#context i just took out my contacts after they’ve been bothering me all day. i love not seeing and i love not being in pain

[sarcastic-clapping]

as someone who has been wearing glasses since early childhood i literally can’t imagine just… waking up with 20/20 vision. that sounds so scary. i need to ease into my day with some peaceful blurriness first. until 8am it is shapes and colors ONLY. no sharp edges allowed.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“harry’s stylist, right?” part II

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this gif bc i couldn’t fine the fit i wanted to showcase, but that night him and y/n get closer than they had gotten before :))

and we’re back :) - this is the last part of this i may do some little blurbs and stuff about these two if people want it (maybe) i hope you all enjoy this part, it’s not proofread so sorry about that lol. Feedback and reblogs are so very very appreciated, also feel free to message me about you’re feelings about this

Word Count: just over 10k | Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, implication of smut, i think that’s it

part 1

-

After the call with Jeff, which wasn’t really a conversation at all, moreso a berating from him, she was in the worst mood. She shrugged off the Bode jacket and hung it up in her entryway closet. She wasn’t planning on wearing it ever again. Without the jacket on, her shirt that seemed to be exactly on the nose with it’s “we’re in the shit” graphic was clear and she untucked it from her light mint pants. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Instead of picking her phone up again, she decided she could do without communication for a while. Her feet padded to her bedroom, after removing her nikes and socks. In her bedroom she opened up her record player, wanting music, but not wanting to be bothered with her laptop since it had a connection to the internet. 

She grabbed her Electric Warrior by T. Rex and slipped out the first record from its sheath. As she set up the music, she couldn’t remember where she’d even gotten the record but for some reason it had called to. She skipped over Mambo Sun, the first track, though, and had it play Cosmic Dancer first. It was calming to her, she swayed a bit to the soothing beat and then climbed into her bed. Staring at the ceiling, she wondered about when her life had gotten so complicated. The rhythm in the music and the exhausting thought material lulled her to sleep as the afternoon sun washed her room a perfect golden from behind her shade.

When she woke up again, it was midnight and she was starving. The record had stopped spinning hours ago, she hadn’t even gotten through side A. It was forgotten as she made her way to her kitchen, groggily.

After settling on cereal and an alcoholic seltzer for dinner, she was really in the mood to treat herself, she made her way back to her living space. On the couch, she tucked her legs beneath herself and spooned the sugary food into her mouth. She had only soy milk in the place because she didn’t like cow’s milk and it didn’t keep when she was gone for extended periods of time. Then as she sipped from the black cherry White Claw, she dug her hand into the cushion next to her. Her hand reemerged with her discarded phone from earlier. She decided it was reasonable to go on it now.

More messages from various people in her life and hundreds of social media notifications. She was going to ignore social media for as long as she possibly could. Four missed calls. 2 voicemails. Styles Harry. Why she kept contacts backwards in her phone was unimportant, it’s just what she did.  

She sighed and took a bigger sip of the barely alcoholic drink. Then clicked the voicemail notifications and pressed the first one on speaker as she began to read his texts as well. Then the next voicemail. She checked the time in California, it was still a reasonable part of the day there so instead of texting back she rang him.

“Hello?”

“Har- H. Hi.”

“Y/N! Are you alright?” The concern apparent in his tone. She was taken aback. He hadn’t necessarily sounded angry in his texts or voicemails, but she just assumed he was being courteous since it was a live conversation.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No! Why would I be?”

“Because I just had my ass handed to me by Jeff earlier.” She slightly mumbled and shrugged, still upset with how she had been spoken to by Jeff.

“Oh gosh, I told him not to be harsh. It’s honestly not a big deal. I thought it was fine, you texted me too!”

“Yeah, well apparently wearing your clothes means we’re dating and that’s not cool in the world’s eyes,” you scoff.

“I know how much you like that coat...I thought you looked great in it, too.” He finishes in a slight whisper, not wanting to be overheard.

“Harry…” you can’t keep the smile off your face. It was a cute compliment even if the situation wasn’t ideal. “Why do your fans have to be so smart and know there’s only two of those coats in the world and I don’t own the other one.”

He laughs, blushing at how you said his name. This time not using his nickname didn’t bother him, it felt even more intimate somehow.

He rubs a hand through his hair, “I know, pesky little devils, gotta love’em, though”

She hums, not sure if she can agree about loving them right now since they’re probably eating her alive all over social media.

“So you’re alright, darling?” He asks again.

“Mhmm,” she pauses at the pet name, it was soothing right now. All she wanted was to curl into his chest, but he was half a world away, quite literally. His words would have to do in his absence. “I’m really glad you’re not mad at me, H. That would’ve made this a hundred times worse.”

He huffs, wishing he could be with her to comfort her. He hated this part of his life. A friend couldn’t borrow a piece of his clothing without everyone assuming that they were seeing each other. It was disgusting and it made him dislike tabloids and social media even more than he already did.

“Trust me. I’d never be mad at you, pet. And I’d definitely never be mad at you for looking good as fuck in my clothes.”

“Shut up!” She squeals, his tone turning from earnest to teasing in one breath. He cackles on the other end of the line because despite her mean words, he could hear the smile on her lips.

“When are you flying back to London?” Her voice grows quiet again after she takes another sip of her drink.

“Thursday,” he almost whispers back, having contained his mirth again.

“We have some work to do on your Graham Norton and Jingle Bell Ball outfits. The listening party ones are all picked up -”

“Y/N,” Harry cuts her off, “It’s late for you, go to bed. Try not to stress out too much, we’ll talk when I’m back about work. For now, take a few days off to not think about my clothes.”

She sighs, “Thanks, H. You’re right. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Goodnight, m’love.”

She ends the phone call and chalks the almost ‘my’ sounding syllable that she heard before love was just her tired mind and Harry’s mumbling voice. It most certainly wasn’t.

-

After a restful few days of doing absolutely nothing, something rare for Y/N, she was extremely well rested. So much so that she was peacefully asleep when Harry let himself into her flat since they had agreed to meet at her place when he got back to London. As much as he wanted her to take time off and not over work herself, his schedule was a busy one and now that he was back, they had work to do.

Inside her flat, he was greeted with silence. He made his way to her bedroom at the back of the flat. He’d been here a handful of times. She always told him she preferred to spread out when she worked and Harry’s was the place for that. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar and he pushed it open slowly with his ring clad hand. His black nails are freshly painted and shiny, no chips. Still in her bed, Y/N shifted around softly. He smiled to himself, taking in how the room smelled over lavender and how she had pink floral sheets. He walked to the window and raised the shade, hoping to have her wake up without and coaxing from him.

“H,” her voice mumbles into her pillow and he thinks she’s woken up. His face turns to look at her, but her eyes are still closed and she looks completely asleep. He wonders if she’s trying to trick him, but then she mumbles again.

“Mhhh, tha’ tickles,” and she giggles. He kind of grimaces, feeling like he shouldn’t be hearing this. He hadn’t known she spoke in her sleep, it was sweet, but with the context right now, he thought him having this knowledge might not sit well with her.

“Y/N,” he says loudly, before clearing his throat. Her eyes shoot wide and she sits up, dropping the sheet she had been snuggling.

“Harry! Oh my god!”

“Meeting, remember?”

“Oh my god,” she glances around her surroundings, Harry still standing at her window. “What time is it?”

“1 pm. We said 1 right?”

“We did, I just...I don’t know what happened. Sorry, give me a second. I’m out of it.”

When she emerged from her room, dressed and ready for the day, Harry had brewed a pot of coffee with her machine that she really only had for guests.

“Sorry again,” she sits at her countertop, searching for her notebook in her bag.

“No worries,” then he leans across the countertop, “Seemed like you were in the middle of a nice dream.”

His brows are raised as she avoids his gaze. She flushes easily, “I- it was...just one of those usual dreams.”

“You have dreams about me often?”

“I didn’t say that!” Her eyes shoot up to meet his and he grins. He takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“I heard you say ‘H’.”

She rolls her eyes, “That proves nothing.”

They both stare at each other for a minute, not talking or moving. Harry is simply grinning at her as she twitches her hand with her pen in it now. Her eyes are trying to figure out what Harry’s getting at, searching his expression for how he feels about knowing she dreams of him. She certainly wasn’t going to get into it with him, even if he did continue prodding.

“Alright,” she begins when he doesn’t seem to want to press it further. “Oh!” She jumps up, dropping her pen and forgetting about whatever else she was going to say. “Your jacket! And shirt! I cleaned the shirt and the jacket…” She runs out of the room to go to her front closet where she had hung up both the jacket and the shirt.

Returning, she holds them out to Harry and he rounds the countertop to look at them.

“Perfect shape,” he admires the spotless shirt and his beloved jacket. He puts them on the back of the chair that was next to them. “Won’t forget my jacket again.”

She smiles sheepishly, thinking back to Jeff’s conversation with her. Harry notices her change in demeanor and takes one of her hands. Her eyes flash up to his face and her body tenses, he feels it even in her hand.

“Have you gone on any social media since you’ve been home?” His eyes are wide as he runs his thumb over the back of her hand.

She softens slightly, “Oh yeah, after the first day I decided to check. Most were funny and sweet, their nasty comments didn't get to me.”

Her eyes are big on her face and Harry watches as her worries and concerns all wash through the swirling colors in them. He wants to take all of that pain away and just stare into her abyss forever.

“What did Jeff say exactly?” He knows that’s what she’s alluding to. Harry loved his manager, but when he had called him about the jacket incident he had been pretty short with Harry and hadn’t given much information on his chat with Y/N. The way she looked right now bothered him because ultimately Harry was in charge of Y/N in his employment of her and if Jeff had acted like her superior in a way that was harmful he’d be downright upset.

Her eyes grow glassy immediately and Harry’s anger begins to bubble in the pit of his stomach. She tries to blink anything away, but fails.

“I don’t know why I’m crying, it wasn’t terrible. It’s just, all my life, I’ve had to work to be taken seriously because of who I am and I hate when I get talked down to by a man. Especially over a stupid fucking publicity thing for you. Like I’m sorry, but I don’t see you as a public figure where I have to worry about every goddamn thing I do messing up your image.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, realizing she’d gotten really worked up as she spoke. The tears running down her face more in anger than sadness. Harry watches on, letting her work through her thought process. “He was just so mean… for what?” She whispers finally.

“Oh god…darling,” Harry grips her hand more firmly. He wants to take her in his arms, but he’s not sure if that’s what’s best for her right now, so he just keeps holding her hand. She stares up at him, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. Her eyes now tinted a light red.

“I’m sorry he spoke to you in that way. That isn’t his job at all, I’ll definitely talk to him since I didn’t have the full story before. He gets very worried about the media perception thing, especially right now with the album.”  

She bites the inside of her cheek, blinking up at Harry. “I know your image is important, too, otherwise why the fuck would I be here? Right? I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal I borrowed the jacket.”

“In a perfect world my image wouldn’t matter at all,” Harry sighed, “Fame is a stupid, fickle thing musicians like me get stuck with.”

“Please, you love the attention,” she teases, poking at his chest. The sweatshirt he wore wrinkling under her touch.

“‘M serious,” he insists, “I’m saying it shouldn’t matter that you borrowed my jacket, but sadly it comes across to the rest of the world like I’m dating you.” He pokes her sternum in return.

“And that would be the end of the world?” she smiles, her tone still teasing, but that worry is back and swimming in her eyes again.

This time, though, Harry must not see it because he laughs and lets go of her hand. “For a lot of people, I think it might be.”

She bites at her lip and tries to contain the laugh that bubbles in her. He was right and as he wandered back into the kitchen for more coffee, she shook her head trying to rid herself of those pesky feelings that had been hoping for a different answer.

-

The next few weeks go off without a hitch. Harry’s outfits look incredible for the listening parties. Then for the Graham Norton Show, the Jingle Bell Ball, and the One Night Only at the Forum. Every single outfit is received with praise and everything seems to be coming up Harry Styles. Y/N has been traveling to most of his appearances, making sure everything is in order before he goes out. She’s always by his side before he walks out into the public eye. Taking his picture and saving it in the lookbook that keeps growing, smoothing over his lapels, either unbuttoning or buttoning a middle button when she thought he had too many or not enough undone for the look. Whatever it was, she was there for him.

Then, after his appearances, they would debrief. Debriefs really were just time that Harry carved out in his schedule to just be alone with Y/N. Sure, they talked about clothes, that’s how they had first connected, but it always turned to other ideas. They’d talk about his songs and she’d ask about the meanings that he wouldn’t share with the rest of the world. He’d happily tell her about it and they enjoyed that time together. There were stolen glances and lingering touches, but at the end of the day they were professionals who were friends. It wasn’t maybe what either of them wanted, but they weren’t unhappy.

Harry just got back from Los Angeles after filming for his Ellen show appearance and he was set to play the Bowery Ballroom tomorrow in London. After this there was going to be a lot of downtime on Harry’s schedule because of the holidays. He had marked out almost a whole month of time off, at least from appearances. They still had to start planning tour outfits and finalize the outfits for the events after the break. Right now, all she was focused on was getting Harry into the beautiful yellow Gucci suit that was a twin of the Watermelon Sugar suit he had worn on Saturday Night Live. Harry said he wanted to check the suit before tomorrow for some reason, so Y/N had made her way over.

She finished buttoning the sleeves of the jacket and stepped back to admire Harry once again. No matter what he wore he always looked marvelous in her eyes. She’d argue anyone could say that about Harry though. He could pull anything off and make it his own with barely any effort.

Today, his hair was disheveled and mused from his plane ride back into London. The flight from California to England was a rough one, even when you traveled in the type of luxury Harry did. Despite his tired body and eyes, the suit looked stunning on him. He wore it without shoes and she giggled when she saw his feet. His feet tattoos never failed to make her laugh and she had no explanation for why.

While Harry looked good in everything, there actually was something a little off with the suit right now. Normally, it hugged him just right to make him look perfectly muscled and defined, but it seemed to be hanging a little looser in some areas.

She tapped a finger to her lip, looking him over, unsure of what was off.

“Did you lose weight, H?”

“Huh?” He looks down at himself and somewhat notices the looser fit, but wasn’t quite sure if he had lost weight. “Don’t think so.”

She hums and steps closer to him, dropping her hands to tug at various parts of the suit, trying to figure out whether she should take anything in or leave it be.

“It’s probably all the travel I’ve been doin’. Can be draining me more than I realize.” He ponders as she continues to work silently over the suit.

Her hands travel beneath the suit and encircle his waist, almost as if she’s hugging him, but not really. His stomach flexes at the contact, her chest pressed softly against his. She grips a bit of the shirt from the back and then unfolds herself from him to look at the mirror. The shirt is now taut against his sternum and pectorals under the coat. She tilts her head, silently asking him his opinion.

“I think it’s fine the way it is, honestly.”

“Okay,” she nods and releases her hold on the shirt, hand slithering out from beneath his coat. He exhales deeply through his nose. “Make sure you eat properly tonight.” She says before beginning to pack up her things, done for the day. Harry begins to undress himself.

She turns back to face him as he hands her the jacket and shirt, her eyes run over the length of his torso, both for the sake of checking on his health and for other purely selfish reasons. All the tattoos still remained where they always were when she saw him like this. It never got old, his beautiful body. He didn’t even need clothes to look good. She blinks back to reality when the fabric comes in contact with her hand.

“Make sure you treat yourself this holiday season, you deserve it, H. And it seems like any weight you ever gain is muscle anyways, so you don’t exactly have to worry around the sweets table.”

Harry laughs heartily as he slips on his long sleeve shirt he was wearing. Then he starts on the pants as she turns away again to hang up the top parts of the suit.

Finally, she adds when he hands her the suit pants, “Just don’t want you overworking yourself, seriously, H.”

He looks at her as he buttons up his baggy blue jeans. The outfit he wore was just the first clean things he had grabbed when he had gotten home. His green eyes turn serious after the mirthfilled last few moments.

He crosses to her side as she puts away the clothes in the garment bag. His hand lands softly on her shoulder and she turns to him at his touch. “I know. You’re so good to me, darling. Always making sure I’m taking care of myself…”

It’s quiet. The soft breeze in the London air outside barely whispers around the house. Harry’s voice was laced with love, even if it wasn’t his intention. His ‘thank you’ was piercing into her heart and his touch wasn’t helping her stay focused. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt Harry take a step closer to her, his head ducking slightly down to her level. Then, right on the edge of her left temple and her hairline, his soft lips pressed against her skin. They brushed against her for just a moment, lingering for the respectful amount of time. But all she wanted was anything but respectful. She wanted his lips pressed against hers, she wanted his hands in her hair, yanking her deeply into him. She wanted to scream when he pulled away, but she didn’t. She smiled warmly up at Harry and her eyelashes fluttered on their own accord like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thank you,” he whispers again.

“What would you do without me?” She pushes at him playfully, shaking off her giddiness. Then she turns back to her work, scooping up all the items of hers on the table.

“Probably have to walk around naked, huh?”

“Oh my god!” She laughs and starts for the door, Harry follows behind to walk to her out to her car. “Maybe I should quit! People would love it.” She continues laughing as she hangs the garment in the passenger's seat side.

“No thank you, please,” Harry hurriedly says.

She turns to him as she closes the door and leans against the car. This was their routine right before she left, a final chat against the car before she drove off for the night.

“Tomorrow’s going to be amazing, H. It’s gonna be electric!” She scrunches her nose slightly at the pun about the venue as she smiles up at him.

He sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek, holding back a laugh. His eyes narrow at her, slyly. “Very funny.”

She only winks at him before pushing herself off of her car and walks to the driver’s side of the car.

He waves as she begins to pull out of the driveway and she flashes him a peace sign and a mouthed ‘Bye’ when she turns onto the street.

-

After the Bowery Ballroom show, Y/N barely sees Harry at the after party. She doesn’t worry about it too much. His management was going to have a holiday party next week before the little break began for the team. So, she knew she’d see him before she flew back to see her family for the holidays. She was going home for two weeks and then would be back for New Year’s and then would get back to work after that.

She saw Harry exactly twice after the show. First, she saw Harry right after the show and he was all sweaty and exhilarated. He tackled her in a bear hug with such strength she would have fallen back if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. When he pulled away, he placed two extremely slobbery kisses on her cheeks and she laughed, tipping her head back in pure bliss. Then he was pulled away by Jeff to change and get ready for the after party.

Jeff had apologized over text about the tone he had taken over the whole jacket thing, but only Harry had told him to. It was fine with Y/N, she told him that too, but she just never felt like being around him for very long if she could help it after that. That’s why she liked that most of her job entailed dealing with Harry directly. If she had to go through Jeff for everything she’d likely pull her hair out. He was still short with her at whole team meetings and not necessarily courteous when they were around each other casually. Like she said, it was fine, she just didn’t make it her business to be around Jeff.

The second time she saw Harry was around half past one am. She was pretty sure it was time for her to uber home and she wanted to say goodbye to Harry. Her well-liquored body stumbled around the big room. Deciding to take shots with the band had gotten her to where she was now and she wasn’t complaining she was happy. She was in a celebratory mood and wanted to see Harry right now. Tell him how much fun she had and how proud she was of him. How much she loved him… Hopefully she kept that part to herself.

“Harry!” She finally exclaims, coming upon a group of people surrounding the star himself. She ignored the rest of the people, likely stars too, but she really couldn’t care less. One of them tried to straighten up as if he was going to block her from Harry, feeling like she maybe wasn’t someone Harry wanted to see since they didn’t know her. No one seemed to ever recognize Y/N as Harry’s stylist when it mattered. Harry waved them off, a little drunk as well, but obviously recognizing Y/N.

“Darling!” He exclaims and raises his arms out to her. She grips onto him quickly and snuggles into him happily. With her still in his arms, he turns them from the prying eyes of the group he had been with.

She raises her head from his warm chest so that her lips are near his ear, “Congratulations, Mr. Styles.”

“Thanks, baby,” he purrs into her ear, his voice coarse and low, carrying over the music. She giggles at the nickname, her entire plan going out the metaphorical window.

Her fingers smooth up over the fabric on his chest, a nice short sleeve silk button down that was tucked into dark high waisted trousers - they’d picked it out last week. One of her fingers begins to trace around his collarbone after she reaches the opening of the shirt. His eyes flutter shut at the contact. They were so needy for each other. Each touch would coarse heat through them every time.

“I’m going…” She says after a moment of silence between them. The party was raging around them, most not paying any mind to the two of them off in their own world.

“Don’t go,” Harry practically begs. A hand flies up to pet over the top of her hair and she smiles even wider.

“It’s late and I’m tired,” she makes a face in response to Harry’s pout, “You have lots of people to entertain, Mr. Styles.” Her teeth capture her bottom lip as she stares at him intently.

He groans and pulls her closer. This time his lips brush right against her ear and she wants to shiver, but he keeps her in place. “If you keep calling me that, you’re gonna drive me insane.”

Her eyes widen but her hazy mind isn’t processing all of what is going on. She barely takes inventory of ‘baby’, for him to say she’s turning him on without actually saying it. Tomorrow Y/N would have to deal with that one.

She pulls back from him, creating space between their chests, but he still holds her waist close to him. She leans up and places a kiss on the corner of his lips. It’s technically supposed to be a kiss on the cheek but if she had moved her lips a millimeter to the right they would have been on Harry’s. This gesture has his grip tightening on her, but she pulls away.

“Goodnight!” She sings as she bounces out of sight, wiggling her fingers in a wave before completely being gone.

Harry sighs and runs a hand over his face, kind of in shock of the last five minutes. He had liked it. He just hadn’t expected it. When he turns his attention back to the group that was behind him, it’s not the same as it was before. Jeff looks at him with narrowed eyes and Harry’s eyes go wide and his grin widens as well.

-

Tonight is the management holiday party for Harry’s team. Y/N and Harry had seen each other two days after the Electric Ballroom to debrief, but mostly to get brunch. They didn’t talk about the little teases they shared at the after party. Both of them just assumed that the other probably didn’t remember and didn’t want to go through the trouble and embarrassment of recounting it. Alcohol has that effect of making you a little bolder than you actually are.

Brunch with Harry solidified Y/N’s thoughts on fame. Celebrity could be so strange, because there was the one day when she got photographed with just Harry’s jacket on and there was speculation of dating, but then she could go out to brunch with him and not be bothered at all. It made absolutely no sense.

Anyway, tonight there were no gifts, but Y/N had gotten Harry something even though he said he never needs anything. She hoped she’d be able to give it to him after they were walking back to their transportation since she wanted it to be a surprise and not have everyone know she gave him a gift. It wasn’t a big deal - or maybe it was - it was just an item she knew Harry had been fawning over. It was so him and she knew he’d probably end up buying it for himself eventually, but it felt nice to be able to give him something for once. Price didn’t matter. Still, she was a little nervous and tucked and re-tucked it several times in the back seat of her car before heading inside.

It was a restaurant his management had rented out for their party. She gave her name and headed inside. The lighting was overly dimmed and it smelled like expensive alcohol and delicious food. It was everything an A-list singer deserved as a celebration. She never could fully grasp that the Harry she had gotten to know as her friend was also the same Harry that the entire world was infatuated with, for good reason. He was charming in the best way, terribly sincere, insanely talented, and all around a good human being. She knew that, it just surprised her that everyone else knew it too. There was just that disconnect for her that she shared him with the rest of the world.

Her high heeled heels brought her to the backroom of the restaurant. They managed to shimmer even in the dim light. She had gone for winter chic with a sequin and mesh white dress, that looked like fresh snow with a cream and blue swirling design on the under layer so that her undergarments weren’t showing through. It was like a modern ice princess look that was finished with her heels that had sparkles on the entire back of them. Her hair was down and her makeup a little more done up than usual. She used a light blue eyeshadow to imitate ice and added some rhinestones on the inner parts of her eyes. She may have watched a Euphoria-inspired makeup look tutorial on youtube and she wasn’t afraid to admit that.

The scene she came upon was what she expected. Lots of men in suits and a good amount of women in power suits too. The people in any interesting clothes were Harry and his band. Some of the business people’s partners were dressed up more but it all wasn’t too exciting. Plus, Harry’s famous friends group hadn’t shown up yet. Y/N hid her disappointment easily, not surprised about the lack of flavor she saw in the style. She just repeated the mantra her mother had always told her: “You can never be overdressed, only underdressed.” It stuck with her always and made her go for those bolder styles when she needed to.

Harry was there, sipping on a glass of water. She figured he might not want to get started on drinking so early in the evening. Tonight didn’t feel like a drinking night for her either. After the last big party, she had woken up with a massive hangover and a few memories that she wished she hadn’t made. She wasn’t planning on repeating that series of events.

As she goes to grab a glass of water on the large table, she gets a tap on her shoulder. She spins.

“Happy Holidays, darling!”

Her eyes widen and her smile immediately grows. Harry grins back at her, his mouth open in the perfect winning smile of his and his eyes twinkling with happiness.

“Happy Holidays to you too, Mr.-” She stops herself, remembering back to the last party, “H.” She finishes firmly after clearing her throat. Harry’s grin turns to a wicked knowing smirk.

“I’m happy you came! I know you’re not super connected to all of the groups here, Harry Lambert is around somewhere though and I know he’s been wanting to talk with you about clothes.”

Harry watches as her eyes shine even brighter when he mentions the other stylist. It was true, Y/N didn’t really mesh with any of the groups that worked around Harry. The stylist kind of stood alone in regards to where she fit into his life, not the business part, not the band part, not the crew, and not the other celebrities. Harry Lambert and other fashion people didn’t always come to these events so it was seldom that Y/N had her own people to talk to. Not that mingling was hard for her, he just knew she didn’t like to do that as much so whenever another stylist or designer was there he always made sure to introduce them - if they weren’t already acquainted.

“That’s amazing! I haven’t seen him in ages… I’ll have to get his opinion on how I’ve been doing.”

Harry licks his lips as he laughs a little at her comment. She looked beautiful tonight and he wanted to tell her.

“Harry. What the hell are you wearing?” Her eyes flash as she takes in his appearance.

He looks down at himself and then back at her confused. They hadn’t picked the outfit out, but he thought it looked nice.

