it grew out. His nostril enlarging as he flared his nostrils. His mouth joining it forming into an equine muzzle. His shorts chose that moment to forcefully free his endowed length from its prison. Standing at full length it was at least a foot and half long now. Jake couldn’t hold back any longer and orgasmed. His usual small volleys paling in comparison to the stream of thick, yellowed cum shooting from his equine dick now. He let out an impressive whinny feeling himself come down from the coitus. A hoofed hand rested itself on his shoulder and Jaked looked up with glossy eyes into Sammy’s. “Now, let’s get back to work shall we?” END

--------- If you like my work consider buying me a ko-fi http://www.ko-fi.com/zefurr   FA: http://furaffinity.net/user/zefurr & http://furaffinity.net/user/zephyr10101

[insideabunker]

The Games: Chapter 12

The dream was the same as always, darkness and the sound of glass shattering followed by silence and the terrible sting of the cold night air.  The wind bit at her nose and cheeks and something pressed down on her shoulder, crushing her tiny body with its weight.

Lexa woke with a start, her senses slowly returning as she peered around the dark space.  The shades were down, but sunlight slipped in through the cracks, casting eerie shadows across the room and illuminating the blurry figure hovering over her.  She rubbed her eyes, her vision finally focusing on the frowning face of Raven Reyes, who knelt over the bed, clutching twin paper cups of dining hall coffee.  She placed one of the cups on the bedside table and tilted her head toward the door of the room, which she disappeared through without a word.

Lexa untangled herself from the sheets, taking great care not to wake Clarke, who remained tucked into the brunette's chest, fast asleep.  She groped in the semi-dark for her shoes, slipping them on as she grabbed the coffee and snuck out of the room. The door had barely closed behind her before Raven pounced.

"You're sleeping over now?  Is there a U-Haul parked outside somewhere?"

Lexa gripped her coffee cup a little tighter, rattled by the girl's intensity and nowhere near awake enough to handle the third degree.

"What time is it?"

"Five AM, now answer my question."

"Clarke asked me to stay."

The corners of Raven's mouth rounded downward into a scowl, her eyes narrowing in disapproval.  "Did you manage to convince Clarke to get her leg looked at?"

Lexa sipped the coffee guiltily, trying to buy enough time to come up with a good excuse.

"No."

Raven rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the answer.  "Damn it, Woods, I was counting on you!" 

"I'm sorry."  Lexa fidgeted with her coffee cup, nervously wondering why she hadn't tried harder to talk sense into Clarke.  Then again, she thought, why hadn't Raven if it was so important?

"What about you? You could have stayed and helped me instead of just disappearing."

Raven scowled.  "I did not just disappear.  I went to find our coach, who was off screaming to the IOC about that sad-ass excuse for a referee.  Kane left right after the game ended; otherwise, he would have insisted on Clarke getting examined."  She glanced at the door, lowering her voice.  "Did you at least get a look at it?"

Lexa nodded.

"And?"

"Honestly?"  The goalie shuffled in place, rubbing her neck nervously.  "I mean, I'm not a doctor," she skirted the question, swallowing the guilt that welled up as she thought about the angry, purple bruising along Clarke's thigh.  "She said that if it didn't feel better this morning, she'd have it checked out by your trainers."

Frustrated, Raven ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the roots as she clenched her jaw tightly.  Lexa watched the muscles in her cheeks flex as she ground her teeth together, her irritation evident.  After a few moments of tense silence, Lexa cleared her throat, attempting to change the subject.

"Look, I don't know Clarke that well but..."

"That's right." The statement seemed to call Raven back from whatever had been on her mind. Her attention snapped to Lexa, completely focused on the goalie's features as she stared her down.  "You don't know her that well, but I do."  She let out a sharp breath, sipping more of her coffee as she surveyed the hallways to make sure they were still alone.

"Woods, listen to me.  I've known that girl since she was seventeen.  Clarke is my best friend."  