“Obviously not the suit! On your head?”

“Oh. It’s a gift from Mitch and Sarah.” He pauses to reach up to play with the headband sat on top of his curls. “It’s mistletoe and it seems like you’re standing beneath it. You know what that means,” he toys with it as he wiggles his eyebrows.

She scoffs sarcastically, looking to the side for a means of escape, “No way.”

“C’mon! It’s tradition!” He steps forward playfully and she places a hand on his chest.

“You can kiss my cheek.” She says finally and Harry looks at her disapprovingly.

He wags a finger at her with his free hand, “You’re the one under the mistletoe, you have to kiss me.”

“Okay that’s definitely not how this works! Now you don’t get any kiss at all, you cheeky bastard.”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’re the one with coal in your stocking.”

“Haha.” Her eyes once again roll to the side as she pushes him back and he steps back like she actually had a strong push. Then they both actually laugh and she gives him a quick side hug with a whispered, “there”. Harry smiles down at her, but it falters slightly when she’s already pulling away. He wanted her at his side the entire night, but sadly that wasn’t reality.

She drags him around the restaurant in search of Harry Lambert since the party had started to grow and she needed his height to get her where she wanted to go. Maybe. Or maybe she just liked the way he held her hand to lead her through the crowd that was most definitely not dense enough for her to have to hold on to him to stay with him at all.

She sees more of Harry at this party. They have some good conversations about plans for the holidays and snickering about who was already too drunk even though it wasn’t even midnight. She can’t believe he keeps on the stupid headband all night, giving and receiving various types of kisses from every person he talks to. Some are kisses on the cheek, others are friendly smooches on the mouth. Thankfully all of them are those cute little pecks that friends always tend to share, otherwise Y/N might have had to excuse herself and leave early. Jealous little thing.

As the night dragged on, she began to question herself on that front. Why was she growing jealous when friends would kiss Harry. She could've kissed Harry. She practically did the other week. But now, after refusing him a mistletoe kiss and seeing everyone else do what she didn’t have the courage to do, she felt childish. Well, childish or not, she knew why she couldn’t kiss him. Kissing Harry wouldn’t be just a friend thing for her. It would mean a lot more and if it was just a friend thing for him she wouldn’t be sure if she could handle going on with their working relationship after. Her job was the most important thing in her life. Being a stylist, loving clothes, and working on personal designs for the future was her life. Giving up this prestigious of a job was out of the question. Maybe the idea of being with Harry had crossed her mind, but she didn’t know how it could ever be realistic. If they got together could she keep her job? Would she have to quit? And find a new one? There were too many unknowns for her to ever actually entertain it. That’s why they went to the edge so often, she always would back away and she was sure that if she didn’t, Harry would for her.

He knew her. He knew her passion, he watches it firsthand everyday they work together. Even when they’re not working he can see her mind forming different ideas just based off of the things she sees people wear on the streets. He watches her fingers fiddle over her phone, typing out notes for design ideas and screenshotting inspiration. So every time they went to the edge of changing their relationship, he knew he couldn’t push it because he never wanted to hurt her or her dreams in some way. She was too important to him to simply mess that up.  Even if it hurt him.

So when Harry slides in the back of her car that night at 2 am because Y/N says she has something important to show him, he’s fully ready to stop their flirting from going any further. And when she tells him she needs to show him something, she has the most pure intentions when she pulls out the nicely wrapped box, its wrapping paper a swirling lavender pattern that’s really not festive at all, but she prefers it.

He looks between her and the box that she’s now placed in his lap. His green eyes flickering even in the darkness of the car, the city lights illuminating the backseat enough for them.

“You know I don’t need anything…” He fiddles with the skinny mesh ribbon neatly tied around the box.

She makes a little gesture, pushing him to open the present, “I know, but I also know you’ve been wanting this and you deserve it.”

He unwraps the paper to reveal a Gucci box and he rolls his eyes at her, but smiles genuinely as he lifts the top of the box off. It reveals a 1955 Horsebit Shoulder Bag in beautiful shiny black leather. It’s gorgeous.

“I can’t...I don’t know what to say,” Harry’s eyes are huge as his delicate hands ghost over the bag's details. He had been wanting it and he hadn’t gotten the courage to buy it yet. He liked purses, but sometimes he even had his doubts about what he could pull off.

His eyes go back to her and she smiles widely at him, all her teeth on display because she’s just that happy. “This is a really expensive bag, Y/N.”

“If it makes you feel better I can charge it as a wardrobe expense, but then it’s not really a gift from me,” She sighs at his unrelenting gaze.

“Thank you.” He touches at the bag again and then does a dance in his spot. “And don’t worry, I will always remember this as a gift from you. I love it.”

She smiles and leans over the box to look at the bag, admiring the beauty of it as well. “It’s pretty great.”

“Mhmm,” Harry hums and she raises her eyes, seeing his trained on her face. “You’re under the mistletoe again, darling,” he smirks.

Her breath stops once again, how could he do that to her so easily? Their eyes stay locked under the city lights. The fake mistletoe bobs above them still connected to the silly headband. It’s colorful leaves and fun stripes mock her when she flicks her gaze up to it for a moment. Then back to Harry. Harry who’s holding the gift she just gave him. Harry who looks beautiful tonight. Harry who is her favorite person in the world to spend time with.

Now. Now is when she pulls back from the ledge. This is when she takes a step back and stops herself. When Harry laughs it off. When she pushes him away. When they go about the rest of their day like that electricity hadn’t gone up either of their spines.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, she nods in agreement and then crashes her lips against Harry’s. It’s not like those friend kisses that had happened with him all night under that same mistletoe. It’s hard and hot and fast. Her lips are pressed to his for one searing moment and then she’s biting his lip, desperate to taste more of him. She had been longing for this for so long and now that she had it, she couldn’t let it go.

Harry’s hands fly to her cheeks as he pulls her closer, more into his lap. He pushes the box into the front area of the car blindly. The gift was completely forgotten. This was a far more important matter. Her lips were wet and plush and they tasted like the single Manhattan she had halfway through the night and vanilla lip gloss. When she bites his lip, he can’t hold back the moan inside his throat and she presses her tongue into his mouth quickly. He was her oasis and she had been traveling for months. He responds with similar vigor, enjoying the way her body presses to his in the backseat of this little car.

They kiss for as long as they can. Licking, sucking, and biting each other’s lips to taste as much as they can. But it’s just kissing. Neither of them work to travel anywhere else. Their lips are seemingly enough. Each press of their lips communicates what they had been longing for. It’s euphoric.

When the windows start to fog and her eyes open for a random moment, she realizes they need to cool whatever this is.

“H-Harry,”  She gulps for a breath of air and she tries to get his attention. “I gotta get home.”

“Come back to my place,” he mumbles into her collarbone, happily licking over his love bite.

She laughs and swallows slowly, “That is definitely out of the question, I have a flight tomorrow.”

He removes his mouth from her and straightens up. His lips are even brighter pink than usual and perfectly puffy. His hair disheveled from her hands. She blushes at the thought.

“Right, forgot about that,” he opens the car door and they both slide out. They stand at her car, just like they usually did outside his house. However this time is quite different from most.

They sigh heavily, in unison. The winter air is cold in London. She shivers slightly and knows she can’t stay in his presence much longer.

“Merry Christmas, H.”

He leans down and places one last sweet kiss to her lips. She wrinkles her nose and smiles  unabashedly.

“Merry Christmas, Darling.”

-

Harry and her don’t talk as much while she’s back home for the holidays. There’s no work to be discussed and while they parted on not necessarily bad terms, there was definitely a conversation that needed to be had between the two. Neither seemed to want to have that conversation over the phone, or worse, text. So for the next week and a half, Harry and Y/N exchanged texts of funny memes that reminded them of each other and odd anecdotes from family members that had made them laugh. Nothing really substantial, just small, I was thinking of you messages.

When she walked out of the luggage carousel at London Heathrow Airport, she expected to be getting in the queue for an uber. Instead, before she could cross the street to get to the queue even, a tall man stopped her. A tall, scruffy, extremely buff, extremely handsome, and extremely kissable man. Harry. It would be terribly strange if it was anyone else.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need a lift back to your flat?” His dark sunglasses cover his face and a big coat, scarf, and hat make him hardly recognizable. The curls sticking out from beneath the cute knit scarf are thankfully a dead give away for her. As well as his perfect drawling voice.

She shivered in the cold, her matching grey sweatpants and Treat People With Kindness sweatshirt had been warm enough on the flight, but proved inadequate for almost January in London. Yet, Harry’s presence brings a smile to her face.

“It’s good to see you, H.”

He laughs, his cover obviously blown. His arms encircle her body and she instantly melts into his embrace. His large coat easily fell around her and warmed her. His own natural body heat adds to her new found warmth as well.

“You too,” he murmured. His head buries into the crook of her neck, warming her cold skin.

He pulls back after a rather long embrace, realizing they’re still out on the sidewalk. He takes one step back and she visibly deflates at his absence, the cold once again surrounding her.

“Let’s get you home,” he grabs at the handle of her suitcase in one hand and her hand in the other. The warmth returns and she grins, placated by his touch.

“So are you coming to my party tonight?” He inquires once he settles into the driver’s seat after putting her suitcase in the back.

She shifts in her seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself, still cold without any warmth from Harry or the car. “Don’t you suppose there was a reason why I chose to come home today?”

Harry’s ears perk at the use of home, never assuming Y/N viewed London as her home, still it made him smile.

As the car purrs to life, heat immediately seeping out of the seats and vents, Harry’s phone connects as well. NFWMB by Hozier begins to play softly and she glances at Harry again. The song was so sultry and soft, like expensive dark chocolate melting on your tongue. The mood in the car seemed to shift. Their eyes met, Harry’s green ones narrowing at her, trying to decipher the look she was giving to him.

Then he drove off, softly singing along to the words through the sleepy streets. It was surprisingly quiet out for the holidays, people choosing to lay low during the day so they could celebrate the changing of decades in full force tonight.

After the song ends, his eyes travel over to her again and she’s already looking at him. She had missed his face. Sure, he’d sent some silly selfies while she was gone. Mostly on Christmas Eve with his family when he had gotten drunk on mulled wine and eggnog and brandy. Still, in person, he was even more beautiful. The high cheek bones that glistened with a shine most makeup could only hope to produce. Full raspberry lips with stubble growing to frame above and below. The crinkles growing on his forehead and by his eyes that showed him aging with grace. The precious few moles that had gotten lucky enough to live on his face forever. His big green eyes that were consistently bright with interest and intellect, but deep and knowing despite his loving demeanor. She loved those big green eyes, they were just so big and she didn’t understand how no one took the same interest in them as her. All of it, just sitting there beside her. Don’t even get her started on the soul that inhabited the beautiful man beside her. She never would stop spiraling then.

“What?” He asks softly, the sounds of Paul McCartney during some era fading in.

She blinks, hazily in admirance, “Nothing,” she replies.

“What?” He insists, laughing slightly, the lips she loves so much widening in excitement.

“Just missed you.”

Her voice is quiet but strong, serious. A blush creeps up his neck, taking hold of his features.

“Missed you too,” his left hand reaches across the console to take hold of her hand that resided on her thigh. He squeezes her hand softly and they both smile at each other again.

“Don’t worry, I can get my stuff upstairs. I don’t want you being out in the cold any longer than you have to. I’ll see you tonight, H!” She pushes her body across the console and places a kiss on his cheek before jumping out of the car. Harry makes a half smile, knowing he can’t change her mind. He waves to her behind the window as she travels into her building.

“See you.” He says to himself before driving back to his home to finish up preparing for tonight’s festivities. The party was going to be more intimate than the Christmas party at the restaurant. Tonight was just Harry’s family and closest friend - the band, Jeff and his family, Y/N, and a few others.

-

The whole night Harry and Y/N are within a foot of each other, if not on top of each other. He never leaves her side nor does she his. They are tethered to one another. The longest they’re apart is when Harry gets them refills of Champagne and Y/N journeys to the restroom. They laugh and catch up.

As the night goes on, Harry begins to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and she giggles and places her hand on his chest flirtily. Their interaction is a dance, bedroom eyes and low voices, lingering touches and suggestive lip bites.

When the countdown begins to grow closer, everyone refills their drinks and gathers in the center of Harry’s living room. They cheer and countdown to 2020. And of course, Y/N’s by Harry’s side as he begins the count. And when they get to ‘one’ and everyone’s saying “Happy New Year”, Harry and her are sharing a chaste peck to the lips that electrifies everything they had been saying to each other all night. She sighs into his mouth, but pulls away quickly, aware of their surroundings. No one particularly questions the kiss, either not paying attention or caring. Harry beams down at her and they enjoy the rest of the evening.

At around 1 am, the last of the guests stumble out of Harry’s homes and into waiting ubers and safe rides. Y/N lingers back, beginning to clean the discarded glassware and paper plates. Her and Harry are definitely tipsy, but they enjoy the cleaning work, making terrible jokes about New Year’s and commenting on what people wore tonight. When it’s relatively cleaned in the kitchen, Y/N wanders out to the living room and finds Harry reclined back on the couch.

“H,” She sticks out her foot and nudges him with her boot.

“C’mere,” he reaches out his hand to her, his coat discarded, leaving his arms bare with only a white tank top on.

She takes his hand hesitantly and is yanked on top of Harry in an instant. With a loud huff, she settles above him. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Shush,” his pointer finger goes over her lips, her eyes narrow at him, “Can you believe we’re seeing 2020?”

“Oh my god! I hate you!” She rolls her eyes at his pun and shakes herself from his hand around her waist. She stands up to walk away but he easily grasps her wrist and stops her, easily sitting himself up on the couch.

He looks at her and her annoyance, that wasn’t all too strong in the first place, dissipates. She sighs, “I should probably be heading home.”

“You should stay, it’s so late,” his hand rubbing over the skin on her wrist.

She bites her lip, contemplating the offer, he was right. “I’m really tired and we haven’t really talked, H.”

“But we-”

“Not about us. We’ve been skirting around it, flirting with each other all night, but we haven’t talked about what’s going on. I can’t stay if you expect something from me.”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. That’s not why I want you to say,” Harry says earnestly, realizing quickly  what she’s saying. “I’ve never expected anything from you. An offer to stay is just an offer to stay.”

“Okay,” she finally smiles and sits down beside Harry.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom, too. If that makes you more comfortable?”

“Oh...I don’t know if we have to take it that far. Plus, you’re like a personal heater and I get cold at night.”

Harry perks up, he had been feeling resigned that maybe she wasn't on the same page as him. He wanted to be with her all the time but also didn’t want to put any pressure on her. She just made him so happy.

“Great! Let’s get to bed then.” He pops up from the couch and brings her into his arms, “You know where all my clothes are, so you can just borrow whatever you want, and then I’m sure I have extra toothbrushes…”

She giggles into his side as she watches him ramble animatedly. Sometimes he was oh so bright, so joyful and carefree. A stark contrast from the quiet confidence he often exhibited for the public.

-

She woke up in the warm embrace of Harry. His whole bed smelled like him, vanilla mixed with spices of tobacco and sandalwood. It was delicious and she snuggled in deeper to the soft chest she laid against, breathing in his scent deeply.

They rested there for a long time. Harry makes his awakening known with a lingering kiss to her forehead. They both sigh in contentment, radiant in each other’s arms.

“What’s the plan today?” She ponders as Harry’s fingers trace patterns over her skin. He hums in thought.

“Wanna be with you…”

She laughs and looks up at him, “Me too, but we can’t lay around all day.”

“Well, we could.” Harry insists.

She laughs again and twists in his arms, settling so she’s facing him. She bites her lip as she thinks about something, scanning his face over and over.

“I’m gonna go home and get ready for the day. Let’s just explore the city and do some 2020 shopping. Who knows, maybe fashion’s changed since the last decade,” she grins.

Harry chuckles a little and pets at her hair, “I like the sound of that. And we can talk - about us.”

“Mmhmm.”

He tilts his head forward and meets her lips once again, savoring her taste. Each kiss makes him want more. She was good.

-

Harry lugs in the four heavy shopping bags into her flat, as she carries the single small bag from the chocolatier he had dragged them into. He presses her to the counter when he sets down the bags and begins to kiss her face all over. She giggles and places her hands on his shoulders, giving him a kiss to the lips before pulling away.

They had talked about what they wanted, what they saw in each other and how that fit into their work relationship and the rest of their lives. Harry would have to talk to Jeff, but more so as a by the way this is what I’m doing with my life, not an ask for permission. Y/N would continue as his stylist until the end of the tour cycle, but afterwards she’d go back to freelancing. They wanted to try to date and be as normal as possible. She told him how she didn’t love the fame or the celebrities. Sure she dealt with those things for work, but when they were off duty, she wanted to be regular. She wanted to go out on dates and make dinner on weekend nights. Harry had agreed, he wanted those things too and he understood her wish to keep work and their relationship separate. However, he’d made her concede to allowing kisses during work hours. She had laughed and said it was an easy term to agree to.

It was going to be a good thing. They were both giddy with excitement, the new year, and all the new things they had bought on their relationship high.

“Oh!” She pushed Harry further away from her and hurried into her room. He laughed and looked confusedly after her. “Wait there!” She called. Harry leaned against the back of her upholstered chair.

“Close your eyes!” She says before coming back into the room. Harry’s hands go over his eyes easily as he grins blindly in her direction.

“‘M waiting…”

“Open.”

Harry’s hands slip away and his green eyes blink open. In front of him stands Y/N holding up a hand knit brown sweater vest with horizontal red, cream and blue thin stripes along with the thicker brown stripes. Harry beams, reaching his hands out to take hold of it.

“It was supposed to be a surprise for later, but I found it at this vintage place while I was home and I couldn’t wait any longer to show it to you.”

“Darling, this is gorgeous. I love it! But you shouldn’t have...”

“I thought you could wear it for Lizzo’s concert. I know you said you liked the other sweater vest, but this one is so-”

“You spoil me, seriously.” He cuts her off and laughs before pulling her back into him. Their lips collide in a searing kiss, Harry’s excitement over the new garment making him eager to show her how much he really loved it.

A small sigh escapes her lips as Harry presses into her. His tongue pushing into her mouth in a way that turns the sigh into a moan.

“Let me show you just how much I love it,” He murmurs against her lips, casting the garment onto the back of the chair he had previously been leaning on.

She smiles, eyes fluttering open and meeting his with adoration swelling in their depths. Then she allows him to back their intertwined bodies into her room.

-

Some apartment in New York a few months later:

“I knew it!” 

“Huh?” Aidy lifts her head from the skit she was working on to look at her friend and coworker. 

“That stylist...for Harry Styles,” Heidi shifts, sitting up and turning her phone to face Aidy, “She was seen out with him, getting lunch in London and then making out on a street corner. I bet they were dating back in November when he was on the show!” 

Aidy laughs, thinking back to her conversation with the stylist that night of Harry’s show. The girl had been so in love that night and Harry had been smitten all week, describing her in the best way, praising her every decision, yearning for her even. And now they were actually together...she was happy for them. 

“I don’t know about that...but they were head over Gucci heels for each other that’s for sure.” 

Heidi and her scroll through the pictures on social media of the singer and his girlfriend. 

“They probably are the best dressed couple I have ever seen,” Heidi grumbles. 

“Now that is definitely accurate.”

--

taglist: @meredithhuntt​ @sovereigndeadlyperfect @marauderswhisperer​ @toribentleyva​ @girlboss99​ @harryssunflxwer​ @loverofaccents​ @stephaniemalvie​ @mk15x @beanholland​ @stfxlou​ @loliismutt​ @pinkisawesome101​ @stilljosiegrossie​ @kikisparadise18​ @clementimee​

[dathen]

INTRODUCING: THE MISSING TAPES BINGO CHALLENGE!

What are the missing tapes?  

So much happened after Season 3 and during Season 4 that we didn’t get to see.  With us being limited to Jon’s point of view/whatever force is behind the tapes, many events and character interactions take place offscreen.  The Missing Tapes is a fan content challenge to visit these moments and explore character feelings from new angles.

How do I participate?

This isn’t an event week or tied down to any specific time.  Go for a bingo, or just try a prompt or two!  If you write anything for this challenge, use the #missingtapesbingo tag so others can find it easily.

Many thanks to @somuchbetterthanthat​, @evanescentjasmine​, and @holdthosebees​ for helping me brainstorm prompts, and @zykaben​ for the lovely graphic!

After the cut is a text list of the prompts, from top left to lower right.  I also included a brief summary for context, and episode references for when these are mentioned or implied.  

1.  Others’ PoV of Martin losing his mother - (TMA 127)  Basira tells Jon that watching how hard this hit Martin kept her from pushing him too hard about his plans.  “He tried to stay strong, keep it together, but...that sort of thing...”

2.  Basira finding that she’s the sole survivor of the Unknowing - (TMA 122)  “The others-- Tim--  Is he…?   ...Oh.”  “Daisy, too.”  “I’m sorry.”  “Yeah.”  

3.  Melanie and Georgie rekindling their friendship post-surgery - (TMA 131, 145)  Melanie fell out of contact with Georgie during Jon’s coma, but gets in touch again after escaping the Slaughter.  “Who else is there? I mean, Basira is… heh. She’s been the only one for a long time.”  

4.  Basira and Martin’s phone calls during the Scottish Honeymoon - (TMA 160)  Martin and Basira have regular phone calls while he and Jon are in hiding.  “How was she?”  “Oh, same as last week.”

5.  Basira, Daisy, and Jon going for drinks - (TMA 136, 140)  “You look awful. You try drinking with Daisy again?”

6.  Reactions to the s3 deaths/disappearances - (TMA 122)  Tim’s death, Daisy’s body not being found, and Jon as good as dead.  Not limited to the Archives team (the rest of the Institute? Jon’s extended family? Oliver’s dreams? go wild).

7.  Basira and/or Martin reacting to Peter Lukas vanishing researchers - (TMA 123)  “Rumor is a couple of researchers up on the third floor decided to ignore some of his new directives, and… whoosh.”

8.  Anti-Lonely sleepovers - (TMA 150)  “We’re all well aware that with Peter Lukas in charge of the Institute, [the Lonely] is a very real danger to all of us. We are trying. Daisy, Basira and I, we don’t leave the Institute much anymore, so we do spend a lot of time together.” 

9.  Melanie and Georgie getting together - (sometime between TMA 145 and 157)  “I didn’t-- I didn’t realize you were to-together.”

10.  Basira during the S4 finale - (TMA 158-160)  Left alone after Daisy draws off the Hunters, waiting for Jon to return with Martin, her PoV of the aftermath, etc.

11.  Georgie learns about Jon/starts visiting him in the hospital - (TMA 121)  Georgie regularly visits Jon during his coma and talks to him.  “Sorry about that, Jon, but you really don’t need friends like that.”  

12.  Melanie and Basira trauma bonding during Jon’s coma - (TMA 123)  “She saved my life, John. She saved all of us. I won’t forget that.”

13.  FREE SPACE

14.  Melanie picks up a hobby as part of therapy - (after TMA 136)  (Implied) Melanie is trying a different approach to life as part of her therapy sessions.  “Since when?”  “Always.  I’m...trying to be more open about this stuff.”

15.  Basira or Melanie helping Daisy with physical therapy - (TMA 133)  “Hey, there you are. You’re meant to be doing your exercises.”  “You were out.”

16.  Basira, Melanie, and Martin going out for drinks - (TMA 98, 106)  Started in season 3, but could have also happened between the seasons. “Listen, you really look like you could use a drink. Um, me and Basira were just about to pop out. So...do you want to join us?” 

17.  Daisy and Basira conversations post-coffin - (TMA 132+)  “Basira she’s...she’s been good.  We’re together, so it’s good...if she didn’t keep treating me like a china doll.  But it’s alright.”

18.  Daisy learns Melanie’s name; possible fledgling friendship - Daisy didn’t bother learning Melanie’s name pre-Unknowing (TMA 112), but can’t stand being alone post-coffin.  "He’s gone with Martin and… the other one.”  “Melanie.”  “Sure.”

19.  Melanie moving in with Georgie - (TMA 157)  Takes place sometime between Melanie going to therapy and Melanie recovering from blinding herself.

20.  Archive member ambushed by a jealous avatar post-Unknowing - (TMA 123)  Stopping the Unknowing drew a lot of hostile attention to the Archives from the followers of other entities.  “We made a big noise with the Unknowing and… other stuff and now they’ve taken notice. We’re safe in here, usually. But we don’t go out much anymore.”

21.  Jared Hopworth’s attack on the archive - (TMA 123, 131)  “When we came up through the floor, it was wonderful. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on their faces.”

22.  Melanie and Basira’s dynamic post-surgery - (TMA 131)  Melanie goes through the same struggle with hating Basira because of the surgery as she does Jon.  “I sort of, maybe, hate her now.  I don’t know.  I can’t look at her without my leg hurting.  But what else am I going to do?  ... She deals in ‘intel’ these days, in usable data, assets. Not feelings. Not people."

23.  The team discovering Martin’s stash of tapes - (TMA 151)  “Jon found the tapes you made for him.”  “Shh, shh!”  “Found a stash of them awhile ago. I made sure he shared with the club.”

24.  The Archives team hating on Elias/Peter Lukas together - (Implied)  Nothing causes bonding better than a common enemy, right?

25.  Post-Flesh attack fallout, hurt/comfort - (TMA 123, 131)  “You were attacked. When?”  "About two months ago.  It was the Flesh."  “Oh, god.”  “Yeah, it was bad. We took them all out.” 

[gabbysdawsons]

legit my favorite of our probably many crossovers is with jaidyn being in muddy waters. she suits it so well and just the trio that is jaidyn, lucea, and serion is *chef’s kiss*

also a headcanon i thought of, i’m curious of what you think, is that after really just vibing and being kinda chaotic with serion and lucea and also dealing with the things of during the show, jaidyn joins lucea’s crew or at least has her own ship if she’s not able to join lucea or serion’s crew and spends her life as a pirate. when she’s not on a ship, she definitely vibes on driftmark because basically everywhere else just sucks

okay so first we start with the backstory because it is... i have more backstory than actual plot at the moment skskks.

just the absolute beauty of them all meeting at Cora and Loren's wedding (the Greyjoys were absolutely not invited, but Serion saw an opportunity to rob some rich people and jumped at it), but Lucea (as the bride's sister) and Jaidyn (as Loren's cousin) are very much invited.

when i say they are smol i mean like... 15ish.

anyway Lucea is a pirate first and foremost, she likes parties sure, but watching her sister be miserable over her marriage all night is just not what she wants to do.

however, the night starts to look up a little when she bumps into one of the younger Lannisters, Jaidyn, who truly looks so uncomfortable in her ballgown that even Lucea feels bad for her.

things are tense, though

and then they straight up just ditch it, Lucea suggests going to the harbour since that's where her fathers ships are and uh, she just really misses the water, Kings Landing makes her uneasy.

lo and behold, when they get there, there's this scruffy looking teenage boy who is absolutely trying to get onto the ship, and Lucea, more for the hell of it than to be useful decides to help him.

anyway this is very vague but her and Jaidyn essentially just spend the rest of the night chilling on the deck of this ship, Lucea got Jaidyn a change of clothes too.

Serion tells them his name but nothing more than that--he still might want to rob them some day, better to keep themselves on a first name basis, right? wrong.

the night ends, Lucea returns home to driftmark the following day, albeit their boat has picked up a stowaway of sorts, Jaidyn returns to Casterly Rock.

physically, I don't think Lucea sees Jaidyn much over the course of Aerys' decline into madness and the fall of the Targaryens, but she certainly sees Serion. both of them sent Jaidyn a shit ton of letters though, they loved to keep in contact.

anyway not enough Jaidyn content here, lets skip ahead to the show.

Lucea's brother Monford rules Driftmark in all the ways he thinks are important, she's running a full smuggling ring right under his nose because she refuses to see her as anything other than his little sister. Jaidyn, who at some point though neither of them could really tell you exactly when, had fallen into the role of both lover and best friend for Lucea.

and pirate Jaidyn is naturally a huge part of Lucea' lil smuggling ring. Lucea probably would have given her her own ship if it didn't come off a little suspicious, so naturally the closest thing she could do was put her on the same ship as Aurane Waters--Lucea's bastard half brother.

uh, Aurane and Jaidyn do not click, they clash a lot actually, but it doesn't matter because what can he really do to a Lannister? like, really?

why am i blanking so hard on plot points right now?? whatever it doesn't matter. Lucea and Jaidyn? just have the best vibes, even if Lucea has taken a much darker approach to life than Jaidyn has.

whatever the plot isn't important until the battle of the blackwater, at which point Jaidyn cannot legally be connected with the Velaryon's because they support Stannis. that does absolutely nothing to stop her from visiting Driftmark though. she's partially disowned at this point anyway.

uh I guess the next plot point ah look at that all the Velaryon men died during the Battle of the Blackwater so guess who's in charge of Driftmark now? that's right, lucea.

god this is actually very much terribly planned out imma just skip to the stuff i actually have planned.

point is, through all of this Lucea and Jaidyn are still as tight as ever, and honestly it probably worked out very well for both of them that they were never an official couple because Jaidyn found Pod, and Lucea is very much an embodiment of the line I can't get married for I'm married to the sea.

anyway in case you were wondering, Serion didn't die, he just uh, let's say he left. He left Westeros altogether in 289 AC for fear of taking part in Balon's Rebellion, and was for all intents and purposes disowned by his family because of this.

he's been having a good time, he got a boyfriend who is spiraling dangerously close to what some would consider a war criminal mindset, and he more or less adopted a kid. (for clarification I mean Jon Connington and Young Griff)

he does however make the return to Driftmark after so many years (even after leaving without so much as a letter to either Jaidyn or Lucea, which neither of them took well) for the sake of Young Griff and the fleet he will inevitably need.

this is around season seven, for context I guess.

also for context that I somehow missed, uh, there were some vibes between him and Jaidyn too.

anyway for the reasons of this ask Jaidyn is at Driftmark when he arrives and her and Lucea are just... absolutely floored to see him there because uh, what the fuck?

it's very much a bittersweet reunion, they've each moved on from the love they had in the past, but they still love each other. it hurts me on every level possible.

a n y w a y. at the end of the whole damn series Lucea basically turns Driftmark into what I guess most of Westeros would consider an incredibly scandalous place, think like, Lys, but really she just... does not care who people love. It has Nassau / Tortuga vibes, basically. Just follow her rules--which are few and far between--and she won't bother you.

anyway Jaidyn and Pod would thrive there, Serion would too if Jon wasn't so deadset on resuming his place as the Lord of Griffin's Roost.

this is very vague I'm realizing but uh, Getaway Car by Taylor Swift sums up the vibes of the development of this whole relationship. They personally have the exact same vibes as the Road to El Dorado trio. as demonstrated in this gif.

[amethystpath-writes]

A Gentle Blade Part 12

Part 11 here

The queen is back, folks!

Tag list (if anyone wants added lmk!):

@tears-and-lilies

Tw: character getting slapped, threats of torture,

******

Leera woke up screaming. She wished it were the queen's fault that her throat was sore as her eyes opened and she jumped into consciousness. It wasn't.

The assassin's breathing was quick and shallow and she broke into sobs that felt like they could gorge holes into her body worse than the heretic's fork collar.

She didn't bother looking for Sir Guard to see his reaction, or even to make sure the queen wasn't soaking up her despair. Leera only let the tears fall, soaking into her raggy clothing, let them clean away any dry blood they came into contact with.

Eventually Sir Guard did come over to the sobbing assassin on the cell floor. He said nothing, only put a hand beneath her back and urged her to sit up. There was no way she could breathe the way she was sniffling and Sir Guard figured that laying down couldn't possibly help that problem.

Her body had been limp, heavy, but she didn't resist as her guard guided her into a seated position. She did, however, continue to cry. At one point she squeezed her eyes shut, trying her best to rid the image in her head.

It wasn't often that Leera dreamt of her father's death. It wasn't often that her brain conjured a random man's voice to make up for her father's, whose voice she'd forgotten. When it did happen, it was always miserable and he was always dying. He was being hurt and tortured until death, just how it was said he'd been in real life, only Leera's brain liked to venture into forms of torture she never knew existed.

"I never want children," the assassin muttered with a sniffle following.

Sir Guard hummed. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm afraid she would be a third generation of Unfortunates."

He didn't respond to the part Leera imagined he would. "So you would like to have a girl if you had a kid at all." It wasn't a question.

"I guess I would."

"You said you would."

"Not directly."

He shrugged. "Didn't have to. Some people don't care to read into words and wordings. I do, and you told me you don't want a daughter to suffer the life you and a parent of yours has."

Leera sniffled again. A sting returned in her eye, letting her know she needed a second round of sobs. She didn't want to cry again. She didn't want to the first time.

Sir Guard regarded her carefully, taking several steps towards her after having retreated when sitting the assassin up earlier. He knelt in front of Leera, touched her cheek and barely pushed on it, a signal for her to tilt her chin back. She complied. "Do they still hurt? The puncture marks?"

"They've healed by now," she explained, "Only scabs. If I scratched and reopened them it'd hurt, but otherwise I hardly notice them anymore."

"Good," Sir Guard said. The next thing he spoke as he let go of her cheek baffled the assassin. "You always ask who I am. I want to know who you are."

"It's no fair you get to ask and expect an answer if I can never get one from you."

"I'm a prince," he replied easily.

Leera laughed. She laughed and laughed, and by the end of her laughter, she felt an ache in her chest. This time she was thankful it wasn't the pain from the forked collar. "Fine, don't tell me then."

He smiled. Leera lost what little breath she had left. Teeth, she thought. They're how I imagined. "You asked who I am. I just told you."

Gathering herself back together, she scoffed, "You're not a prince."

"Why can't I be? I'm Rennera's future king, aren't I?"

"Well- well yeah. But-" The assassin shook her head. "But I would know if it were- if a prince had-had been guarding me this whole time, who-who had captured me in-in the woods." Leera paused. "I would know," she declared, but it was far from confident. "You're joking with me and it's cruel. Stop it."

"So you won't tell me who you are."

"I'm an assassin. That's all."

"An assassin who does, but doesn't want a daughter because she believes she's cursed."

"I never said I thought I was cursed."

He reminded her, "Didn't need to. It's in the wording."

Leera was slightly annoyed. What was Sir Guard playing at? First he conversed Leera's having a child, a daughter. Then, he asked who she was as if he didn't already know. She was an assassin, and well- it seemed like he'd already figured out her past. And not only this, but he was calling himself a prince. How dare he kid Leera like that?

"I take it you were dreaming of whichever parent went through your same situation now?"

"Wording?" Leera asked.

Sir Guard nodded. "I guess I just like using context clues. You woke up screaming and sweating, and the first thing you said was that you didn't want children. Basic deduction."

The assassin squinted. "Are you a general, a commander?"

"In some way, yeah. I told you what I am."

"You lied."

"I didn't." He looked her straight in the eye. Without wavering, he said, "I wasn't lying."

Leera huffed. "You can't be. You can't be a damned prince."

"Why not?"

She shook her head. She would get a cramp in her neck if she kept doing that. "Because," she said like it was obvious, though she realized she had little to no reasoning. Fine. It's fine. I'll just wing it. "Because you- Because! You refuse to be the queen's husband. Why would a prince be here if they weren't marrying? Why would they capture runaway assassin prisoners and return them to queens they hated?" Finally with full confidence, Leera stated, "You're not a prince. How's that for your deductive reasoning?"

Sir Guard shrugged. "I would be impressed-" There was a sound of footsteps, a clack clack clack. It was the queen. "I'm sorry," Sir Guard said, "If I weren't so close to you I'd have time to get back to my spot."

"What do you-" He slapped her. Hard and right across the cheek he had tenderly touched earlier. Leera gasped and put a hand over her cheek. It stung badly enough that her eyes teared up.

The cell door creaked open and sure enough Queen Rennera stepped through. She clapped as she always did when she saw her greatest prisoner. But a look of confusion crossed her face. "What are you doing so close to her, my future king?" She didn't seem angry, just utterly baffled.

Sir Guard stood up from his kneel and threw a hand in Leera's direction. She flinched away instinctively. "The assassin wouldn't shut her trap so I took action."

"Strange," the queen said. "She usually only ever speaks when I'm doing something to her. What was she going on about, I wonder?"

"Complaining. Her chest and chin still hurt."

"Oh, how unfortunate for her that I am bored today."

Leera remained still on the floor as to not provoke the queen. She was grateful for her guard's lie. Leera hadn't complained about her marks at all, she only ever groaned when they hurt, but they didn't hurt anymore. He'd even asked if she was still in pain. She wasn't, but he said she was to the queen to save them both some misery.

"Your Majesty, forgive me if I am speaking out of place, but I would be appreciative if you gave her at least another day." He casted a glance at Leera. "She has been terribly annoying. If you put her through any more then I know she will never shut up."

"I could cut out her tongue?"

The assassin couldn't help the whimper that rose in her throat. The thought of- of what the queen suggested was too horrific to fathom.

"And prevent her from ever begging?" Sir Guard shook his head. "I don't mind her voice. It's the complaining I cannot stand." He added, "And anyways, wouldn't you think it is more fun to break her down after being fully restored? What's a better sense of false hope than that?"

Rennera hummed highly. "I suppose that's a good point. If she hurts enough that she's complaining though...that means several days longer of wasting away untouched. Ah!" Her hand came up suddenly, a finger pointed at the ceiling. "You hit her, yes? That is why her face is flowery?"

Flowery, Leera wanted to scoff. What a polite way of saying my cheek is bruising.

Sir Guard nodded.

The queen clapped excitedly. "Good, good. You shall do it again. When she complains that it hurts, you will strike her until she stops. Eventually she'll deal with the pain silently and when she does, we'll know that pain isn't so unbearable that we can't put her through something else." Rennera looked to her prisoner on the floor. "Do you have any objection, my dearest assassin?"

Leera swallowed, said nothing.

Rennera repeated herself and Leera looked at Sir Guard, weighing her options.

If she accepted, her guard would be forced to strike her more often and she knew he wouldn't want that. He would do it to protect her- for whatever reason she still didn't know- from the queen's personal torments.

If she refused the idea, she would be maimed and broken now rather than later, but Sir Guard wouldn't be forced to do something he didn't want to do. He felt badly enough about Leera's position. She had no doubt he would apologize again for slapping her when the queen left.

"What will you do to me if- if you take me today?" she asked Rennera.

The queen smiled, "Telling you would defeat the purpose of our goal, wouldn't it?"

Apologize to the king. Leera could apologize easily, but it was the truthfulness the queen wanted that she couldn't give. The torture was pointless. It only made Leera apologize to the queen instead of the dead king. So agreeing to be hurt by Rennera was pointless for Leera when she could opt out of it, but...it wasn't pointless to Sir Guard who would otherwise be forced to harm her.

"I'll take it. Whatever it is, I'll take it."

Sir Guard's face dropped into despair. Why? it asked. Why would you commit yourself to this when you had a choice not to?

Leera wanted to say back, You've done enough for me. Now I'm doing something for you.

"Good," the queen purred. "Good. But before then, I would like to reward my future king for his duties."

Now it was Sir Guard who swallowed nervously.

******

Part 13 here

[yourdeepestfathoms]

In Our Bedroom After The War

[Broadway Kids]

Prompt: “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

Word count: 2944

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

Tommy can’t quite remember when Carrie stopped speaking. Some people said it was in the third grade after she brought that Bible to school and started praying in the middle of lunch, others said after the Christian Youth Camp incident and she swallowed so much water that she “permanently clogged her vocal cords” or something stupid. Whatever happened, something had made Carrie White go silent, and she’s been a target of mockery since.

Deaf and dumb. That’s what the other kids liked to call her. But she isn’t deaf, Tommy knows, because she always reacts to what is said about her with great offense and pain, and she certainly isn’t dumb because Tommy has seen her grades when her report cards are stolen and passed around by bullies. She’s a smart girl, very smart. If anything, he was the dumb one, because the amount of times he’s almost given away their little get-togethers was unbelievable.

It started a month into the school year, he believed. He went into senior year, while Carrie just started high school. He can’t quite remember what caused them to start meeting up in the hidden bathroom under the staircase in the C hall stair well, and he’ll admit that he had never imagined himself hanging out with the city’s resident freak and actually enjoy it, but he would seriously miss their reclusive meetings every Friday after school if they were to ever stop.

Today in particular was very special. 1) because he was finally going to try and teach Carrie about video games (she was fourteen! she should at least know the basics like Pokemon and Mario!) and 2) he had noticed that Carrie seemed a little off the past week and he wanted to ask her about it.

When you saw someone like Carrie White, you would assume that she was constantly in a state of anxiety and depression, but Tommy has learned to pick up on little ticks she does over time. Like how lately, she’s been tugging on her hair and biting her knuckles more often, something she only does if something is really bothering her. Because of their social status in the high school hierarchy, he was never able to ask her if she was alright, so non verbal forms of communication would have to do until their weekly meetup.

There’s the way he tried to avoid letting her out of sight, and if it isn’t that, then it's the way they move around each other in natural synchronicity in the hallway, like celestial bodies that have been caught in orbit for millennia. It's the way he makes excuses to walk alone to class just to make sure she doesn’t get any trouble on the way to her own. It's the silent conversations, an inquisitive look (“You okay?”) answered by a minute nod (“All good.”). It’s everything he wishes he had done for her before his final year of high school.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how Carrie would soon be all alone again after he graduates. Tried not to think about what would happen to her when he isn’t there as her silent guardian. Tried not to think about how sad he would be without seeing her every day anymore.

Tommy slipped inside the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible to avoid alerting anyone who may have been lurking around, and turned to face the rest of the space. Carrie is sitting at the sink counter on one of two stools Tommy had smuggled in there for them. She turned her head to look at him sideways, but she’s still got her nose buried in a sketchbook, which she still hasn't let him look at. He wondered what she's drawing. Maybe it's a treasure map. Or a secret code. Or that deer they saw earlier. Or him.

  “The party has arrived!” Tommy has announced, his voice rebounding loudly off of the silent bathroom walls. He dropped his backpack on the floor, unlike Carrie had done, as hers was hung up on one of the hooks on the wall.

Carrie finally put her pencil down and swiveled around completely in her stool to smile at him. She doesn’t show any teeth with her grin, and it’s slightly wry, but it’s a smile nonetheless and Tommy is honored to get such a thing from her. He examined her quickly, luckily finding no new wounds from bullying, then crossed over. She hastily closed her sketchbook.

  “One day,” He said. “One day I will see your masterpiece.”

Carrie gave him an apologetic look, her smile becoming a little more tight. She grabbed a nearby whiteboard to write on, but stopped when Tommy waved a hand.

  “No, no,” He said. “No need for that! I’ve been doing really well in my ASL class- you can sign to me!”

Carrie looked skeptical, but Tommy doesn’t miss the flash of excitement in her warm honey eyes. It’s not often that someone understands her when she uses sign language.

  “Come on, I’m smarter than I look! Don’t doubt my abilities to learn a new language!”

Carrie nodded. She held up her hands, shaking down the frayed sleeves of her shirt, and began to sign.

  “What (something) we (something) today?”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t AS fluent as he thought, but Carrie looked so much more comfortable being able to sign! He could just use his context clues!

  “Something very fun!” Tommy assured her. He took out his phone and turned on a playlist that they’ve been progressively adding more and more songs to (with Carrie having to write hers down and give the list to him, seeing as she didn’t own any electronics). You can tell who added what like this: if it’s Christian related or something grungy-chill, Carrie probably added it; if it has folk music vibes and/or a lot of acoustic guitars, it was probably Tommy, surprisingly enough; if it just generally sounds like it’s ripped from an indie movie, it’s kind of a toss up.

He took out the Nintendo Switch he got last Christmas next and set it up on the sink counter. Carrie tilted her head at it as if it were a peculiar flower that had just sprouted out of the porcelain countertop. 

  “Ever played before?” Tommy asked, although he already knew the answer.

  “No. (something) I’ve seen (something) (something).”

  “You’ve seen it before?” Tommy repeated, guessing just by the way Carrie had pointed to her eyes.

Carrie nodded.

  “Well, now you get to play it!” Tommy beamed at her and she smiled back, but it seems a little forced. Something is definitely on her mind- he’ll have to ask once she’s a little more relaxed. “Hmm… How about Minecraft?”

  “M-I-N-E-C-R-A-F-T. I’ve heard (something) (something).”

  “It’s fun!” Tommy assured her, selecting the game. “Trust me, you’ll like it.” He put the controllers in her hands and she rubs her thumbs over the rubber protectors. “So the main goal is surviving,” He went on. “There's a lot of objectives actually, but surviving is always the first one. Once you get used to it, you can play in Survival mode and start making a good base and start getting tools and armor and stuff, then you can move on to other objectives. But for now you can just play in Creative. What should we name the world?”

Carrie thought for a few moments, and Tommy could practically see all the random names cycling through her brain. After a moment, she signed, “(something)”

Tommy blinked.

  “One more time.”

  “(something)”

  “Can you fingerspell it, please?”

  “V-E-N-U-S.”

  “Oh! Venus! We haven’t learned planets yet.” Tommy said. “Wait- Venus?”

  “V-E-N-U-S (something) (something) (something) cool place (something) live.”

Tommy laughed. “Can’t argue with that logic!” He helped Carrie type in the name and clicked through a couple of other settings before hitting “create world”. Within a few moments the world was up and running. Carrie’s character was off in no time, exploring the blocky landscape and sifting through her colorful inventory, although her movements were sporadic and jerky since it was her first time playing.

Decorating the base was by far Carrie’s favorite part. There were so many different flowers for the outside and wood types for flooring and even COLORED glass. The only thing that would make it better was if you could have animals and OH MY GOODNESS YOU COULD HAVE ANIMALS!!!!!!!!

For a moment, Tommy debated just leaving Carrie there and allowing her to design the base and play around however she wanted, but he couldn't. He was so worried that someone may waltz in and see her in the boy’s bathroom and then do something to her. Carrie being nearly drowned in one of the toilets, Carrie getting her head smashed against the sink counter, Carrie being raped, Carrie getting beaten into a bloody pulp- so many horrible scenarios forced their way into his head. Carrie getting her throat slit, Carrie getting her body stuffed in the air vent, Carrie getting sodomized with a mop stick.

Why? Why were kids so cruel to her? Why couldn’t Tommy protect her from everything? Why does he know he can’t?

There was a soft touch on his hand and he jolted out of his thoughts. Carrie flinched away, too, then signed something he couldn’t understand, but knew she was asking if he was okay by the pinched expression on her face.

  “I’m okay,” He assured her. “Just thinking.”

She made the gesture of “what” and tilted her head. Then she pointed to herself.

About me?

  “Yeah,” Tommy admitted.

That made Carrie’s nose scrunch up in a giggle.

  “Don’t (something) S-U-E know.”

  “If you think that I would cheat on my girlfriend with a fish, then you are very much wrong.” Tommy said. “What about you? What’s been on your mind?”

Carrie put the Switch controllers down and shrugged her shoulders. She began to play with the cuff of her sleeve, not really making eye contact anymore.

  “Come on,” Tommy urged. “You can tell me!”

  “People,” Carrie signed vaguely.

  “People?” Tommy echoed. “People being rude to you?”

Carrie shrugged again, and it was clear she didn’t really want to talk about this anymore, nor did she seem to be in a mood to continue playing. Tommy packed up the Nintendo Switch and paused their shared playlist. He gave Carrie her backpack and they started to walk out of the school in mutual silence.

  “Sorry,” Tommy said as they neared the parking lot. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carrie shook her head, then signed, “You didn’t. Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “Well if it isn’t praying Carrie!”

Carrie went rigid, like she had been struck by lightning. She stopped mid-step and didn’t move as a group of seniors trot over, their faces alight with mischief and cruelty.

  “Ross!” One of them called. “What are you doing with this freak?”

  “Is she holding you hostage?” Another guessed, casting a look at Carrie.

  “I bet she’s leading him out to his car to force him to let her ride him.” A third said. The group howled with diseased laughter at that. Tommy is appalled. Carrie looked ill. “Is that it, church girl? The need for sex has finally broken into you and you’re ready to sin?”

  “Back off!” Tommy growled, shoving the boy away. He put himself between him and Carrie, becoming a barricade of sorts. “Leave her alone.”

  “I wonder how loud she’ll moan,” A fourth member of the group mused.

  “Can she even moan?” The second wondered out loud.

  “If you plowed into her hard enough I bet she’ll make some sort of sound.” The first said.

Carrie darted left and sprinted for the nearby line of trees edging the campus. Tommy glared at the group of seniors, then followed, concerned. 

The darkness of the forest quickly closes around them. Carrie is fast on her feet, but Tommy was an athlete and he caught up quickly. He snagged the back of her jacket in a loose grip. They stumbled together over uneven ground and exposed tree roots until Carrie collapsed in a hollow between two moss-covered rocks. Tommy slotted himself in front of her so that she’s shielded from all sides- the rocks and Tommy forming a barrier from the world.

He said nothing. He listened to the girl’s gasping breaths and knew that it’s nothing that words can cure- not anymore. Not after years of having no one, being stabbed in the back and spoon fed lies. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the rustling of oak leaves, the distant calls of birds, the persistent harmony of crickets.

He wondered what Carrie used to ground herself.

He wondered if she grounded herself at all.

Slowly, softly, Carrie calmed to some degree. It comes faster than Tommy expected, but he assumed that’s just because she’s grown used to the treatment she gets. She shifted, wiggling her shoes beneath Tommy’s thigh. Tommy doesn’t shift. He won’t leave until she does.

  “It’s okay,” He finally whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Carrie whimpered and made a sloppy gesture- Why?

  “Because I care about you.” Tommy said. “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

He wanted to make her laugh or smile or at least stop crying, but Carrie just whimpered again. She swiveled around to face him, eyes flashing with tears. 

  “Why?” She signed again, sniffling miserably.

  “We’re friends.” Tommy told her. “You know that, don’t you?” The look he got said that she didn’t believe it. “Come on. Tell me some things you know about me. You’d be surprised how well you know me.”

Carrie hesitated, then began to sign, “Your name is Tommy Ross.” She winced at how bland it was, but Tommy only nodded, brushing a bit of his dark brown hair out of his eyes. Carrie’s face scrunched up like she’s memorizing her timestaple in front of him, struggling to bring that gridded mess of numbers to mind. 

  “You’re the tallest (something) (something) everyone (something) your team,” She continued. The sky overhead is eye-wateringly blue, with crisply white cotton clouds scudding along the horizon. A light breeze shakes the leaves of a nearby oak tree that has the initials of some high school sweethearts carved into the base of its trunk. They’re a little crooked from where someone’s hand had slipped, the flat of a switchblade arcing a little too close to the bark, and making a J thicker, almost a U when you looked at it dead on. 

  “That’s right,” Tommy said. He knows his role here is only background noise. That’s his job, whether Carrie knows it or not, and he’s more than happy to fulfill it. He doesn’t mind being subject to the scrutiny of befriending ol’ praying Carrie because of it. Not if it’s what she needs to feel better.

  “Your eyes (something) like a (something) green-brown, (something) (something) like slimy algae. You always have (something) stupid red sports jacket on. Your sneakers (something) (something) white, once upon a time.” She managed to tease him, uttering out a tiny giggle.

  “What can I say, Carrie, I’m a filthy gremlin, like all boys are-” He joked, and she swatted him lightly on the arm. She bit back a laugh, and Tommy wished that she wouldn’t- Carrie tips her head back when she laughs, unabashed and on the edge of hysterical, giggling and snorting, shoulders shaking with mirth until she’s brought her gaze back down again, cheeks flushed from the exertion of being host to that much joy despite everything that she’s been through. No one holds the weight of trauma and mistreatment as heavily on their shoulders as Carrie White does- Carrieta, the library to all of those scattered instances of would-be’s-could-be’s-shouldn’t-be’s. And still, there is a smidge joy. It’s beautiful. He thought that she’s most beautiful when she’s laughing (don’t tell Sue, and if you do, make sure you let her know it’s completely platonic. but just don’t tell her at all).