Raven ran a  hand over her tired face, massaging the slightly purple bags that had formed under her dark eyes.  "She's more than stubborn; she's downright unreasonable.  Winning gold means everything to her. She's not going to let anything get in the way of that, even if it means risking a permanent injury."

Raven's face softened.  "Do you know why it took Clarke more than a year to rehabilitate her knee?"

Lexa shook her head, waiting for the American goalie to illuminate her.

"It took her so long because she nearly re-injured it halfway through rehab.  She was pushing too hard, and she put a micro tear in the cadaver ligament she'd received."  Raven stared at her seriously.  "Look, if you're going to be sticking around, you've got to understand how intense Clarke is.  She doesn't know when to quit.  She'll work herself into her grave if you let her."

Lexa's face fell, her guilt growing as she realized how little she'd done to convince Clarke to get her leg appropriately treated.

"So," the American goaltender stared at her Canadian counterpart skeptically. "Are you?"

Lexa looked up, confused by Raven's question.  "Am I what?"

"Are you sticking around?"

Lexa bit her lip apprehensively, unsure how much she wanted to admit to Clarke's closest friend.

"I'd like to," she paused.  "If she'll let me."

Raven bowed her head, staring at her toes thoughtfully.  "Maybe she will,"  she looked up, her expression deadly serious.  "But, if you care about her you'll help her make the right decision, especially when she refuses to make it for herself."

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?"

Clarke rolled her eyes at her father, smiling at his telltale smirk as he beamed down at her.  Warm yellow light from the afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the old rink, making Jake's face glow.

"Very funny, Dad."

"I'm just saying."  His eyes sparkle with mischief. "I remember this place being warmer when you were a kid."

He shoved his daughter with his elbow, smiling at her reverentially as he gave her the once-over.  "How ya been, Kid?"

Clarke shrugged.  "Tired."

"Of the game?"

"No," she shook her head.  "That's the one thing I never get tired of."

Clarke sighed and leaned into her father's side, burrowing herself into the old, flannel lined corduroy jacket that he was never without.  She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old spice, bay rum, and stale tobacco that always seemed to cling to him.

"Still smoking?"

"I'll quit when I'm dead."

"Not funny." She frowned, surprised to find that a lump was forming at the back of her throat.  "I miss you," Clarke barely managed to eke out as she forced back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"I miss you too, Kid."  Jake wrapped one of his strong arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter to him, gazing back at the rink as the shotgun crack of a slap shot broke the silence of the arena.

They stared down at the ice, watching as the puck sailed into the outstretched glove of a goalie.  Clarke watched at the goaltender curiously, recognizing the curly tendrils that peaked out from underneath her helmet.

"Who's the sieve?"

"I, um..."  Clarke fumbled for a way to explain Lexa's odd appearance in her dreamscape.  "Dad, what's she doing here?"

"You tell me, Kid." Jake smiled as he watched the masked figure discard the puck from her glove and crouch lower, readying herself for another shot.  "Never knew you had a thing for goalies."

Clarke felt the blood rush to her face, the blush spreading all the way across her cheeks to the tip of her ears.  "Dad!"

"What?"  He flashed a grin at her.  "You old man can't ask about your love life?"

Clarke blushed even harder, sure that by now, she had turned beet red.  "It's just," she paused thinking of all the conversations they'd never been able to have.  "I never got a chance to tell you..."

"That you're into brunettes?"

"Dad..." Clarke narrowed her eyes, imploring him to solemnity.  "Please, be serious."

Jake's face softened as he pulled her closer.  He stared down at her with a look the reflected nothing but pure, unconditional adoration.  "Kid, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I hadn't really figured it out yet."  Clarke sighed, burying herself farther into her father's side, thoroughly embarrassed.

Jake patted his daughter's shoulder reassuringly, thinking for a moment. "I always wondered why you never went through that boy-crazy phase your mother kept warning me was coming."

 "I thought I was just focused," she shrugged.  "Are you mad?"