  “You have, like, (something) favorite red shirt, with a light brown hood on it. And S-U-E thinks it’s hideous.” Carrie continued. She’s tapping her foot against his leg, a gentle soothing gesture, and he lets her. He knew that it’s more for herself than him.

  “You have a golden ring (something) onto a necklace.” Carrie signed. “But you don’t wear it (something) you think it (something) you look silly. But it’s really pretty.” Pause, and when she signed again, it wasn't about the necklace anymore. “It’s (something) (something) like having a sibling.” Pause. Carrie looked up at him with glittering eyes. “You’re Tommy Ross.”

The weight that she placed on his name makes his heart stutter, catching in his chest- the warmth that he felt towards her is almost unbearable, and he found himself grinning, mouth gone crooked in the gesture.

  “I’m Tommy Ross, that’s right,” He repeated to her, as if they’re introducing themselves at some shitty college icebreaker. “And I’m not going anywhere, Carrie.” He went on, a touch of urgency in his voice- and she smiles, eyes closing, though hers are more reserved than his, somehow. There’s a tear bright in the corner of her right eye, and it traced a thin path down her face. More come. They pool at her chin, dripping off of her face, and soaking into the softness of the earth. His chest ached.

  “And you’re not going anywhere,” She whispered, voice hitching a little halfway through. He swiped a thumb over her cheek, flicked the tear off into the green grass behind them. 

  “I’m not,” He promised. “I’m not leaving you, Carrie.” And his voice had gone soft, her name cradled gently in his mouth, like he’s afraid of breaking something precious.

[vitanes]

this one is for @miss-pulet i’m sorry for such a delay but i got a little bit carried away n ended up with over 7k words ifjisjf i hope u will like it!

a little bit of you and me

Lucas hates everything soulmates stand for, especially the lack of choice and how fake it seems to be. Don’t even get him started on how weird his mark is. He definitely never wants to meet his soulmate. 

But the universe? It always finds a way to fuck him over. 

(Or, the one with a zoo, Eliott and some difficult dilemmas.)

At the age of six, Lucas had only a vague sense of understanding what exactly soulmates were. Being more invested in cartoons and his toys, he didn’t pay much attention to the mark over his heart. Unlike some kids around him, he didn’t observe the way it’d started changing its shape to something more than a dark blob that could have been easily mistaken for a mole.

Perhaps, that’s why when one day he was taking a shower and he noticed half of his chest was covered by dark shapes, he freaked out.

It took his parents over half an hour to calm him down and then another thirty minutes to convince him that his mark wasn’t ugly or weird.

Being twenty-one, Lucas still thinks his mark is bizarre. Of course, It’s gotten smoother over the years, more realistic. It doesn’t look like a pre-schooler doodled it.

But–

Some people have flowers, flames. Normally paired up animals. He, on the contrary, has got a hedgehog and a raccoon intertwined together. With no way of knowing the meaning behind it. Especially since he’s not very keen on meeting his soulmate.

Don’t get him wrong, good for all the people that have found their destined ones, but he’d rather stay out of this business. He can go on his whole life without meeting the person that made the strange duo form on his chest.

Soulmates are overrated.

 ***

 The first day of Lucas’ summer internship at the local zoo would have been going pretty well if not for one tiny detail. Or well, not that tiny since Lucas is shorter, but. But, another intern keeps being very distracting through the whole day. From the second the guy anxiously introduced himself as Eliott, Lucas couldn’t have been able to stay calm. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries not to pay attention to him, he gives in to throwing glances now and then anyway.

The worst thing is that Eliott isn’t even doing anything special. He works with the animals, the same way Lucas or Imane and Manon do. Yet, all Lucas can do, is agonise in silence over how gentle and cute Eliott is with those they are supposed to take care of. It’s only day one, how Lucas is going to handle the next weeks is beyond him.

Having issues with being gay, but also being gay is a little bit problematic for Lucas. That’s why he hopes Eliott won’t get near him. That way Lucas will get his staring without any consequences. Besides, what business would Eliott have in talking to him?

Well, in Lucas’ opinion none.

 ***

 Lucas is feeding the dolphins. Not having any prior experience with those animals, he was slightly hesitant the few first times, but eventually, he found out it’s not scarier than dealing with a chimpanzee.

The fish in the bucket are moist and Lucas’ face scrunches up each time he reaches out for one. In order not to have one sliding out of his grasp, he needs to properly hold it and it gets harder with each one. His palms are already fully covered in mucus.

The smell is going to cling to him for days to come. But he’s there for all of the animals, isn’t he? He’s going to face even worse things, the last thing he should be unhappy about is throwing some fish into the water. Some would say it’s even relaxing. He doesn’t need to use much of his brain for this task.

With that in mind, he lets his arms do the work while he tunes out. Next thing he’ll have to do is help with cleaning up some cages. That surely is going to be plenty of fun.

Well, he must have been naïve if he had thought he’d be spending all his time there playing with animals. The kid in him jumped out and the adult forgot about all of the awaiting responsibilities.

“How’s the first day going?”

Lucas jumps, snapped out of his daze. He nearly drops the bucket with the fish, but someone grabs it in the last moment and moves it back towards his hands.

His fingers clasp around the handle. Ignoring his wildly beating heart, he looks up at the intruder.

And oh boy, if it’s not the God himself. The smile that Lucas is on the receiving end of physically pains him. It’s wide and makes Eliott’s eyes crinkle up.

Lucas is sure he probably resembles the fish very well now. With the gaping and all.

They keep staring at each other, Lucas clutching the bucket against his stomach and Eliott standing there, his hair messy and cheekbones so sharp they could cut a bitch. His gaze seems piercing through Lucas who has yet to take a breath if he doesn’t want to suffocate and fall into the water to become dolphins’ dinner.

Pretty sure dolphins don’t eat humans, but that’s beyond the point.

Eliott’s lips move, but Lucas is too out of it. He doesn’t really register anything besides how nice the timbre of Eliott’s voice is. How pleasant.

He shakes his head.

“What?”

“I was repeating my question,” Eliott says, amused and Lucas nods slowly.

Oh, yeah. A question. He can’t make Eliott utter it for the third time. He needs to remind himself what exactly scared him.

Lucas hums, dumbly, searching his mind for clues, all the while Eliott’s eyes don’t leave his face. To say it’s unnerving wouldn’t be enough. He can’t focus. Until.

“Not bad,” Lucas stutters, casually throwing yet another fish into the water. “What about you?” he adds. If he shows how chill he is with the situation, maybe Eliott will forget whatever has just happened.

“I’m having fun. I love these little guys,” Eliott says, slightly tilting forward.

Lucas’ first instinct is to stop him from potentially falling into the water and ruining his perfectly styled hair, but he refrains. They are strangers, he’s not about to cross some boundaries and potentially touch him.

“Yeah? That means you haven’t dealt with enormous dump yet.” Oh, back with the complaining.

Eliott snorts and takes one of the fish out of Lucas’ basket. He doesn’t throw it to the animals but shoves it in front of Lucas’ face. Lucas steps back from it, puzzled but doesn’t say anything. He needs to play along even if he could end up with a mouthful of raw fish. He has no idea what Eliott is capable of after all.

“A little poop has never killed anyone,” Eliott says in a deep voice, while his fingers move the fish’s mouth as to imitate talking. That’s something Lucas did not expect. But maybe he should have. Given the context, there aren’t many things Eliott could have done with the fish.

Seeing that Eliott is not some mysterious enigma makes Lucas somehow less intimidated and he rolls his eyes, sighing. He wrings the fish out of Eliott’s hands before he tosses it into the water, careful not to touch Eliott’s skin. Boundaries, right.

“You’re weird. Don’t play with food,” Lucas retorts, but a little smile appears on his face anyway. He just can’t help himself. Sue him.

“You think I’m weird?” Eliott teases, nudging Lucas in the ribs. Well, as it seems, not everyone cares about boundaries. “Well, get ready because it’s going to get only weirder from now on.” There’s a promise in Eliott’s voice, accompanied by a wicked grin and eyes full of sparks.

Lucas’ heart skips a beat.

 ***

 Lucas wasn’t all that keen on being friendly with Eliott, since Eliott is a very very cute boy. But what can one do when someone keeps on reaching out? And chatting them up? He can’t force Eliott to fuck off, he isn’t an asshole. Also, it’s not like he’s oh, so very bothered by it. Or, if he is, it’s not in the sense he ought to be.

It’s been, what, two weeks? Since Lucas has started working there. And so far Eliott has managed to work alongside him more often than not, entertaining Lucas with how he impersonates some animals or making the most mundane things sound interesting. They exchanged social media, followed each other on Instagram. Eliott has a tendency to send voice notes whenever anything out of ordinary happens. They’ve fallen into a habit of sending each other memes.

Just bro things.

Long story short, Eliott must have decided they should not only be co-workers but friends as well.

And if Lucas’ blush is from a prolonged eye-contact and not caused by physically dragging an animal from one place to another, well then, sucks to be him.

 ***

 “So, what do you think about soulmates?” Eliott asks one day when they are eating lunch.  They are both sitting at a small, tiny table with very little room between them.

Lucas swallows down his cheese and ham sandwich and shrugs.

“They exist,” he says, unbothered. He hears Eliott huff.

“Elaborate, maybe? Have you met yours? Are you excited to meet them?”

“Not really. I haven’t met them, but even if I had, I wouldn’t care.” Lucas turns to Eliott just to be met with a confused gaze. He smiles meekly. “I think it’s forced. You are expected to jump on some stranger just because your marks match? That’s bullshit. You don’t know them. Very shallow. And it’s like, what, if you fall for someone who isn’t your soulmate, it’s less valid? You have to leave them if you eventually meet that soulmate? Thank you very much. I don’t believe in its profoundness,” Lucas explains, his fingers idly playing with the sandwich.

Anyone who’s ever met him knows his opinion on the topic. He’s got many reactions whenever he spoke his mind; pity, skepticism or even understanding. But no one has ever been as baffled as Eliott is in this moment. Like he can’t quite grasp the meaning of Lucas’ words, as if this whole way of approaching the subject was unbelievable for him.  

“And you?” Lucas eventually mutters, putting his sandwich down on the table. After playing with it for too long, it doesn’t look edible. And Lucas’ fingers are sticky from butter.

The tips of Eliott’s ears are pink when he admits, “Thinking about my soulmate kind of helps me get through.”

Oh.

Eliott looks down and then to the side, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip. “It’s kind of reassuring, knowing there’s someone that will get me. Accept all of me. I feel less alone. I see your point, though. I just think that you’re bound to eventually get to know them. Being soulmates makes the connection stronger, I guess.” He looks back at Lucas, something inexplicably sad hiding in his eyes. Despite that, he still smiles softly.

“Why do you think someone who’s not your soulmate wouldn’t accept you wholly?” Lucas asks, curious. He can’t imagine a universe in which someone could dismiss Eliott.

“Let’s just say I can be hard to love,” Eliott whispers, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on the surface of the table.

Lucas wants to disagree, but he fears he could sound foolish. After all, he barely knows Eliott.

(Deeply, Lucas disagrees anyway. Eliott must have been told that he’s hard to love by all the wrong people. The people like Lucas’ dad who made his mother believe the same.)

 ***

 Taking a walk back home with Eliott isn’t something unusual, but it sure makes Lucas aware of many things each time their shoulders brush.

They’ve been leaving the zoo together ever since they found out they don’t live far away from each other. Things feel completely different in the late evening and instead of being nervous around Eliott, Lucas finds himself getting relaxed. They don’t need to use words, especially when they pretty much use them up during the day. Sometimes they keep completely quiet right up until they part in front of Lucas’ building.

There’s a lake they pass by on their way there and that’s where they currently are at. The air around them is warm, with only a slight breeze blowing through their hair. There are still traces of the setting sun all over the sky, with its edges painted warm red. An occasional chatter coming from random passers-by’s. It’s that time of the day when the bugs start their concert. The atmosphere is peaceful, romantic even.

Lucas throws a glance towards Eliott and sees him closing his eyes, exhaling. The day was tiring and it shows on Eliott’s face just how worn out he is. But still, there’s something beautiful about him that Lucas can’t find a name for.

Eliott opens his eyes lazily as if he’s sensed he’s been watched and they look at each other for a few seconds too long. Eliott smiles at him and the back of his palm knocks against Lucas’ fingers.

Lucas feels like he could stay in this moment forever.

 ***

 Lucas should have known that a bored Eliott holding a hose would be a dangerous combination.

It hits him just how dangerous when he’s minding his business, cleaning up the cage with his own hose just to suddenly have the back of his shirt drenched in a matter of seconds. He doesn’t even have time to escape the attack.

He can hear loud cackles and after turning around, ready to throw hands, he’s faced with Eliott who’s doubling over from how hard he’s laughing.

“That’s funny to you?” Lucas asks, exasperation audible in his voice.

Eliott fans himself with his hands, visibly trying to contain his laughter, but fails horribly. What’s worse, his laughter turns into loud snorts. Lucas’ chest is filled with fondness and he can’t have that.

That’s why he raises his hose up and points it directly at Eliott’s scrunched up face. The laughter dies down immediately and Lucas can’t help, but feel smug. After seeing how ridiculously adorable Eliott looks like, it’s Lucas’ turn to crack-up. He thinks he got his point across, his revenge if you will. That’s why he’s completely caught off guard when Eliott mercilessly covers the rest of Lucas’ body in water.

It’s needless to say things can only escalate from this point on and soon enough they are having a full on fight. The only sounds audible over the stream of water are their chuckles. They get so into it that Lucas ends up in Eliott’s headlock, having the water poured down his head. His face is squished against Eliott’s chest and if they weren’t in the middle of a war, Lucas would have panicked.

But as it is, he’s way too competitive and too into it as of now. He tries to wring out of Eliott’s hold. To no avail, sadly. He only manages to pull away slightly, far enough to open his eyes.

Far enough to have his heart stutter in his chest when he sees Eliott’s skin under his soaked shirt. It’s so wet it’s become see-through and to Lucas’ horror, he’s mere centimeters from a mark he knows all too well. That isn’t on his skin.

He stops fighting against Eliott and just stares at the weird combination of animals displayed over Eliott’s heart. It’s exactly the same as Lucas’ and he looks down on himself to check whether his own mark stands out as proudly as Eliott’s.

He lets out a sigh of relief upon noticing it’s still covered.

“Please, don’t tell me I damaged you with that water,” Eliott says next to Lucas’ ear and Lucas looks up into his eyes, panicked. He must have spaced out, if the worried look on Eliott’s face is anything to go by. Their hoses have been turned off and there are tentative arms supporting Lucas’ weight against Eliott’s body.

It’s then that he realises how weak in the knees he is.

He straightens up and puts some distance between their bodies, a reassuring smile stretching his lips.

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice sounding foreign even to his ears. Eliott must catch onto something as well because he doesn’t look convinced. “Really, I’m all good,” Lucas insists and gives Eliotts a thumbs up to emphasise.

He’s far from feeling good, but he needs to leave freaking out for later. He can’t let Eliott know what he’s just found out.

Lucas nudges Eliott in the shoulder and looks around.

“We made more mess than there was, to begin with,” he says, pleased with how calm he appears. “Come on, let’s get changed and try to fix it up,” he adds.

Eliott nods, his lips pursed, and follows Lucas to the lockers. Completely unaware of all the emotional turmoil going through Lucas’ mind.

 ***

 No, no, no. Nononononono.

No.

Eliott can’t be Lucas’ soulmate. He just can’t. It’s not allowed. Maybe his eyes played some tricks on him.

Lucas is standing in the bathroom, getting ready for another day of work. He hasn’t moved for the past few minutes, though, his eyes glued to his reflection in the mirror. More precisely, to the mark on his chest. He’s never spent as much time studying the image as now. He’s trying to find any detail that would tell him his mark and Eliott’s are not the same.

Because they can’t be, shit.

Lucas has been feeling so fucking good around Eliott. Might have even started to like him. Like, the instant connection between them made him feel exhilarated. Big ‘fuck you’ to everyone claiming you can’t have an honest bond with someone that isn’t your soulmate. And sure they haven’t known each other long enough to have that depth, yet. But Lucas swears there was a potential of something grand.

Now it turns out all of that was a scam. They don’t like each other for who they are, but because the universe is telling them.

That’s the last thing Lucas wished for. This choice to make, that he was robbed off. Yet another one. If he was forced to be in a dysfunctional family, with sexuality that people were killed for, he could at least be free to choose who he wanted to love.

And it’s a shame, because Eliott is someone Lucas could see himself easily falling for.

He sighs deeply with resignation and pulls a shirt over his head. Even covering the mark doesn’t make him feel any better.

 ***

 Lucas is inclined to putting some distance between himself and Eliott, but he wants to be subtle about it. Eliott is a smart guy and if Lucas stopped whatever they have going on out of the blue, he’d get suspicious. And Lucas is pretty determined in avoiding the outcome where Eliott finds out the truth.

It’s not easy, the distance thing. For more reasons than one. They work together, Eliott is a pretty affectionate guy and a part of Lucas doesn’t want to be away from him. But what has to be done, has to be done. So Lucas throws himself into the work. It’s reasonable for him to focus on it than on messing around with his co-worker.

Eliott seems to buy it.

It gets less subtle as time passes. They still work side by side, but most of the time Lucas is left alone. He tries not to appear cold or bothered when Eliott chats him up during lunch breaks, but he also doesn’t put as much effort as before. Using his phone while Eliott talks to him may be rude, but at the very least it makes Eliott take the memo and after a couple of days, his attempts to make a conversation are very few. Eliott stops walking Lucas home and eventually, their relationship turns into one between two people that work at the same place and may not even be very fond of each other.

No lingering stares, no accidental touches and no relaxing silences.

Well, it may be cruel, but Lucas would rather have Eliott not liking him than knowing they are soulmates.

The internship will end at some point and they won’t have to see each other ever again anyway. That’s what Lucas tells himself every time he wants to reach out to Eliott.

Everything goes on like that for quite some time and Lucas makes peace with it. He convinces himself that he stopped the storm before it properly started. Everything is good up until Manon suggests they all should grab dinner together, hang out a little bit since they’ve gotten familiar enough with the whole staff working at the zoo. No one seems to be against the idea.

For a moment Lucas tries to come up with an excuse not to come, but he quickly talks himself out of it. With nearly everyone participating, there will be a pretty big crowd. Just because he’s avoiding Eliott, it doesn’t mean he has to shut himself off completely. The chances are, they won’t even run into each other. Right?

 ***

 It’s only Lucas’ luck that he ends up sandwiched between Imane and Manon all the while Eliott is sitting right across him. And he’d have to be stupid not to notice the expectant looks Eliott keeps throwing his way.

He pretends he’s stupid, though, and with his head hanging low, he tries to seem as engrossed in his food as he can.

The fact everyone’s talking amongst each other and they don’t pay much attention to him besides asking him to pass them something is good. The fact he’s hyper aware of Eliott at any second not so much, though.

The girls are having a discussion over his head that more people start joining in and Lucas wishes he could participate, act normally, but he hasn’t slept much lately and his mind is too full. All he craves is some quiet.

Someone kicks him under the table. Not hard, giving him a way to brush it off as an accident. And that’s how he knows it’s Eliott.

Lucas is tired. Tired of the avoiding, of how he screwed up the friendship that has started blossoming between them. All because he’s a stuck-up bitch who denies himself good things in life because of reasons. Even if they are soulmates it doesn’t have to mean everything between them will be completely fake.

He doesn’t want to deny Eliott any longer.

That’s why he looks up.

He’s met with an anxious smile tugging at Eliott’s lips, but determination lighting up his eyes.

“Want to leave?” he mouths, tilting his head towards the exit.

Lucas doesn’t hesitate before nodding.

The first minutes after they’ve left, they are just walking aimlessly around, not uttering a single world. And it’s not the same comfortable silence they shared before. Lucas knows it’s his fault for creating that gap between them.

They were fast to go from strangers to friends to strangers again.

“The weather is nice tonight,” Eliott breaks the quiet and Lucas needs a moment to process. It’s weird to hear Eliott speaking to him so casually all of sudden.

“The weather? Really?” Lucas retorts, hoping he doesn’t sound hostile.

“Why not? It’s better than nothing.” Lucas sees Eliott shrugging out of the corner of his eye.

Lucas sighs and moves a hand over his face. “I’m sorry for acting so weird lately,” he says, glancing at Eliott.

“It’s okay, we’re all a little weird from time to time,” Eliott’s voice is calm when he speaks, but there’s something hidden underneath it. “You know, sometimes I feel like leaving everything behind and starting over. Sometimes I do things that normally I wouldn’t. We all have our demons.”

Lucas bites down on his lip. Eliott is sharing something personal with him to make Lucas feel more comfortable. To justify the way he’s behaved. Lucas isn’t sure how to feel about it.

“I shouldn’t have acted like a dick, though,” he says, frowning and Eliott’s gaze lays on him.

“You shouldn’t have,” he agrees, his voice full of emotion. Lucas feels like there’s more Eliott wants to add, but he only settles on a soft, “Are you better now?”

Lucas stops walking and Eliott does the same. He turns towards Lucas so they are facing each other and Lucas can’t stop his heart from beating faster when he meets Eliott’s eyes. When he realises how close they are after weeks of distance.

They stare at each other, both searching and expectant. The evening air around them is thick with anticipation.

Lucas tilts his chin up. “Yeah, I am,” he whispers and gets the brightest smile in return.

 ***

 There’s more between them now than there was before. The looks are growing bolder and gestures are going way beyond friendly. Their feet are pressed together during their breaks and there are smiles reserved solely for each other. There’s an unspoken what are we every time they get too close. Eliott pulls Lucas in and Lucas doesn’t resist. He doesn’t want to resist even if it’s against everything he believes in. Everything is the same, but at the same things have changed dramatically.

For example, now, Eliott invited Lucas to come over. He’s never done that. Besides the dinner and their walks after work, they’ve never hung out outside the zoo.

They’ve ordered pizza and have been drinking beer, the atmosphere relaxing and soothing. They are sitting next to each other on the couch, their knees brushing against each other. They’ve eaten almost everything and Lucas feels heavy. Tired. Like he could fall asleep in seconds. The fact he’s surrounded by warmth makes him even lazier.

He turns his head and he looks at Eliott. He doesn’t even flinch when Eliott notices and stares at him back. Lucas lets himself watch. He marvels at how the light reflects in Eliott’s eyes, how soft his hair seems to be and how inviting his parted lips are. There mere centimeters keeping them apart feel like they are kilometer long, but at the same time like there’s no space left for air between them.

It’d be so easy to kiss Eliott in this moment. And maybe Eliott would kiss him back.

Lucas stands up before he inches closer and changes things even more.

He can feel Eliott’s eyes on his back when he takes his steps further away from the couch. He takes a look at Eliott’s face and he seems to be asking why do you keep running away? to which Lucas’ only answer would be I’m scared.

The territory they are currently crossing is as tempting as it is dangerous. Considering everything Lucas’ knows about their supposed bond, he doesn’t dare to take the leap towards his destiny.

What if all he feels towards Eliott is only caused by the soulmate thing? It’s killing him, the lack of knowledge about his own matters of the heart. What part of all of this is genuine and how much of it is just a cunning ploy designed by the universe? What if none of it is truly real?

His eyes land on a drawing of a raccoon. The blood drains from his face and his breath hitches in his throat.

“What is this?” He points at the image, feigning nonchalance.

Eliott moves from the couch and comes to a stop directly behind Lucas. His front is almost touching Lucas’ back and he rests his chin on Lucas’ shoulder. His exhale tickles the side of Lucas’ neck, raising goosebumps over his skin.

“It’s me,” he says.

Lucas scoffs and turns his head slightly to the side to get a proper look at Eliott’s face. “Huh?”

“Like a spirit animal?” Eliott offers sheepishly.

Lucas stares at him, partly amused and partly baffled.

“So, like your fursona?” he asks, his tone teasing and Eliott’s eyes widen.

“I don’t think that’s what a spirit animal is,” he mutters, his cheeks growing redder with each passing second.

“Spirit animals are like in Native American’s culture, though. I believe you are just a regular furry, buddy,” Lucas retorts and reaches behind to pat Eliott sympathetically on the shoulder.

“This is embarrassing,” Eliott mumbles and hides his face in Lucas’ neck. Only then does Lucas realise how close they are. Despite the fact that he moved away earlier just to avoid something exactly like that happening.

“It’s okay,” he says meekly and clears his throat. “I accept you,” Lucas adds, letting out a chuckle right after.

Eliott buries his face deeper in the place where Lucas’ neck and shoulder connect. Eliott is clearly ashamed. “I’m not a furry,” he insists, his lips moving against Lucas’ skin and sending a shiver down his spine. They stay like that for what feels like forever and then, “You’d be a hedgehog.”

 ***

 “How’s the internship going?” Yann asks while Lucas is taking a sip from his bottle.

Seeing how they all have been busy both with preparations for the uni to start and their jobs, it’s amazing that Lucas, Yann, and Arthur managed to find one evening when they were free and could chill together. Lucas has to admit he’s missed his friends and how he doesn’t have to worry about anything around them. Besides, it’s nice to escape the conflicting Eliott-feelings for at least a few hours. They’ve been so close ever since they reconciled that at times it gets overwhelming. Lucas wonders if it’s this intense because they are soulmates.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm and puts his beer down.

“It’s okay. Tiring,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You reek of animals,” Arthur chimes in and Lucas huffs.

“I do not,” he retorts. Lucas can admit, the smell was hard at the very beginning, but he’s been taking two showers a day and he’s bought shower gels that are supposed to be efficient. So he does not reek.

Unless he’s just got very used to that animal fragrance.

“You kinda do, dude,” Yann adds, kicking Lucas’ ankle. Arthur snorts and the two of them high five each other.

He needs new friends.

“Anyways, guys! I have news. I met my soulmate,” Arthur announces proudly, his grin blinding.

Lucas rolls his eyes. Amazing news. Really. Ten out of ten.

Yann congratulates Arthur, of course, and that’s when it hits Lucas and he sits up straighter.