There was a pause, and then to Clarke's surprise, a giant roar burst from Jake's lips.  "Kid..." His sides shook as deep belly laughter doubled him over, making his eyes water.  "My one dream in life was that I’d never lose you to some boy."  He wiped tears from his eyes, taking a moment to let his chuckling subside.  "I couldn't be happier."

It took a moment, but Jake finally managed regained his composure.  He winked at his daughter.  "So you like this girl?"

"I do," she nodded.

"Like, or like?"  He emphasized the last word, cocking one eyebrow.

Clarke avoided his gaze, feeling suddenly awkward.  She shuffled her feet nervously.  "I haven't known her very long.  I'm not sure yet.”

Jake's expression became wistful.  "You know," he paused, pondering something for a moment.  "I knew how I felt about your mother five seconds after I met her."  He nudged his daughter in the ribs, playfully.  "Some things, Clarke, you just know."

Clarke continued to stare at her shoes.  "You should see her play; she's so good."

"As good as you?"

Clarke's shoulders slumped, her face falling at the question.  "I'm not so sure about that these days."

"Hey..." She felt her father's fingers under her chin as he tiled her head up to look him in the eyes.  "Don't ever say that."

Clarke tried to look away, but her father held her gaze.  "I didn't teach you hockey because I loved the game.  I taught you hockey because from the moment you first put on skates I couldn't keep you off the ice.  You love to play, and you're great at it; the best."

Clarke finally looked up, acknowledging the honesty in her father's words.  She reached out a hand, squeezing her bad knee as it began to ache. "I'm not sure how long I've got left, Dad."

Jake nodded, his face solemn.  "None of us do, but you know what I always say."

"Find what you love and let it kill you."  They spoke the words at the same time, both smiling at the well-worn expression.

"Can you stay for a bit?"

Jake sighed, his eyes turning glassy.  "'Fraid not."

Clarke clenched her jaw tightly, refusing to let their last moment be a sad one.  She burrowed back into her father's side, wrapping her arms around his wiry frame as his arms encircled her one last time.

"I love you, Kid."

"I love you too, Dad."  Suddenly, the rink was dark.  The pressure of her father's strong, sturdy arms disappeared, and all Clarke could feel was a rush of cold air.  Then her eyes flickered, and she was awake, suddenly aware of a new set of arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

Lexa shifted behind her, pulling the blonde closer as she slid under the covers of the bed.  Clarke stretched a bit, turning herself so that they were facing one another.

"Hey."

"Hey," Lexa smiled apprehensively, clumsily rubbing at the back of her neck.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's ok."  Too tired to be concerned with the intimacy of the gesture, Clarke tucked herself closer into Lexa, leaning her head into the crook of the larger girl's arm.  "Where did you go?"  She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of deodorant and soap.

The goalie kissed the top of Clarke's head and ran a  hand through her disheveled locks, pushing stray blonde strands out of her face.  It was a tender gesture that, ordinarily, would have made Clarke anxious.  To the blonde's surprised, however, she found herself closing her eyes in contentment.

"That feels nice."

Lexa chuckled.  "Speaking of how things feel," she cringed, knowing that her attempt at a smooth transition had been clumsy at best. "How's the leg?"

Cautiously, Clarke began to move her ailing limb.  She stretched the leg, extending it nearly all the way before she winced at the tenderness.  "Well, I can move it at least.  She wiggled her toes, thankful to feel that she had full motion in all of them.  "No numbness or tingling in my foot."

The Canadian bit her lip, nervous to inquire any further.  "And the pain?"

Clarke attempted to bend the limb in the opposite direction, finding that it was much stiffer and more sore upon flexion.  "Well, it doesn't feel great."  She grimaced, "but, then again, it's felt worse."

"Can I take a look?"  Lexa tensed, bracing for Clarke to become defensive.  For a moment the smaller woman stiffened, but the tension in her small frame eased a second later, and Lexa felt her nod into her chest.

The brunette pushed her body upright, pulling back the covers just enough to expose Clarke's legs.  Slowly, she pushed the leg of Clarke's sweatpants up, careful not to jostle her limb as she moved.  Lexa recoiled at the sight of the angry purple bruising that seemed to have grown darker overnight.  

"Clarke," she hesitated, not wanting to upset the fierce girl tucked into her side.  "The bruising looks worse than it did last night."

Clarke nodded, surprisingly calm.  "That's normal.  She raised herself on her hands, chancing a glance at the leg.  Clarke frowned, growling in frustration as observed that the damage had not magically disappeared.  "That's just the blood losing oxygen as it raises to the surface of the injury."

"Wow," Lexa sounded genuinely impressed by her companion's savvy.  "Check you out, Dr. Griffin."

Clarke rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, right."  She collapsed back against the pillows, groaning in discouragement.

"Clarke," Lexa hesitant, afraid to push the issue any further.  "You said you'd have your trainer look at your leg if it was still bothering you today."

"I know but..."  Clarke rolled closer, settling her weight against Lexa's body.  "Can we just lay here for a while? Please?"  She cuddled up against Lexa's side, sliding a hand underneath her t-shirt and trailing her fingers along sinew and rib.

Lexa shivered at Clarke's touch, her better judgment melting away as goosebumps formed along her skin.  "Yeah, sure.  We can lie here for a little longer."

Lexa shuffled down into the covers and slipped an arm over Clarke's waist, desperately trying not to grin like a fool.  She knew she should feel guilty for giving in so easily, but something about Clarke's touch, something about the way she said "please," tore at Lexa's resolve.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Clarke shook her head.  "I'm not sure I can sleep right now."  She continued to gently stroke Lexa's side with the blades of her fingers.  "Can you talk to me for a while?  Just until I fall back asleep?"

Lexa let her hand dip below Clark's sweatshirt.  She ran a flat palm over her spine and began to rub slow circles over the tense muscles of her back.  She felt almost giddy at the way Clarke' hummed into her chest, clearly enjoying herself.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Clarke breathed contentedly, thinking for a moment.  "I was pretty awful to you last night.  Why did you take care of me?"

Lexa considered how to answer the question, ultimately deciding that honestly was her best option.  She allowed herself a moment to gather the right words, and when the moment was over, stated simply, "Because, you matter to me."

"We just met though,"  Clarke peered up at her, her fingers stilling as she stared up inquisitively.  "How..." she hesitated, trying to understand how Lexa could be so sure about something in so little time.  "I mean, why?"

Unable to articulate her answer, Lexa shrugged.  "Some things you just know, I guess."

Clarke nearly froze at the brunette's words, the sound of them ringing in her ears as she remembered her dream.  Determined that it must be a coincidence, Clarke relaxed again, burying her face back into the crook of Lexa's arm.

"Well, thank you for staying."

"Of course."  Lexa leaned in, allowing her chin to rest on the top of the blonde's head.  She closed her eyes and continued to rub soothing circles up and down Clarke's back.  "What else do you want to talk about?"

Clarke thought for a moment, contemplating her options.  "Tell me about where you grew up."

Lexa laughed.  "It was called Rat Portage until 1905."

"Dare I ask why?"  Clarke laughed softly into the worn fabric of Lexa's t-shirt.

"I'm sure you can guess.  The goalie shifted her long frame, allowing Clarke to rest more of her weight on her.

"It's small, not as small as your hometown, but small enough.  In the summer, it's full of tourists and mosquitoes.  In the winter the only things to do are hole up in a bar and drink, or play hockey."

Lexa fought a grin, giggling to herself.  "Actually, there was one other thing to do in the winter."

She pinched Clarke's side playfully and earned a finger jab in return. "Very funny," Clarke murmured.  "I suppose that means you broke lots of hearts."

Lexa scoffed.  "Hardly.  There wasn't exactly a plethora of sapphically inclined girls at Beaver Brae Secondary School."

Clarke choked on a laugh. "That wasn't the name of your high school, was it?"