“Didn’t you have a boyfriend?” he asks and is surprised at how harsh he sounds.

Arthur tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah? So?”

“So you just broke up with him?”

That’s fucking why Lucas hates soulmates. They ruin everything. Whichever higher power decided this concept was okay, must have been really fucked up–

“I didn’t?” Arthur looks between Yann and Lucas, baffled. “Why would I?”

“Because you met your soulmate?”

“So? We hit it off, sure, but there aren’t any other feelings between us? I like her as a friend, but I love my boyfriend. And she’s a lesbian. So any feelings beyond platonic are impossible,” Arthur explains, his tone edging on being defensive, but at the same staying composed.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t a soulmate supposed to be the love of your life? Written in the stars and all that shit?” Lucas asks, feeling more and more stupid after receiving puzzled looks from Arthur and Yann.

“Sure it happens, but mostly when the people like, fall for each other, you know? The stars aren’t in control of your feelings, though. Your soulmate is just a person you vibe with. Can be romantic, can be platonic. Hell, some people hate each other’s guts but are soulmates. Being soulmates with someone just means you two get each other on some deeper level. The connection is stronger. But developing romantic feelings for them? Or any at all? That’s all just chemicals in your brain,” Arthur explains, his index finger pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, and some people are convinced that soulmates are solely romantic and get together with them the second they meet. Later on, they realise they have no romantic feelings for the person and puff,” Yann adds and Arthur nods at his words.

Lucas feels as if his whole world has shifted off its axis.

Wow. His mind? Blown.

This honestly changes the perspective.

“You okay, Lucas?” Yann asks, watching him like he’s grown a second head.

“Yeah, I’m just processing,” he mumbles, staring down at his lap.

So, his whole life has been a lie. How does one just recover from that? Why has no one ever told him all of that? Now what? He can let himself… feel? Without second thoughts and always stepping back?

As if on cue, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and there’s a notification staring back at him. A message from Eliott. He hesitates for a moment before he clicks on it.

see you tomorrow at the zoo gate at 9pm

Lucas clutches the phone to his chest and looks up at the ceiling, disbelieving.

 ***

 He didn’t get more information from Eliott, but supposing Eliott didn’t cancel, they’re still on. Lucas has no idea what Eliott could have planned, especially there out of all places. After everything Lucas has found out the day before, he doesn’t care that much. He’s just excited to meet up with Eliott and finally stop holding back.

Funny how he needed to be told that his feelings for Eliott aren’t caused solely on the fact they are soulmates. Although, considering his aversion towards the whole concept and his past experiences, it’s not surprising that he couldn’t believe it earlier.

Now, he can finally breathe freely. He’s glad he didn’t fuck up their relationship to the point of no return. He’s glad they haven’t parted their ways yet before anything could happen. Maybe it’s high time Lucas forgave the universe. At least partly.

It’s dark outside and he’s thankful for the fact the zoo management spends so much money on keeping the area around lit up. Otherwise, he’d have been spooked.

Waiting at the gate, Lucas wonders when Eliott is going to arrive. There are still a couple of minutes left and Lucas is sure Eliott wouldn’t be late – he tends to be anxiously early when it comes to the job. So there’s no need to worry about having to wait too long. Unless Eliott stands him up. But he wouldn’t, would he? God, Lucas should have texted him something more besides an okay.

“Hey, hey,” someone is whisper-shouting and Lucas turns around to face the gate that has now been slightly opened. He sees Eliott waving at him to come in and without a single thought, Lucas complies.

After that, Eliott shuts the gate closed again and smiles widely at Lucas.

“What are we doing?” Lucas asks in a hushed voice.

“We are having a date,” Eliott answers, his tone solemn. Lucas can feel the heat creeping up his neck after hearing those words.

A date. They are having a date a day after Lucas realised that whatever they have is real. The fate isn’t fucking around, huh.

But there’s something gnawing at his conscience.

“What about the guards? The cameras? We could be fired for it,” Lucas states, getting antsy at the mere thought.

“A little birdie told me which place is almost never checked and well, let’s say the security will be looking away from certain monitors tonight, if you know what I mean.” Eliott winks at him.

The realisation dawns on Lucas and he opens his mouth. “You didn’t. You know bribing is illegal?”

“Worth it,” Eliott says and shrugs, still beaming at Lucas. “Also, the internships are almost over so not much to lose. Come on.” He tugs on Lucas’ sleeve and drags him in an unknown direction. Lucas lets Eliott guide him without any objections.

They end up by the hippo exhibit and Lucas stops in his tracks. It’s not the place that shocks him, but the blanket laying on the ground with food waiting on it and all the candles carefully placed all over the area. It’s probably unsafe, but everything be damned no one has ever prepared something like that for him.

Eliott has sat down and is fidgeting in place, looking everywhere, but at Lucas. It’s endearing, really.

“I hope I didn’t overdo it,” he admits quietly, his fingers playing with the sleeves of his hoodie.

Lucas comes closer, wary not to knock any of the candles over. He crouches in front of Eliott and grabs both of his hands.

“It’s perfect. Really,” he murmurs, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips and Eliott visibly relaxes.

After that Lucas sits down, reluctantly letting go of Eliott’s palms, and they start eating. An easy banter flows between the two of them and Lucas feels truly content. If someone had told him he’d be on a date with Eliott a few weeks ago, he’d have wholeheartedly disagreed with them. Now, it’s like everything is finding its place.

Funny how fast things change. How they don’t need many words to navigate that fragile thing between them. Lucas just feels like he belongs right there, with Eliott. And he hopes Eliott feels the same.

There’s some fear in Lucas, though. Fear of how Eliott could start acting if only he found out about who they were to each other. Because well, Lucas knows what he feels right now. With or without the soulmate aspect, he’d have fallen for Eliott. And Eliott seems to like him as well, but Lucas knows how Eliott is about soulmates. How important it’s for him. What if he goes overboard once he learns the truth?

“Are we dating now?”

Lucas looks up from his nearly empty plate at Eliott, snapped out of his thoughts. Eliott seems shy and uncertain.

“Do you want us to?” Lucas asks, his heart beating fast and loud.

Eliott shifts closer to Lucas, kneeling in front of him and Lucas straightens up.

Eliott’s voice is shaky when he speaks. “Can I confess something?”

Lucas only nods in response.

Eliott reaches out for Lucas’ hand and before saying whatever he wants to say, he puts Lucas’ palm over his heart. Presses it against his chest. If Lucas focuses hard enough, he can feel the quick thump thump thump under his fingertips. The gesture is even grander for him since he knows just what exactly rests on the skin he’s touching through the material.

Eliott doesn’t let go. He closes his eyes and exhales harshly through the nose, bracing himself. Then, he looks deeply into Lucas’ eyes. “I’m bipolar, Lucas. I think you should know that,” he pauses to take a deep breath before continuing, “and a lot of people tried to convince me that anything I feel is a delusion caused by my illness. But I know that what I’m feeling right now, with you, is true,” he admits, his gaze unwavering.

“And what are you feeling?” Lucas asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That you are the only one I want,” Eliott answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah?” Lucas inches closer, up until he’s on Eliott’s eye level. His fingers curl up over Eliott’s heart.

“Yeah,” Eliott breathes out against Lucas’ mouth.

They stare at each other for a few more seconds before Lucas captures Eliott’s lips in a kiss. It’s desperate and messy at first, but they quickly find their rhythm. And despite them having never kissed before, it feels they’ve already done it over a thousand times. It’s familiar.

Like coming home.

 ***

 He’s going to tell Eliott. Lucas needs to do so or else it’ll kill him.

It’s been almost two weeks since their zoo date(no one was captured and candles didn’t burn anything down, much to Lucas’ surprise) and they’ve been together ever since. It’s been amazing. Lucas has never felt happier if he’s being completely honest. One can take whatever they want from it. The point is, that despite things going well, there hasn’t been a day when Lucas didn’t think about the soulmate secret.

Eliott deserves to know. And not when they end up being shirtless together. No, Lucas needs to be honest with him. Eliott told him things about himself despite his fears. So Lucas owes him. And there’s no better occasion to spill his guts than during their next date.

They are at an amusement park. The summer is about to end and Eliott was adamant on going there. Said there’s no better way to celebrate going back to adult life than getting in touch with their inner younger selves. Lucas couldn’t argue with that, especially when Eliott looked at him with those eyes.

Now they are walking hand in hand, munching on some candy floss and thinking of where to go next. Lucas can’t find the right moment to reveal the truth to Eliott and it’s awful.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Eliott asks, grabbing one of Lucas’s hands and swaying it back and forth.

Lucas hums.

“I know we’ve talked about soulmates before.” Oh, fuck, oh, shit he’s seen right through Lucas and is about to call him out, isn’t he? “You told me why you hate the phenomenon. But I was wondering if something happened for you to be so against it?” So Eliott is only curious about it? That’s great.

No need to stress it.

“My parents were married for years, but then my dad met his soulmate and left in an instant,” Lucas says and feels Eliott squeezing his palm. Something warm spreads through his chest. “I wish my tragic backstory was more interesting. But you know what?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been kind of warming up to this whole thing. I talked to some people. And yeah,” he finishes lamely and glances briefly at Eliott. Who for some reason, is grinning.

“Maybe let’s go there,” Lucas suggests, pointing towards a giant roller coaster.

He hears Eliott huff and then saying in a gentle tone, “Sure.”

Soon enough they are buckled up and holding each other’s hands like their life depended on it. The moment they are moving, Lucas regrets ever thinking it was a good idea.

He closes his eyes against the wind and he’s sure his fingernails are going to leave half-moon shaped marks all over the back of Eliott’s palm.

At some point, they come to a stop and Lucas opens his eyes, relieved it’s the end just to find out they are very fucking high. About to drop. God fucking save him.

“Hey, Lucas!” Eliott shouts and Lucas turns towards him. Seeing him relaxed and smiling grounds Lucas, no matter how cheesy it sounds.

“What?”

Eliott sobers up in a matter of seconds. “Remember that time we had this water fight? And we went to change?” Lucas nods. Of course, he remembers. Everything has been turned upside down since then. “I saw you changing your shirt,” he says, a meaningful look over his face.

Lucas squints at him, his brain not quite catching up with what he’s just heard. Eliott squeezes his hand again today and Lucas gapes when he realises what kind of bomb Eliott has dropped on him. He wants to say something, but before he has a chance to, they are falling down.

And despite that, the only thing he sees is Eliott.

[kennettwrites]

Summer Days

Summary: A simple day with friends, a picnic, and soft shows of affection between a witch and his tired, werewolf boyfriend. This is a short story set within my novel series, The Witch and His, as such some things will not make entire sense without novel context, but can be inferred from textual context. An enjoyable read even without knowing the novel.

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“You kids have been visiting the cabin less since spring started.” His mother comments. Her eagle-like eyes watch as he packs the picnic basket with the food he carefully prepared earlier.

He nods. “The cabin is pretty and we still love it, but the others insist on meeting in other places besides the cabin. Romeo thinks that it will become too monotonous if we only hang out there.”

Meredith hums thoughtfully. “They’re right, you know. I know the cabin is your pride and joy, but having other places to hang out is good for changing things up. Besides, I’m sure Romeo enjoys taking you to the club.”

Meredith all but cackles at the expression that crosses her son’s face. Cicero, on the other hand, plans to completely ignore everything about that statement. He’d like to forget those memories right now, please. He takes a moment to compose himself and then changes the subject.

“Ever since August built that table out at the lake it’s been much easier to say yes when they ask to go there. It’s beautiful during the summer time. I dare say, I enjoy it.” He admits.

His mother smiles. “That’s nice. Enjoy your time, dear.”

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The lake is out of the way, beyond even their cabin, and the only path there is the one they’ve made for themselves. It’s barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but they all know the forest like the back of their hand. There is no doubt in his mind that they could make the trip drunk. Plus, the view was to die for. None of them even minded the walk.

Cicero follows the faded, dirt path that leads to their spot. For a change he is not walking with either August or Elaina. Elaina had stayed the night with a friend and was arriving with Benny, and August was going to be late because he had to stay over and finish a bit of work for his father. It was a strange occurrence, but it allows him to contemplate and simply enjoy the nature around him. It was a lovely day and it would be a shame if he didn’t fully take advantage of it.

The picnic basket is a heavy weight in his hand but he finds it relaxing rather than irritating. Jasper used to bring food as well, but it’s harder for her to cook now that she’s, well, a ghost. In his opinion, Romeo was way too stubborn regarding the possession argument. It’s not like his girlfriend would do anything to hurt him. Still, he doesn’t fully mind making all of the food for their outings.

He hums to himself as he walks. Unlike Romeo’s obnoxious singing and other, assorted noise making, it is not a shitty pop song played at the club. Although Cicero will admit that they can be catchy, the tune he is humming is something more personal. Not that he would ever let the man know that he found any of the music from his short lived time as a “rock star” appealing. It would simply blow his ego up to extreme parameters.

He’s distracted from his thoughts by a flock of birds taking off a little ways off from him. He pauses.

For the briefest of moments he thinks Romeo might actually be on time. However, if that were the case, Cicero would already be hearing the vampire’s loud, obnoxious voice. If a single Romeo trips in the forest then yes, it does make a sound the whole town can hear.

He makes a logical assumption that it is an animal and continues on. However, the sensation of being watched does not go away. In fact, it only gets worse. The intent around him is focused, obsessive.

He closes his eyes as he walks, not bothering to give himself away by stopping, and extends his magic outward to find the source of his discomfort.

In hindsight, he feels a bit dumb. He should have figured it out sooner. That feeling is all too familiar to him, after all. Still, August was supposed to be late. Not early like Cicero always was. Cicero’s thoughts flood with questions, but he decides to play along with August’s game. He strolls on ahead, pretending to be blissfully unaware and caught up in his surroundings.

It feels like a decade of tense peace before August decides to make his move at the lake. A stick crunches under heavy boots as August leaps from his hiding spot. Without acknowledging him, Cicero elegantly steps out of the way. August attempts to skid to a stop before catching his own foot on an exposed root and tripping in front of the witch. Cicero watches him fall with a twisted sort of amusement.

“That was cruel, Cero.” August whines as he sits up. Cicero isn’t sure if it’s on purpose or not, but August fixes him with the puppy dog eyes that the Grimmwauld family is almost known for.

Cicero wants to tell him how adorable he is, but instead he rolls his eyes and says, “You’re too loud, August. Even a deaf buck could hear you coming a mile away. Perhaps next time you should consider not attempting to tackle me.”

August pulls himself to his feet and dusts himself off. “I wanted a hug. You know, that thing people do?” He pouts although his words carry a sort of cheeky haughtiness.

“I don’t like being touched.” A simple reply, really. Cicero hates it when others touch him. Even the touch of his own mother hurts him on the worst of days. Yet, August’s touch is never painful. Not that he would ever admit that; his pride would never return from that particular grave.

August beams. “Yeah, buddy, I know, and that’s okay. I’ll still try though ‘cause you’re worth it.”

Cicero snorts at their old joke and sets the basket down on the table. August’s gaze is immediately drawn to the dark oak basket. Cicero doesn’t have to imagine the wagging tail behind him. He clears his throat, pointing after he has August’s attention. “Hey, dog-breath, careful there.”

August looks at his tail before shrugging. “My control has been slipping lately. I’m not worried yet since I’m not like going feral or anything, but I mean… It’s understandable? I’m under a lot of stress right now. Besides, I’m tired and hungry. Very, very hungry.”

Cicero’s gaze softens. “Is it that bad?”

August shakes his head. “It’s not that. The Lestern family has been very amicable and they’re very easy to work with. It’s just,” he makes a vague gesture with his hand, “difficult to put pacts into effect without throwing both parties into disarray and it has been hard trying to find what works for both groups.”

Cicero had never truly thought about the bureaucracy that went into shapeshifter politics especially those that involved the Grimmwauld clan. Rowan had always had that under control and agreements were just made, and Cicero hadn’t had need to think of it beyond that. It’s been a lot more in his face now that August and his brother are being groomed to take their father’s place. He doesn’t know whether it’s a good or a bad thing yet.  Either way, he doesn’t like it.

August attempts to open the basket without Cicero noticing, whining when Cicero smacks his hand away. “Wait for the others.” Cicero chides.

August bites back a complaint or whine -not that there was any difference between the two with August- and settles Cicero with a thoughtful look. “Anyways. What’s on the menu today, mister chef?”

“Bacon and tomato sandwiches, Italian pinwheels, five bean summer salad, watermelon slices, raspberry lemonade, and blueberry brownies for dessert.” He rattles off the dishes with little thought to how much work that actually went into it. Though their friend group did this often, Cicero took pride in the work he did and would gladly slave away in the kitchen if it meant seeing that toothy grin August always gave him when good food is involved. Plus, he typically found his joy in putting together plans and making sure his friends had a good time.

August grins. “Sounds amazing as usual, Cero.” He takes a seat at the picnic table and pats the spot beside him. Cicero hesitates for a second as he considers it before taking the spot. Grinning, August scoots closer to the witch until their thighs are touching. Cicero allows this contact even if it does make his anxiety rise three whole levels.

He coughs, embarrassed, and glances back at the dirt pathway leading to their meeting spot. “We still have to wait until Romeo and the others arrive before we can eat.”

August whips his head around, eyes wide and watery. Even though he looks like he’s on the verge of tears Cicero is more than aware that they are crocodile tears learned from his eldest sister. “But Romeo’s always so late,” He cries, “and I’m so hungry. I’m dying!” He throws himself over Cicero so that his head is in the witch’s lap. Cicero flinches, face quickly heating up, but he miraculously keeps his composure.

“Manners maketh man, mutt. A fact that you should be well aware of being a member of the Grimmwauld family. We will wait for the entire group to arrive before we eat and that is final.”

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It takes Romeo thirty minutes after their set meeting time to arrive, and he’s not even the last one to arrive. By then, August has fallen asleep using Cicero’s lap as a pillow.

Romeo raises an eyebrow at the sight. “Just one of those dog days, isn’t it?”

Cicero glares at him. “Don’t even think about waking him, lame-ass.” Rowan had been working his son to the bone lately. Considering the importance of the Grimmwauld-Lestern pact it’s understandable, but Cicero still worries about August. He needs all the rest he can get right now, and Cicero will be damned if he lets Romeo of all people ruin that.

“He’s going to be mad that you let him sleep through lunch.” Romeo takes a seat across from them. Jasper, bless her heart, floats awkwardly behind him. She takes a moment to look over the spread that Cicero has laid out on the table before turning to him. “The food does look good, Cicero. Too bad I can’t eat it.” She says, polite as always. Cicero gives her a gentle smile before turning an icy glare to her companion.

“We’re still waiting on Elaina and Benny. Until they arrive, you can be quiet and let August sleep. If he wakes up- I swear to the gods, Romeo, I will pluck every hair from your head and feed them to you. After that, I’ll turn you into a horrifically disfigured, naked mole rat so that you will never again find a date at the bar.”

Romeo blanches and swallows the stone in his throat. “Holy shit. You’re absolutely terrifying when you want to be, my dude.  Yeah, sure, let him sleep.”

Behind him, Jasper giggles as he pats his head. “Are you checking to make sure it’s still there?” She asks. He huffs. “Of course. One can never be too confident around Cicero.” (He’s learned the hard way that Cicero is never kidding, and to always be ready to run. Friendship be damned when angry Cicero is involved.)

Appeased, Cicero relaxes. He begins to run his fingers through August’s unruly hair, humming a comforting tune as he does so. Romeo watches this with dark eyes and a heavy frown.

“If I say the obvious, am I going to be hexed into eternity?” Romeo asks, and Cicero shoots him a scathing look. Immediately, Romeo puts his hands out in front of him placatingly.

“Alright, alright, chill. I won’t say a thing then.”

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August wakes up with a grumble of murmured words. He sits up in bed. He pauses. The environment comes into focus and he starts blinking owlishly. “What the…” Cicero, nestled in the corner of the room like some oddball sort of creepy doll, looks up from his book. “You slept through lunch, so I floated you home.”

August startles. “I slept through lunch? And you let me sleep through lunch? What the hell, man.”

Cicero shrugs, closing his book. He stands. His joints make an discomforting creak. “You needed the rest. Besides, there’s no need to worry. I made you dinner and cleared your schedule with your father. I’ll loan you a pillow tonight.” August stares. “You did what now?”

Slowly, the man’s words begin to make sense in his head and he grins. He lunges from the bed in his excitement and wraps Cicero into a hug. 

“You are the best! What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Cicero accepts the hug, smiling into August’s shirt. “I believe the better question is: what did I do to deserve you? I’m - in Romeo’s exact words - Satan’s bitch, and I’ve definitely done my best to avoid being friends with you.”

August laughs. “You might be a bitch, but if I didn’t like you I definitely would have spent the last thirteen years befriending another stubborn, magic wall.”

Cicero bites his lip to avoid giggling like a schoolgirl. “C’mon, dipshit. Let’s go eat dinner before it gets cold.”

If Cicero sequesters August away for another day after that and tries for a third then that’s his business. They both needed the rest and comfort in company. What could Cicero even say? He had a weakness in the form of broad shoulders and blinding smiles, and it hurts him to see August as exhausted as he was.

Of course it probably wasn’t a good idea to threaten to smite the teen’s father when he came to collect him. It is a very good thing Rowan is as good-natured as he was, having lived with his ex-biker wife for years now. So, all’s well that ends well, Cicero supposes.

[dent-de-leon]

yes, contact that pod(!)

LISTEN!! Like, it’s not even just that!! I’m gonna play myself here, but–first off, this is the episode where Keith believes he’s the one being tracked by Zarkon, and he makes sure he announces that to the whole crew. Everyone else just brushes it off, kinda of jokes about it–and then they all go off to bed and forget about the concerns he very clearly tried to voice. 

Everyone except Shiro. So, while the others are clearing out the room, Keith lingers back. So Shiro tries to reach out to him–“Everything okay?” Keith’s answer is a vague, “Yeah, why?” and he seems distant, distracted. His gaze flickers away to avoid eye contact. Shiro tries to lessen the blow, his face visibly softens at his next words–he wants Keith to know Shiro isn’t there to grill him, he’s not in trouble or anything, he’s just a friend that Shiro knows is hurting and wants to help. “You just seem a bit anxious.”

For context, we were originally supposed to get this scene just a few episodes after the one where the prekerberos flashbacks appear. It’s very possible Shiro was especially concerned becasue Keith was suddenly acting closed off like their early days at the garrison again, and it hurt Shiro to see him bottling things up and being all secretive about his pain because he thought they were both passed that. Keith told Shiro about his pa. Shiro told Keith about his chronic illness. 

But suddenly Keith was pushing him aside and acting like a stranger, so I think it’s understandable for Shiro to feel a bit hurt by that, to not understand why there’s something–anything Keith wouldn’t be able to tell him after all they’ve been through. Keith’s careful, evasive reply of, “I’m fine, just tired,” with that sad sad look in his eyes? You know that must’ve really cut deep for Shiro. There’s obviously something bothering him, but if he’s not ready to talk about it, Shiro doesn’t want to push him.

Still, this scene where Keith walks away and Shiro is left behind–you can really see how concered Shiro is, how much he aches for Keith and wants to help him but just sees no way of doing so without breaching boundaries. 

You know who else Shiro just let walk away after a failure in communication? Adam. When he gives the ultimatum and goes to leave, Shiro doesn’t bother to chase him–he stays seated right where he is and contemplates the situation, parses out his own feelings. I know it’s a reach to say this is an instant of a romantic parallel so I won’t (especially when there are much more obvious, intentional ones between Keith and Adam), but I do think this knowledge about Shiro is good for looking back at some of his scenes in hindsight, as it can help us understand what the show runners meant when they mentioned that Shiro sometimes struggles with his own interpersonal relationships. 

In this case, Shiro let both Adam and Keith walk away, and likely felt guilty about it afterwards. In the situation of the latter, I think that’s why he was so upset when Keith just took off with Allura in the pod. He knew Keith was upset, knew he was anxious and feeling cornered. Knew there was something he badly needed to talk about–something they could probably work through together. But instead, he just lets Keith walk away, and so he feels like it’s his fault for not stopping him before it got that far. 

So yeah, I don’t think it’s coming from a jealous or selfish place when Shiro panics about losing Keith and Allura (someone who’s wellbeing and safety he also feels responsible for and sees as a friend), but hey, it still kinda makes my sheith heart happy to see that Lance’s insinuation Keith and Allura left on a romantic tryst is immediately followed by canon mlm character Shiro calling for someone to contact the pods right away lmao. 

If we’re reading into sheith for anything here in that reguard, I’d say it’s more so how Lance and Shiro are both the ones most concerned, and when you see Keith and Allura finally rejoin the group, their concern is focused on one person in particular. For Lance, he keeps asking about Allura and wanting to make sure that she’s okay–and not eloping with Keith, lmao. Lance is still young and very much one for a jealousy streak in these earlier episodes. 

And then you have Shiro, who could have just as easily had welcomed both Keith and Allura back. But instead, he just says, “Good to have you back, Keith!” Which is also, you know, him literally reciting the line Keith said to him when he first crashed back down to Earth, and that’s romantic and poetic as shit all on its own. But also, it’s him very much putting a singular focus on Keith when it comes to who he’s really missed having at his side. 

Kind of like how he says, “You found me,” at the end of season 6 to Keith when he could have just as easily thanked both him and Allura. Kind of like how he says “You saved me, Keith,” and focuses solely on him in A Little Adventure when Allura is also right there. We’re given this very curious parallel in The Ark of Traujeer where Lance and Shiro each only seem to have eyes for one person. And if it’s romantic for the former, and we know the latter is attracted to men, I mean…? How am I supposed to read that really?? 