"It was, indeed.  Our mascot, somewhat incredibly, was the Bronco."

"Wait," Clarke raised one eyebrow.  "Your high school was named Beaver Brae, but your mascot was a horse?"

Lexa shrugged.  "It's Canada. We try to avoid redundancy by not doubling down on beaver themed everything."

"Anyway," the brunette smirked, tracing the edge of the dimple that appeared in Clarke's cheek each time she smiled.  "There were a few curious girls at a handful of parties, but I was hardly breaking anyone's heart.  Most people didn't come out until after high school."

Clarke raised her eyebrows inquisitively.  "Was it hard being out where you grew up?"

Lexa's brow furrowed in thought, her mouth puckering to side as she considered the question.  "Maybe a little," she shrugged.  "I mean, Canadians don't care that much about gay stuff.  Mostly, Kenora was just small.  There weren't that many of us.  Not much point in being out if there isn't anyone to date."  Lexa ran the tip of her finger over the helix of Clarke's ear, eliciting a soft moan from the blonde. "People knew though.  Nobody gave me too hard a time."

Clarke continued to savor the feeling of Lexa's touch as the brunette's fingers moved from the top of her ear to the soft skin of her neck.  She closed her eyes, relishing the way it made her spine tingle.

"What about you?"

Clarke's eyelids fluttered open.  She stared at the olive-skinned girl whose fingers were now tracing the lines of her ribs. "What about me?"

"What were you like in high school?"

"Focused." Clarke rolled her eyes, thinking back to life in her tiny Minnesotan town.  "I had a boyfriend for about six months during my sophomore year, but he took too much time away from hockey.  "Plus," Clarke made a face remembering the hardships of making out when two sets of braces were involved.  "He wasn't a very good kisser, so I ended things."

Lexa tried not to laugh.  "Poor guy.  He must have been devastated."

"Perhaps, but I'm sure Brock Larson managed to move on."  

Lexa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You high school boyfriend's name was Brock?"

"Yes, it was." Clarke laughed at the memory fo her first boyfriend, a tall, skinny young man with sandy blonde hair who had been the object of every sixteen-year-old girl's affection.  "My friends thought I was crazy to break up with him," she smiled.  "He made boy's varsity as a freshman and was related to Dave Christian on his mother's side."

"Dave who?"  Lexa cocked her head to the side, lost as to about who Clarke was talking.

"Dave Christian?"  Clarke waited for Lexa to recognize the name. "The Lake Placid Olympics? Miracle on Ice?  NHL player?"

Lexa shrugged.

"He is one of the eight Olympic hockey players who've come from my town."

"Damn!" Lexa's eyes went wide "Are you guys running a breeding program?"

"We have an algorithm," Clarke deadpanned.  "Anyway, dad got sick right after I broke up with Brock.  After he died, I kept to myself and concentrated on hockey. I had to focus on getting a scholarship.  I didn't exactly have time for romance."

"So not much has changed?"  Lexa grinned mischievously, squeezing Clarke's hip.

"Very funny."  Clarke shifted her weight, settling into Lexa's chest. She laced her fingers into the brunette's hair and began running her hand through the mess of wavy curls.  "I almost had a girlfriend in college, but it didn't work out."

Lexa savored the feeling of Clarke's fingers as they massaged her scalp. "Why not?"  

"It's complicated."  Clarke continued to work her fingers through the tangles in Lexa's hair.  "People knew I was bisexual at college, but not at home.  She wanted to date openly, and that was more than I could handle at the time."

"And now? "

Clarke sighed.  "I think people back home suspect, but they've stopped asking.  Besides, I've been so focused on the game for the last ten years that I've barely had time for myself, let alone anyone else."

"That sounds familiar."  Lexa pulled Clarke closer. She enjoyed the feeling of the warm body pressed against her and thought of the many long nights she’d spent on the road, curled up in bed alone in a dingy hotel room.  "It would be nice though."

"Hmm?"  Clarke's hand stilled.

"To have someone."  The goalie stroked the small of Clarke's back with the blade of her thumb, leaving goosebumps along her skin.

Clarke closed her eyes, imagining for a brief moment a life where obligations didn't bind her to team and county.  "It would be," she smiled sadly, "but I owe too much to my team to lose focus right now."

Lexa nodded, trying not to feel disappointed at Clarke's response.  "Well..."  She leaned in, kissing the top of Clarke's head absentmindedly.  "Maybe, one day, you and I will owe nothing more to our teams."

The blonde buried her face in the crook of Lexa's neck, inhaling the scent of her.  "I hope so."

For a while longer they lay there, bodies enmeshed, minds close to sleep but never quite there.  Finally, Clarke groaned, the ache in her leg getting the better of her.  She pushed herself up on her elbows wincing as she pulled back the covers.  "I think I better try to stretch this thing if I want to play on it again."

Lexa bolted upright at the statement, utterly confused.  "I thought you said you were going to get it looked at?”

Clarke swung her legs over the far side of the bed, cautiously testing the amount of weight the injured limb could support.  She stood up, wincing a little as she transferred a bit of her balance onto it.  "I said I'd get it looked at if it didn’t feel better by today.  It feels better."

"It looks worse."

"It always looks worse when it's healing,” Clarke said, brushing off the Canadian’s concern. She began hobbling towards the bathroom, and Lexa jumped up behind her, ready to catch her the moment the leg buckled.  Remarkably the blonde managed to bear weight on it, limping into the bathroom on her own to retrieve the bottle of Motrin.  She shuffled back towards the bed slowly and lowered herself onto the mattress with great effort.

"Lexa, it's a bad bruise.  I'll be fine after some rest and ice.  Besides, we don't have a game for two more days."

"Clarke..."

"Lexa, I'm fine."  She swallowed several pills and scooted back on the bed, stretching the leg out in front of her as she reached for her toes.  Carefully she bent forward, tensing her jaw as she began stretching the tender muscles.

"But..."

"I'm fine!"  The words came out through clenched teeth, though Clarke managed to smile through the pain.  "I promise."

Unsure of how to proceed, Lexa hung stiffly in front of the bed.  She stared down awkwardly at the frustratingly determined captain, racking her brain for a solution.  Thankfully, Clarke offered her one.

"Look, if you're that worried, we can meet up tonight.  That way you can check on me."

"Meet up?"

"Yes, for drinks, maybe food,”  Clarke smirked, as though Lexa had just missed the most obvious implication in the world. 

"Food?"  Lexa's eyebrows nearly shot up to the top of her head when she realized what Clarke was suggesting.  "Like, in front of other people?'

"Unless you'd like to meet in secret."  Clarke grimaced, continuing to stretch her stiff and bruised leg.  "Or do you not want to meet at all?"

"No!"  Lexa bit her lip, blushing at her outburst.  "I mean, yes, I do. I'd like that."

Clarke rolled her eyes at the sudden ineptitude of the usually cocky girl, relishing the effect her invitation was having on her.  "Ok, but let's meet off campus. " Clarke massaged her thigh, trying to work out the stiffness in the muscles.  "Some of the girls went out into the city the other night.  They said the Budnamu Brewery was great.  Would 7 pm be alright?"

"I... Yeah, of course."

“Good, then it's a date."

"A date?"

"Yes, a date." Clarke deadpanned. "I mean, it's been a while, but I'm pretty sure the kids still call it that."

"It's a date," Lexa nodded dumbly, stunned that Clarke was asking her out, and in public no less.

"I should shower." Clarke struggled to her feet and cast a furtive glance at the bathroom door.

"You should shower."  Lexa's head wagged up and down, too dumbfounded to pay much attention to what Clarke was saying.

"Lexa...?"