[hoekinsmoved]

HAWKINS 5

i mushed two parts together so this is a lil bit longer than the usual oof

pairing: mike wheeler x oc (steve’s sister)

warning: profanity

P.S.: i moved to a new blog!! visit and follow me here for the rest of the series  ♡  

3.1k words

masterlist

I HAVE A FUCKING NAME, ASSHOLE

For the first time since she's step foot on the relatively barren town, Stacy finds herself walking around the commercial area to look for interesting shops or places she can spend time alone. The school she'll be going to in fall is at the heart of Hawkins, as she has scaled. Hawkins Middle is at the center, and a few meters away from it are other establishments like an arcade, a 24/7 diner, a mall, a library, and two parks on opposite ends. Stacy has also taken note of a building shaped like a cross from eagle's view, and how it has police tapes all over them. She figures it used to be Hawkins Laboratory.

The police headquarters weren't any exciting, so she didn't really dwell in there a lot.  Plus, Steve wanted to have lunch at the diner, and nothing invites Stacy better than free food, so of course she's planning on going.

Steve did leave one detail in particular though.

All the other kids are coming, and had Stacy known that before, she would have gladly skipped the manipulative free food offer. She entered the diner and didn't even have to look around to see the big crowd of children. She tried to leave, really, but since they've already seen her enter, Steve didn't let her go. He hurried over to Stacy and literally dragged her to the booth where all of them squeezed in to fit.

"I want nothing to do with this," Stacy says immediately, staring intently at her brother. Hell, she even tried to act miserable just so he'd let her go. Stacy knows that heaven knows Steve would listen to her more than these lousy kids.

Right?

"Don't fall for it, Steve. We really need this." Dustin entices her brother.

And just as she knows it, she stands corrected of her previous statement as her very own brother whom she shares practically the same genetic family tells her, "Just let them have this one, Stac—"

"He yelled at me, Steve!" Stacy drops, avoiding any contact from the dark-haired boy seated next to Dustin.. It's something she rarely ever talks about, because it's a sensitive topic, but for the time being, the context is that she never handles yelling well. In her defense, it wasn't like her parents or anyone for that matter used to yell at her excessively when she was younger, and that she's traumatized, but there's just really something about having  someone raise their voice at her that ticks a bomb in her head.

The booth turns silent at Stacy's outburst, as her brother holds a look of contemplation on his face. Mike looks unnerved, uncomfortable with the way Stacy is talking about him as if he’s not there himself. "I just said we were going in circles, and I got yelled at. He was hostile with me the entire time. I told you,  Steve. I want nothing to do with this—"

"We just need answers, and we'll let you be, we promise." Lucas sighs.

"You're the only one who can tell us where it is and what's it like. You need to tell us, Stacy." Dustin adds.

Stacy glances at Steve who immediately says in her defense, "Yeah, okay, she doesn't owe you anything, understand?"  Silence consumes the table once again, until Will breaks it.

"I'm really sorry for what happened that day, Stacy. It doesn't excuse what Mike did, but please..." Will trails off, and that certain look on his face that Stacy can't read softens her mood a little. She heard he's been through a lot, and perhaps this is a little bit too much for him to take—that his friend is stuck where he had been lost. As it turns out, Stacy is not at all heartless. Only sometimes.

She sighs, shaking her head as she takes a quick glance at her brother who only looks at her like he's letting her make her own decision. "Does anyone have a pen and paper?"

For twenty minutes straight, Stacy explained to them the way around the woods to the stacks of logs, and because they have loads of questions about how they'd be able to know which tree is which, it took even more time before she's able to explain the inside of the log stack.

"We don't have a degree in botany, Stacy. We don't know which leaf looks like which." Dustin tells her with a funny look on his face that makes Steve laugh a little inside. He doesn’t ever let them notice but he does laugh at them every once in a while. It’s not out of judgment though, or anything like that. Steve just can’t help it that these kids are his sole source of entertainment for the entire summer.

"That's not my problem, mate." Stacy only replies coldly. Steve chokes on his milkshake a little, but only because he’s still having trouble swallowing the tough pill that is her sister’s newfound sharp attitude. "The log stack stands out like a sore thumb mostly because there aren’t any signs of logging in the area, meaning it‘s quite sketchy why it's there. Walk your way around it and you'll see an open door. There are papers strewn everywhere, and I doubt you'd be able to make sense of everything. It seemed like they were looking for something before they left, so maybe those files weren’t as important. This side seemed to be a forum place, with a table and chairs, but by the corner is a metal draw. You might find somethting there but if it's locked, I think I saw a key... er... by this corner on the floor," She explains as she continues to draw the inside of the log stack.

"I didn't see any cameras on the outside." Stacy notes finally, even though she's sure it's technically not trespassing because it's in the woods. Still, it doesn't take a lot to be safe, especially that it's the destructive local government Steve described to her, that they're talking about. The same institution that's responsible for the people-snacking demo-g monsters.

Dustin eyes Steve before raising a hand in Stacy's direction. She spares a glance his way, and so he warily says, "Can I ask something?"

Stacy raises a thick brow in suspicion. She wonders what else he wants to know, as everything and more has been laid on the table already. Stacy’s even proud of how neat and straight her lines are on the paper. "About the logs in the woods?" she asks.

"No," Dustin answers.

Then Stacy is quick to say, "Then no—"

"Do you have superpowers like Eleven?” As the name leaves Dustin’s mouth, Mike whips his head to glare at his friend. “Because how did you remember all that from a two-minute visit?" He chokes out, despite the fact that Stacy told him she won't answer anything.

Thankfully, Steve unglues his mouth open and cuts Dustin off, "Okay, we're done with that now." He then turns to his sister and says with a smile, "The strawberry milkshake here is nice."

"Okay I'll talk your word for it. Get me some fries too, please." She tells her brother who only nods and stands up from the booth. "Thanks, peasant."

Steve waits in line to order Stacy's food which leaves the table in silence. Max is looking out the window, like she'd rather be skating than be here at all. Stacy notes that she does look like she has a lot in mind. After all, she hasn’t spoken the entire time. Stacy then reminds herself to ask Max if anything’s bothering her later on before she and Steve go home. Lucas, on the other hand, is just watching her and sometimes he would glance at Dustin, but that's about it. Dustin's fidgeting with the condiments on the table while Will's sipping on a chocolate milkshake. Stacy catches him looking at first, but then she glances at Mike who's glaring at the table like it just murdered his family. He seems pretty problematic, as Stacy can tell, so she's glad she won't be getting involved in the mess anymore.

Sincerely though, she hopes they find Eleven. She doesn’t know the girl but there’s nothing more she feels strongly about other than knowing how good and safe it feels to be found. She knows. She was there too just weeks prior.

Stacy knows she was promised peace after that interaction, but the truth is the group of kids might be known around town for doing extraordinary things but they aren’t quite known for keeping their promises.

With Bowie blasting volumes inside her room, Stacy can barely hear her thoughts let alone the knocking on her door. Dustin's small hands continue to thump against Stacy's door, harder and harder each time but it doesn't budge a bit.

"How is she not deaf," Will asks real questions, to which Dustin only shrugs. He's getting really impatient. Downstairs though, Lucas is enjoying the company of Bentley, the family dog, while munching on the fresh cookies Mrs. Harrington baked as a weekly tradition. Max sits a few feet from Lucas, watching the adorable dog in awe as she remains oblivious to the commotion upstairs.

Stacy's music is muffled from the outside, but Steve can no longer take Dustin's calls for his sister to open the door so he steps outside his own room, yelling a quick, "Stacy I'm opening your door!" as a warning before doing so.

The first thing the three of them notice is the easel set up in the middle of Stacy's room, with a palette clasped in one of her hands. Stacy can't help but feel relieved that her canvas is facing the opposite direction from the door hence they aren't able to look into her art and in turn look into her thoughts. She never admits it but it's the most difficult thing for her to do— share her feelings with other people.

The music travels full-blast around the hallways with the lack of buffering that her door once provided, causing the two boys to flinch a little. Steve gets back inside his room while Dustin and Will remain standing by Stacy's door.

"What?" Stacy asks expectantly, just after she lowers down the volume from her player.

"We need help with—"

"No."

"Come on—“

"No.

"We're not Mike! Okay! I know you're upset and shit but we really need your help!" Dustin says exasperatedly.

Stacy furrows her eyebrows at the audacity. They're asking for her help yet he's the one raising his voice at her? Right...

"It's... It's a binary code, and Steve said you can read binary." Will says timidly. Stacy curses steve under her breath as he has yet again, sold her out to these pesky kids who seem as if they’re closer to age 3 than they are to their actual ages.

"Go ask some techy computer dude," Stacy groans, walking towards her door to close it but Dustin stops her.

"Listen, the onle techy computer dude that we know is Bob... and he's dead—" Dustin chokes over his own words upon the realization.

They haven't mentioned Bob since the incident, and he truly doesn't mean to bring him up so nonchalantly in front of Will. Will visibly stiffens at the mention, enough for Stacy to take notice of his sudden reaction. It must be a sensitive topic, she supposes.

"Fine," she sighs, snatching the pieces of paper from Dustin's hold. She scans through the first page quickly, translating the 0s and 1s to words in a second. "They're not... they're not words." Stacy mumbles to herself as she picks up a pen and paper to write the corresponding meaning of the codes.

Dustin and Will both watch Stacy in amusement and slight worry that perhaps she's making all this up, but then again for some reason, they still trust the intimidating girl. Why is it that it hasn't been two weeks since she arrived here and yet they've needed her help twice now? What does that mean?

"It seems like a password." Stacy shrugs after finishing the decoding. She passes the pieces of paper back to Dustin and Will who were just about to thank her until a certain angsty boy comes waltzing through the hallway.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Mike asks his friends, sending side glances towards Stacy's way. "I went to the shed and found no one!"

"We thought you still wanted time on your own." Dustin squeaks at his diva of a friend.

Mike scowls, "That's bullshit! What, it's just been a week but you're already buddy buddy with Steve's sister?" The young boy shakes with anger, way too pissed off to notice the look on Stacy's face that resembles his but in grater magnitudes.

"I have a fucking name, asshole." She flips him the finger before attempting to slam her door shut.

However, Will's soft voice cuts through the tension, "Wait..." he trails off, walking closer to what Stacy was previously spending her time on before they came banging at her door. Will's eyes holds a strong emotion even Stacy can't decipher, but her good guess is grief and horror. His brown eyes scan the canvas fleetingly, as if staring too much at it would teleport him to the place he knows too well. Of course, Stacy has no idea what place it is exactly, and she just thought it's an underwater city with all the cold tones, but Will knows the dimension all too well to confirm that the painting is an exact replica of it.

Stacy finally gets a hint of what's running through Will's head and she only stares at him as a plea for him to not say anything. With the same gaze she picks up that he understands, but he looks as if he wants to talk about it.

At this point, Dustin and Mike are getting creeped out at the two kids' silent conversation. "What is it, Will?" Mike asks Will with a worried look on his face. It may sound funny but for a second there, Mike thought Stacy was trying to hypnotize the short boy.

Will keeps eye contact with Stacy before turning his head to look at his friends, "Can I talk to Stacy before we go?" He's not exactly asking for permission, but it's sort of a request for them to not leave him behind and spare him a minute or two to confront Stacy.

Stacy's head goes full turbo as truth be told, she's not ready to talk about what she painted when she's not even aware of what it is. But, since Dustin and Mike only gave Will a malicious look before leaving him inside Stacy's room, she knows she has to face him one way or another.

"That's..." Will trails off even before Stacy's bedroom door closes. "That's the upside down." He studies the incomplete painting, a strong emotion burning in his chest as he realizes that what Stacy drew was far too accurate— the structure and the direction, even the cracks and the flickering lights. He knew that she had to have been there before to be able to paint it so spot-on.

"The what?" She asks Will who finally takes his eyes off the painting.

Will gulps, "The upside down, where I got lost." Fear takes over his face so Stacy decides to sit down on her bed and pat the space next to her. The poor boy looks like he's about to relive a dark moment in his past.

He takes the seat next to Stacy who only briefly asks him to explain what the upside down is exactly. Staying true, he only says, "The exact thing you painted. That's the upside down. The suspended flakes, the streets, the icky coating."

“Where's the upside down?" Stacy inquires curiously. Perhaps it's an actual place, she mentally asks.

Will struggles to string the right words. After all, it's difficult to explain a place to someone who has never been there before. He figures his previous assumption could be wrong if Stacy doesn't have any idea what the upside down is. "It's a different dimension. Like the place we're in right now, an exact replica, but the scarier version. The one with real monsters."

Stacy feels bad when Will's voice breaks, as if it's physical torture for him to talk about the topic. "I didn't mean to remind you of it, I'm sorry. It just appeared to me in a dream, and I can't take it off my mind so I thought transferring it on canvas would help me forget it." She apologizes sincerely. Something about Will tells her to be cautious, not for her own sake and safety but his. She doesn't understand why but she feels a certain connection with him that inevitably pulls her to him. Will doesn't admit it to himself yet but he feels the same way.

It's not even romantic, it's like the feeling Stacy gets every time Steve is around, like she's safe and that she should be close to him for comfort. She can't explain it exactly but she lets it lead the way.

"It's okay, it wasn't your intention. If it helps, I draw to comfort myself too,” he smiles softly. “I'm sorry we keep on bothering you." Will looks down at his hands as he apologizes. He metaphorically shrinks like a little boy in great fear of authority.

"I can't say it's fine, but it's not harming me in any way so I guess it is." Stacy says but then she realizes how intimidating it is so she adds, "And I just really want you to find your friend so that little punk could get his panties out of the twist it has been for the past week."

Will smiles at the statement which he finds personally funny but he thinks it'd be rude to laugh at it since it's about Mike anyway. "Our friends are saying he's always been like that when it's about Eleven. The first time she disappeared was tough on everyone."

"Yeah, but he shouldn't take it out on you guys, or anyone for that matter." Stacy shrugs.

Will nods, "Yeah." Silence follows the two of us for a moment before he breaks it. "Lucas and I are going out tomorrow for ice cream, maybe if we get you one, it'll be enough to apologize for bothering you all the time."

A smile inevitably makes its way through Stacy’s lips. "An apology can't be in the form of a purchase, Will." With her words, Will tenses, but then Stacy only laughs lightheartedly, "but yeah, sure."

[breeeliss]

[Miraculous Ladybug]: feed your focus

a little birthday present to myself :) apologies in advance since this one might be a bit of a rough ride ^^;

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[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

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Title: feed your focus

Summary: “It took a little over a week for Mayor Bourgeois to finally agree to an interview, but what he failed to do was confirm the identity of the other woman his daughter was pressing against the wall and kissing to within an inch of her life.”

Marinette befriends Chloe after a particularly shocking scandal that Chloe would much rather forget. Besides, the past is in the past, and there are much more fun methods to be used to distract each other.

Part 5

“Can I pick your brain for a second?”

Marinette looked up from the beat up moleskin she was writing in and saw Chloe staring out the bathroom window with her cheek pressed up against the lip of the clawfoot tub. “Sure. What’s wrong?”

Chloe shook her head, scooping up a handful of bathwater filled with salts, oils, and bubbles and pouring it over her bare knees. “Nothing. I’ve just been thinking about some things, and I thought you might add some perspective.”

“I mean, no promises, but I’ll do what I can.” She reached over to place her sketchbook on the windowsill and turned on the taps to the tub to add more hot water. “Want more bubbles?”

“Nah, I’m good. This oil you put in here is great though. And the bath salts.”

Marinette shrugged and nudged Chloe’s foot with her own under the water. “You looked miserable when you came over. Thought they might help. Besides, Sunday morning baths are a ritual in my house.”

“You seem like the overly romantic type to love reading and sketching while soaking in a bath on a sunny day. Talk about an Instagram aesthetic.”

Marinette splashed Chloe’s knees with a wave of soapy water and smirked. “You wanted to ask me something?”

Chloe nodded and stared down at the water for a few moments while she chewed on her words. She reached over to shut off the hot water and asked, “What happened when you came out to your parents?”

Marinette blinked and leaned back against the porcelain. “What do you mean what happened?”

“I mean, how did they react? When you told them. What happened right after?“

“I don’t know if you’d want all the details.”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” she replied. “I’m curious.”

Marinette sighed as she leaned her elbows on her knees and scratched at the bun piled on the top of her head. “I don’t know where to start…”

“Was it the kind of thing where you sat them down in the living room, paced for dramatic effect, and dropped the bomb on them?”

Marinette laughed. “No, nothing like that. I was twenty and I guess one of the neighbors saw me making out against the door to my apartment with this girl I was seeing on and off. He asked my parents about my new girlfriend and needless to say they were very shocked and confused. When I came back from classes that day they confronted me and asked me what was happening. So….I told them.”

“Shit,” Chloe breathed out.

“Yeah. I mean, I was going to tell them soon. I wanted them to know, I just wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. But it’d been started for me, I guess, so I sort of just had to roll with it.”

Chloe was leaning closer now, mirroring Marinette’s position and reaching in between them to link pinkies with her. “How’d it go?”

Marinette gently swung their hands back and forth and kept her gaze towards the window. “Papa took it just fine. His sister has a wife, and he’s the type of person that doesn’t think he has a right to pass judgement on how people live their lives so long as they’re happy. He kissed the top of my head, gave me a hug, and didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, I knew that he was alright with it.”

“And your mother?”

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek and squeezed Chloe’s finger. “She was quiet for a long time. She looked at me like she couldn’t hear me and asked me to say it again. So I did. And….then she looked at me like she couldn’t see me.”

Chloe’s other hand immediately came out of the water and rubbed Marinette’s calf. “Fuck, Marinette….”

“Something shifted is what I mean,” Marinette explained. “Like suddenly I was a stranger to her, because I had been hiding this huge secret from her all these years and now she was seeing me in a whole new light. When it finally hit her, she just started crying and couldn’t look at me.”

“Why?”

“She kept saying it wasn’t what she wanted for me. She was worried about what people would say and about how people would treat me. Don’t misunderstand, Maman has never had an issue with it where it concerned other people. But the moment it was me, she was terrified of how her side of the family would take things. What they’d say about me behind our backs and how they’d treat me at reunions, things like that. She was afraid of the judgement. For all of us, but mostly for me.”

Chloe nodded. “Family talks.”

“Exactly,” Marinette said. “It was more than that, too. She was afraid I was going to get spit on in the street for holding hands with a woman, or that I’d walk into a gay bar and never come out or something like that. And I get that. I really do think she just wanted something easier and simpler for me and this complicated things. But Papa was there next to me having my back, and the three of us talked for hours after that. And once the tears were shed and the air was cleared, Maman hugged me and said that I was her daughter and that she loved me with her entire soul. There was nothing that I could say that could ever make that untrue.”

Chloe smiled softly and brushed Marinette’s cheek with her knuckle so that she could turn to face her. “You’ve got great parents. They’ve always adored you, even I could tell.”

“Your father adores you too,” Marinette told her. “And he loves you, even if he has a funny way of showing it lately. You should never forget that.”

“I know,” Chloe mutters. “But sometimes it feels like there’s a conditional there somewhere. Like it only took one thing for that to all come toppling down. Like I had the power to completely break his heart. Now he’s treating me like a criminal, and I don’t feel like I even deserve to say anything to him.”

Marinette frowned. “You know that’s not true.”

“I can’t have him angry at me, Marinette,” Chloe whispered, her voice sounding thick at the end. “He’s the only family I have.”

“His head just needs time to catch up with his heart. And then you two can talk, really talk. And things will start to fix themselves.”

Chloe laughed. “Your optimism is really annoying.”

Marinette smiled and pressed a kiss to the back of Chloe’s hand. “You’ll be okay. And if you need anything, I’m right here.”

Chloe ran her thumb over Marinette’s knuckles. “I know. I don’t forget it.”

Marinette hadn’t really bothered to go through the trouble of truly getting to know someone for quite a long time. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that she had never wanted to go through the trouble until very recently. Either way, being out of practice had made her forget what a sluggish process it could be and how much frustration had the potential to build in up in response to such a steep learning curve.

Learning Chloe was like learning a new language from scratch. Marinette had a decent collection of words and phrases that she could recall with ease. Chloe drank her coffee black in the mornings and with a splash of cream in the afternoons. She liked sleeping in her underwear and in the oversized t-shirts she stole from Marinette’s drawers. She often wore rings on most if not all of her fingers. She didn’t give off much body heat and always woke up with cold toes and fingers that she always warmed up against Marinette’s skin. She preferred candles and fairy lights to lamps and overhead lights. She was a beautiful singer who hummed songs in the shower every day.

The problem came when Marinette was forced to consider Chloe in larger contexts, and that’s when comprehension consistently failed her. Marinette knew that Chloe had folded up polaroid photos in her wallet that she smiled fondly at whenever she pulled them out, but Marinette didn’t know why she only did it when Marinette was sleeping or when she thought Marinette wasn’t looking. Marinette could easily tell when Chloe was in a mood where she didn’t want to be bothered and didn’t like to be touched, but she couldn’t tell if it was because she was angry, depressed, distracted, or distraught.

Marinette knew that Chloe had disappeared and didn’t want to be contacted while she was gone. But she didn’t know why, didn’t know where she could’ve gone, didn’t know if this was normal behavior for her, and didn’t know if this was the time for her to leave Chloe be or somehow intervene.

Something about the suddenness felt off and re-reading her succinct text did nothing but fill Marinette with more unease. But Marinette didn’t know Chloe well enough to know what she was meant to do — what the best thing to do was. So she cut her losses early and turned to Adrien.

Adrien tended to shut his personal phone off while he was handling Gabriel related business, which meant that Marinette wasn’t able to grab him on the phone until about five days after Chloe had said she’d be gone. The moment Marinette mentioned Chloe’s three week trip, Adrien seemed genuinely confused. Apparently he’d been on his way to meet her for a lunch date they’d planned close to two weeks ago. It wasn’t until he looked through the mountains of unread texts that he hadn’t yet gotten around to checking since he came back from dealing with his business that he realized Chloe had sent Adrien the same text she’d sent Marinette. Back in three weeks. Don’t call.

It seemed she was right to worry, because Adrien wasted no time jumping on the train and making his way over to Marinette’s boutique, bringing lunch from the restaurant he and Chloe were supposed to eat at and insisting that they needed to talk. Marinette offered up no resistance as she put on a pot of coffee in her office while Adrien sat at her desk and started frantically swiping through his phone.

“This is so bizarre,” Adrien said under his breath a few minutes later as he scrolled through Chloe’s Instagram, letting his food go cold next to him. “All of her social media’s been dead since she texted us. Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, everything. She even turned all her locations off.”

Marinette sat on top of her desk and stared at Adrien’s phone from above. “Has she ever done that before?”

“No. She doesn’t unplug. Ever,” Adrien emphasized. “Whenever she goes on vacations or trips by herself, she always brags about it and posts constantly about it. I’ve never seen her go off the grid like this. The only time she’s ever come close was when that tabloid piece dropped.”

Marinette shook her head. “I already thought of that. I’ve been googling her for the past couple of days and all the big celebrity news sites and tabloids haven’t said anything about her. If there was something juicy she was running away from, they would’ve ran it already.”

Adrien laced his hands on the back of his neck and hung his head. “For fuck’s sake,” he mumbled. “Never a dull moment with her, I swear.”

“It must have been a last minute decision,” Marinette guessed. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have forgotten to cancel her plans with you before she left. Maybe that means something happened just before she texted us.”

“I’ve been so busy dealing with father’s finances that I haven’t really been checking up on her for the past couple of weeks,” Adrien said. “She seemed fine the last time I saw her. If anything, she seemed in a better mood than she had been for the past few months.” He peeked up at Marinette through his bangs. “Did she say anything to you recently?”

“Why would she tell me anything?”

“Don’t be modest. She spends just as much time with you as she does with me. She told me so herself. It’s not a stretch to think she’d confide in you about something that was bothering her.”

Marinette set her jaw. “Well, in this case it is. I don’t know anything.”

“Was she acting differently?”

“I mean, maybe there were some days where she had a lot on her mind and she was more quiet than usual. But like you said, she’s been in a really good mood for the most part. I thought things were getting better after all the drama with her and her father. So for her to just drop off the face of the Earth like this makes me think something’s seriously wrong. That’s why I called you.”

Adrien spread out his hands as if they were physically devoid of answers. “I don’t know what happened to her if that’s what you’re asking. But if you want a seasoned opinion, I’d say it was so bad she just needed to check out.”

“What do you mean check out?”

“She does that sometimes,” Adrien explained. “Chloe isn't easily bothered. But when she is, she doesn't react well. We got into a huge fight our last year of lycée, and she was absent from school for five days until she got up the nerve to apologize. Then when that scandal happened, she holed herself up in the hotel for close to two weeks and would only talk to me over the phone. I think the worst was when we were nine though.”

“What happened?”

Adrien sighed and hesitated for a few moments as he leaned back in his seat. “You have to promise you won’t talk to her about this until she decides to tell you herself. It’s a really sore topic and she hates when I bring it up.”

“That bad?”

He started fiddling with one of Marinette’s pens. “You know Chloe’s parents are divorced, right?”

Marinette shrugged. “I sort of assumed something like that. She never talked about her mother, not even when we were kids.”

“That’s because she really didn’t take the divorce well,” Adrien continued. “Her mother had been having a lot of affairs here and there before her father finally put his foot down. I’m not really sure what the reason was, but Chloe’s mother decided she just….didn’t want to be bothered with taking care of Chloe anymore. So her father kept full custody and her mother sort of just left. Promised she’d send gifts and visit her on the holidays, but that was about it. I don’t think Chloe goes out of her way much to call or visit her anymore. She’s become so indifferent she doesn’t see the point.”

“But I imagine she wasn’t indifferent when it happened,” Marinette said.

Adrien winced. “Definitely not. She was fine for a couple of days, but then I guess she couldn’t hold it in anymore because she wound up running away.”

“Like actually running away from home?”

“I don’t think she was gone for more than a day. But yeah. She left the hotel one day and didn’t tell her butler or her driver where she was going. She left a note in her room saying she was okay, but that she wanted to be left alone for a while. Once her father found it, he realized that one of her suitcases was gone along with a bunch of her clothes. The only reason I knew about all this at the time was because Chloe’s father had called my mother in a panic and she had to sit me down and ask me a bunch of questions. We were best friends, they thought I might’ve known something.”

“Where did she go for a whole day if she was only nine years old?”