The goalie looked up, snapping back to reality.  "Oh, Right!"  She cleared her throat, trying not to turn red.  "You shower.  I should go."  Lexa grabbed her sweatshirt from the chair in the corner, hurriedly pulling it on over her head as she mussed out her wild mane and shoved her feet into the boots that lay haphazardly by the bed.

"7 pm at Budnamu Brewery?

Clarke nodded.

"And you promise to get your leg look at if it starts bothering you?"

Clarke nodded.

“Ok.  I’ll see you at seven."

Lexa turned to leave but was stopped by a small hand grabbing her elbow.

"Wait."  Clarke bit her lip nervously, hesitating.  Slowly, she leaned up on the tiptoes of her uninjured leg and pressed her lips to the corner of Lexa's mouth, delivering a soft kiss.

"Thank you for staying."

Lexa was in a daze as she drifted down the hallway and boarded the waiting elevator, nearly forgetting to press the button for the first floor.  Clarke had asked her on a date.  It felt almost too good to be true, and yet it had happened.  Lexa had the text confirming the details on her phone.  She could barely contain the smile on her face as she floated through the elevator doors and into the cavernous lobby of the dormitory.  Nothing in the world could bring her down at the moment. 

"Lexa Woods?”

Nothing, except for the sound of her name coming from the stern looking man in the dark grey suit.  He approached her from the cafeteria, and out of the corner of her eye Lexa watched as Raven slipped away, apparently having just finished a conversation with him.  The man held his hand out for her.   "Marcus Kane.  I'm the head coach of Team USA Women's hockey."

Lexa took his hand and shook it firmly.  "Nice to meet you, Sir."

He smiled politely, his appearance losing some of its gruffness.  "May I speak with you a moment?" He gestured to a small lounge just off the entrance to the main lobby.

Reluctantly, she agreed, following him to a suite of armchairs tucked in the back.  The goalie took a seat across from him, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her ears as he watched her.

"So," he began earnestly. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude.  I hear you cared for an injured player of mine last night, Clarke Griffin."

Lexa nodded apprehensively.  “I did."

Kane looked solemn as he contemplated the young women across from him.  "I understand that you two have been spending some time together.  Am I correct in that understanding?"

Lexa nodded again, her pulse racing as she worried about the direction in which their conversation seemed to be headed.  "That's correct, Sir."

He furrowed his brow, his expression grave.  "Miss Woods, given your respective positions on opposing teams, you understand that the two of you spending time together could be construed as…” Kane searched carefully for the right word.  “Inappropriate?”

“Yes.”

Kane purses his lips for a moment, analyzing her answer skeptically.  Finally, his expression softened.  "Luckily I considered Miss Griffin's integrity to be unimpeachable.  However, should the two of you choose to continue to see each other socially, I would advise you to proceed with the utmost discretion.”

Lexa nodded vigorously.  "I understand, Sir."

"Good then." Appearing satisfied, Kane patted the armrest absentmindedly. "In that case, Miss Woods, I only need to ask one more thing of you."

Lexa swallowed, dreading his next question.

"What's that, Sir?"

"I need to tell me whether or not my team Captain is hiding an injury from me."

Lexa's heart nearly jumped out of her chest.  It sounded like a bass drum, thumping in her ears and drowning out the hum of the lobby around them.

"I... I don't."

"The truth, Miss Woods."

At that moment Lexa's conscience was entirely at war with itself.  Lie, and she put Clarke at risk, or tell the truth and betray her trust.  Neither one was an attractive option, and she shifted nervously in her seat, unwilling to choose either.

"Lexa..."

She sighed, resigning herself to the lesser of two evil.  Surely, Clarke couldn't fault her for being concerned.

"She says it's fine but, it looks pretty bad.  She can walk on it a little but.…” She bit her lip nervously.  "I think she's probably fine," she back peddled, attempted to reassure him. “Maybe she should have a doctor look at it though, just to be safe."

Kane smiled at her, smoothing out the wrinkles in his pant legs as he rose.  "Thank you for your honesty, Miss Woods."

With that, he started towards the elevators, leaving Lexa to dread her decision.

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