“Well, that’s why she was only gone for a day,” Adrien explained. “They found her outside a bus depot crying because they wouldn’t sell her a ticket to leave the city. She’d just been wandering around at first — sitting in parks, looking through museums, that kind of thing. But I guess she had every intentions of leaving the city if only she was old enough to buy the tickets.”

Marinette swallowed. “Was she going to see her mother?”

Adrien shrugged. “I don’t know what she was thinking. Chloe never told me where she was planning on going that day. All she told me was that she missed her mother, and that she was just too sad to see anyone anymore. She was going to come back once she finally stopped crying whenever she didn’t wake up to see her mother making coffee in the kitchen.”

“So that’s what you think this is? A reaction to some hypothetically fucked up situation that neither of us knows anything about?”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Adrien replied helplessly.

Marinette snorted. “Yeah? Well I’ll put money on this having something to do with her father.”

“You don’t know that….”

“Don’t I?” she countered. “Did you know she’s been coming to see me at my place these past few weeks?”

Adrien’s eyes widened in interest. “You mean at your house?”

“On the weekends, she’s there almost constantly,” Marinette explained. “When she has time during the week, she comes over right after I close up shop and stays for as late as she can before going back home. She tells me that when she’s not with me, she’s with you.”

“Well, yeah,” Adrien answered. “Before I got busy with work I guess she was coming over more often. And we’ve been going out a lot more, too. What’s your point?”

“She’s barely home, Adrien. That’s probably why she’s been in such a good mood, because she’s been avoiding him. There wouldn’t be a need to spend so much time away from him if things between them weren’t two seconds away from exploding. Whatever happened to her to make her bolt like this, it had to do with her father. I’m positive.”

“Look, even if you’re right, what are you going to do with that information?” Adrien asked. “Confront him? Ask him what happened? You and I both know that’s not going to end well. It doesn’t matter why she ran off. We just have to keep an eye on our phones and the Internet to see if any news pops up. If she reaches out or we find out she’s not safe, then we can figure out what to do from there.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Wait a minute….so we’re not going to try and look for her?”

“Did you think we were?”

“ Aren’t we?”

“No,” Adrien said shortly. “She doesn’t want us contacting her, which means she probably doesn’t want us looking for her. That’s a clear enough message to me.”

“This doesn’t sound like a cry for help to you?”

“It doesn’t matter if it is or if it isn’t. She’s not nine years old, Marinette.”

“I’m not infantilizing her,” Marinette glared. “I’m just worried. Three weeks is a pretty long time to spend clearing your head alone. A lot can happen and a lot can go through your head in that time without someone to pull you out of it.”

Adrien scowled and turned his chair to properly face her. “Maybe she doesn’t want anyone to pull her out of anything. I get you’re concerned, but if Chloe needs space, then she deserves to have it. This has nothing to do with us, so it makes no sense for us to start meddling.”

Marinette gripped the edges of the desk and glared into her lap. “It involves us….” she muttered.

“Just because she’s been confiding in us doesn’t mean we have permission to go poking our noses into her business if she doesn’t want us to.”

“You don’t get it!” Marinette insisted. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Then uncomplicate it for me! Is there something I don’t know?”

Marinette snorted weakly at the irony and swallowed back all the secrets that Chloe had only given to Marinette, right along with the sordid details of a relationship that Marinette hadn’t ever tried to put into words. The weight of it all settled thick and heavy in her stomach, and she hoped the worry it was etching onto her face wasn’t obvious enough for Adrien to think she really was hiding something. She rubbed one of her eyes and quickly jumped onto a separate train of thought. “All I’m saying is that you know better than anyone else how terrified she is of disappointing him. He’s the center of her world, and he’s always given her everything she asked for because he adores her. How else is she going to react when he pulls all that out from underneath her and tells her that he suddenly doesn’t give a shit about her feelings?”

Adrien softened his gaze and bit the inside of his cheek as he reached out to lay a hand on Marinette’s knee. He waited until she was looking at him before he spoke again. “I’m not denying that, okay? Trust me, I know exactly what kind of nonsense he’s been feeding her ever since he found out about that woman she was with. I’m not trying to trivialize what she’s going through.”

“I know you’re not,” Marinette said. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, smirking at the absurdity of it all. “She hurts , Adrien. I’ve gotten so used to her that whenever she lets things fester or starts to shut down, it makes me feel sick. Like I have to do something about it for her sanity and for mine. I feel like I got tricked into this, but now it’s too late because whenever I think about her having to wade through her father’s bullshit after she did nothing wrong….I don’t know, it pisses me off. She’s spent enough time alone.”

There was an inside joke that Marinette had with herself about Chloe — the only times where Chloe managed to be pleasant and approachable were the times when her father was around. He came to all of her concerts to record her acapella solos, he sat in the audience and held up decorated signs with Chloe’s name on it when she had a ten second speaking role in a play, and some days he’d surprise her outside of school by pulling up in his own car and coming to pick her up instead. The days where she jumped into his arms and hugged him — telling him how she loved him and laughing sweetly when he told her how much he loved her back — managed to soften how Marinette saw her for a few moments before Chloe slipped right back to her antagonism. Her love for her father was one of the more beautiful things about Chloe, and seeing it have to come face-to-face with his intolerance was like watching her slowly suffocate while her father looked on, thinking her growing silence meant compliance.

“It’s not just you,” Adrien promised her. “It makes me angry too. But sometimes Chloe doesn’t tell you things and doesn’t involve you in things even though you think she should. That’s just how she is. I’ve never really seen the point in stepping on her toes about it. That’s why I think we shouldn’t intrude.”

Marinette gave him a small smile. That certainly sounded like Adrien. He was very careful with his friends and wasn’t the type to pry or go against someone’s wishes even if he felt that it could be helpful. Unfortunately, Marinette wasn’t that passive. “Then who does she tell everything to?”

“No one,” Adrien chuckled. “Chloe doesn’t give all of herself to anyone.”

It was annoying how much the silence of Marinette’s apartment bothered her now. Before it had simply been an unfortunate side effect of living where she did, which Marinette gracefully accepted for the sake of taking advantage of the practical location and the beautiful view. Now it just felt uncomfortable, like the aftermath of a raucous celebration that left the space cluttered with an uncanny stillness after all the noise and excitement had been robbed by the late hour. She hadn’t realized how accustomed she’d become to sketching and going through bills in the kitchen while Chloe watched television in the living room, her running commentary turning into a calming hum in the background. It was hard not to laugh at Chloe when she got particularly shrill, and it actually put her in a better mood as she plowed through all the work she was forced to take home with her.

Now she couldn’t even pick up a pen without being distracted by the ringing in her ears and the echoes that pounded through the living room every time she so much as set down her coffee mug. It was less that she missed her and more that she’d become Marinette’s new normal, and having her so violently ripped out of her weekly routine made everything feel tilted. It made her spend more hours in her office and pile herself on with more work just so that she could push herself just enough to keep her mind from focusing on anything else but her job.

However, the ironic part about that strategy was that the more time she spent in her boutique, the more her discomfort about Chloe came barreling straight into her every time she saw the occasional customer loitering around in her store and pretending to examine her stock before skulking out the store with no purchases to speak of.

It wasn’t difficult to tell they were sent by Mayor Bourgeois. Every time she made eye contact with one of these customers or offered to help them look for something to buy, they took pains to get out of the store as quickly as possible as if they were afraid they’d been caught. They were often followed by strangers who’d come inside looking for their friends, cousins, or girlfriends while rattling off descriptions that perfectly matched Chloe’s to other customers before Marinette intercepted and gently pushed them out the store. And as if that wasn’t aggravating enough, every time Marinette’s phone rang, she wasn’t sure if she was speaking to a potential customer or gearing up for an interrogation about which local celebrities frequented her shop.

Marinette suspected that the excessive detail was because Mayor Bourgeois was also feeling anxious over the whereabouts of his daughter. Adrien had already told her that he’d been calling him regularly and asking for any information or insight as to where his daughter could have disappeared. Perhaps checking all of the places Chloe loved spending time in and speaking to the people who knew her the best was the most effective and logical strategy for finding information about Chloe, and Marinette really wanted to believe that this was the reason for all of her unwanted guests. But the surveillance made her feel like she was a suspect, and Marinette did not forget how much Mayor Bourgeois seemed to think Chloe was gambling away the rest of her reputation by playing frivolous games with another woman in an attempt to embarrass or spite him. She did not forget the night when Chloe told her that her father seemed to think Marinette was someone to worry about.

Every stare one of the mayor’s spies sent from the corner of their eyes felt piercing. Like they knew how close Chloe and Marinette had gotten. Like Chloe’s father knew. Like maybe this wasn’t just him indulging his paranoia, and maybe this was just a way of confirming for himself what he already knew for sure.

It bothered her so much during her walk back to her apartment at the end of the day that Marinette drew all of her blinds and checked the locks on her doors three times as if she were afraid that someone from the outside was peering into her space with malicious intentions. The fear had always been there since the morning after their first night together — what if Chloe’s driver wasn’t as discreet as she hoped he was, what if Chloe wasn’t careful enough, what if Chloe’s father was just a bit too nosy? A bit too perceptive?

After all, news that his daughter was amusing himself with another woman would be enough to infuriate him, and that anger directed at Chloe seemed like exactly the sort of thing that would make her react the way she did.

It didn’t matter that it was just a theory built on little proof. Marinette’s mind was already morphing the idea into a slew of negative aftermaths that were enough to make her feel like she was physically buckling under the pressure of the past few days. A week and a half with no updates. Adrien was just as clueless as she was. She was dreading doing to work tomorrow to face more of Mayor Bourgeois’s nonsense. She had so much work she needed to do and so much sleep that she needed to catch up on. And her apartment was still so fucking quiet that she couldn’t calm herself down long enough to think .

It wasn’t until she’d chased down one too many painkillers for her migraine and curled up on the couch with the warmest robe she could find that her cellphone, sitting innocently on the coffee table, began to look tempting. Marinette dismissed all of her work notifications and scrolled through her recent calls until she found Chloe’s number. She could already hear Adrien scolding her for the slip up, but she just needed to know. She needed to know what Chloe was thinking, what Chloe needed, and what Marinette was supposed to be doing. Perhaps Adrien thought that all this wasn’t his business and that he had no reason to get himself involved, but Marinette felt differently.

The dial tone rang five times while a dull ache began to press against the back of her throat. When the other line finally picked up, there was a long silence on the other end. Only the white noise of the air around the receiver and the dull sounds of what might have been traffic in the background were audible. Marinette could hear the phone shifting, but she didn’t dare break the silence first. Instead the two of them sat together and listened to the muted sounds of their breathing before Chloe spoke through her hoarseness. “ Is that you, Marinette? ”

Chloe didn’t sound angry. She sounded tired and quiet, and Marinette could tell her lips were close to the mouthpiece, as if she were cupping the phone close while she spoke. Marinette cleared her throat. “Yeah. It’s me.” She bit her lip and tried to smile. “Hi, I guess.”

Chloe snorted weakly. “ Hi .”

“I, uh….” Marinette began. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want me to call. I wasn’t going to, so I’m not sure why I did.”

“ To be fair, I knew the minute I sent that text you weren’t going to fucking listen to it. You never listen to me. I’m surprised you lasted this long.”

Marinette laughed, grateful that her tone didn’t sound harsh. “I think I did pretty good.”

“ By your standards, I guess.”

“An accomplishment all the same, though, right?”

“ I’ll mark it as a win for you in my diary later .”

The familiar banter was like a wash of relief and Marinette clung to it if only to convince herself that Chloe wasn’t as worse off as she knew she was. But Chloe’s soft laughter was short lived, ending with a long sigh that trembled at the end and made Chloe sound impossibly small. Marinette swallowed and figured she shouldn’t waste the phone call with things that weren’t important. “I just wanted to check on you. See how you are.”

“ I’m alright,” Chloe said. “ Just trying to get some fresh air. ”

“You’re outside?”

“ Sitting on the sill. Windows open. ”

“Where are you?”

“ Living room.”

“No I mean where are you?”

Chloe immediately clamped down. “ Somewhere. Don’t worry about it. ”

Marinette withered. “I can’t help but worry about it.”

“ Well I’m telling you not to ,” she replied, her voice developing a slight edge.

“Okay,” Marinette quickly amended. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

Chloe hesitated. “I just….needed to get some air. Clean air. That wasn’t….touched by anything, you know? Everything was clogging up around me and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. That’s all.”

“‘That’s all’?” Marinette echoed. “You make it sound like that’s normal.”

“ Yeah, well ,” Chloe muttered. “ Welcome to a day in the life.”

Marinette hung her head. “Chloe, you can’t just say things like that.”

“ Who says I can’t?”

“I….I just mean that when you say things like that you make me worry even more. And then I wonder if you’re really alright.”

“ I told you I am .”

“Oh, stop it,” Marinette frowned. “You sound miserable.”

“ I’m tired, Marinette. It’s late. It’s been a long day, and I’m just trying to rest.”

“I know you better than that. You know I know you better than that.”

“ I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Marinette,” Chloe said.

Marinette took a few seconds to carefully order the words in her head so that Chloe wouldn’t react too sharply. “I want you….I only want to know what’s wrong. I know you say you’re okay but I know something’s wrong. Or that something happened. And I just want to know what it is so that I can help you.”

The line stayed silent, and then Marinette heard the sound of the window closing. “ I’m going to bed, Marinette.”

Marinette covered her face with one hand. “Chloe, please, don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up, I’m not trying to pry, I just want to understand.”

“No, but that’s the thing, you are trying to pry,” Chloe explained. “You didn’t call because you wanted to comfort me, you called because you hate being left in the dark. You wanna talk about how well you know me? Well I know you. And I know it kills you when you can’t be useful in a situation. That’s all this is.”

“I’m not trying to fish for information to soothe my own curiosity, and if you really think that’s why I would do this, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Marinette said. “I’m not stupid. You’re hurting, I know something happened to make you feel like you had to run away from it and hole yourself up in a place where no one could find you. I just want to — ”

“ Help, I know,” Chloe interrupted. “ That’s all you want to do. Trust me, I’m very familiar with your M.O. Marinette the helper, right? Always have to involve yourself in everything because you’re so fucking sympathetic to everything. You’re so confident that you’ll understand everything. You’re so positive people are just going to open up to you and dump their worries onto you so you can swoop in and just fix everything. ” She laughed bitterly. “ You can’t fix shit just because you want you. Wanting isn’t enough. If it was, we wouldn’t have so many miserable people in the world.”

Marinette swallowed and set her jaw. “This coming from the person who had to bribe me to help her when things started to look sour, huh?”

“Fuck you.” Chloe snarled. “ I didn’t ask you to call me to check on me. I certainly didn’t ask for your help.”

“So why did you answer?” Marinette asked. “If you didn’t ask me to call and you didn’t want me to check on you, why did you answer?”

Chloe had nothing to say to that. She cursed loudly and Marinette could her her stomping around the room she was standing in, probably pacing or going for a walk like she tended to do when she was heated up. Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to bring the conversation back before it was lost.

“I’m not trying to force myself into anything,” Marinette defended.

“ Good, because you shouldn’t. This isn’t any of your business, have you ever thought of that?”

Marinette blinked. “...I think it’s partially my business, Chloe.”

“ Enlighten me. ”

Marinette scoffed. “Do you want a list? A discretion policy that you almost bribed me into, protection detail from the press that you didn’t want to face, making me lie to your father’s overpaid interns and assistants who are fucking crawling all over my place of business trying to catch you in something, thank you very much. And coming to my place to take cover from your father because you’re bored or you need a fuck or you’re too scared to talk to him. Trust me, I’m plenty involved in whatever bullshit you have going on in your life because you forced me into it. So excuse the fuck out of me if I feel like maybe I deserve an explanation when you decide to pick up and leave while I deal with the mess you handed to me.”

“ Oh, don’t pretend like you didn’t happily agree to it,” Chloe snapped. “ You didn’t have to say yes to any of that. You didn’t have to do anything. Everything you’ve got yourself wrapped up in, you wanted to do. Why do I suddenly have to wear my heart on my sleeve for your sake just because you decided to turn me into a charity project? Not everything about me concerns you .”

“No, it does concern me!” Marinette insisted. “It concerns me because you’ve put me in a position where it can’t possibly not concern me. We’ve spent months concerned with each other. You promised me you’d tell me things that were important because we both had stakes in this. You promised me you’d come to me if something happened. You were taking cover from your father in my house and you were sitting in my house , when you promised me that you’d tell me when he slipped something stupid into your head again. God forbid I care enough about what’s happening to you to believe in those promises.”

Chloe didn’t respond right away, and for a moment Marinette thought she’d finally volleyed her an argument she couldn’t return. But she always underestimated Chloe’s inability to sit with the possibility that she was wrong or that her feelings were the ones that were misdirected. It left her vulnerable to a type of scrutiny that Chloe had historically fought like hell to avoid, so she took Marinette’s words, sharpened them, and thrust them back with the intention of causing her harm. “ You make that sound awfully romantic. Is that what you think? We had sex a few times so now we have to tell each other everything because we care so much?”

“Screw you,” Marinette muttered. “That’s not what I meant.”

“ I think that’s exactly what you meant.” Chloe laughed. “ I don’t love you, Marinette. None of what I did was because I loved you. Me telling you what I’ve told you and confiding to you what I have wasn’t love. Don’t make the mistake and fit romance into this.”

“You’re the one bringing up romance, not me.”

“ You’re the one who told me you’re constantly pining for something consistent. Your exact words, right? I have no doubt you’re adding sentimentality where it doesn’t belong. You need to stop reading into things. You wanna know why I ask you for help and why I tell you things? The real reason? No bullshit and no sparing your feelings?” She paused for effect and enunciated carefully into the phone. “ I know you can’t say no to me.”

Marinette felt her eyes narrowing. “You’re awfully conceited.”

“ It’s not conceit,” Chloe clarified. “ You wanna know what happened after that tabloid piece dropped? I left my house to go for a walk to clear my head and figure out what I was supposed to be doing and I happened to pass your shop. And I hadn’t thought about you in years, but then suddenly you were appearing to me right when everything felt like it was going to shit. And then I remembered how you were in school. That despite how fucking infuriating you were, you thought yourself a goddamn superhero. If someone needed your help, it didn’t matter what kind of a person they were and it didn’t matter if they deserved it. You cut yourself open and bled dry for people because you enjoyed it. So I walked in. And I made you bleed dry for me.

“I knew I could get you to feel sorry for me,” she continued. “ I knew I could get you to do anything for me. I liked the fact that if I told you something, you’d pour your heart out for me, and if I asked you to do something, you’d do it no questions asked because you only wanted to help. That’s why I need you. So don’t mistake this for some half-baked love story where I suddenly owe you things because otherwise you’d be severely deluded. It’s a convenience arrangement. Is that clear enough for you?”

Marinette let her words hang and marvelled at how strange it was to be able to feel the volume of Chloe’s words, but not feel their impact or their heat. It made her feel numb to what she knew would have shaken her had Chloe been here in person, nose two inches away from her own, eyes betraying no hesitance or affection, and no way to force a chasm between them and use miscommunications as a crutch for avoiding the truth. Chloe’s voice was mechanical — something that faded when Marinette pulled the phone away from her ear, and that made everything roll off her skin so that she was left feeling nothing. But then Marinette imagined what it must have been like to yell into a cellphone while standing in an empty room, in an empty house, absconded in what was probably some far off location not worth disclosing for fear of someone trying to come find her. Everything would be echoing against walls and bouncing right back, and there would be nowhere for that pain and hurt to go other than straight back into her. Perhaps that was why Chloe’s voice sounded broken when she finished — like had she been weaker, she might have accidentally let herself cry.

Adrien was right. She shouldn’t have called.

But now it was too late because Marinette had trained herself to absorb Chloe’s cruelty and fire it back. It was mostly for self-protection, but Marinette couldn’t deny the sick satisfaction of being able to control the same sort of detachment and disregard for another person’s feelings and use it to tear Chloe down to Marinette’s level. That’s all they’d ever done — take turns yanking each other down by the hair until they were both ragged, bloody, beaten, and equal. In hindsight she knew that such childishness had no place here, but Marinette’s compulsions were strong ones, and she was already pulling out awful half-truths that she knew would sting.

“It’s funny. It’s always easier for you to paint me as the one who can’t read a situation or always feels too much. I’m starting to think it makes you feel superior to know what you’re the one who feels less and has the least to lose. And hey, maybe I get that seeing as how you had a rude introduction to what it was like to care about someone more than they cared about you. But if it makes you feel better, let me assure you right here and now that the two of us feel exactly the same way. Because I don’t love you either. We’re not married. We’re not dating. Like you said: no sentimentality.”

She gripped the phone tight enough to hear the plastic casing creak. “I’m not calling you because I’m some simpering little girl who can’t wait for you to come home. I’m calling because I’m worried about you like a normal human being should be, and I’m calling you because you don’t get to pull me right into the middle of your swirling shit storm and not tell me what’s going on.” Marinette tipped her head back towards the ceiling. “And you know what? Since you brought up the topic? You want to know the real reason I helped you specifically? Because how I treated everyone else when I was a teenager never applied to you. You bullied the shit out of me for seven years, so maybe when the opportunity presented itself, I fell in love with the fact that you needed me for once. I was your only hope, and I thrived off that.”

Chloe’s laughter sounded forced and hollow. “ God….you’re such a bitch. ”

“I’m being honest,” Marinette said. “You don’t know how satisfying it is to know that you are what a person needs . You’re central. Inextricable. Important. I became important to you, and not only was it such a perfect dose of irony after all these years, but it made me feel powerful. And maybe that sounds selfish, and maybe it is, but you sought me out specifically because you knew I’d let you push my kindness as far as it would go, and you’d get to benefit from it. That’s selfish. We’re both selfish. Is that what you want to hear?”

Chloe didn’t answer, and Marinette didn’t expect her to. She wasn’t sure how the conversation got away from them so quickly, but instead of answers and closure all either of them had to show for were handfuls of rot. Marinette felt like an addict constantly on the brink of relapse because it seemed like, when you took away all the excess and reduced the two of them down to their common denominators, they were always going to come back to this. In the context of each other, they were incapable of being selfless. It was always about gratification, and it was always about maintaining the upper hand. The reality was so depressing that now Marinette was feeling herself sink right into the cushions of the couch while the pressure behind her eyes grew. This was them. Chloe and Marinette. Butting heads. Never seeing eye to eye. And it felt fucking awful.

Chloe inhaled through her nose. “ You know before you called? I had gotten off the phone with Daddy. Suffice it to say it didn’t go well, because it never fucking goes well. So I broke a few wine glasses and screamed everything out until I was just sitting in the middle of my living room dry heaving and feeling like I was losing control of everything.” Marinette could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “ And then you called. And, you know, maybe that’s my fault for picking up and thinking that it was a sign or that it was going to make me feel better. I told myself not to answer but I did it anyway because….I’m used to you. You’re familiar and you don’t bite back. But hey. Next time I’ll know better. We’re both selfish, and normal people don’t fuck around with selfish people. Lucky us.”

It felt like the world had gone still. Nothing was moving, everything felt dead, and Marinette suddenly realized how much worse she had just made everything. She shouldn’t have called. “Chloe, wait a minute — ”

“ Don’t call me again Marinette ,” Chloe instructed. “ And this time I mean it.”

The line hung up before Marinette could get another word in.

[fae-fucker]

Shatter Me: Chapter 1-2

Oh God please no. Yes, finally, the book you’ve all been thirsting waiting for. 

I have to preface this by saying that I know that the protagonist has been in solitary confinement for super long and I know her narration is supposed to be terrible unconventional.

But! It doesn’t mean that this works, or that I have to like it. Just because I understand what the author was going for does not automatically make it good. 

And as someone who has an extremely low tolerance for purple prose, I can safely tell you that I took a quick peek at the mess narration near the end of the book and it was still garbage not great. 

With that out of the way, let’s begin.

Chapter 1

I’ve been locked up for 264 days. 

I have nothing but a small notebook and a broken pen and the numbers in my head to keep me company. 1 window. 4 walls. 144 square feet of space. 26 letters in an alphabet I haven’t spoken in 264 days of isolation. 

6,336 hours since I’ve touched another human being.

Our protagonist tells us that The Reestablishment (yes) has locked her away because of something outside of her control, which, based on the book’s tagline, must have something to do with her ability to hurt people through physical contact. 

I only know that I was transported by someone in a white van who drove 6 hours and 37 minutes to get me here.

Her being able to figure out how long it’s been since she’s touched someone and how long the van drove implies that she knew she had to start counting right after it happened, which idk how much sense that makes, but ok. 

I know my parents never bothered to say good-bye.

I didn’t do that btw. This is this book’s “thing”. It’s supposed to be deep and show us how conflicted the protagonist is, how she actually thinks one thing but forces herself to ignore it in favor of something more “acceptable”. 

Again, I get what the author was going for, but this quickly becomes a one-trick pony, and the trick is kicking you in the face with how deep it is.

In this particular case, it just becomes weird. If we remove the crossed-out words, we don’t even get a complete sentence! It doesn’t make sense in context either. What a mess. 

I know the sky falls down every day.

When you’re writing a super deep YA novel, you probably don’t want the reader to think about Chicken Little.

Anyway, the protagonist angsts about how the planet is fucked, so that’s fun. Some generic attempt at post-apocalyptic worldbuilding for ya.

She’s supposed to get a cellmate but falls asleep before he arrives.

My eyes open to 2 eyes 2 lips 2 ears 2 eyebrows.

Would you say that it is, perhaps, a face of some kind?

Supposedly the narration gets more ... er, lucid, eventually, but this is still very bad and I hate it.

Anyway, turns out that her cellmate is!!! 

A BOY!!!

Dear God. 

They’re trying to kill me. 

They’ve done it on purpose.

I’m not exactly sure why she’s freaking out over this? Like I honestly can’t tell if she’s afraid of him, or if she’s so Very Heterosexual™ and so unable to control her goddamn self that she’ll just touch him all over and kill him? 

I honestly can’t figure it out. Maybe she has limited meta knowledge and knows that this guy will be driving the plot forward or some shit. 

The guy is obviously

Gorgeous Dangerous. Terrifying. Horrible.

because we can’t have anything else. I also love how she’s supposedly weird in the head after being in solitary for 264 days but is still somehow able to go “omg he’s HAAAAAWT” instead of just going “OMG ANOTHER HUMAN!! ANOTHER HUMAN!! ANOTHER HUMAN!!” 

But what do I know.

The guy tries talking to her but she’s having a BSOD.

He glances at my bed. Glances at his bed. Shoves them both together with one hand.

[...]

He’s stolen my bed my blanket my pillow.

And also your commas, apparently.

Chapter 2

Raindrops are my only reminder that clouds have a heartbeat. That I have one, too. 

I always wonder about raindrops. 

I wonder about how they’re always falling down, tripping over their own feet, breaking their legs and forgetting their parachutes as they tumble right out of the sky toward an uncertain end. It’s like someone is emptying their pockets over the earth and doesn’t seem to care where the contents fall, doesn’t seem to care that the raindrops burst when they hit the ground, that they shatter when they fall to the floor, that people curse the days the drops dare to tap on their doors. 

I am a raindrop. 

My parents emptied their pockets of me and left me to evaporate on a concrete slab.

I honestly have no words. I think this speaks for itself. 

I could pick apart this entire metaphor, because that’s what I do to purple prose, but then I’d have to do this to every stupid metaphor that shows up in this book and that means I’d be stuck here for years. 

And for someone who can’t put a few commas in her sentences and whose narration is supposed to sound incoherent, she sure can conjure up extremely intricate shit like this. She’s somehow not lucid enough to understand that a face is a face, but finding/making up similarities between her own fate and the weather? That she can do.

He’s wearing a navy blue T-shirt and khaki cargo pants tucked into shinhigh black boots.

Fashion disaster.

Cellmate looks at protagonist and she blushes. Because after not seeing another person for 264 days, she still somehow feels shame when a pretty boy looks at her and she feels that she's not hot enough to be looked at, like she’s in high school or something. 

I catch the rose petals as they fall from my cheeks, as they float around the frame of my body, as they cover me in something that feels like the absence of courage.

Ah, yes.

...

What.

“They cover me in something that feels like the absence of courage”? 

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN AND WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT FEEL LIKE?!

He shifts and my eyes shatter into thousands of pieces that ricochet around the room, capturing a million snapshots, a million moments in time. Flickering images faded with age, frozen thoughts hovering precariously in dead space, a whirlwind of memories that slice through my soul.

Holy shit. What have I gotten myself into?

Cellmate tries talking to her again but food arrives. 

My throat is tight with something familiar to me, something I’ve learned to swallow.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Cellmate tries to get the food but burns himself because the tray is hot. Protagonist warns him after the fact, and cellmate gets reasonably cranky. 

Protagonist’s response is to go stare out the tiny window in their cell.

There will be a bird today. It will be white with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. It will fly. There will be a bird today. It will be white with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. It will fly. There will be a— His hand.

On me. 

2 tips

of 2 fingers graze my cloth-covered shoulder for less than a second and every muscle every tendon in my body is fraught with tension and tied into knots that clench my spine.

Despite this, she gets over it right quick.

Sometimes I’m so desperate to touch to be touched to feel that I’m almost certain I’m going to fall off a cliff in an alternate universe where no one will ever be able to find me.

Cellmate asks if protag is hungry. She lies and says no.

His lips are only barely parted, his limbs limp at his side, his lashes blinking back confusion

His lashed have their own eyes now. Talk about body horror. 

Protag realized that there’s something ~*~familiar~*~ about his eyes. 

My eyes break open. 2 shattered windows filling my mouth with glass.

Ok.

Protag starts writing in her notebook.

These words are vomit.

You’re not wrong.

Protag tells cellmate that he can’t touch her. 

Please touch me, is what I want to tell him.

But things happen when people touch me. Strange things. Bad things. 

Dead things.

Cool. 

Touch this book.

[tonystarktogo]

pain is part of the package, darling

I should be working *cough* WIPs *cough* on so many things but my muse has abandoned me and I couldn’t concentrate so instead this happened. This is one of those Someone-on-the-team-gets-a-wake-up-call-in-regards-to-Tony. It happens in a bit of a different context though...as it turns out my mind really works in weird ways. Let’s just say that not everything is as it seems in this 'verse. Or I’m way more obvious than I realise, which is entirely possible. Enjoy :)

Summary: IronFalcon. It’s pure coincidence, the first time Sam notices the bruises. And, just like that, he can’t stop noticing them. Read on AO3.

Part I

They haven’t been in a fight in over three weeks, which is the only reason why Sam even notices.

The team has come together in the kitchen on one of those rare Sunday mornings where everyone is accounted for and nobody is in hiding to avoid retribution for their latest prank, which is in itself unusual. So is Tony joining them, not wearing his perfectly fitted bespoke suit but a lose T-shirt and sweatpants.

Which is not adorable at all, because Tony is a grown man and Sam really needs to get a handle on this ridiculous crush he’s been harbouring for his team mate for an awkwardly long time. Even when Tony is glaring blearily at everyone but Clint—who hands him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, which explains the lack of hostility—Sam wishes the genius would be leaning against him instead of the damn counter. He never liked the stupid thing anyways—and yes, definitely ridiculous.

Sam averts his gaze and pretends he wasn’t just irrationally jealous of a kitchen counter. Nope, that sure didn’t happen. His attention is drawn back to source of his obsession a moment later, when Tony sets his now empty cup down with a gentle clack and yawns so wide his jaw cracks, arms raised above his head.

“Long night with that secret girlfriend we all pretend you didn’t disappear with yesterday?” Clint wiggles his eyebrows but there’s genuine curiosity in his voice. 

Tony’s newest relationship is a constant source of jokes and teasing from the other Avengers’, mainly because he’s managed to keep it a complete secret. Not even Pepper or Rhodey know, and that’s, well. Unusual doesn’t even begin to cover it.

For once though, Sam is too distracted to be bothered by yet another inconvenient reminder of the not unimportant fact that Tony is taken and he should really get over it. Because there, on the inside of Tony’s upper arm, where his T-shirt has ridden up, is a bruise. It’s a striking, bright blue colour, with sprinkles of purple and fading green surrounding it, and it makes absolutely no sense.

Sure, bruises aren’t anything rare in their line of work, but the last few weeks have been quiet, almost uncomfortably so. And as much as Steve likes to nag Tony about his lack of self-care, usually it’s more the sleep and nutrition that’s the problem.

So, because Sam is a huge dumbass who can’t keep his mouth shut and is way too invested into anything involving Tony Stark, he blurts out, “Where did you get that bruise?”—with the subtlety of Steve Rogers at his most stubborn, if the telling gaze Natasha shoots him is anything to go by.

Tony blinks at him, brown eyes a lot sharper than they were seconds ago, shrugs. “Don’t remember.” He grins lewdly, causing Clint to crack up and make the sort of suggestive joke that makes the tip of Steve’s ears turn bright red, and the conversation moves on.

It doesn’t escape Sam’s notice though that Tony doesn’t lift his arms over his head again, and he wonders.

*

“Ow.” Tony lets out a low, pained grown.

The glance Bruce shoots him is in equal parts fond and concerned. “You sure you’re alright, Tony?”

“Yeah, you took that building down pretty hard,” Clint grins wickedly at the memory—and perhaps at the way Steve’s eyes narrow at Tony’s pitiful form. 

Steve is a nightmare when it comes to getting your injuries checked out properly, which is the most hypocritical bullshit Sam’s ever heard. He’s once watched Steve tear Clint a new one for not telling anybody about his cracked rips whilst simultaneously waving away the doctor trying to remove a knife big enough to feature in every cheap horror flick that had been stuck in his leg. Granted, it had only been a flesh wound and the super soldier body could take it, but the audacity had struck Sam speechless all the same.

“I told you the suit could handle the impact,” Tony whines. Then, without turning his head, “Cap, put those judgy eyes away before I throw something. Seriously, I’m fine.”

Tony finds Sam’s eyes and the two share a long-suffering glance of wordless understanding in regards to over-bearing team mates.

“Tony-” Steve never did know when to quit.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, a slow, easy smile on his lips that is contradicted by the annoyed twitch in his left eye. “Just a little sore, nothing to do with the crash. Promise.”

*

They’re in the gym, almost two weeks later. It’s Natasha’s turn to teach the rest of the team a particular move. At least that was what this meeting was supposed to be about. 

But then Clint accused her of showing off and the two of them got into a play-fight that turned into a scarily-real-but-still-just-having-fun-kicking-my-friend’s-ass-fight very quickly—as all fights between them are known to—Steve and Tony got into another discussion about proper self-care—the kind Steve will inevitably storm away from in a couple of minutes, because those two are completely unable to ever just talk—and Bruce has taken advantage of everyone’s distraction to sneak back into the safety of his lab, cruelly abandoning Sam in the process—which he’ll get the other man back for. In a non-Hulk-invoking way.

His careful revenge planning is interrupted by Tony yelling something unintelligible, pulling one leg of his favourite sweatpants up and gesturing wildly at Steve, clearly trying to make a point that won’t make any sense to an uninvolved bystander.

What really catches Sam’s eye though isn’t Steve’s eye-roll, it’s the longish bruise on the back of Tony’s left calf. It’s a couple of days old, the outer edge already fading into green-yellowish tones, but that means it must have been a pretty hard hit—or maybe a shove, because it looks more like the back of Tony’s leg made a very painful contact with a hard edge.

It’s most likely nothing. Tony is a not-quite-ordinary human on a team of superheroes after all, and really, when you think about it, it seems kinda weird how worked up Sam gets over a couple of harmless bruises.

And yet.

There’s this moment where Sam swears Tony catches him staring, where the slight smile freezes on his lips and he lets his pants fall down again, an odd expression on his face that Sam could’ve sworn was shame. And it’s no proof, not even close to it, but it’s something, and even though he doesn’t really want to, even though the thought seems absolutely ludicrous, Sam suspects.

*

On Thursday afternoon, Tony stumbles into the living room, looking like death warmed over, all waxy, pale skin and sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. Sam heroically stamps down the urge to throw himself across the room and bury Tony in a pile of blankets.

“You don’t look so good,” Natasha comments in that dry voice she uses to describe a mutated T-rex clone the size of a three store building as ‘big enough to do some damage’.

“Too much...spinning...” Tony moans pitifully. “Make it stop!”

“You forgot to eat lunch again, didn’t you.” Bruce is less than impressed by the pout he gets in response to his question-slash-statement. His deeply unamused glare doesn’t fool anyone though, especially when he proceeds to hand Tony a juice box and some crackers with a resigned sigh.

Sam decides to leave them to it, having no desire to get dragged into another one of Bruce’s rants. He pats Tony’s head in passing and smiles at the weak glare the pale genius shoots him in return.

*

They’re in one of SHIELD’s emergency decontamination showers because fighting a giant gooey worm determined to flatten Manhattan into the ground is how Sam spends his Friday nights these days. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone when said worm, upon his defeat, detonated, spraying everything in its vicinity with a rainbow coloured slime. But they were caught unaware all the same. It is sticky, smelly, disgusting and will possibly turn Sam into a moustache-twirling villain any second now. Which is why they’ve been carefully escorted into this hastily erected SHIELD bunker in the first place.

Them being Sam and Tony—of course they had been the only ones close enough to get hit by the blast. Sam still can’t remember at which point in the fight Tony was forced or chose to leave his suit, but clearly it did happen. Otherwise he might not have been here now, on Sam’s side of the glass wall, yelling at the top of his voice at some poor SHIELD agent, who stutters something about protocols and safety measures whenever Tony needs to take a breath.

It’s kind of ridiculous.

Apparently the agent thinks so too because he finally storms off—to his credit, Sam would’ve quit several minutes ago—leaving a huffing Tony behind. Who continues to murmur complaints under his breath, but it’s less true resistance now and more complying while being as difficult as possible, just because he can. As proven by the fact that he’s reaching for his utterly ruined shirt and begins to unbutton it.

Shit. It hasn’t occurred to Sam until now, too busy being distracted by the fight, the goo, the Tony, but faced with his slowly undressing team mate, it suddenly becomes frighteningly clear that he’s going to share a decontamination shower with his crush.

“What are you waiting for?” Tony smirks invitingly over his shoulder and okay, Sam’s seen the guy use this expression against reporters daily, this should not have any affect on him at all. He can totally handle this. “An invitation?” Tony wiggles his butt jokingly.

Sam absolutely can’t handle this.

It’s lucky then, in the most terrible way, that he doesn’t have to. Because when Tony slips out of his pants—a move proven a lot more difficult by the goo that makes the fabric stick to your skin almost painfully—his inconvenient attraction is about the last thing on Sam’s mind.

Well, maybe not last. But definitely far below ‘What the fuck?!’ and ‘Someone is gonna die for this’ and ‘Get your shit together, Wilson, you are not helping!’

The last one, at least, is undeniably true. Sam is unashamedly staring and with it being just the two of them, there really is no way Tony is going to miss it. He can’t help it though. Tony looks-

There are some scratches on his cheek and hands, and a thin, already clotted wound on his left shin. All of them undoubtedly the results of their most recent fight.

Then there are the bruises.

Then there are the bruises.

They spread out along Tony’s legs, starting at about mid-calf. They are single, longish bruises in light tones, the kinds you might gain from running into a door accidentally or stumbling on the stairs. Some are dotted on his kneecaps in dark blues and violets, whereas the ones on the insides of his knees are lighter, though the skin is still a little red. All in all, though colourful, those bruises are still fairly harmless. They stand out because of the sheer amount of them, not because one in particular looks terrible.

The same can’t be said for Tony’s thighs. They are a mess. The inside of Tony’s thighs looks like one giant bruise, except for the truly impressive range of colours. The skin is rubbed raw all over. Deep purple blotches, tiny sprinkles of an even darker colour, surrounded by fading stains of lighter blues and greens. There’s no system in them, no exact pattern, but the way the various discolourations bleed into each other is almost pretty, in an abstract, horrifying way.

This isn’t the kind of injury you get from a single incident, that much Sam knows immediately. The bruises are too layered for that. At least some of them are also too old to have been caused by their recent fighting. Never mind that Sam struggles to think of anything that could have caused Tony this kind of injury, especially inside the suit.

And Tony’s thighs, though clearly the worst, aren’t the end of it either. There are faint discolourations close to his hipbones and some more more visible ones on the insides of his upper arms. Those two have an unusual form, oval, almost round. The kind that Sam struggles to associate with any kind of accident. Hell, even on the bridge of his foot there are bruises, and dark ones at that.

In short, Tony looks like he’s been thrown down a couple of stairs, and that doesn’t even begin to explain the state of his thighs.

Sam has also been staring at Tony for what feels like an eternity in abject horror, when Tony pointedly clears his throat. The teasing smile as slid off his face and it’s impossible not to notice that he’s angling his body away from Sam as much as possible—though his options are very limited.

“Like what you see?” Tony tries to joke, but his voice catches a little and his fingers curl slightly at his side, like he wants to hide away.

Sam hates it. He hates that unsure expression on Tony’s face, hates that he put it there. Hates that he has no clue how to ask the very obvious question without Tony clamming up and shutting him out. Most of all, Sam hates how incredibly out of his depth he feels.

This isn’t like him at all. He’s good at this stuff, usually. Good at getting stubborn assholes to open up about their messed up emotional state—case in point: Steve—he doesn’t bullshit and dance around a subject. He’s also never been in a situation like this.

Sam knows better than most that being a superhero doesn’t make you invincible, doesn’t even make you a functioning human. And he damn well knows that if he saw anyone else with these kinds of bruises, he’d call the police—and fuck, maybe it’d turn out to be nothing, but he sure as fuck wouldn’t take the chance. But with Tony? Who is he even supposed to call?

He’s known the guy for almost a year, has had a pathetic crush on him for going on four months and even he struggles with the idea that someone might be- hurting Tony. That Tony might let them.

Sam feels sick.

He gets through the shower in somewhat of a daze. He’s peripherally aware of the occasional, lingering gaze from Tony but he can’t- he doesn’t know. By the time it’s finally determined that they won’t be turned into the undoing of mankind and the two of them are back at the Tower, all Sam wants to do is get out of the sanitised clothes SHIELD gave them, crawl into his bed and sleep. If only to stop thinking for a while.

He can’t though.

He asks JARVIS to show him the security footage of the SHIELD bunkers instead. He needs to see it one more time, needs to convince himself that this is real.

“I’m sorry, Mister Wilson,” JARVIS replies without inflection, “it appears there has been a glitch. The last five hours seem to have accidentally been erased.”

For some reason, Sam isn’t surprised.

*

The next morning comes far too quickly. It appears Sam’s the only one to think so however. By the time he arrives in the kitchen, everyone else is already up and about. Bruce is standing at the stove, Clint appears to be losing a fight against the coffee machine. Tony is talking to Natasha, clearly already on his third coffee with how bubbly he is.

Everything is normal.

Then Sam meets Tony’s eyes for the briefest of moments before Tony averts his gaze—and Tony never averts his gaze. Sam swallows and tries not to stare at his now fully clothed team mate, tries not to trace the lines where he knows the bruises are hidden.

The funny thing is that even now that Sam is paying attention, there’s nothing in Tony’s behaviour that gives him away. His jokes are as sharp and crass as ever, he doesn’t flinch even though the way Natasha pats his leg must have hurt. He’s just Tony, filling the entire room with his mere presence.

He doesn’t have any proof, but there’s no way to unsee the past twenty-four hours, and, even though he feels like half the pieces are still missing, Sam knows.

Yup, that’s it. That’s as far as I got. Turns out I’m terrible at describing injuries. Anyways, what do you think? Would you like to see a continuation? Any ideas in regards to the bruises? Other thoughts? Please share them with me, I’m curious to hear what you think!

I hope you all are having a great day! Remember, likes and reblogs are for free ;)

[bipedal-vertebrate]

Please allow me to tell you about my Best Friend.

Let me start by saying that I’d known her for some time before we really started hanging out and she seemed like a good person, the kind of person you’d want in your life. She was also going through quite a bit and didn’t have good people in her life. She had lots of people that tried to use her, to take advantage of her, who would stab her in the back in a heartbeat, and who treated her like shit. She needed good people and real friends. She needed the kind of person and friend that I am. I made the decision to let down a few of my walls so that if she wanted, she could get closer to me and I could be the friend she needed.

She’s Beautiful. Not beautiful, that is just a meaningless description of someones appearance based on the individuals idea of what makes someone attractive. My Best Friend is Beautiful with a capital B. Her Beauty is the kind the eyes will never see.

What is it that makes her Beautiful?  I’ll tell you, but I have to tell you about myself first.  I’ve done this before, but for anyone that doesn’t wish to read that first I’ll give enough of a run down to understand how Beautiful She is.

I have Asperger’s Syndrome. For those not familiar with it, it is a high functioning form of autism. It means I am autistic but unless you are familiar with the symptoms and spend a significant amount of time around me you will never notice it. Instead you will describe me as “weird,” “odd,” “excentric,” etc.

How does that make her beautiful?

Because of the assortment of developmental disabilities stacked on top of and intertwined with each other my brain doesn’t process information the same as a neurotypical persons does. Simply put, several areas of my brain are miswired, both internally and in their connections to other areas of my brain.

The social and communication centers of my brain are unable to process what is considered “normal” conversation, aka small talk, idle chat, etc. Such conversations have no particular topic, they move around, they change direction, and because of the miswiring in my brain I can’t follow them. To me, “normal” conversation sounds like people just saying whatever random thing pops into their head from one second to the next. For me to talk to people the conversation has to stay on topic or change topic slowly rather than suddenly.

My brain also processes language literally. Words have meanings and those meanings are in the dictionary. When someone uses a word I a way other than what it’s definition is I am lost because the statement they just made makes no sense until I have had time to analyze it in reference to the rest of what was being said, and even then I normally can’t figure out what they actually meant leaving me with no clue what they said.

Facial expression, vocal inflection, body language, unusual phrasings, and other such social/conversational cues that add context beyond the actual words spoken don’t exist for me. The part of my brain that is supposed to see and understand them doesnt.

While normal people instinctively know how to respond to “polite questions” such as “how are you,” “what are you doing these days,” “how are you feeling, etc I am forced to rely on preplanned responses that sound “fake” to everyone because such questions are not only subjective rather than objective, they are rhetorical rather than literal and the person doesn’t want an actual response.

The parts of the social, language, and communication centers of my brain that are supposed to deal with these things either developed incorrectly or not at all. All this leaves me with only the exact words a person says and nothing more.

I explained this to Her shortly after we started spending a significant amount of time together. It wasn’t long after that that when we were speaking I spent less and less time saying “OK,” “Uh huh,” “Yeah,” etc and was actually able to have a conversation with her. She changed the way she talked when we were speaking and instead of being drug along behind her I was able to be a part of the conversation. Even when there were others involved in the conversation, she kept the conversation “on topic” longer than the others would have and made sure that subject changes were gradual rather than sudden. When she was involved in the conversation she made sure I could be an active participant.  With her help I wasn’t broken.

The miswiring in the social center of my brain also results in problems when socializing. While everyone else can go to a party, a bar, a family picnic and it’s no big deal, interacting with more than one or two people at a time is overwhelming. Anything more than that and I can’t think clearly enough to even give preplanned responses because my brain is starting to misfire and push towards a meltdown.

She never puts me in a situation where that is issue. Whenever she says we should do something it is always walks, bike rides, hiking, watching a movie, or some other thing where it will be just us. Even when she suggests something that would mean being around other people she isn’t pushy about it and as soon as I start to show signs of shutting down she calmly and easily dismisses that because “I’m not really dressed for that and don’t feel like changing,” “it’s too nice a day to be inside like that,” or some other similar reason that eliminates any pressure on me.

She always goes out of her way to make sure I didn’t feel broken. She even manages to do that without trying. It’s no wonder she became my best friend.

There was a day where she asked me to take her out so she could do some shopping. After getting to enjoy seeing her enjoy herself as she flitted from rack to rack going through clothing, aisle to aisle looking at candles, and fountains, and household stuff, I took her home and helped her take her bags in to the elevator. She said goodnight, gave me a hug and then we talked for a while because the first hug was never the real goodbye hug. That hug felt “wrong.” This is where it gets interesting. Thanks to the wonders of the miswired sensory and social centers of my brain physical contact is not pleasant. Imagine if your skin was replaced by a few hundred million ants crawling on the raw, exposed nerves, muscles, tendons, etc. That description doesn’t come close to the way physical contact feels for me, but that sensation is “normal” for me.

That night it felt different, but the hug was over too quick for me to tell how. When we finished talking she gave me the real goodnight hug. The second hug was always longer. That Hug was magical. My skin didn’t crawl. It was like electric fairies dancing lightly on my skin and hundreds of millions of stars exploding all at once. It was the most amazing sensation I’ve ever experienced. I held on tight, took a deep breath to fill my nose with the scent of her hair, listened to her breathing and then her voice as she asked if I was smelling her hair and laughed when I said yes. I was grabbing hold of every sensation in that moment so that the memory of them would be as real as they were in that moment.  I didn’t know why it felt like it did, but I wanted to be able to go back to that hug when I needed somewhere safe to escape to.

Over the next few days I tried to figure out why it was different. I looked inside, dug around, and discovered something. Where I had only taken down a few walls, leaving the others in place, those walls were still there but no longer completely solid. For everyone else they were impenetrable, but for her they didn’t even exist. Somewhere along the way my heart had decided it belonged to Her and hadn’t bothered to let me in on it. I’d fallen in love with my best friend and hadn’t even known.

I kept that from her for some time, only telling her when she asked me to write something inspirational and uplifting in a notebook she had at a time when things were really rough for her. What started out as a single paragraph turned into a full blown letter laying out how I felt, that I was happy having her as my best friend and being hers, that I’d never ask for, expect, or look for more than that, and that it was entirely up to her if she wanted more than just mine.

Over the last year shes proved herself to be more and more of a friend than I ever thought anyone could be.  Yes there have been some problems along the way, what relationship doesn’t have them, but for the most part they’ve were worked through and those that haven’t been will be.

She makes my world brighter and make me better by being a part of my life.  Without trying, she does so much for me.  From little things like giving me an angel pin included a note that read:

pg1

Marsh!

I Love You!

I appreciate your true friendship to me more than you will ever know.

No matter what I will forever be here whenever you need me.

I love you so much!

Don’t ever change!

Emmie

pg2

Here’s an Angel for you to keep on you to help you from having those meltdowns.

Love You!

Keep her on you always

Your Friend Forever

Emmie

  to big things like holding me as I cried when I was finally able to begin grieving for the loss of my Grandmother and promising to go with and be there when I make the drive to Texas to visit her grave.

The wind chime she gave me, which had been damaged and repaired by her before giving it to me, hangs over the couch I sleep on with a fan always blowing on it so it chimed softly at all times.

The wooden wall hanging that reads “Never lose your sense of wonder” is on the wall at the foot of the couch where I only have to open my eyes to read it.

A note she left me when she came down to my room one day while I wasn’t here hangs on the wall as well.

The birthday card she made me, which in part read:

Thank you for being in my life. FIghting or not, you will always be one of my very best friends.

-Emmie

sits on a shelf by the foot of the couch so that I could always see it.

  Each of the small things shes given me, no matter how insignificant it may have seemed to her, was given it’s own special place because those small trinkets mean the world to me.

She means the world to me, which is why I made the decision to include her in the plan I have for my life.  That plan will fix my life, and is the only chance I have at honestly being happy with my life as a whole.  I’m including her in it because it will help her to fix her life and given her a steady income stream that will let her get away from her roommate and others like him permanently.  When I told her this, her smile lit up the world like the sun never has and the hug she gave me as she thanked me crushed the breath out of my lungs.  I’d made her world brighter and better, just like she does for me.

She is my Best Friend and I love her more than she will ever know.

A Georgia Peach with a Diamond in the Center #Friendship #BestFriend #RealFriend #Aspergers @Autism Please allow me to tell you about my Best Friend. Let me start by saying that I’d known her for some time before we really started hanging out and she seemed like a good person, the kind of person you’d want in your life.